#I’m using that tag in case anyone reading my current fic needs to know where I’m at

[a-very-fond-farewell]

ok the vibe is: I’m just a silly little guy in a dreadful little world. time to go back to my roots (*eats croutons straight from the bag*)

#sneaky niki #it’s update time on yours truly #lamb loose liveblogging #I’m using that tag in case anyone reading my current fic needs to know where I’m at #I did rest a little bit. thank you for asking #no. unfortunately my hand seems to be getting worse. I still need to take a shirt on of notes for my IRL stuff tho #*SHITTON of notes (y u censor me text-predictive keyboard??) #so I’m trying to pace myself a little #but I did write something for the fic! #yay me :D #turns out my circadian rhythm is fucked anyway. so I still wake up at 5am every morning no matter what #they will scoop me off the floor one of these days #in the meantime.............. I’m like. I’m 200k words in as I check the draft for the entire project and #fellas is it gay to hyperfocus on two trash idiots so much you end up writing 200k words for them?? #in like....... 5 months?? #on the bright side. I’ll meet a friend this weekend after 4 months apart :D #I’ve self-isolated so much that I don’t know how I’ll manage. but I’ll be in a bookstore for the first time in 4 months! can u believe it?? #still. city scary. full of women I won’t be able to stare in the eyes. I’m easily affected. #also so many dogs I will never have the courage to ask if I can pet #anyway regarding the fic #I’m trying to map out ch18 now #all I can say is: SDY u cvnt. absolute trash of a man. I will avenge you #also backscratchers and a man walking on a roof are somewhat involved?? #let’s hope I can plan this out the right way before word-vomiting all over it #so. that being said. I hope anyone reading is having a good time #if not I still hope you can get some comfort from your pets or plants or projects #or people. yea. those too. (notice how effortless that was. very much a people’s person me. obviously) #Niki out ~<3

[tackytigerfic]

WIP Snip Sunday

I am so behind on my notifs so expect more tags as i go through them, but for now i can say both @dracopetal and @wolfpants have posted fantastic snips here and here, and you should go read them! Who else wants to play? I'll tag @kbrick @maesterchill @the-starryknight @sweet-s0rr0w and anyone else who'd like a go.

I have loads of WIPs but am only actively working on one - my Voldemort lives wartime AU. Have been writing loads recently and am almost at the big climactic scene of this very long fic (current wordcount 147216). This is a little snip from an ensemble scene where Harry decides he's going to try to finally take Voldemort on in another battle.

“There’s absolutely no point in you just strolling into London and offering yourself up,” Ron said thoughtfully. His eyes were narrowed, fixed on some point beyond the room, speculative. He was, Harry realised, plotting out their plan of action.

"Such strategic genius. Meanwhile, there was I thinking we should package him up in Slytherin robes and have a house elf deliver him to the door of the Ministry with a tag around his neck reading ‘FAO the Dark Lord’,” Draco said nastily, but Ron ignored him. In a weird way, having Ron on the case made Harry feel better, like he wasn’t completely alone in this horrible plan.

“Realistically, we have very little leverage,” Ron continued. “As long as he’s playing nicey nice with the Muggle politicians, we have to tread carefully. And if he keeps on committing atrocities like—” He waved a hand towards the tv screen, but his brow creased as though directed towards the private inner grief he couldn’t quite keep hidden. It was less than a month since Charlie had died, Harry thought, sorrow making time feel elastic as it often did, the days without him too long, the immediacy of the grief still too close and stifling.

 “He’s not going to stop,” Remus said, “because he knows it’s the only thing that will draw Harry out. He’ll hurt as many people as he needs to, because that’s just what he does to get what he wants.”

“But if Harry goes, then he’s the one that will get hurt.” Sirius was white in the face. Harry reached for his hand, like he had countless times over the years.

“This is why we’re fighting,” he said gently. “It’s not just for the magical world, for all of us. It’s for the Muggles too. They can’t protect themselves, because they don’t know there’s something they should be protecting themselves from. They’re part of our war too, even if they don’t realise it.”

Everyone was looking at him, Harry realised, and with a vague dawning horror he realised that at least one of them might be about to cry. Remus’s eyes were suspiciously shiny, and he cleared his throat a few times.

“Please don’t say my parents would be proud of me,” Harry said quickly. “Not that I wouldn’t want them to be proud. But I’m not doing it to be good, or to save people, or whatever. It’s just the right thing to do.”

“I was going to say we are so proud of you,” Remus said, half-laughing, and Harry felt Sirius’s fingers tighten in his.

“So we’re all agreed?” Harry looked steadily around the table. In a way, it was almost a relief—to be planning again, and not just waiting to see what would happen. To be doing something. “I’m going to face him again?”

“We can’t make that decision for you,” Hermione said gently. “But if you’re going, we’ll be there with you.”

“Absolutely,” Ron added. “You’ll never have to do this alone.”

"Absolutely not," Harry began.

“Ugh!” Draco slammed him hands flat on the table, and stood up slowly. “You are all such insufferable martyrs. Yes, Harry, let’s all march into Voldemort’s evil lair and have his Death Eaters pick us off like pheasants before we even get through the entrance hall. Excellent plan.”

Harry could see that Draco’s flattened hands were white with tension at the extremities. He looked very far away, right down the other end of the table.

“No, no,” Harry said casually. “I don’t intend to just offer myself up like some sacrificial offering. If I’m doing this, I’m going to make sure I have the best chance possible to actually get him. And if I can’t do that, then I’m going to do as much damage as I can in the process. I couldn’t beat him before, but I’ve got years of training behind me now. I can take him, or I can die trying. But if I’m going to die, I’m going to make it worthwhile.”

It was weird, saying that word out loud. They never really talked about it, about the fact that Harry had nearly died already, and that Voldemort really wanted to kill him, and that Harry would have to actually honest-to-god kill Voldemort if he was going to survive this time. Remus looked queasy.

“You’re not going to die,” Sirius said.

“But if you do,” Ron added, “we’ll definitely avenge your death.”

“How reassuring,” Draco said in his smoothest, most politely interested voice, the one that usually meant he was about to say something very rude. “I’m sure that Harry will feel much better about his agonising demise—because the Dark Lord will make sure that it’s agonising—to know that the safety of Magical Britain, not to mention the Saviour’s legacy, rests in your freckled palms.”

#tacky's fth #ron does make the point that his palms aren't actually freckled btw #ugh i wanted to share a different bit #but i don't want to just keep posting all the romantical bits on here #or there won't be any left to read once the fic posts #anyway whoohoo fic progress #drarry

[cfv-week]

Welcome everyone!

This is the official blog of the Cardfight!! Vanguard prompt week! Made by us, a team of CFV fans who want to bring together the fandom and celebrate a franchise we love.

But who is “we”? Let’s meet the mods!

Heyho, I’m Reo (they/them)! This whole thing was my idea, so I guess I’m the head of this operation. This fandom means a lot to me and I wanted to do my part to contribute to it and keep it alive. I’m grateful for every contribution and I really look forward to seeing some cool artworks and fics emerge from this.

Hi! I’m Aeon, but you can also call me Blue, and I use they/them, it/its pronouns. You can find me on Tumblr as @/crossroadofinterests and on AO3 as BlueSkies_BrokenStars. When I heard of the possibility to give life to a Cardfight!! Vanguard week I was positively ecstatic: the original series is my comfort show, and taking part in the organization of such an event is my way to thank both the characters that we all love and the wonderful people of this fandom. I’ll do my best to make this a pleasant experience, so let’s all have fun together!!

HOWDY, I’m Star and I go by she/her pronouns. I’ve been around this fandom for almost half my life now and I literally love it so much, so this event totally needs to happen. I’m looking forward to it all!!! you can hmu on @/starburstsobsessions 😎

How does it work?

In case you’ve never seen a prompt week in action, the concept is simple:

We will provide you with a curated list of prompts with set dates, as well as a specific hashtag.

Anyone who wants to can create fanworks for these specific prompts, be it fanart, fanfiction, edits, headcanon lists, playlists etc. whatever you want! Just post your contributions to tumblr on the date for the prompt with the corresponding hashtag, and maybe tag this blog to if you like!

We’ll reblog every single contribution to this blog.

Everyone gets to enjoy new fanworks!

When will it happen?

We don’t have a set date yet, but definitely soon! We are currently aiming for August 22nd to August 28th (because of Kai’s b-day).

Before that though, we need to decide on the prompts. And that’s where YOU come into play!

Our next post will include a survey where you can let us know what prompts you would like to see! So be sure to follow this blog and spread the word.

Thank you for reading and see you soon!

The mod team

#cardfight!! vanguard #cardfight!! vanguard g #cfv #mod aeon #mod star #mod reo

[bonos-grindcore-sideproject]

✨Unconventional Writer’s Ask✨

— How long have you been writing fanfiction?

Not sure, but sometime around 1990 I wrote a story in which the B52's travel the length of Route 66 (or Highway 61?) to confront and ultimately defeat Satan, who has possessed the body of a Republican frat boy and is attempting to destroy the world from the kid's basement rec room. I'm a little fuzzy on the details, but it was a long time ago. No ships or anything, but I might have been a minor character. I didn't know fanfiction was even a thing. I was just trying to entertain two specific friends.

— Do you have a favorite word? (One that you love. Doesn’t necessarily have to be one you use all the time.)

Not a favorite, but I like the sounds of certain words. Here's one: riparian.

— Share a favorite run-on sentence that you’ve written.

From Boy:

I’m far away from the fat ladies and the pretty girls and the children who run in the sand like little birds and I’m far away even from the smell of chips and the ice cream bells and I think I might have actually walked to the end of the world.

— Share a bit of a scene that you’ve written that still gives you FEELS.

From The Monster Words:

I hold you close and feel your chest rising and falling, the breath going in and out of your tough little body, stirring a stray lock of hair that's fallen over your cheek. I can see you in my mind's eye, about thirty years younger, shoving your hair back behind your ears a little roughly, because hair was just a fact of life back then, and there was no need for you to be gentle with it. Ah, sweetheart.

“Monsters,” I whisper, naming them, acknowledging them. “Stay out of this room. You have no business here.”

And I kiss the top of your head, just as if you were a child of mine.

— What is your favorite kind of character interaction to write?

Banter. Nothing makes me happier than having my OTP go on for the equivalent of several pages as if they're a comedy duo, either giving each other a hard time or just doing observational shit about their highly specific Situation.

— Do you have a hyper-specific genre?

I really don't even know what the genres are. I mostly do one-shots, or as we called them in my MFA program, short stories. :P

— Any personal or frequently used tags?

Not really, though once in a while I'll throw in something like "French dudes" or "namechecked politician."

— Share a joke or funny moment that you’ve written that still makes you laugh.

This fake newsheadline/subheadline combo, which incorporates lyrics:

He Falls Down: Old Fart Bono In Traction Again after Bathtub Mishap “He broke himself,” says doc

— Best editing tip?

This is hard and I mostly don't practice what I preach, BUT: Try not to edit as you write. Just write. Once you've got the bulk of the fic written, you can go back and edit a zillion times if you want to.

— What drives you to write?

This isn't specific to fanfiction, as I do write other things. But absolutely it is a way to keep verbalizing about my obsessions without haranguing anyone who doesn't want to hear it. This has been the case since I was a kid. I have always been obsessed with something, and I've always written. This is what makes me happy, and I don't even understand not having obsessions. (Why I've been on tumblr for 10 years in midlife.)

— Where do you draw inspiration?

Music, obviously. Comedy. Conversations with friends. Reading a book that's particularly well-written and wanting to apply that same level of quality and detail to a fic about two dadrock men in love. :P

— What is your immediate reaction when you receive a new comment on a fic?

"It's about time" and/or "Thank God."

— What is your biggest challenge in writing?

The part where I have to write.

— 1-2 sentence preview from your current WIP?? (Only if you are willing.)

I don't have one at the moment! Got very busy with day job and of course with achtoonbaby.com. (Shameless plug.)

— What story or scene are you most proud of?

I am still most proud of Boy, despite having written a lot of stuff subsequently. While it's not historically accurate, I did write it in a kind of fever dream where I felt I was really channeling my protagonist. We'll see if that's the case when his memoir comes out.

— Please link your profile so we can admire your works!

It me

Thank you @breathinginthissilencecence for the ask. I shall tag... @jeevey and @iinchicore!

#Tagged in a thing! #This one was a challenge. :)

[fozmeadows]

race & culture in fandom

For the past decade, English language fanwriting culture post the days of LiveJournal and Strikethrough has been hugely shaped by a handful of megafandoms that exploded across AO3 and tumblr – I’m talking Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Dr Who, the MCU, Harry Potter, Star Wars, BBC Sherlock – which have all been overwhelmingly white. I don’t mean in terms of the fans themselves, although whiteness also figures prominently in said fandoms: I mean that the source materials themselves feature very few POC, and the ones who are there tended to be done dirty by the creators.

Periodically, this has led POC in fandom to point out, extremely reasonably, that even where non-white characters do get central roles in various media properties, they’re often overlooked by fandom at large, such that the popular focus stays primarily on the white characters. Sometimes this happened (it was argued) because the POC characters were secondary to begin with and as such attracted less fan devotion (although this has never stopped fandoms from picking a random white gremlin from the background cast and elevating them to the status of Fave); at other times, however, there has been a clear trend of sidelining POC leads in favour of white alternatives (as per Finn, Poe and Rose Tico being edged out in Star Wars shipping by Hux, Kylo and Rey). I mention this, not to demonize individuals whose preferred ships happen to involve white characters, but to point out the collective impact these trends can have on POC in fandom spaces: it’s not bad to ship what you ship, but that doesn’t mean there’s no utility in analysing what’s popular and why through a racial lens.

All this being so, it feels increasingly salient that fanwriting culture as exists right now developed under the influence and in the shadow of these white-dominated fandoms – specifically, the taboo against criticizing or critiquing fics for any reason. Certainly, there’s a hell of a lot of value to Don’t Like, Don’t Read as a general policy, especially when it comes to the darker, kinkier side of ficwriting, and whether the context is professional or recreational, offering someone direct, unsolicited feedback on their writing style is a dick move. But on the flipside, the anti-criticism culture in fanwriting has consistently worked against fans of colour who speak out about racist tropes, fan ignorance and hurtful portrayals of living cultures. Voicing anything negative about works created for free is seen as violating a core rule of ficwriting culture – but as that culture has been foundationally shaped by white fandoms, white characters and, overwhelmingly, white ideas about what’s allowed and what isn’t, we ought to consider that all critical contexts are not created equal.

Right now, the rise of C-drama (and K-drama, and J-drama) fandoms is seeing a surge of white creators – myself included – writing fics for fandoms in which no white people exist, and where the cultural context which informs the canon is different to western norms. Which isn’t to say that no popular fandoms focused on POC have existed before now – K-pop RPF and anime fandoms, for example, have been big for a while. But with the success of The Untamed, more western fans are investing in stories whose plots, references, characterization and settings are so fundamentally rooted in real Chinese history and living Chinese culture that it’s not really possible to write around it. And yet, inevitably, too many in fandom are trying to do just that, treating respect for Chinese culture or an attempt to understand it as optional extras – because surely, fandom shouldn’t feel like work. If you’re writing something for free, on your own time, for your own pleasure, why should anyone else get to demand that you research the subject matter first?

Because it matters, is the short answer. Because race and culture are not made-up things like lightsabers and werewolves that you can alter, mock or misunderstand without the risk of hurting or marginalizing actual real people – and because, quite frankly, we already know that fandom is capable of drawing lines in the sand where it chooses. When Brony culture first reared its head (hah), the online fandom for My Little Pony – which, like the other fandoms we’re discussing here, is overwhelmingly female – was initially welcoming. It felt like progress, that so many straight men could identify with such a feminine show; a potential sign that maybe, we were finally leaving the era of mainstream hypermasculine fandom bullshit behind, at least in this one arena. And then, in pretty much the blink of an eye, things got overwhelmingly bad. Artists drawing hardcorn porn didn’t tag their works as adult, leading to those images flooding the public search results for a children’s show. Women were edged out of their own spaces. Bronies got aggressive, posting harsh, ugly criticism of artists whose gijinka interpretations of the Mane Six as humans were deemed insufficiently fuckable.

The resulting fandom conflict was deeply unpleasant, but in the end, the verdict was laid down loud and clear: if you cannot comport yourself like a decent fucking person – if your base mode of engagement within a fandom is to coopt it from the original audience and declare it newly cool only because you’re into it now; if you do not, at the very least, attempt to understand and respect the original context so as to engage appropriately (in this case, by acknowledging that the media you’re consuming was foundational to many women who were there before you and is still consumed by minors, and tagging your goddamn porn) – then the rest of fandom will treat you like a social biohazard, and rightly so.

Here’s the thing, fellow white people: when it comes to C-drama fandoms and other non-white, non-western properties? We are the Bronies.

Not, I hasten to add, in terms of toxic fuckery – though if we don’t get our collective shit together, I’m not taking that darkest timeline off the table. What I mean is that, by virtue of the whiteminding which, both consciously and unconsciously, has shaped current fan culture, particularly in terms of ficwriting conventions, we’re collectively acting as though we’re the primary audience for narratives that weren’t actually made with us in mind, being hostile dicks to Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans when they take the time to point out what we’re getting wrong. We’re bristling because we’ve conceived of ficwriting as a place wherein No Criticism Occurs without questioning how this culture, while valuable in some respects, also serves to uphold, excuse and perpetuate microaggresions and other forms of racism, lashing out or falling back on passive aggression when POC, quite understandably, talk about how they’re sick and tired of our bullshit.

An analogy: one of the most helpful and important tags on AO3 is the one for homophobia, not just because it allows readers to brace for or opt out of reading content they might find distressing, but because it lets the reader know that the writer knows what homophobia is, and is employing it deliberately. When this concept is tagged, I – like many others – often feel more able to read about it than I do when it crops up in untagged works of commercial fiction, film or TV, because I don’t have to worry that the author thinks what they’re depicting is okay. I can say definitively, “yes, the author knows this is messed up, but has elected to tell a messed up story, a fact that will be obvious to anyone who reads this,” instead of worrying that someone will see a fucked up story blind and think “oh, I guess that’s fine.” The contextual framing matters, is the point – which is why it’s so jarring and unpleasant on those rare occasions when I do stumble on a fic whose author has legitimately mistaken homophobic microaggressions for cute banter. This is why, in a ficwriting culture that otherwise aggressively dislikes criticism, the request to tag for a certain thing – while still sometimes fraught – is generally permitted: it helps everyone to have a good time and to curate their fan experience appropriately.

But when white and/or western fans fail to educate ourselves about race, culture and the history of other countries and proceed to deploy that ignorance in our writing, we’re not tagging for racism as a thing we’ve explored deliberately; we’re just being ignorant at best and hateful at worst, which means fans of colour don’t know to avoid or brace for the content of those works until they get hit in the face with microaggresions and/or outright racism. Instead, the burden is placed on them to navigate a minefield not of their creation: which fans can be trusted to write respectfully? Who, if they make an error, will listen and apologise if the error is explained? Who, if lived experience, personal translations or cultural insights are shared, can be counted on to acknowledge those contributions rather than taking sole credit? Too often, fans of colour are being made to feel like guests in their own house, while white fans act like a tone-policing HOA.

Point being: fandom and ficwriting cultures as they currently exist badly need to confront the implicit acceptance of racism and cultural bias that underlies a lot of community rules about engagement and criticism, and that needs to start with white and western fans. We don’t want to be the new Bronies, guys. We need to do better.  

#race #racism #c-drama #fandom #fan wank #fandom wank #microaggresions #culture #the untamed #bronies #whiteness #ficwriting #fanwriting #cultural bias #discourse

[readerstories]

Family Reunion - Aaron Hotchner x male!reader 1/5

Not me starting another multi-chapter fic oh no  (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (AO3)

Warnings/tags: fake dating au, friends to lovers, fluff, flirting

Wordcount: 1828

Summary: A family reunion when you're 40 is a big deal, and you love your family; but there's no way you're going in alone and single.

Perhaps the most nervous you have ever been, you knock on the door to Hotch’s office, the files in your hands giving you an excuse to actually be there.

“Come in.” You open the door, stepping in and quickly closing it behind you.

“Here’s my report from the latest case and those other documents you asked for.”

“Great, just put them on the corner of the desk.” Hotch’s desk is swimming in files and papers, which is nothing new, so you carefully put yours down where he indicated, stepping back, but not leaving the room. Hotch looks up at you, pen in one hand, a file in the other.

“Is there anything else?”

“Well yes, kinda.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“I need to ask you for a favor, a personal one. And you’re well within your right to say no of course, because it’s slightly insane, but I just thought-” Hotch stops you with a raised hand.

“What is it?” You take a deep breath.

“Okay, so, in two months there’s going to be a family reunion on my family’s big farm, the first in like 20 years, and I-”

“If this is about taking a vacation I can approve your time off-”

“No, yes, that’s not all. Fuck, how do I say this?” You scratch at your arm, then tug at your own sleeve. “I want to ask you to play my boyfriend for that weekend.” You have never seen the expression Hotch is currently sporting, his brows lifted in surprise, almost seeming to disappear into his hairline.

“What?”

“Like I said, I know it sounds insane.” You take a deep breath and sit down in one of the chairs in front of Hotch’s desk.

“Okay so, it’s the first big family reunion in 20 years, and last time I was 20 and got so much shit for not having anyone even though I’m the oldest sibling, just imagine the shit I would get now as a 40 year old without anyone.”

“And you bringing a man wouldn’t be a problem.”

“No, no one in my family gives a shit that I’m gay, but they will be catty and gossipy as all hell if I came alone.”

“So you think a widower with a child would be better.”

“Hotch, you’re a high standing profiler and a former lawyer, you would charm and dazzle them like no other.”

“And your boss.”

“Yes! That would give them just enough to chatter and gossip over to leave me alone. Mostly.”

“And for future reunions and gatherings?”

“Like I said, they don’t happen often, so I’ll just find someone by then and say we broke up amicably.” Silence blankets the room for the first time since you stepped in. You’re watching Hotch intensely, eyes flickering all over him, trying to read him. You can tell he’s thinking, you can almost see the gears turning, but you don’t know what he is going to say.

“Look, you don’t have to answer now, it’s still a while awa-”

“I’ll do it.” Surprised silence from you as Hotch seemingly nonchalantly goes back to writing something in a file.

“What?”

“I said, I’ll do it, but let us discuss this later, I believe we both got work to do.” You nod and get out of the chair, pausing at the door.

“Hotch?” His attention snaps to you once more. “Thank you.” You quickly mutter out before leaving his office.

-----

Neither of you mention anything for the next few days. You think about bringing it up a few times, sparing a few more glances at Hotch than usual while doing so.

The opportunity never arises it seems, until a few days later, when coming back from another case.

You just got off the jet, and you’re just on the way to your desk to pick up a book you had forgotten there that you wanted to finish before bed tonight when Hotch calls your name from his office. You groan, making Garcia, the only one still left, but who is already on her way out, give you a sympathetic glance.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing that I know of, but I’ll guess it got something to do with the case.” You sigh, starting to walk to Hotch’s office. “Good night Garcia.”

“Good night, and good luck!” The glass door closes behind her as you get to Hotch’s office.

“Close the door please.” Hotch is looking at something on his tablet when you arrive, but puts it away when you close the door.

“Please sit.” You do so, tired and slightly confused.

“Hotch, what is this about?” Hotch opens a drawer behind him, pulling out a bottle and two glasses.

“Scotch?”

“Yes please, but Hotch-”

“I thought we should go over our story together.” He says as he gets up, rounding the desk to sit in the other extra chair.

“Our story?”

“For your family reunion.”

“Oh yes, sorry, I’m just a little tired today.” Hotch fills up both glasses, handing you one, and you take a sip, letting the slight burn of it ground you. “I already put in the days for the time off, the dates are-”

“I saw, I approved them, and asked for the same four days off.”

“So any ideas?” You say as you lean back in the chair, Hotch mirroring you.

“Well, we met at work-”

“Obviously.”

“There was some attraction there from the beginning, but neither of us acted on it until... Three years ago?”

“I would say two, my mom would expect a fiance after three.” Aaron raises a brow, but nods.

“Okay, two years then. First date?” You take a sip of your scotch.

“Hm, tricky one. Maybe I saw you working late one night and managed to convince you out for dinner, then it goes from there.”

“I’m that easy to convince?” Hotch jokes.

“I can be very persuasive.” You say with a grin, which makes Hotch try to hide a smile.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Okay, so how about this? We were working on a case or some paperwork together, late, alone in the office. We leaned in a little to close while looking at the same paper, and then bam, I kissed you.” Both of you drink, Hotch with a raised brow.

“You kissed me?”

“You’re a stickler for rules. So you invited me out to dinner seconds later, then when you took me home you were the one to kiss me on my doorstep, and like they say, the rest was history.”

“A kiss on the first date? So much for rules.” You point at him as he jokes.

“A kiss on the first date is okay, it’s more than that that is reserved for the third date.”

“Right.” Hotch is wearing a small smile, and you can’t help but enjoy yourself. This was actually quite fun.

You end up spending another hour and two more glasses each of scotch planning out your story and how everything happened. Things like where your dates typically went, your favorite ways to spend time together, when you met Jack, and many other things to build your fake relationship up.

It’s when you stand and wait for the elevator that you find the time and memory to thank him.

“What for?”

“For doing this. You didn’t have to and-”

“It’s fine, I want to help you when I can, even if it is in weird ways.” Hotch pats your shoulder just as the doors of the elevator opens, revealing a very tired looking Garcia. Hotch lets his hand slip from your shoulder, brows knitted together in a frown.

“Garcia, what are you doing here this late?”

“Sir, I just forgot some things in my office, what, what about you guys?” Hotch and you glance quickly at each other. No way you were telling anyone about what was happening.

“We were just finishing up the reports for the case, Hotch stayed late so I insisted I could help so he could get home to Jack faster. Do you want us to hold the elevator for you?”

“No, no, you guys just go straight ahead.”

“Okay, good night Garcia.” You say as you and Hotch go into the elevator. Hotch presses the closing button, and you manage to catch the confused look you get from Garcia before the door closes in front of her.

“Do you think she will let it go?” You ask Hotch, watching the number tick downwards towards your destination.

“Let’s hope so.”

-----

She doesn’t let it go.

You learn of this a few days later when Garcia more or less ambushes you on your way back from the bathroom.

“What is up with you and Hotch?” You give her the most confused look you can muster.

“What? Nothing is up with me and him.”

“The two of you were staying late the other night and-”

“Like I said, that was for the report-”

“And now I see that you have both applied for the same four days off and put in the same contact address, so there’s not nothing there.” You stop in the hallway, looking from side to side, clenching your jaw before pulling Garcia gently into an empty meeting room.

“Okay, so there’s something, but you must promise not to tell anyone, not even Derek okay?” Garcia nods feverishly. “Garcia, I need you to say it to me.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone, not even Derek Morgan.” You sigh, leaning against the meeting room table and cross your arms.

“Look, I got a big family reunion coming up, and I’m 40 and do not want to go alone, my relatives would give me so much shit and gossip, so I needed a date.” You can see Garcia start to open her mouth in excitement, but stop her by holding up a finger. “A fake date. And that’s where Hotch comes in.”

“So he’s just a fake date?” You level Garcia with a deadpan look.

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Yes Garcia.”

“It’s just that you could have asked anyone here, so you know-”

“I came out as gay to my parents almost 15 years ago, so it had to be one of the men, and I thought Hotch was the most likely one to not tell anyone or give it away somehow.”

“But I figured it out.”

“Yes, because you looked at our time off requests, are you even supposed to do that?” Garcia's silence speaks for itself, and you can’t help but snort out a laugh.

“I’m not going to tell anyone.” You sigh, getting up and getting ready to leave. You open the door for Garcia.

“Good, because I know where you live and if you did I would be forced to come and paint your apartment and furniture white.” Garcia gasps, walking past you and hitting you in the bicep.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh I would.” You say with a grin as you follow Garcia as she heads to the next briefing.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x male reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #written #reader #reader insert #1000 #male!reader #family reunion

[spencers-renaissance]

Emergency Contact

Summary: When Spencer ends up in the hospital again, his emergency contact — who happens to be his boyfriend, Luke Alvez — is called. Too bad he hasn't told the team about him yet...

Tags: whump, h/c, hurt spencer, broken ribs, coming out, relationship reveal, protective derek, team as family, fluff, au: different first meeting

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Spencer Reid // (heavy on the Derek & Spencer friendship, too)

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Okay, so Emily was not in S11, but for this fic she is, because I wanted supportive Penemily and that's what I gave myself. Other than that, this fills the square "broken ribs" for my Bad Things Happen bingo card. Enjoy the whump mixed with fluff!

Spencer doesn’t mean to get hurt again, but he also isn’t exactly surprised when it happens. If anything, Hotch really needs to stop sending him out to scope places and suspects out by himself. Surely Tobias Hankel proved he’s a trouble magnet in that regard years ago.

The summerhouse the suspect rents is a nice enough place to lay incapacitated while he waits for back-up, he supposes, but he’s not exactly able to lie and enjoy the sunshine when his ribs have been smashed in with a metal baseball bat and he knows the suspect is currently hightailing it down the beach. Not to mention the fact that it’s worryingly difficult to breathe.

Still, it’s better than a dilapidated cabin in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Georgia, pumped full of heroin while his feet are whipped. Small mercies.

“Goddamnit, Spencer, again?” Derek asks amusedly when he finally arrives and crouches down by his side, but the undercurrent of worry in his voice doesn’t elude him.

“Sorry,” he wheezes, still winded and in immense pain from the ambush. “I didn’t see him coming.”

Derek raises a brow, chuckling slightly. “Yeah, pretty boy, I figured that.” His hand goes to Spencer’s hair as his expression furrows in concern again. “Did you see where he went? I’ll send the others after him while I go with you to the hospital.”

Spencer smiles a little, relieved that he won’t be alone. It’s become a strange sort of tradition to sit in one another’s hospital rooms after the job kicks their ass, and he’s glad Derek isn’t about to break it now.

“I saw him turn right out of the backdoor, but that’s all,” he says breathlessly, before cringing at the effort and folding in on himself even more.

“Okay, Spencer,” Derek says soothingly. “Just relax. The ambulance will be here any second.”

He obeys and closes his eyes as he listens to Derek call Hotch on the radio and send the team in the right direction before coming back to sit next to him on the floor.

“This might be one of the nicer places one of our unsubs has owned, huh?”

Spencer nods, mirroring Derek’s morbid amusement. “Crime pays better than investigating it,” he manages, smiling up at his friend.

He snorts. “You can say that again. With the way the market’s turned in the last couple years it’s more like this is my hobby and my properties are my day job, rather than the other way round.”

Spencer tries to reply, but he moves involuntarily in amusement, and a fresh wave of pain has him wincing again, trying to will the tears away.

“You’re alright, Spence,” Derek says gently, his hand returning to his hair. “Help will be here soon, okay?”

Thankfully, the medics do show up in a semi-timely fashion, and both of them are loaded into the back of the ambulance as the EMTs check him over, Derek’s hand not leaving his person unless it absolutely has to.

“How many times were you hit, Dr Reid?”

He cringes. “Four.” It’s almost embarrassing that the unsub got four hits in, and the only reason there weren’t more is because he was fleeing the scene, not because Spencer was able to fight back. He tries to remind himself that there isn’t much you can do when caught-off guard by a furious arsonist armed with a steel baseball bat, but his ego is still bruised. Albeit not as badly as his poor ribs.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Derek mutters under his breath, his grip tightening on Spencer’s shoulder minutely enough for him to know he isn’t doing it consciously.

Spencer smiles appreciatively, closing his eyes against the pain. The non-narcotic painkillers they’re feeding him through the IV really aren’t doing anything.

“I think you’ve managed to avoid internal bleeding,” the EMT says, all though he tacks on a pointed, “just. But I’m concerned about the possibility of a punctured lung. There’s a chance your trouble breathing is solely pain-induced, but I don’t like the way your chest sounds. The doctors will check everything out when we get to the hospital, and get you all patched up.”

“Hold in there,” Derek says urgently. “I really can’t have you dying on me, pretty boy.”

Spencer smiles as comfortingly as he can through the immense pain in his chest and his mangled breathing. “Trust me, I don’t intend on it.”

The x-ray reveals two broken ribs and confirms the paramedic’s suspicions of a punctured lung, although thankfully, minor enough to not require surgery. He’s set up with oxygen and regular nurse check-ups in a quiet room after the doctor is able to remove the excess air in his chest cavity.

“How are you doing, Spence?” Derek asks worriedly as he pulls up a chair next to Spencer’s bed as soon as he’s allowed to see him.

He pulls away his oxygen facemask to answer. “A bit better,” he says, but his voice is dry and raspy from the oxygen so he certainly doesn’t sound it. “The pain meds are actually working now.”

Derek’s tight, anxious expression relaxes slightly. “That’s at least something.”

Spencer nods tiredly, but before he can respond, a nurse is popping her head round the door. “Dr. Reid,” she says genially, “sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know that we’ve managed to get a hold of your emergency contact, and they’re on their way.”

Spencer’s eyes widen. How could he have forgotten? Granted, he was a little preoccupied with the whole punctured lung, broken ribs thing, but how could he have let it slip his mind that this little accident would lead to the secret he’s been keeping under wraps getting out?

When he’d first met Luke at an FBI gala last year, he never could have foreseen the most intimate and special relationship of his life coming to fruition, but it had. They’d connected on so many different levels, and the chemistry between them felt like something out of one of the fantastical romance novels Penelope reads, and when he’d asked if it was okay for Spencer to put Luke down as his updated emergency contact, he’d been rewarded with a wide, beautiful grin and a firm, heartfelt kiss.

It was serious enough, sure, and they were coming up on having been together for a year, but besides Emily and Penelope — who’d met Luke and developed an amusing, playful rivalry with him — he hadn’t introduced him to anyone on the team.

“On their way?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow in mild confusion. “Isn’t your contact Hotch? He already knows you’re in the hospital.”

Spencer just stares at him like a rabbit caught in the headlights, completely blanking on something to say. They’re working a local case, so it won’t be long before Luke is bursting into his hospital room armed with cuddles and comfort, and as much as he craves that, he’s too busy panicking about his team finding out to really look forward to it.

Eventually, after watching Derek’s face morph into even stronger, more suspicious confusion, he gives up. They’re going to find out anyway. “I’m dating someone.”

Derek’s face lights up. “Pretty boy!” he exclaims happily, playfully pushing his shoulder as gently as he can. “That’s amazing! Why didn’t you say something? What’s her name?”

Ah. That’s the primary reason he hadn’t told his team about Luke. He’s nowhere close to being ashamed about his sexuality, he accepted himself decades ago, but he’s still not worked up the courage to share that part of himself with his team. Excluding Penelope and Emily who have been together for years (he’s still baffled as to how the others haven’t caught on yet), everyone’s in the dark.

It had started as a basic survival tactic. He’d joined the FBI two years younger than the standard entry age in the early 2000s, and he was far too concerned with just getting by than living outwardly as a gay man. And then, as time went by and he knew his team was accepting and welcoming, he found it too awkward to try and correct people when they assumed he was straight. There just wasn’t ever the right time.

“I’m gay.”

Derek’s happy expression falls and for a split second, Spencer feels a flash of panic. Maybe Derek’s okay with gay people as long as they’re not his immediate friends, as long as he doesn’t playfully call them ‘pretty boy’ and play with their hair when they’re injured, maybe—

“Well, what’s his name, then?”

Spencer looks up from his panic, seeing Derek smiling again, eyes maybe even brighter than they were just seconds ago.

“Wait—”

“Spencer, if you think I’m gonna care that you’re gay — if you think any of us will care that you’re gay, then you have another thing coming,” Derek reassures him. “Wait, that isn’t why you didn’t tell us right?”

He suddenly looks distraught at the idea that Spencer might not have felt comfortable coming out to him, and Spencer rushes to correct him. “No! No, I know everyone would be fine with it, I just didn’t really know how to say it. Penelope and Emily know, but only by accident.”

Derek relaxes, chuckling a little. “I’m sure there’s quite a story there.”

Spencer blushes. “Maybe.”

“I’ll find out later,” he says confidently, winking at him, and something in Spencer loosens at the fact that Derek hasn’t changed his behaviour at all. “But I’m more interested in Mr. Sexy Emergency Contact Mystery Boyfriend Man right now.”

Spencer outright laughs at that, before wincing painfully as his ribs twinge, and he has to fit the oxygen mask around his face again and breathe deeply for a couple of breaths before the nasal cannula can suffice again.

“I met him around this time last year at an FBI gala actually,” Spencer manages. “Everyone on our team bailed except Penelope, Emily, and me. He’s called Luke and he works in the Fugitive Task Force. We just clicked as soon as we met, you know? We have this chemistry that I’ve never felt with anyone before, and we started dating pretty quickly. We actually moved in together last month when his lease was up, but we’re thinking of moving to a bigger, nicer place in Mount Pleasant. Luke’s actually had his eye on this one house that went up…”

He trails off when he notices Derek looking at him strangely, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “What?”

“Nothing,” Derek says gently. “You just look happy, pretty boy. When you started talking about Luke you got this happy, dopey smile on your face, and I’ve just never seen you like that. It’s nice.”

“Oh.” He blushes fiercely at the acknowledgement of just how soft he is for his boyfriend, but it’s not embarrassing, he’s just ridiculously happy and head over heels in love.

Still, feeling a little awkward at the attention, he raises the oxygen mask to his face just for something to do.

“Does he treat you well?” Derek asks seriously, suddenly looking like the FBI tough guy he really is.

Spencer grins and nods, pulling the mask away again. “So good. He’s one of those people that looks out for everyone before himself, you know? He listens to my rambles and tangents like he actually knows and cares about what I’m saying, and he insists on making me every meal we’re both home for. Every day off, he brings me breakfast in bed, and he’ll even suffer through my documentaries even though his favourite thing to watch is action movies. He’s the best boyfriend I could hope for.”

“Good,” Derek says fiercely, even though he’s smiling just a little at the thought of Spencer being taken care of. “But if anything ever changes, I won’t hesitate to—”

“Spencer?” Derek’s interrupted by the door flying over, and a very harried looking Luke Alvez rushing towards the bed, seemingly not noticing the man literally threatening his death right next to him. “Oh my God, Spencer, I was so worried, I thought—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer says, voice still a little weak. Can’t he at least sound convincing when he’s trying to tell these people that he’s fine? “I’m okay, I’ll be out of here before you know it.”

“Are you sure, baby? Do I need to get the doctor? Have they been looking after you, because I swear—”

“Luke,” he laughs, interrupting his worried tangent. “I’m fine, I promise.”

He watches amusedly as Luke sags with relief. “Oh thank God,” he breathes, and it’s then that he appears to notice Derek. “Oh, shit.”

He looks to Spencer with an alarmed look in his eyes, knowing full well that he isn’t out to his team yet, but before apologies can start dripping off his lips, he rushes to fill him in.

“It’s okay. I told him.”

Luke’s face brightens in an illuminating smile, his eyes wide and happy. “You did? I’m so proud of you, cariño.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Derek says, rising from his chair to shake Luke’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you in the last ten minutes.”

Luke grins. “All good things, I hope.”

Derek winks teasingly at Spencer. “Oh, better than good. Spencer here seems quite gone for you.”

He blushes again, but Luke just sits on the edge of his hospital bed and takes his face in his hand. “Well, I’m just as gone for him as he is for me. Probably even more so.”

“No way,” Spencer protests as vehemently as he can with an oxygen mask glued to his face again. “I definitely love you more.”

His words are half swallowed by the mask, and half muffled by the gaggle of FBI agents pouring into his room, all talking over one another loudly.

Luke jumps off the bed and stands to attention as they all quieten down, three of them in complete shock, one of them — Emily, recognising Luke — in anticipation of what’s about to happen.

“Uh,” Spencer starts unsurely, eyes flicking between his boyfriend and his team. “Meet my boyfriend?”

There’s a brief pause before everyone jumps into action again: Emily greeting him warmly, JJ introducing herself, and Hotch and Rossi giving him firm, threatening handshakes as a warning that no harm is to come to their pseudo-son.

Spencer knows they don’t have to worry about that, though, not with Luke, and they’re quickly shown that when he takes his rightful place sat on the edge of his hospital bed again, hands smoothing his hair gently.

“Thank you,” he says to Derek, voice soft and sincere as everyone’s sat leisurely around the room, doing their own thing now they’re calmed down after the initial meet and greet, “for taking care of him. I worry about him, you know, and it’s good to see that he has so many good people looking after him.”

“We all do,” Derek replies, looking over at Spencer fondly. “We’re all incredibly overprotective. Residual effects from him joining the team so young, probably.”

“I can see that,” Luke smiles, looking over at Hotch and Rossi, who still have their eyes trained on him, despite having warmed up to him quickly.

“Well between us all,” Emily interjects diplomatically, “I think we have Spencer covered. He has a lot of good people looking out for him.”

Spencer knows they all think he’s asleep, but he can’t help but say something. “I definitely do,” he slurs tiredly, causing Luke to quickly turn his attention to him, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead as he runs his fingers through his hair with the hand not intertwined with Spencer’s. “Love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Luke murmurs. “And so does everybody in this room.”

Smiling softly and feeling safe as anything, Spencer finally gives into the heavy pull of tiredness, and lets himself drift off to sleep.

I'm such a sucker for coming out fics omg, I hope you didn't mind that element! But God, I've missed writing Ralvez fics. If anyone has any Ralvez prompts then please send them my way because I want to write them so badly but I really find it hard to find plot for them! <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @spencerspecifics @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @ropoto

#my writing #ralvez #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #luke alvez #spencer reid #derek morgan #hurt spencer reid #spencer reid whump #luke alvez x spencer reid #spencer reid x luke alvez #spencer reid/luke alvez #luke alvez/spencer reid #ralvez fic #ralvez fanfic

[ali-kitkat]

Strangeness and Charm

MGI 2021 One-Year Anniversary Gift Exchange

hello, im back for a little post for @khneltea you are the recipient for enemies to lovers and by gods i hope you like this! romantic, or well its implied, daminette enemies to lovers! also tagging @issaxcharlie as per requested in the server!

fic is under the cut!

Marinette understood that the bat team was sent to Paris to help her; now that it was just herself against Papillon, but she really wanted to kick Robin’s teeth in. She couldn’t stand him. He was a self-centered, entitled, little shit. How dare he come into her city and tell her how to do her job? 

The akuma attacks had been sporadic since she had revoked Chat Noir’s miraculous and the only attack that had occurred since Robin and the rest of the bats had arrived was Mister Pigeon. However, if she was being honest with herself that hardly counted as an attack in her or anyone’s books anymore. 

It took all of her self control to not throttle him on the rooftop, after she had cast the miraculous cure, when he said “If this is what qualifies as an attack for you, I would hate to see how you would fare against even one of Gotham’s villains.” She was livid, he had based his opinions on akuma attacks by one attack and one attack only. 

He had only been in Paris for a week and this is how he treated her, because of one little flare up by their resident akuma magnet? He had no idea what even counted as an attack in Paris nowadays.

Mister Pigeon? Definitely not. 

Siren? Absolutely.

Due to him being close to her in age, she had constantly paired up with him during her nightly patrols and she hated it. She wondered if this was his team's way of trying to get him to socialize or work on his people skills. If so, they were doing an absolutely shit job of it. 

At this point she really had debated whether or not being on Batman’s shit list would be worth dangling Robin from the Eiffel Tower by his ankles. She could do it. She knows she could, she had done it before in fact, to Chat before she took his miraculous away from him. In the end, she decided that it wouldn’t be worth the trouble it would cause her; but if she did accidentally hit him with her yo-yo while patrolling with him that night, no one would be the wiser. 

She elected to ignore the muttered curses and detoured from her usual route in an attempt to get away from the miserable bastard. Of course, Robin then scolded her for running away and being an inferior hero. At that point she decided to put even more distance between them, only to prevent herself from injuring a potential ally. If he could even be called that with his constant berating and demeanor.

It was then that she heard a scream, an akuma. Kwami, she hoped it wasn’t Sandboy again, especially since his usual appearances were during the night. 

She cast a quick glance at Robin and decided to leave him be. She took off in the direction of the scream, he was preoccupied by something on his gauntlet, if the blue light it was emitting was an indicator. Besides she had been fighting akumas for years now, the last thing she needed was Robin’s attitude and chiding rather than his help. 

He didn’t need to see her nightmares either if it was in fact Sandboy who was akumatized as well.  Sure, she wasn’t exactly the same thirteen year old girl she was when she first started battling akumas but Robin certainly didn’t need any more ammunition to use against her. 

He didn’t need to see that her nightmares were of herself, whispering in her ear, telling her to give up. That she was a failure, that she should just let Papillon have the miraculous. It would all be over, it wasn’t like she would remember that she was Ladybug anyways. Whatever wish he would make would erase the current timeline out of existence. She hated seeing it.

When she touched down on the street, the first thing she noticed was that it was empty. There was no sign of any akuma, no destruction or frozen bodies. There wasn’t anything, it was too empty, as if the people had just up and disappeared. It was incredibly unnerving. 

Casting another look around, she saw something dart into the shadows of an alleyway. She jumped to a neighboring rooftop and looked down. There it was, the akuma. They didn’t look like anything special, no obnoxious colours or outrageous outfits. Just someone in a simple, sleek suit in muted colours, their hair tied back in a dark braid and a drooping butterfly mask that looked like ruined eyeliner. 

They looked up and made eye contact. She flung herself back on the rooftop. The akuma’s eyes looked empty, there was no emotion or life in them. It was disconcerting. 

She looked back down into the alleyway to try to get another read on the akuma. They were gone. She rose to her feet and looked around again, just in case she missed something. 

“Well, well, well. Look at what we have here,” a low, gravelly voice called out. It sounded as if they had gargled glass. Marinette quickly turned around to see the akuma at the other end of the rooftop. “A little ladybug all alone. Let us see what kind of memories you hold, heroine.”

Then suddenly the akuma was in front of her, arm outstretched and their hand was pressed against her forehead. She watched as her memories played out in real time before her and the akuma. She watched as her memories played side by side, all at once. It was headache inducing. 

Marinette saw the first friend she made in almost a decade. She saw Lila threaten her and her friendships. She saw the day she had met Tikki, and the day she had received guardianship of the miracle box from Fu. She watched as flashes of her homelife flashed by, the few happy memories of her parents before the bakery’s popularity increased, before they began to neglect her. Before Lila’s honeyed words ruined what little she had left of them. 

She watched as memories of previous akuma attacks played out. Of how Chat Noir acted away from the crowds and cameras, how treated her like an object to be won rather than a person. She watched as she had scrubbed herself raw in the shower after he had touched her, as she scrubbed her teeth after he forced a kiss on her.

She watched as the attacks ended and her reunions with her friends had turned into screaming fits. The shouts of how she was flakey and that if she was just going to hang out with them only to ditch them halfway through their time together that they were no longer going to be friends anymore, that they were better off without her. She watched as Lila smiled from across the room, where she comforted her former friend. As Lila’s promises came to fruition.

She watched as her nightmares flashed by just as quick of her looking in the mirror, looking at the scars that the miraculous cure hadn’t healed. As her reflection had started to speak. That she should give up, let Papillon have the miraculous. That she wasn’t worth it, that she was all alone. As the whispered words of her former friends had joined in. She watched as images of Chat had appeared telling her that she was his and no one else’s.

She watched as she was left to pick up the pieces of her life.

Suddenly she was wrenched back and someone was holding her against their person. She could see one of the bat-themed vigilantes fighting against the akuma, it looked to be Red Hood with the way the streetlight was glinting off his helmet. She could hear herself breathing heavily and could feel the tears streaming down her face as she was swung away from the akuma.

When the person holding her landed on a different rooftop, she wrenched herself out of their arms. She hit the rooftop with a thud and scrambled as far away from them as she could possibly get; then she buried her face in her knees. She covered her ears with her hands, hoping to block out the unrelenting images of her memories and nightmares. She didn’t want to see or hear anything. She certainly didn’t want to see anyone’s pitying looks or hear their scorn. She just wanted to forget, this akuma was most definitely Papillon’s newest masterpiece. 

She flinched when a hand settled on her shoulder and tried to inch away from it, without removing her hands from her ears. Unfortunately, the hand remained, grounding her ever so slightly. Finally she gave in and looked up. Robin was watching her, but rather than disdain or pity, his face was pinched with concern. She huffed out a laugh, it was weak and made Robin flinch. She shrugged his hand off and stood; she held her head high and wiped her tears away. Ignoring his questioning looks, she tossed her yo-yo out. 

“Ladybug,” he said softly. 

“Don’t. Whatever you have to say, keep it to yourself. I don’t care,” she croaked. She didn’t want to hear anything he had to say, she just wanted to be done with this night and its horrors.

“Ladybug,” he repeated. “Regardless of whatever you might think or feel, you are not alone. There are plenty of other heroes who know exactly how you feel, who have been exactly where you are.” 

That stopped her in her tracks. Of course Robin of all people had seen her memories, her nightmares and her fears. She turned and glared at him, though she imagined it wasn’t all that effective. What with her tear streaked face and red eyes. 

“I know how you feel,” Robin sighed and she deflated. “That your best is not enough, that you, yourself are not good enough. I have been in your shoes. I have felt alone.”

“Well, you certainly don’t act like it,” she sniped bitterly, closing in on herself.

“I apologize,” Robin stated. 

“What?” 

“I am sorry,” he repeated. “I realize that I may have come off as too brusque and in doing so have diminished your accomplishments.” 

“Why?” she asked. “Why are you apologizing? You have nothing to be sorry for. You were right, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just playing at being a hero. My villain just found out my identity and so did all of you and your team.”

“That being, it was not, nor is it, your fault,” he replied. “I made assumptions of which I am at fault for, and of which caused the predicament of which you have found yourself in. You cannot quit or give up because of several imbeciles, because if you do, you let them win. You do not strike me as a sore loser, Ladybug.”

Marinette let out a laugh and watched as Robin’s expression shifted. He no longer looked concerned, but was now smiling wryly at her. She returned the smile. “Thank you Robin.” 

“You are welcome,” he said. “Now I believe you have an akuma to take care of? Would you care for some assistance?” 

“I would,” she replied.

“I look forward to working with you more,” he said, “Marinette.” 

Marinette nodded, feeling her face flush at the way Robin said her name. “I do too Robin. I do too.”

#maribat #daminette #mgi 1 year anniversary #ali-kitkat's writing #ali-kitkat writes #i live

[troubatrain]

tis the damn season - m. tkachuk

a/n: as we all know, i am an absolute whore for a christmas fic and when i listened to evermore yesterday i knew this needed to be done. i literally haven’t written anything this fast in forever but i hope you guys like it!! (also tagging @igor-shestyorkin​ @blueskrugs​ & @fenwaynightlights​ for reading this last night and telling me it was good so i’d actually finish it ily)

The second you walked into the party, Matthew’s eyes didn’t leave you. He knew you were coming, but watching you step into his parent’s house with a plate of your famous chocolate chip cookies and a smile that made his heart skip a beat, was almost taunting him. You dated forever ago, the last real relationship Matthew had ever been in, and by the looks of it - it was staying like that. You greeted everyone, down to the biggest hug to his grandparents who swore you were going to be Matthew’s wife one day. That was because that’s just how you were, kind and smart and constantly impressing anyone who Matthew introduced you too. Every teammate he had at the time loved you, and he knew if you were in Calgary his team now would be the same. Brady adored you, even admitting to his brother he still called you for girl advice because if Matthew fumbled the bag when it came to you there was no way Brady should take his advice. Matthew couldn’t even think about your relationship with his sister, or how crushed she was when you broke up. Then there was his parents, his mom swore it would be okay. That it was just Matthew’s first love and eventually he’d find his forever but he knew she was lying. Matthew found forever with you, and he let it implode because his dream was just more important at the time. Now, he could be at the top of the world and none of it mattered because you weren’t by his side.

Matthew just felt dumb now, because you were on to bigger and better things and you weren’t hung up on your high school ex-boyfriend. You went off to college, crushed it, and moved back into St. Louis with a near perfect job offer and success practically radiating off of you. He was standing in his kitchen in the worst Bud Light Christmas sweater like an eighteen year old frat boy and you looked every bit like the goddess Matthew knew you were. The perfect Christmas red dress you were wearing sat on your frame flawless, and it was obvious that red was still your color.

“I can leave if you want me to?” You ask, leaning into Matthew when you finally made your way over to him. Your voice was low, mouth close to Matthew’s ear while you hugged him so no one could hear you ask. You were an infinitely better person than he was, so of course you asked him if it was okay to stay.

“You’re always welcome here, you know that,” Matthew answers, sipping his beer for some liquid courage he desperately needed.

“Just because your mom invites me doesn’t mean I need to be here,” You shrug, “Maybe you’ve got someone here…”

He would never. Matthew had never even considered it, what it would be like to bring someone home that wasn’t you. There wasn’t one person in Calgary who could measure up, and despite the fact that his family loved him and would accept anyone with open arms, deep down Matthew knew you would always be on their minds.

“I don’t,” Matthew says, trying to stop himself from wrapping his arm around your waist while you stand with your chest still pressed against his from your hello hug, “I mean what would be the point? They don’t make cookies like you do.”

Matthew had to joke, cover up the fact that he was never able to let go of what you had and choke it down with beer he was drinking. He liked seeing you, the same times he did every year. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the occasional summer BBQ was something he looked forward to, sometimes he even hoped for an extra reason for you to both be somewhere. He knew you’d come, because you wouldn’t dare deny his mother’s invitation.

“Of course you noticed I made them,” You rolled your eyes, pushing Matthew back jokingly, “Remember when you used to beg me to make them-”

You stopped yourself when you noticed where this was going, you never brought up the before times. The times when Matthew would give you his best puppy dog eyes for you to bake him something, followed by a plea to just look the other way when he devoured the entire plate.

“Maybe it’s best we broke up, I probably never would’ve gotten drafted by eating these,” Matthew teases, sliding past you to grab a cookie off the counter and taking a big bite, “Because fuck these are good.”

Matthew’s moans in delight sent a chill up your spine. You hated that he could still do that to you, because it was the same thing every time. You’d see him, and for a moment you’d think that this would work itself out. You could get back together, and falling in love would be just as sweet a second time, but it wouldn’t work. You were settling into your own, a fresh lease signed in your new apartment you were going to move into after New Year’s, and Matthew was going to go back to Calgary where he was a big deal. That was always the dream, to make it big in the league and make his parents proud. Matthew was doing it, not that you ever doubted him, but you were proud nonetheless.

The thing was, because Matthew was doing the damn thing, he gave up you. It was like a deal he made with the devil when he was seventeen, he could have everything he ever wanted if he didn’t have you to hold him back. You always knew that was why he broke up with you, it was the right person at the wrong time.

“It’s nice to see you Matthew,” You muse, biting the inside of your cheeks to hold back the grin on your face. You stopped the conversation before it started, constantly trying to make this as painless as possible, but it wasn’t always easy.

“Wait, uh, you’re going to be here until Christmas right?” Matthew asks, grabbing your attention before you slipped out of the kitchen. Matthew was hopeful, catching a flight a few days earlier than he usually could and landing before Christmas gave him more time to see you.

“I’ll be at my parents house,” You nod, thinking about your childhood bedroom that was currently covered in moving boxes while you waited to settle into your new place.

“Oh sweet,” Matthew takes another swing of his drink, trying to keep his cool because you were the only person who made him completely uncool.

“Yeah, sweet, I’ll see you around,” You wave, disappearing into the kitchen. Matthew takes a deep breath, collecting his thoughts for a minute until Brady stepped in front of him. His little brother scoffed, a stupid smirk on his face when he finally spoke.

“Dude that was painful to watch.”

***

Matthew had no idea what the fuck he was doing. His feet were just carrying all two hundred and two pounds of his body in the exact direction of your house. He was drunk, well over the limit of how many whiskey shots he could even handle. He looked at his watch, it was almost three in the morning but if he didn’t get it out now when would he ever. He loved you, and all he could think about is what would happen if he could have just had one more night with you. Maybe you’d feel it, you’d always been pretty intuitive with his feelings, because he was awful with them. He had to make his case, did he even have one?

Oh hey Y/N, I know I’m hammered and it’s three in the morning the day before Christmas Eve but I want you to know I’m still in love with you.

That wouldn’t work, and he was going to have to do better than that. He could turn around and go home, but if he had to watch another one of your Instagram stories and pray that whoever was in them wasn’t your boyfriend again - he would lose his mind before he made it to the holidays next year. He snuck past the gate into your yard, not surprised to see your whole house was sleeping quietly. He picked up a few pebbles from your mother’s garden, shaking them in his hand and hoping you remembered the way he let you know he was outside when you’d sneak out in high school.

One.

Two.

Three.

You were woken up by the sound of three pebbles hitting your window, and you rub your eyes in disbelief by what you were hearing. Matthew wasn’t outside your window at three in the morning looking for you, why would he even think about it? 

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask, poking your head out the window and crossing your arms to battle the cool air blowing through.

“Come down?” Matthew asks, wiping his palms on the back of his jeans and giving you his best smile. A real one, because you’d always been able to tell when it was fake.

You should’ve closed the window, and pushed Matthew to the back of your mind until you found yourself creeping on his Instagram again. You were always a good listener, and you always tried to do the right thing but Matthew was your vice. He’d always been a little bit a bad boy, but never enough to stop you from coming back for more. So you opened your window a little more, slipping down and scaling down your house just like you used to.

Matthew could have pretended like he didn’t notice, his last name faded on the back of the hoodie you were wearing, but he couldn’t. You looked just as cute in it as you did all of those years before, “Seven was such a good number on you, I wish I could have kept it.”

You could feel the heat on your cheeks, hoping Matthew couldn’t catch it in the moonlight, “Why are you here?”

“I want one more night,” Matthew takes a deep breath, standing his ground, “I, uh fuck-”

Matthew Tkachuk had never been good with words. He put his foot in his mouth, all the time, but his plea was something you never thought you’d hear. It was Christmas, you were lonely, and a part of you wondered the same thing. So you said fuck it and decided that this was your problem later, pressing your lips to Matthew’s. Your hands gripped his shirt, trying to get as close to him as you could. Matthew was dumbfounded, wrapping his arms around your waist, his fingers digging into your sides.

“Can you be quiet?” You ask, pointing at the back door. It was the middle of the night and your parents room was on the first floor but if Matthew was quiet enough you could get him upstairs easily - you used to do it all the time.

Matthew nodded eagerly, following you inside and tip-toeing up the stairs. He was doing a terrible job, either he’d gotten bigger or the floors in your parents house had gotten creakier.

“You said you could be quiet,” You tease, letting Matthew push you against the door, he twisted the lock, smirking at you.

“I’m a lot bigger than I used to be,” Matthew declares, fake puffing out his chest.

“I noticed…” You muse, running over your hands over his shoulders. He’d gotten broader with age, and it wasn’t something that was lost on you. You press your lips to his, throwing your hands around his neck and pulling him closer. Your fingers crept up to his curls, tugging on them slightly. Matthew smirked against your lips, “I missed that.”

“I missed you,” Matthew mutters, wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you to your bed. You squeal, tucking your head into shoulder to stop the noise, “Who’s the loud one now?”

“Well don’t stop kissing me then,” You tease, grabbing Matthew and pulling him on top of you. You worked quickly, a pile of clothes in the corner of your that was going to be addressed later. Matthew’s lips were on your neck, his finger circling your clit while you bit your lip hold back a moan, “Matty please-”

The nickname slipped your lips so easily it was like you never should have stopped calling him that. Matthew took notice, and it was like music to his ears, “Anything you want babe.”

“Fuck me,” You breathe out, desperate for as much of him as you could get. Matthew slipped out of his boxers, pumping himself a few times before he gave you a look. You nodded, giving him the go ahead and pulling his lips back to yours. Matthew slipped inside you, and it’d never felt better.

Matthew was better now, much much better. His hips were snapping into you, a near perfect pace while grunts left his lips. The pleasure was almost too much, and you could feel your nails scratching into his back while you bit into his shoulder to keep yourself quiet. His hand snaked down to your clit, “Cum for me babe, c’mon.”

You clenched around him, the sensation was enough to send Matthew over the edge, spilling into you. He dropped to his elbows, placing lazy kisses on your skin while you basked in the post sex glow. Matthew’s skin was glistening against the moonlight from your window, his breath in your ear while you caught yours and it all felt right.

“You know you have to go now,” You remind him, “My dad will murder you if he catches you up here.”

“I know,” Matthew bumps his nose against yours, pressing one more kiss to your lips, “I’ll see you tomorrow? Or later?”

Later. It had completely slipped your mind that in just a few hours you were going to be forced to run an annual day before Christmas Eve 5k with the Tkachuk’s like you did every year. The idea was somehow worse than doing it on Thanksgiving, and now you had to see Matthew after you let him fuck you in your childhood bedroom. You watched Matthew dress himself, hopping out your window and back to his own house.

Now you just needed some sleep.

***

You felt like shit, and you were missing the iced coffee you didn’t have a chance to get while you trailed behind your parents to meet the Tkachuk’s. You greeted everyone, stopping at Matthew last, you were unsure of how to even greet him after what you’d just done a few hours before. He didn’t think anything of it, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest.

“Here,” Matthew says, nudging his cup towards you. You assumed it was coffee, but then the taste of a mimosa hit your tongue.

“Jeez,” You choke, coughing while you take down the champagne with just a hint of orange juice.

“Do you think I was going to run this sober? You wore me out last night,” Matthew teases, and he could feel Brady’s gaze on him.

The wheels in Brady’s head were turning. He was suspicious, catching Matthew sneak back into the house early in the morning, and now watching the two of you - it was clear. It became even clearer when they started running, because Brady knew Matthew wasn’t that slow and he didn’t wasn’t going to let Brady beat him. He was though, jogging behind Brady with you and laughing at whatever you said. There was one thing that was clear, Matthew got over his dumb fear of talking to you and finally did. His brother was happy, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was going to watch this explode in your faces in a few days. Matthew would go back to Calgary and just the first time you broke, it was going to be ugly.

***

The winter in St. Louis was brisk, but Matthew’s warm body next to you was enough to fight it. Your head was on his chest, and you were snoring softly. Matthew picked you up a few hours after you got home, driving up to the same lake you snuck off to in high school. He stole Brady’s truck, driving off with a bunch of blankets without giving Brady an answer as to where he was going. It was supposed to be romantic, but you’d always been prone to falling asleep when you were with him.

Matthew didn’t have a complaint in the world, you slept the same way you used to. Your head on his chest, a leg tangled with his and your hands clutched to his shirt so he couldn’t move. He wasn’t going anywhere. Matthew would let you sleep the entire day away if he could have. He carded his hands through your hair, a content sigh leaving his lips.

Matthew often wondered what would have happened if you never broke up. If you’d followed him to Calgary and what that would have been like. Maybe you’d still be together, and after all these years he’d start looking for a ring. If you’d buy a house together, maybe even be that family that houses wayward hockey players just like his parents did. You’d be the person he got to share looks with across the room when he was forced to have conversations he didn’t want to have. He’d get to take you family skates and you’d get to see him play and you’d live happily ever after.

Reality was always much more cruel, and it wasn't pretty. You had a life in St. Louis, one that didn’t include him. You were moving along in your life just fine without him. You didn’t need Matthew and it was dumb of him to think you’d drop it all for him. You never asked him to stay, and it would be unfair to ask you to wait around.

“I can hear you thinking, you might start to malfunction soon bubs,” You whisper, your voice still laced with sleep. You meant to run a hand through his hair, but the palm of your hand just hit his forehead while you moved it back down slowly. Matthew chuckles, the silly nicknames you gave him seemed to come out without a second thought, and it felt good to be called any of them by you.

“Just thinking about you,” Matthew breathes, and you pick up your head. Matthew shoots you a smile, but you knew he was faking it.

“Matty-” You take one deep breath, “Don’t ask me to come with you, you know it’s not fair to me.”

Your voice was cracking, pleading Matthew to just not have this conversation. You weren’t ready for it, because it meant accepting defeat. The universe wasn’t going to allow you to be together, and that’s just how it was going to be.

“I don’t want to go back to Calgary,” Matthew whispers, more to himself than you. He did want to go back, but he wanted to go back with you.

“You have to,” You sit up, a chill running through your body from the loss of Matthew’s body next to yours. You rub your arms to warm up, “You have to because we’re just not going to make it work Matty.”

Matthew nods solemnly, like his heart just broke all over again. You were right, you always were, it just seemed naïve to think you’d both be any different now than you were the first time, “Let me take you home.”

The car ride was awkward. The only thing cutting through the silence was the Christmas music playing on the radio. You sat with your head pressed against the window, counting down the streets until you finally hit yours. Matthew halted the car, and you gave him one more look before you stepped out of the car, “Tell your parents I said Merry Christmas.”

“I will,” Matthew nods, and those were the last words you heard him say before you walked up your stairs. Matthew waited for you to be inside before he drove off, a small part of him hoping you’d run back to the car and tell him you wanted him too. You didn’t, and that was just how it was going to be.

***

Christmas was awful, the past two days seemed to pass were pure agony. You were sad, and knowing Matthew was about three blocks and four houses away wasn’t helping. You were counting down the hours until he was back in Calgary, away from you and you could finally grieve him for the final time. The last nail in the coffin of what was once your first love had yet to be hammered in but once he was gone that would settle it.

You had two more hours until you knew his flight would leave, and you were so close to the finish line you could taste it. You were home alone, your parents still making their way to a few neighbors' houses to spend the last few moments of the holiday with their friends. You were sulking, a wine bottle stolen from your mother’s collection and the Grinch on your TV. 

A doorbell was the only thing to interrupt you, and you could see a tuft of curly hair through the window. Matthew was standing outside your door, pacing back and forth while he waited for you to open it. You thought about acting like you weren’t home, maybe he’d leave and never come back. You opened it, not even having a chance to open your mouth before he spoke.

“Come with me,” Matthew pleads, “I love you, I still do and I always have and we’re meant to be together. There isn’t anyone I want more by my side than you, and I know it’ll be hard but I’m not ready to let you slip through my fingers again.”

“Matthew-” You interrupt grabbing his arm to stop his pacing, “Listen to yourself.”

“I am, and I want this, I never wanted to give up you and I just can’t fly back there with people who don’t know when I’m faking a smile or when I don’t want to be somewhere,” Matthew explains, running a hand over his face, “You’re the best I’ll ever have and I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

“I’ll come until New Year’s,” You agree, Matthew’s face breaking out into a very real smile, “We need to talk about this Matthew.”

“You talk, I’ll listen, you can have whatever you want,” Matthew agrees, because he’d move the sun if he could for you. His lips pressed against yours, pushing you against the same front door he kissed you in front of on your first date. The porch light still flickers the way it used to while Matthew’s hands gripped your face because he was afraid to let you go. You both finally pulled, Matthew mumbling his next words against your lips.

Tis the damn season huh?

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #My writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

[writingwife-83]

About Me 🙋‍♀️

I figured I should make one of these and pin it to the top of my blog. I’ll edit/add things on this post if ever needed.

My Tumblr-

I do not routinely follow back. I just like to keep my dash pretty minimal and curated.

I mostly post and reblog content related to BBC Sherlock, Star Wars, writing, and fandom. My ship and fandom preferences are my business. Don’t like, don’t follow.

I always read the tags on reblogs.

I do not post or reblog content that’s explicit, so this blog is safe for under 18.

I view reposts as theft, and I don’t want that on my blog. I try to be careful, but if you see that I’ve reblogged something that is a repost, please let me know so I can delete it.

I disagree with the use of A.I. art, so if I see you routinely creating or reblogging it, you’ll be blocked. If you see me accidentally reblog A.I. art, please let me know so I can delete it.

I am careful about tagging ships and possible triggers if it’s something I’m aware of, in case anyone has filters. If I forget to tag something or make an error, don’t hesitate to politely let me know!

I love receiving asks, but anon is currently turned off due to a number of rude ones I’ve gotten.

I care deeply about the serious issues going on in the world, but tumblr is not where I express that. This blog is primarily for my writing hobby, so it’s just for fun and entertainment.

This is my main blog, but I am also a mod on the blog sherlolly-ily-fest.

I’m never going to be willing to spread a stranger’s request for money on this site, so please don’t ask me to.

My Writing-

I still have a handful of fics from early years on FanFiction dot net, but I have all my fics on Archive of Our Own. I do see and respond to comments/reviews on both sites.

I mostly write for sherlolly from BBC Sherlock and reylo from Star Wars, but I do occasionally write for some other ships.

I do not write mature or explicit content, so if you prefer that in fics, I’m not for you.

I have never abandoned a multi chapter in all the years I’ve been writing fanfics. If I’m gradually posting a WIP, you can feel confident that I won’t permanently drop it.

I value feedback and polite suggestions, but please understand that fanfic is free and therefore it’s my call as the writer to decide how I want things done. Don’t like, don’t read!

I only allow works of mine to be translated with my permission, and I do not ever give permission for my works to be copied and reposted. If you wish to share a fic of mine, you may only do so by sharing a direct link to where I have posted that fic.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading and here’s some virtual cookies! 😄🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

#about me #blog intro #thanks for reading

[votederpycausemufins]

College has stopped kicking my butt enough for me to post another chapter of the the Scattered au fic. this one is meant to be a parallel to last chapter, so you might want to reread that one.

scattered au is by @hermitcraftheadcanons and their community

reading tag list: still just @helleborusangel right now. Send an ask if you want to be added on.

Xisuma pulled himself out of the water, coughing a bit from what had gotten past his filter. He tried to look around only to squint at the light from the surface. He didn’t think he had swum that far up, but for all he knew, he was able to push himself that far to finally escape the warden. So when something suddenly attacked him and didn’t immediately kill him, Xisuma quickly fought back.

While initially swimming, he thought he had felt something though wasn’t sure, but this was much more clear. And slimelike, it seemed, since that’s what it felt like when he attacked it. But the following grunt of pain from the attacker sounded much more human like.

Xisuma did his best to focus on whatever was there, but he was seeing double. He looked back and forth, trying to tell if it was just from the intense lighting change or from there actually being two… things there. And it seemed it was the latter when the things looked at each other.

“Well, that’s probably not good.” The two things spoke in unison, which didn’t help the headache that Xisuma could feel coming on. Still, he was able to focus enough to get a good look at whatever was there and was a slime hybrid of sorts similar to Jevin, though instead of his very clearly blue slime, these two - one? They were more of a sea green. Plus from what Xisuma could guess, they were able to split like a regular slime, something Jevin couldn’t.

“Sorry.” Xisuma spoke up, it finally clicking in his mind that he had likely damaged them enough to make them split. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you were attacking- I mean, maybe you were, but this does seem to be where you’re staying, so I guess I invaded your home a bit.”

“I guess. So, are you from around here?” The slime pair asked, making Xisuma shake his head. “Huh, neither am I… are we… This is the first time I’ve split so-”

Xisuma tilted his head a little. “I guess it is pretty safe here. Have you had any deaths so far?”

“I thought that was going to be my first.”

“So that would explain the lack of death messages as opposed to Gemini or Pearlescent. Do you know either of them?”

“No, sorry, not really.” The slime people answered. “Well, uh, there’s just enough here if you need basic tools, but not much else. I’ve got a pickaxe- crafting table.”

Xisuma looked between the two. “I think both would be nice. I spawned underground and had trouble with getting anything at all.” And before he could say more, the slime people were handing him those two items and a few more.

“You’re on your own for food though. Berries aren’t the most filling, so I’ve been eating them all up. They taste nice though.” And to prove their point, each of the slime people went after a berry, though they went after the same one and ended up fighting over it.

Xisuma nodded and went up to one of the walls. This would be much easier than getting the warden to do all his mining, seeing as how he would now be in control. He started to staircase out of the cave, placing what few torches he had until he found more coal. Technically he didn’t need to, but then something could spawn and head down and attack the slime pair. And Xisuma didn’t want to never return and just leave them there alone forever. So when he finally did get up to the surface, Xisuma went straight back down. “Are you sure you want to- er, what are you doing?”

The slime people looked back over to Xisuma and shrugged. “Trying to fuse back together or something. Why did you come back?”

Xisuma wasn’t sure exactly what happened, but the next thing he really knew, he was going back up towards the surface, his arms full from holding the slime pair, one cradled in each arm. Sure, they said they would be safe alone in the cave, but X couldn’t help the feeling that they wouldn’t be safe so far away. He was pretty sure it was just from his worry about everyone else, and this was just one person he could protect, but Xisuma couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else going on.

.

.

.

Hypno leaned against Etho, who was doing surprisingly well considering their current situation. Both of them were low on hunger, only managing to stay alive from what little they could get from the flowers and grass they picked and ate. Etho somehow managed to find a pig wandering around and killed it for some raw pork, handing it to Hypno to eat. They couldn’t cook it, but Etho was less worried about the hunger the meat would satiate and more about the fact that Hypno wasn’t fully himself.

After the initial shock of finding horns on Hypno’s head, the pair looked him over. Hypno made mention of an ache at the base of his spine, and Etho found a few concerning bumps on Hypno’s upper back. Until they actively looked into it, Hypno hadn’t noticed anything wrong, which led to them checking Etho, and also giving the ninja something to plan for on his next respawns.

Etho was glad they didn’t notice much with him, but with little to do, he explained to Hypno his encounters with Ren, Impulse and Grian. Out of the three, Impulse had seemed the most normal, only having red eyes instead of the golden brown he usually sported. Ren had seemed fine at first, but then in the attack from the creeper, the shifter had killed Etho, acting like an attacked wolf. And then Grian for the most part had been acting like a bird, though near the end…

A moobloom trotted over, pulling Etho out of his thoughts. It nuzzled against Hypno, who happily reciprocated. Still worried about the other hermit and the effects the environment was having on him, Etho forcefully separated the two, needing to attack the animal to make it flee.

“What was that for Etho? It was just being friendly.”

“Right now, we need to be cautious of everything. Especially those cows and all the flowers around here. Because in case you forgot, growing horns like that is not normal. Plus, we could use the food right now.”

Hypno huffed. “We’ll use up more energy trying to kill it than we would get from anything it drops. It’s better to let us willingly help us than-”

Etho suddenly held up a finger to shush Hypno, letting them listen to the breeze. “Do you hear that?”

Hypno listened, only hearing a few moos from the nearby moobloom. “The cows?”

“Well, okay yeah. But it’s more what I’m not hearing.” And then Etho pulled out his communicator. Hypno watched as Etho stared at the screen, mask moving ever so slightly as he mouthed counting up. But nothing was happening. At first, Hypno didn’t get what was so important until he pulled out his own communicator. No death messages were coming in. Specifically none from Impulse.

“Impulse got out.” Hypno said, whispering in disbelief. “Someone must have found him.”

Etho nodded. “Yeah, but the question is who.” And then almost immediately, it was answered.

Zedaph was slain by impulseSV

.

.

.

If there was one thing that was a benefit to respawning in the same place every time, it was the fact that no matter how many times Impulse died, the guardians wouldn’t disappear. Meaning that after a few attempts, he finally killed one of the monsters giving him grief. Just being able to slay one of them felt freeing with all the torment he was currently being put through, but that wasn’t the only benefit.

When the guardian died, it dropped two things, a prismarine shard and some cod. Impulse greedily grabbed at the items, stuffing the shard in his inventory and then stuffing the fish in his mouth. After not eating in so long, the fish seemed like the most heavenly food in the world, though Impulse had other ideas on why that was the case.

Here and there, guardians had completely ignored him. Sometimes he felt like he was getting a full breath of air even though he was still stuck in the water. He hadn’t missed the webbing between his fingers and toes growing each respawn nor the scales that appeared and itched like crazy. Half of Impulse would have preferred drowning forever instead of whatever this was, but his other half realized that it was likely his only way out.

Another respawn left him fumbling for his prismarine shard, using it to dig into the nearby blocks. Along with the claw-like nails he had gained, Impulse was able to break another block, making him smile at first, but then his expression dropped. With the way the temples were constructed, the walls weren’t that thick. Instead of gaining an air pocket, he had just broken into another chamber.

“Impulse.”

In anger, Impulse took the prismarine shard and used it against the next guardian he saw.

“Impulse.”

He started by using it like a knife and jamming it into the eye of the beast, making it flail and spread its spikes.

“Impulse.”

As the world around him seemed to fade into blues and golds, Impulse kept attacking, needing to get his anger out somehow.

“Impulse. Impulse. Impulse.” And then Impulse felt like he was falling, but he still thrashed around, trying to stop whatever it was. Then the next thing he knew, it was like gravity had increased drastically, leaving him pressed against the floor. Something moved and he attacked it, surprised to find it feeling much fluffier than the guardians had been. There was a sound, like someone talking, but why would anyone be talking with him stuck all alone. Etho maybe? Was he back?

As the creature died in his hands, Impulse looked towards the sound. The first thing he noticed was that Etho’s eyes were now both red. Even the sclera were red. He had also dyed his hair blond, and gotten rid of his mask, and well that wasn’t Etho at all. Impulse kicked his legs to try and swim closer, only to finally realize he wasn’t underwater anymore.

The moment Impulse realized he was out of the sea temple, he started taking gulps of air. His lungs had already started breathing it all, but now he was trying to get as much oxygen as he could before he drowned again. A part in the back of his mind told him he couldn’t drown right now, but his mental state wasn’t the best right now.

“Hey Impulse. Calming down now?” Tango was asking, and Impulse looked over, glad to see his friend. He nodded, which got Tango to smile before looking off towards the horizon. Impulse briefly followed Tango’s eyes before his hand moved and he felt the soft wool of the carpets beneath him. It almost felt overwhelming how different it was compared to the past week plus that he had been stuck in the temple. But it was also good, so he wrapped himself up before following Tango’s eyes once more.

“What’s that way?” Impulse spoke, voice feeling unfamiliar from disuse and possibly alterations that matched everything else going on with him.

“Zed. I’m hoping he’ll be able to find us again since I have made a bit of a path.”

Impulse tilted his head before noticing his inventory had many more items. “Did he get killed or something?”

“Yeah, you sort of killed him when we first summoned you in.” Tango explained, and Impulse felt horrified. Him? Kill Zedaph? For a prank or something, sure, that was believable, But this had been from pure bloodlust at the time.

“I killed him? Oh no! I didn’t know! It had been a guardian at first, and then I was falling, and then I was-”

“Hey, calm down.” Tango replied. He took a step toward Impulse, obviously to comfort him, but then Impulse was surprised to see his friend change their mind and step back again. “Zed and I figured something like this might happen. We would have made beds to set our spawn, but we haven’t been collecting wool that much, so at most we would have had just one piece.”

Impulse chucked a little after realizing there were no sheep around. “What? Did Zedaph finally grow his hair out enough?” And he expected Tango to laugh in return, but the frown that appeared didn’t bode well.

“Impulse, do you… realize what you look like?” Tango asked, and then Impulse looked down at his hand and flexed it.

“What’s happened with Zedaph?”

Tango took a few steps to the side and a moment later the nearby leaves of a tree caught fire. “Zed and I have had both of our more animal-esque traits acting up. I’m burning just about any flammable thing that gets close to me and his wool is growing out of control. There’s other stuff too but…”

“But even if you’re not ending up like me, you’re still dealing with your own things.”

“Hey! I’m back! And it looks like Impulse has not killed you!”

.

.

.

Hels cut down a hoglin that was in the way of he and Wels as they travelled the nether. Wels was reluctantly following, his copy being the only reason he was doing so well right now. Well that, and the fact that he was promising some sort of shelter. They went a bit further, and then Wels spotted something that was clearly man made, making him try to run forward for shelter before he was grabbed by Hels. “Don’t run ahead idiot. I just know that you’ll manage to die if you try that and we’ll have to start all over.”

“Well I’m sure I could find a way to survive fine on my own.”

“Sure you could.” Hels said, obviously sarcastic. “And your death messages make that so very believable. Tell me, have you noticed anything odd about your situation, other than being stuck in the nether.”

“Well, chat hasn’t been working right and I can’t regenerate my health.”

“Right… Well, what have you been eating?” Hels asked as they finally reached the door to the helsmit’s base, opening it to let Wels inside.

“Mainly crimson fungi or the rare pork if I can chip enough health away from a hoglin.” Wels answered, linking himself to the respawn anchor sitting inside.

“That fungi is only edible to hoglins you know.” Hels said, closing the door and then crossing his arms.

“Well obviously that’s not the case here.” And then Wels made his point by munching down on a mushroom he still had in his inventory.

Hels pursed his lips before yanking the fungi out of Wels’ hand and then smashing the knight’s head against a nearby wall. “Spit that out right now or I’ll go again until I break your tusks.”

“My what?” Wels asked, reluctantly spitting out the half chewed fungus.

“You’re an idiot. How did you not notice you were growing tusks?”

And Wels didn’t have an answer, just letting his hand go to his mouth and feel what were definitely tusks. “When did-”

“Who knows. My guess is it's something with this world. It’s not like any of us want to be here.”

Wels looked back over to Hels at that comment, a questioning look on his face. “Evil Xisuma approached me a few weeks ago. He was planning to get into the new season before the rest of you so he could keep from getting banned and put some action into play with his brother and a number of the other hermits. I wasn’t as interested in his plan, but having fun on the server on my own seemed like a good idea to me. A few others were planning to join us, but I’m sure they haven’t followed along. So as far as I’m aware, it is only Evil Xisuma and I trapped here with all of you.”

“Well, at the very least neither of us are stuck here alone.” Wels spoke, trying to give a positive spin on things.

“I would have preferred to be alone.” Hels replied. “You’ll use up more of my resources. That being said, my guess is you’re necessary for whatever is going on around here to stop. So until that’s fixed or I learn otherwise, I am reluctantly helping you.”

“Alright, that sounds fine for now. And you said Evil Xisuma is here too, correct? Any clue where he could be?”

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.

.

Bdubs stared down at the void below his feet, glad to have stopped moving, though his gut was still getting used to that change. The guy in pink armor next to him was reluctantly patting his back as another wave of nausea hit and he started to dry heave. “Th-Thanks.”

“Whatever. I just know what being stuck in the void is like so I have a little sympathy.”

“Well glad to know I’m not the only one stuck in this situation. Not that that’s a good thing.”

“Right.” The armored person deadpanned, looking down at the void as well.

Bdubs was quiet for a little before looking over to his savior. “So then, I don’t really think I caught your name in all our yelling to heave both of us up here.”

The other person raised an eyebrow at Bdubs, as if to ask if he was serious, then being a little surprised when he was. The person hesitated, looking down, not to the void but more at their lap, then a hand fiddled with their hair before they finally looked back at Bdubs. “Name’s Xannes.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Bdubs!” And he held out a hand, pausing as he noticed the state it was in.

Xannes took the hand carefully and shook it, before helping it back to Bdubs’ side. “Side effect of the void. I’m more protected because of my armor, but you don’t have that.”

“Well now I’m actually upset about not having armor, even if it were pink.”

Xannes looked incredulous at that before putting his hands on his hips. “Hey, this is simply a… lightish red.”

“You mean pink.”

“Lightish. Red.”

“Lightish red is red mixed with white. And what does that give you? Pink. You’ve got pink armor.”

“Alright, so maybe it’s supposed to be pink.” Xannes conceded. “But my color is red, and this isn’t my armor, I’m simply borrowing it. So for anyone else, it would be pink, but as long as I wear it, it’s a lightish red.”

“Whatever you say.”

Xannes sighed and then carefully took Bdubs’ hand again. “Alright, so looking again, this doesn’t quite look as natural as being stuck in the voice can make it. Obviously that’s because none of this is natural. Even though it wouldn’t help me in the long run if it were working, I have tested plenty with my communicator and learned a number of things. First, we are not the only ones in a situation like this.”

“Yeah.” Bdubs agreed. “I already met Scar stuck on one of the islands below.”

“Noted.” Xannes nodded. “Well, others have similar odd spawns. I- Someone named Impulse had been stuck in a guardian temple, a Docm77 has been sent to his death by goats. X-Xisuma has been dealing with a warden.” Xannes started to explain, voice getting quieter at the last example, though Bdubs didn’t notice.

“And the void stuff?”

“If I knew more about what was going on, I could tell you. But as it stands, I can just tell your limbs seem to have a form of void-bite and your eyes are as dark as the void itself.”

Bdubs leaned back a little in shock at the comment. “Wait, really?” And then he was fishing into his shirt before pulling out a knife, Xannes’ eyes widening at the weapon. Bdubs held the blade up, briefly putting it back down to shine it against his shirt before using it as a mirror and then staring into it. Sure enough, his eyes seemed to go on forever into their sockets, pure darkness filling them.

“How many knives do you have?” Xannes asked, tearing Bdubs’ gaze from the weapon.

“Huh? Oh, I’ve got plenty. Want one?” And he pulled out another, only the tiniest bit worried about being stabbed by the unfamiliar person. But instead of stabbing him, Xannes simply threw the knife off the edge, watching it fall down. “What was that for?”

Xannes didn’t really reply, just holding a finger up for Bdubs to wait. Reluctantly, he did, but then got restless as time seemed to drag on. Any time he attempted to talk, he would just get shushed, making it feel even worse. Finally, out of nowhere, the knife suddenly fell past them, making Bdubs jump back enough that he nearly fell off their gateway and into the void, but Xannes grabbed him before that could happen and pulled him back in.

“Well then, it seems like a loop around the void lasts around two and a half minutes.” Xannes stated, shifting to turn his body and move to a different part of the gateway. “I guess it would be less on a second loop after already reaching terminal velocity, but it's good to know. I know something has been flying past here ever so often but I was still sort of stuck on the side of this thing for most of it, then I was dealing with you, so… you get the idea.”

“You telling me everything’s looping up and down like us?” Bdubs asked, looking around the sky, or what passed for it in the end.

“Us and anything non-living. I’ve already seen that there have been three void related deaths by Scar, Etho and TinFoilChef.”

“Well so far I’ve only seen Scar and you.” Bdubs replied. “I guess those other two are stuck around here too.”

“The chef, yes, but I’m not so sure about the other.” And Xannes handed his comm to Bdubs, showing a list of death messages, all belonging to Etho. “I have a function that lets me sort these messages. It’s very handy.” And then he reached off to the side, catching a comm as it fell from the air. “And this would be yours. I’ve seen it here and there… To be honest, it seems like it takes more than two or so minutes. We might need to test more.”

Bdubs swapped their communicators before looking down at the abyss below. “Well, Scar’s somewhere down there, I already found him once. I’m gonna see if I can get to him again and you can do whatever while I’m falling.”

Xannes rubbed his chin and then nodded. “Alright, go ahead. I’ll look out for you. If you respawn, wait a loop for me to catch you because I don’t have omniscient reaction time.”

“Sounds good to me.” Bdubs replied with a smile, then jumped into the void once more, ignoring the fear that came with it.

.

.

.

Scar rolled around on the end stone, trying to get to sleep. Sure, beds didn’t work in the end, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t sleep. It just wasn’t restful enough to keep phantoms away or set a spawn. Not like he needed to set a spawn three blocks away from his current one.

But right now, there was too much noise. The endermen were slowly losing their cool with Scar and he was also hearing the whispering of the vex. To be honest, that was probably why huge endermen were acting as they were. Void magic didn’t like to work with other magic.

But even with all of that, Scar really wanted to sleep for another reason. The whispers of the vex weren’t the only new thing with him. He had polished the pillar near him as just something to do other than wait around. The end rod in particular he shined until it was just mirror-like enough that he saw his green eyes were now vex blue. From that, he checked himself over a bit more and found that his eyes weren’t the only change. He seemed to be an inch or three shorter and his skin was definitely paler than before. He didn’t have wings again, but he knew it would only be a matter of time.

Scar really didn’t want to use any more help from the vex yet, knowing it would speed things up. He wanted to keep hope out for seeing Bdubs again before doing anything since it could be his last chance before a deal was needed once more. If he could just-

“Convex.” A much clearer whisper spoke, making Scar jump a little. “Are you sure a deal is such a bad thing at this stage in time?”

“Oh no no no no no.” Scar insisted, standing up and waving his hands in refusal. “I’m sure I’ll be better use to my friends if I’m not mostly stuck working with you guys.”

“What if you were not working for us?” The whisper asked, making Scar pause.

“Wait? I’m Convex because I can’t become true vex because of Xisuma and him tainting me and Cub with the void or something. I would think now being stuck in the end would make it worse, not better!”

“You still cannot, that is true. But a new evoker is being trained, one also tainted by the void. And I believe you would want to work with them.”

Scar inhaled sharply at the implication, knowing that it must be a hermit they were referring to. He fumbled in pulling his communicator out and then scrolled through all the death messages before finally seeing what he wanted. Death messages to vindicators and evokers, both about Mumbo. “So clarification on this deal?”

“You will still be considered Convex, but on a higher level than before. Not quite at the level of standard vex however. But during this, you will be linked to the new evoker, and cannot be released unless they themselves will it. And you should not will your release either.”

“Yeah, yeah, if that’s all, sure!” Scar agreed quickly, so excited he didn’t really take the time to think it over. Then suddenly he could feel more magic flowing into him. So much it felt like a red hot iron pressed all over his body, especially at his scars. And then it was gone, and he was left panting on the ground.

He didn’t know how long he had been there, but suddenly his name was shouted and Scar managed to lift his head up. He saw Bdubs rocking down towards him again and suddenly felt stronger again, getting a burst of energy and moving towards the builder. New wings spread from his back and let him fly, keeping him above the void as he grabbed his friend and then slowed them before reaching the abyss below, then slowly dragging them back up.

“Bdubs! Are you okay?!” Scar asked the moment they were both on the endstone, only staying on his feet for a second before his knees buckled beneath him.

“Am I okay? Am I okay?! I’m on the sweet sweet ground again!” And then he kissed the stone beneath him. “What about you? You look… not Scar but sound normal.”

“I can explain more in a bit. There’s an end city just over that way and I want to get something so we can start towards the main island. I’ll see if there’s elytra for you.”

“Oh no. I don’t think I ever want to fly again. If anyone, give it to Xannes.”

“Who?”

“Okay, guess my story first.”

.

.

.

On the main island, TFC dodged another attack from the dragon. She had been attacking less frequently, which was good and bad in his eyes. No attacking meant less dying, but TFC needed her attacks to even attempt destroying all the crystals. Because there was no way she was dying to fists alone with them still around.

That all being said, TFC had a sneaking suspicion on why exactly that was happening. His prosthetics were built to match his remaining limbs in function, but gradually over the past few respawns, they were becoming off balance. In trying to fix them, TFC realized he was less human than before, claws on his hands and feet, and tenderness at his tailbone and shoulder blades.

TFC was old, that much was true. And because of that, he had seen all sorts of situations. While for the most part the problems of this world were new to TFC, adaptations were not. A number of present day hybrids were a result of that. Heck, mob variants were also sourced from suce and occurrence. So yeah, TFC was not too surprised about seemingly becoming a dragon hybrid.

Thinking it over, in the long run it would likely give him just enough of an upper hand to defeat the dragon, but there was also the concern of how long it would take to get to that point and how far these alterations would go. If this went too far, the world itself could mistake him for a new ender dragon, and even after killing the real one, no portal would form due to his existence.

Well, if that was the case, he would need to figure out what it was that made the existence of the dragon close the portal and see if he could reverse it. Especially since he recalled at least one or two hermits were supposed to be stuck in the end with him. Though that did give him another idea. Maybe he didn’t have to keep fighting if the dragon opened the portal herself.

The next time TFC respawned, he waited, giving her time to rest. When he was sure the dragon was fully healed again, the miner made his way to the podium and waited. The dragon swooped a few times, giving some warning shots, but she didn’t attack TFC directly, and he made no move to attack the crystals. She didn’t look happy, but TFC had plenty of time to wait.

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.

.

In a bout of frustration, ink was spilled over the floor, making Mumbo even more frustrated than before. He didn’t understand the need for learning another language just for spells. He was sure that knowing the characters that appeared with enchanting would be enough, but apparently the illagers had their own writing system. At the very least, Mumbo recognized a character or two that Scar or Cub must have had written down, but it still felt like he was learning a new language from scratch.

With ink all over the place, Mumbo paused to work on cleaning everything up. He had ruined nearly all his materials, so now he would have to attempt to get more or find an illager who would assist him in such a task. Paper was easy enough to get, a farm already set up in the mansion, but Mumbo hadn’t automated it yet, so there wasn’t going to be much to reap. And squid ink wasn’t something they just had on hand.

Mumbo reached the farming room and grabbed what sugarcane had grown, taking the reeds over to a crafting table then cutting and pressing them into paper. He only managed to make six pages from all of that and didn’t have the material to bind them into a book.Instead of leaving the room, Mumbo put the paper into a nearby chest and then pulled out his redstone materials.

As Mumbo built, he decided to multitask by using redstone dust to practice some of the characters he needed to learn. He couldn’t remember the normal order of the characters, so he just wrote them at random. He never really focused on the characters, so he didn’t notice when a few in a line started to glow a bit. In fact, he was just pausing his writing to work on fixing a bit of redstone, his head stuck in the contraption.

His hand blindly reached for some string to add as a tripwire, but he was about half a foot to the wrong side of his pile of materials. When Mumbo’s hand started to go further, it was stopped by some thread being placed in his hand. The redstoner said his thanks and then strung it up before pausing and pulling his head out.

Standing nearby was someone Mumbo immediately recognized, not knowing anyone else with a bright red sweater like that. Not caring that he was currently covered in redstone dust, Mumbo jumped at the newcomer and hugged them tightly, so glad to see a familiar face. “Grian! You’re okay! How did you get here? Where are the bots? Are you alright?”

But pulling away again, Mumbo watched as Grian just blinked at him, seeming a little confused. “I think you may be mistaken and confused, my mustachioed friend. I mean, I am okay and I got here because of you, but I’m not sure what you mean by bots and well, you were trying to take to someone named Grian.”

Mumbo furrowed his brows. Looking them over again, he could tell this had to be Grian. His clothes and hair and everything were the same. He couldn’t quite tell about their eyes because they were wearing a mask, but it matched the one he had seen Grian with in the past, a black mark on its face instead of the purple Eflyn expected. The only thing unfamiliar were the wings. Shape and pattern wise, they matched the wings Grian had, but the colors of the feathers were no longer red yellow and blue, but purple grey and black.

“Well then. If you’re not Grian, then who are you?” Mumbo asked, and the person giggled slightly.

“I could have swore you already knew, but I guess not. The name is Xelqua, but don’t go throwing it around to just anyone.” And just hearing it reminded Mumbo. It had been a name Grian had told him before.

“Well, if you don’t want me throwing it around, I’m going to have to call you something.” Mumbo spoke up, Xelqua seeming to agree. “Since I already mistook you for him and he’s not around, how about I call you Grian.”

“Hmm.” Grian thought about it before shaking his head. “Just you and me, you can call me Xelqua. Otherwise just Watcher is fine, okay?”

“But I-” Mumbo started to say, and then there was a clatter, making Mumbo and Grian look over at the door where Eflyn was standing.

“Well. It seems we have another guest then…”

.

.

.

Joe had paused in his material gathering. It was just going to be for a little bit, but he needed to clear his head. And the best idea he had for that was climbing the tower at spawn the correct way. Sure, he could try climbing from the outside or something, finding a window, but at this point these were definitely Watchers, and Joe was very much aware that they were not to be messed with.

Joe needed to pause on a platform to hold his head, a headache forming. It had been coming and going for a while, but it didn’t feel so bad now, the tower already lit up pretty well. As he waited, his other hand clutched at the wall as best it could, just feeling the texture of the wall, as if to check that it was real. “Guess you really couldn’t have been swayed, now could you?” Joe asked, speaking into the empty air around him. “Well maybe after this mess we can try it again.”

Joe climbed a few more parts of the parkour that acted as steps before nearly falling to a sudden splitting headache. He half considered letting go and trying again, there being enough hay lining the floor below to break his fall, but he had already gotten so far. And maybe if he could get to the top of the tower…

It had been ages ago when Joe had first met a Watcher. From what he could tell, it was even the first Watcher to exist. One that eventually disappeared to time that not even the other Watchers knew what happened. He wasn’t an expert of whatever the Watchers exactly were, but it had been enough that he recognized Grian as one pretty quickly when they first met in season six. Though that was partially from that not being their first meeting.

Yes, Joe had been along for a very long time. Which is why he was not happy with everything going on. But he had a bargaining chip in the form of knowledge, so getting to the top might be the one place to try and use it.

His headache passed and the glow from his eyes faded. Joe pulled himself back onto the platform and then adjusted his glasses. Just a bit more to go until he was at the top.

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.

.

Doc woke up in a wood hut, lying in a bed. His back and head hurt, getting worse when he attempted to move to get up. He tried to remember what happened last, but suddenly being knocked unconscious wasn’t the best thing to try and remember. Looking around in a way that didn’t hurt as much, he was able to see a chest as well as something lying on the ground to his right.

Some crackling implied there was also a furnace running nearby. Mixed with that was some slight banging of metal from crafting and the hum of a tune that was familiar to Doc, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Another attempt to sit up left Doc yelp slightly in pain, stopping the humming and crafting sounds, getting replaced with footsteps that came towards him. “Are you awake this time?”

“Grumbot?” Doc asked, vaguely recognizing the robot that appeared in front of him. He only really distinctly knew his larger form, only seeing him and his brother at this size when they were just about to leave their previous world.

“Yeah. looks like you are. We have some bread if you’re hungry.” Grum spoke in a quiet voice that felt so odd compared to how energetic the hermits usually were. That being said, it had been a while since he had seen anyone else, so it might have just been from what others were dealing with. “I also left some of the wheat as wheat if you prefer that.”

“What? Why would I want that? Bread sounds fine.”

“Okay, I wasn’t sure if you were like dad or not.” Grum said before he went over to the chest, giving Doc a moment to think things over.

“Dad as in Grian or Mumbo?”

“Grian.” Grum answered, pulling out some food. “He was with us on the mountain. Everything was getting to him, so he started eating seeds instead of other stuff.”

“Okay. Is he out getting supplies or something?” Doc asked and then Grum’s face shifted to something sadder. “What happened to Grian?”

“I don’t know.” Grum spoke, managing to be quieter than before. “He just disappeared and Jrum and I were stuck alone on the mountain. And then I messed up.” And it took all of Doc’s willpower to not sit up and possibly hurt himself in the process with how sad Grum sounded in that moment.

“Why? What happened?”

“Someone figured out how to send messages in chat by accident. Jrum and I noticed, and we were going to try it out for ourselves, but it didn’t go right. And now Jrum… Jrum didn’t respawn right.”

And with that comment, Doc realized what was on the ground nearby. Jrum’s body was laid out, screen dark and body unmoving. “How long has he been like that?”

“A few days I think. It got really snowy so I couldn’t quite tell. Then I got busy digging through the snow until I found some ice to break.”

“And that must have been the waterfall I took down off the mountain.” Doc said, making Grum look a little sheepish.

“Sorry about hitting you when I fell. I freaked out a bit and then you were there and I couldn’t react in time. I’m sure if it was anyone else, they would have been in worse shape.”

“Why’s that?” Doc asked, though he had an idea based on which side of him ached more.

“Well, your metal parts helped protect you plus I think your thicker skull helped from a concussion.”

“My what?”

“Oh, I thought you…” Grum said, trailing off. “Um, so I think more weird stuff is happening than just being stuck wherever.”

“Yeah, I knew that.” Doc said. “Creeper instincts have been kicking in like crazy.”

“Well, your death messages mentioned goats a lot. It looks like because of that, you’ve started turning into a goat hybrid as well.”

“I’ve what?” Doc asked, incredulously. He ignored the pain from moving when he started feeling himself over, finally finding horns coming from his head. “Oh… huh…”

Grum forced Doc back down to a resting position before feeding him some bread. Here, how about I tell you what I know about, then you can tell me what you know.

“Sounds good to me.”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #scattered au #xisuma #ijevin #hypnotizd #ethoslab #welsknight #helsknight #bdubs #bdoubleo100 #evil xisuma #Goodtimeswithscar #tinfoilchef #mumbo jumbo #grian #watcher!grian #joe hills #docm77 #grumbot #jrumbot

[brighteyedjill]

Why censor a fandom event?

Do the mods for a fandom event have the right to  make restrictions on content? Sure. They’re volunteers running their own event. 

But. Fandom is a culture that we build together. If we were just people enjoying media in our own homes, we would not be a community. But we’re not. We talk to each other, reblog each other’s amazing art, comment on AO3, squee in Discord channels over ideas, and so on. That’s what makes fandom great: we build it collectively. And like any culture, we have some shared norms. For example, since AO3 is a big influence on our culture, tagging has become a cultural norm in fandom. We tag for the “big four” warnings on AO3, and increasingly, tag more and more details of content to help people find what they like and avoid what they don’t. 

Fandom events like Big Bangs shape fandom culture, too, though. They bring together people who might otherwise not know each other, and have a tendency to dominate the fandom conversation for a time. Restrictions in a Big Bang have a chilling effect on content creators. That means that some work will not get written because of these restrictions, and also that people’s opinions towards this kind of content may be influenced on a larger scale. I personally find this unfortunate, as some of the things on the restricted list are things I’ve written about, uh, a lot. But aside from just me, there are larger implications to consider. Read more about the history of strikethrough and content restriction to learn about who is harassed and excluded when fandom culture turns against “questionable” content. 

I posit that restrictions like this are not always The Norm™ in fandom events, nor should they be. In a fandom like the Witcher, whose canon includes everything on the restricted list, most of them graphically, I believe content of a similar nature should be welcome in fandom content. I ran my first Big Bang in 2009, and have participated in half a dozen bangs and reverse bangs since. None of them had content restrictions (here’s an example of a Big Bang without content restrictions that’s been running since 2011). Some Big Bangs do; sometimes this is dependent on the canon content, more often it depends on who has power and influence in the fandom. Here’s a case for why not to include restrictions in future events.

What are these restrictions meant to do?

As I understand it, these restrictions are meant to make things more inclusive by allowing more people to participate. Are they successful in that? It’s possible they allow different people to participate. As with many things, there are competing access needs here. More on that below. But let’s look at what “making things more inclusive” means in practice. 

Problem: We want to allow participation from people who don’t want to come into contact with dark content. 

OK. Let’s help participants avoid coming into contact with dark content if they don’t want to. How might they come into contact with dark content?

1.) People might hear upsetting conversations in Discord chat

Solution: Ask people to post in the appropriate channel. Use a “walk away” rule to encourage people to leave the channel if a conversation comes up that they’re not comfortable with. If you want to go further, you could have people warn for certain topics, or restrict darker topics to a specific channel, though this runs up against a different issue (see below).

2) People might see content in the claims that they don’t like, or don’t want to work on. 

Solution: Usually in a Big Bang the artists look at a list of summaries and tags and choose which fic(s) they’d like to work on. No artist is going to be forced to work on anything they don’t want to. Even artists who enjoy dark content are often illustrating something other than the darkest, most graphic, or most explicit moment of a fic. In a claiming situation, you can have writers tag their fics, just like they would on AO3, to allow artists to filter out content they’re not interested in or that they would find upsetting. 

2.5) We won’t find any artist to work on certain pieces.

Solution: This happens sometimes. You could put out a call for more artist participants, allow artists to claim a second piece if they want, or you may have to tell a creator that there’s not a match for them. That is a bummer, but this happens sometimes, especially in fandoms where writers vastly outnumber artists. But in no scenario will any artist be forced to write for a piece that squicks them. 

3) People might see content in the Big Bang collection that they don’t like. 

Solution: This one’s pretty easy. Tagging. Tagging has been used on AO3 since its inception to help people avoid content they do not want to see. People don’t have to engage with content they don’t want to see if it is properly tagged. 

4) The mods don’t personally want to engage with the content. 

Solution: Find a mod who will, so that mods who don’t want to don’t have to! You can get a volunteer to do this, I guarantee.

5) I want to encourage the creation of lighter or SFW content.

Solution: I get that. Say so! Explain what content you welcome, and phrase what you’re looking for in a positive way (e.g. “We require that content be T rated or below and have a generally positive outlook and an upbeat ending.”) rather than what you don’t want. Be clear, specific, and up front about it, so that you connect with the creators you’re hoping will participate. 

6) I think this content should not exist. 

This is the one I can’t help you with. If the reason you’re banning content is because, consciously or unconsciously, you think that it’s morally reprehensible, or that the people who make it are bad, I do not have a solution to offer. 

Competing Access Needs

I’m not going to get too far into the weeds on how making a list of restricted topics is impossible, because others have addressed this point. No matter what list you come up with, someone out there will find something you failed to list, but that you feel should be restricted. What to do? If they’ve already completed a fic, tell them to leave? Tell them they have to change it? Let it slide? There will be endless questions about what is and isn’t allowed, which is time-consuming and exhausting for mods, and paralyzing for creators. How do I know if this scene is un-graphic enough? Will I need to revise my whole fic? Will I get kicked out entirely if I write the wrong thing? Will some participants get preferential treatment or the benefit of the doubt because of their identities or their connections?

Censorship brings up competing access needs. Someone doesn’t want to see non-con. Someone is writing non-con fic to work through their own trauma. Someone is writing it for other reasons. Can you accommodate all these folks? I would say yes, in the ways detailed above. But when you start restricting content (as in Strikethrough or Boldthrough, discussed in the history link above), you’re not wielding a scalpel. You’re wielding an anvil, and you’re gonna crush things you didn’t mean to crush. Again, check out the history link to see who gets crushed. 

So… what to do?

Do I think people should change the rules for the events they’re running? No (john mulaney we are well past that.gif). As I said, people who are running their own events have the prerogative to restrict them for whatever audience they’re hoping to reach. Questioning fandom practices is not “shitting on” anyone (and hey--no scat allowed). 

What I would really like is for Witcher fandom to have a think about how we want to proceed as a community. What should be the norm? Witcher fandom culture (in its current form, i.e. big) is still relatively young. There can be variation, sure: Discord server vibes vary wildly, for example. But in the big events or activities that we hope will be open to the largest part of the community, how do we want to intentionally foster the maximum amount of great content about our favorite things? There are ways to be inclusive that do not involve censorship, and I believe we should use them. 

#I've seen bad things happen in other fandoms #I really like y'all and I would like the Witcher fandom to continue to be a place that is inclusive of all content #the witcher #fandom meta #censorship is the worst ship

[ayybtch]

You’re Worth A Perjury Charge

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Part of A Mutual Weirdness

Summary: Bucky finds a kitten outside of your apartment and brings him inside. You make him be a responsible adult and take the cat to the vet to find out if it's microchipped, but Bucky is so head over heels for his newfound furbaby he’s willing to risk legal repercussions. 

Word Count: 2,422

Warnings: None! Bucky being absolutely adorable with a cat

A/N: So I didn’t previously have a tag list for this series, but I started one for my Wanda fic and a couple people asked about it for this so I’m starting one! Let me know if you’d like a tag! Additionally, you don’t have to have read the part before this but it’s a little funnier if you have given that the script is flipped between them. 

“Uh, Bucky, what the hell is that?” you ask, eyes wide at the wet ball of fur poking out of Bucky’s leather jacket. 

Bucky looked down at the little white cat, smiling as it meowed softly. “I found this little guy by the trash cans downstairs. It was raining so I couldn’t just leave him there.” 

You stared at him in disbelief.  “If that’s where you found him, how do you know he isn’t one of my neighbors’ cats? I get wanting to get him out of the rain, but the heart eyes you’re giving him makes me think you want to keep him.”

Bucky frowned at you, “Of course I’m keeping him. Look at him, he’s soaking wet and looks half starved! Clearly, he’s not being taken care of if he does belong to someone, so really I’m just doing everyone here a favor by taking him in.” He glared at you as you started to laugh.

“Oh, I can just see the headline now: ‘Former Winter Soldier Locked in Cat Custody Battle’. Some little old lady who just adopted this cat - ” you laughed too hard to speak for a moment, “- is going to go berserk and sue you for everything you’re worth just because you like her cat.” 

Bucky huffed and opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the cat meowing. The smile on his face as he stared down at the little bundle of fur made you melt, though you did your best to hide that fact from Bucky.  

Bucky nodded along attentively as the kitten continued to meow. “I know, she’s being so inconsiderate of your well-being, isn’t she? She’s worried about some little old lady suing me over you. Well, guess what? She can sue me all she wants, I’m not letting you go. Even if I have to lie to a judge and say ‘I plead not guilty in case of the missing cat. Please ignore the gentle meows coming from inside my jacket - ” He paused again as the cat continued to meow. “Mhm, you are absolutely right. You’re worth a perjury charge.” 

What on Earth was happening here? You are the animal crazy one, not Bucky. Yet here you are, being the reasonable and responsible adult in a situation involving an animal. The irony of the situation hit you and you couldn't help but chuckle. 

Your laughter eventually died as you noticed the heart eye expression on Bucky’s face. He was already completely enamored with the kitten. Sighing, you knew you needed to find a middle ground and fast. 

“Bucky, baby, would you at least be willing to take him to go see a vet? We owe it to whoever might own the cat to see if there’s a microchip. If there’s not one, we can get a check up on the little guy while we’re there and make sure he’s good to go.” 

Bucky stared at you suspiciously for a moment before responding. “What do you mean ‘good to go’? You don’t mean to get rid of him, do you?” 

You shook your head. “No baby, I just want to make sure he’s okay so you have a happy, healthy kitty in your life.” You almost didn’t get your sentence out before he was squishing you into a hug. A small gasp escaped his lips and he pulled away abruptly.

“I could’ve squished the baby! Are you okay?” Bucky pulled out the cat and examined him anxiously. A small squeak left the cat, confirming he was okay. 

While he agreed that a vet visit was in order, the new challenge was figuring out when to take the cat. Bucky refused to take him back into the rain, claiming it was going to make him sick. You conceded and agreed to let the kitten stay until the weather broke. That was all Bucky needed to start trying his hardest to convince you that he should keep the cat regardless of what the vet said. Every time the cat did anything cute, Bucky was gasping and pointing out how cute he was. He almost started crying when the cat pounced on a random sock laying next to the coffee table, swearing up and down he had never seen a more precious sight in his life. 

The number of pictures Bucky was taking of the kitten as he explored the apartment was hysterical. Any time he took an exceptionally cute picture, he immediately sent it to you. You currently had 18 unopened messages from Bucky, each one a different picture of the cat. You finally had to put an end to it once the kitten curled up on a pillow in the living room, settling down for a nap.

You tugged on Bucky’s hand and led him over to a barstool and gestured for him to sit. You made two sandwiches, handing one to him once it was done. The two of you ate in silence. It wasn’t until you were almost done eating that you spoke.

“You know, it’s kind of refreshing having you be the one that’s animal crazy for a change.”

Bucky smiled at you sheepishly. “What can I say, you’ve rubbed off on me.” His voice was teasing as he spoke, but the slight blush on his face suggested this was all just as unexpected to him as it was to you. A second silence fell over you, but this time he was the one who broke it.

“So what should we name him?” he asked, pulling out his phone and scrolling through the new pictures on his camera roll. 

You sighed and put your head in your hands. “Baby, I know you’re excited but remember what we talked about. We don’t know if he belongs to anyone yet. Let’s not go getting ahead of ourselves.”

Bucky sighed and nodded slightly.

Four days later, the two of you walked into the vet’s office hand in hand. It was the earliest appointment you were able to make without it being an emergency and you were worried that the extra few days did nothing but increase Bucky’s attachment. The kitten was adorable, you couldn’t deny it. There were times you thought about how nice it would be to finally have a little furry companion but you refused to keep an animal that could belong to someone else. 

Once the three of you arrived, you were checked in promptly by the receptionist and were led into the exam room by an overly peppy vet-tech a few minutes later. Once inside, she gently grabbed him out of Bucky’s arms and made kissy noises at him as she began her portion of the exam. 

Watching the kitten refuse to hold still during the weighing process was amusing to say the least. He kept moving around and trying to jump off the scale. It took several attempts, but she was finally able to record his weight. She fared a little better while taking his temperature given she was holding him, but the kitten still wiggled trying to escape her hold. 

“I wonder why he’s being such a spaz right now. He had no issues with me holding him yesterday. At least, none that I noticed.” Bucky paused and turned to face you, confusion written on his face, “Did he give you a hard time when you held him?” 

The vet-tech chimed in before you had the chance to respond, “He’s probably just decided you’re his person. Cats are a lot like people in that they pick their person and trust them to do things they don’t trust anyone else with. He doesn’t know me, so it makes sense he’s being a little fussy.” She set the kitten back on the exam table and he jumped into Bucky’s lap.

Bucky stared down at the little bundle of fur that was now purring as he rubbed his face against Bucky’s stomach. His expression was a mixture of shock, joy, and love. 

For the first time since Bucky had walked in with the cat, you truly contemplated helping Bucky keeping him even if he was microchipped. He was going to be crushed if this cat belonged to someone else. Your stomach twisted at the thought. If we can’t take him home, we’re immediately going to the animal shelter and Bucky can pick out as many cats as he likes, you thought. 

A knock at the door pulled your thoughts back to the room. A new woman in a white lab coat walked in with a smile on her face. “Good morning everyone, I’m Dr. Brown. I hear you guys were lucky enough to find a cat, is that right?”

Bucky nodded and looked down again at the cat with a smile, “Yes ma’am. I found him in the alley next to our apartment.” He carefully picked up the kitten still laying on his lap and handed him out to her. 

Dr. Brown smiled again as she reached out to grab him. “Why hello there handsome, how are you doing today? I’m gonna check to see if you’ve got a microchip which won’t be too bad, but I may have to give you a couple of shots -” her sentence was cut off by loud meowing from the kitten, almost as if he understood what she was saying. 

She chuckled before continuing, “I know, I know. Shots aren’t fun for anyone. But let’s find out about your microchip and finish the rest of the exam and see if they’re needed before we start complaining too much.” 

Bucky reached out and gripped your hand tightly as she set him down on top of the exam table. She held a small rectangular device just above his shoulder blades for a few moments before setting it down and continuing with the exam. She spent the entire time talking to the cat as she went about the exam. She checked both of his ears and his mouth before moving on to checking on the various limbs in his body. Once the exam was complete, she turned to face the two of you.

“Well, good news on all accounts. Mister Man here is a perfectly healthy kitten. He looks to be about 16 weeks and is in great shape all things considered. He does not have a microchip though, so that leaves us with some options moving forward.”

You let out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding in. Bucky remained silent, though his grip on your hand grew slightly tighter. Dr. Brown didn’t wait for a response before continuing. 

“If you want to keep him, we’ll microchip him and start giving him his first round of shots today since we don’t know if he’s had any so far. We’ll also send you home with a little goodie bag with some treats, a small toy, and a packet with some basic information about caring for a new pet. If you don’t want to keep him, you guys are free to go and we can take him to a shelter from here. Fostering is another option if you’re not interested in keeping him but also don’t want him to go to a shelter.”

Bucky, who almost seemed to be in a daze after hearing there was no microchip, was suddenly brought back to life. “We’re keeping him,” he said firmly. The smile on his face was contagious and soon everyone in the room was smiling just as wide.

“Very well then, let me go get what I need so we can finish up here. I’ll be right back,” she said. You waited for her to leave the room before turning to face Bucky. 

“Well, since he’s officially yours now, I think it’s finally time for you to start thinking of names.”

Bucky chuckled, “Yeah, about that... I kind of already named him. I decided on a name after you went to bed the first night he was in the apartment with us.”

You faltered for a moment, unable to hide your shock. “O-okay. What are we calling him?”

“Alpine. It seems like a good name for a cat.”

Twenty minutes later, you and Bucky were walking out of the vet's office feeling lighter than you did when you first walked in. Bucky was beaming as he looked down at Alpine, who was now officially his according to the paperwork stuffed inside his jacket. His joy was contagious and you were starting to feel the same sort of excitement Bucky had been feeling ever since he came across the poor thing in the alley. 

“So what do we do now?” you asked, moving closer to Bucky. He wrapped his free arm around your waist and thought for a moment. 

“Well, now that there are no foreseeable perjury charges over a cat in my future, I think it’s probably time to focus on my newfound fatherhood.” 

You groaned as he spoke, “Does this mean I’m going to have to put up with Dad jokes from now on?” 

The shit-eating grin on Bucky’s face answered for him. 

The walk back to the apartment was quick. The two of you spoke occasionally, but mostly enjoyed the quiet comfort of just being close to the other. Once you arrived at your apartment building, the doorman greeted you. You were ready to wave and keep walking, but Bucky held you back.

“Hey man, could you get a picture of the three of us? We just adopted this little guy and I’d like a picture to commemorate it,” Bucky asked, letting go of you to pull out his phone. The doorman nodded and took the phone.

Once he was done, Bucky thanked him and the three of you finally made your way back to the apartment. As soon as he was inside, Alpine jumped out of Bucky’s arm and made his way to the couch. He curled up in what was now officially his spot, making your heart swell. You turned to see if Bucky noticed, but he was too focused on his phone. 

“Already sending pictures of Alpine to Steve and Sam to brag about your newfound fatherhood?” you teased, arms wrapping around his middle as you spoke. He shook his head no and remained focused on the phone. Just as you were about to ask what he was doing instead, Bucky turned his phone around so you could see his screen. 

You were stunned, completely unsure of how to respond to what you were seeing. Slowly, you opened your mouth and tried to find the words, “Bucky, please explain to me how our cat already has a verified Instagram account?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #a mutual weirdness masterlist

[pinkczennie]

Male escort | Johnny (m)

Summary: After getting your heart broken, you hire a male escort to spend Christmas with you.

Pairings: male escort!Johnny x female reader

Genre: fluff, a tiny bit of angst (breakup), smut

Word count: 5k 

Warnings: mature language, explicit sexual content, fingering, protected sex

Notes: I don’t know how escorts work completely so I’m just using my imagination and assuming based on a film I was inspired by. This is my first fic in a while so I hope you guys like it! 

Tag list: @commentgirl​ 

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

Great. Just great, you thought to yourself.

Today is December 19, just a few days away from Christmas. You just finished work for the day and you were counting down the days until you get to spend Christmas with your boyfriend.

That was until your boyfriend said he wanted to break up with you.

You felt your heart shattering as he broke the news to you and tears threatening to escape your eyes. Honestly, you should have seen this coming because it explains why he hasn’t been spending much time with you lately and the texts became less frequent but you just assumed he was busy. 

You walked back to your apartment that day feeling completely numb. You couldn’t believe your boyfriend of two years just broke up with you, a few days away from Christmas nonetheless. That evening, you stayed in bed crying your eyes out. Thankfully, your roommate was staying over at her boyfriend's apartment for the night, so you wailed and cried your heart out. You didn’t eat or drink anything at all and you probably would have dehydrated and starved yourself had it not been for the ping coming from your phone, signaling a text message.

You peered at your phone, a piece of you hoping it was your boyfriend messaging you to say that he’s sorry, that he made a mistake, and wanted you back.

Unfortunately, it was just your roommate.

My joy, Sooyoung <3: Hey can you open the door for me pls? I need to grab something real quick from my room but I forgot my keys at jaehyun’s apartment as he was driving me here lol

Wiping your tear-filled eyes, you got up slowly from bed with what little strength you had left and dragged your feet out of your room and to the front door without checking your appearance in the mirror first. 

You arrive at the front door and open it for your roommate to enter. 

“Hey girl, sorry about th-”

When Sooyoung and Jaehyun both got a good look at you, their eyes widened at the sight of your appearance.

There was a crumpled up tissue in your hand, your hair was a mess, and your eyes were red.

“Y/n...are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Her question triggered tears to flow out again. No, you were not okay.

“Lucas, broke up with me,” you said quietly, trying not to have a breakdown in front of the two.

“What?” Sooyoung gasps. “Oh no, y/n...come here.” 

Sooyoung engulfs you in a giant hug and you lean into her body as you silently cry into the tissue in your hands, not wanting to stain her jacket and hair with your tears.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” Jaehyun says as he places his hand on your shoulder. 

“Thanks, Jaehyun,” you croak out.   

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sooyoung asks. 

And that's how all three of you ended up in the living room. You sat on the couch with a bottle of water in your hand, which Soyoung thankfully got for you from the kitchen. Sooyoung sat by your side and Jaehyun sat by her side as you explained to the two about what happened.

“That piece of shit,” Sooyoung mutters, “I’m going to kick him in the balls if I ever see his face.”

Jaehyun rubs comforting circles around the top of Sooyoung’s hand with his thumb, trying to sooth his seething girlfriend. 

“It’s okay, Sooyoung. You don’t have to do that. He was a great boyfriend to me.” You soften as you reminisce about all the good memories you had with him during those two years, which only made your heart hurt more as you remember. 

“I’m just upset at the fact that he broke up with me so close to the holidays even though I had all these plans I made with him already. I bought us two tickets for the Christmas fair, I made prepaid reservations at a fancy restaurant, I even booked a hotel....” Your voice lowers to a whisper as you said that last part. 

“I don’t know what to do now since my flight to visit my parents won’t be until the day after Christmas because I already told them I was going to spend Christmas day with Lucas. All he could say was ‘sorry, but I don’t think I can continue with this relationship any longer’.” 

“I’m sorry, girl,” Sooyoung pats your shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” you sigh. “I guess I’ll just figure out what to do with the ticket and reservations since it looks like I’ll be spending my Christmas day here, eating ice cream and binge watching anime until my flight.” 

You’d offer it to Sooyoung and Jaehyun but you already knew they planned to go to a ski resort during Christmas, so you’ll have to find someone else who would want them.

“Is there maybe some other guy you could possibly go with?” Sooyoung suggests. 

You shake your head. “I’d rather not go with anyone I know just so it doesn’t get awkward and no one gets any strange ideas that I might be interested in them.”

Sooyoung turns to Jaehyun. “Hey, you have some single guy friends, right?”

“Yeah…” Jaehyun hesitantly nods.

“Do you have any guy friends who might be able to go with her? Like...Yuta?”

“He already went back to Japan to visit for the holidays.”

“What about Sicheng?”

“His flight to China is in three days.”

“Mark?”

“Canada.”

“Doyoung?”

“He’s recently been seeing someone.” 

Sooyoung sighs and taps her chin as she thinks of any other possible solution while you internally groan at the thought of having to spend Christmas single AND alone.

“But, if you want,” Jaehyun speaks up after a silent pause, “why don’t you hire a male escort?”

Both you and Sooyoung perk up at Jaehyun’s suggestion. 

“A male escort?” Sooyoung questions.

“Yeah. I knew one of my frat bros from college who hired a female escort. And don’t worry, escorts aren’t just for sex. You can just hire a guy as your fake boyfriend for a day just so you could have some company and your plans don’t have to go to waste. I can even ask him for the website he searched on.”

Sooyoung looks at you. “It’s just a suggestion. You don’t have to do it though.“  

Maybe it was just the loneliness that got to you, but you were honestly considering it. “I’ll keep it in mind.” 

After an hour, you felt bad for holding them up so you decided to end it there. At first, Sooyoung was hesitant to leave you alone, but you insisted because you already felt bad for making them stay for a whole hour listening to you.

“Alright then, we’re leaving now,” Sooyoung said at the door before gently squeezing your arm. “Make sure to eat something, drink some water, and shower before you go to bed tonight. And call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will.”

And with that, the two left. 

You did as Sooyoung asked. You ate some ramen noodles because you didn’t have the stomach to eat much or cook anything, and finished a bottle of water. Then, you took a nice, warm shower, changed into a comfy pair of pajamas, and went to bed. After the rough day you had, you were able to knock out pretty quickly from exhaustion. 

------

You woke up the next day with swollen eyes, probably from all the crying last night. Instead of getting up, you just laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Your body felt heavy and you lacked any motivation to get up.

After a few minutes, you reached for your phone to check the time and any messages. It was currently 11:16 am. You received a couple of notifications since the last time you checked your phone. 

After looking through all your notifications, you decided to check Instagram. When you clicked on Lucas’s profile, your heart sank when you saw that he had already blocked you. You probably assume he already blocked your phone number and other social media accounts too. 

You were about to cry again at the thought, but then you remembered what Jaehyun said. 

A male escort.

Jaehyun sent you the website link the night before, just in case you wanted to take his suggestion. 

It took you a moment, before you said fuck it. 

You sat up from bed to retrieve your laptop on your desk beside the bed and brought it to your lap. You turned the laptop on and typed in the website link. 

Seekingescorts.com  

There were hundreds of escorts to choose from. Each of the escorts had pictures attached of what they looked like and basic information listed, such as their name, age, height, etc.

Thankfully, there were filters presented for you to narrow down the choices of escorts, such as gender preference, age window, and within a certain distance of your location. After filtering your preferences, the escorts were narrowed down to just seven people. You looked through the profiles of the available seven escorts and the third escort instantly caught your attention. 

 Name: Johnny Suh

Age: 25

Height: 6’0”

He looked extremely attractive in the photos provided, not that the other escorts weren’t attractive, but Johnny just seemed more your type.

After looking through the other escort’s profile, you knew for sure your mind was set on Johnny. You pressed on his profile, filled in the necessary information required, and clicked submit. 

Thank you for your submission. You will receive an email confirmation and a message from the escort you have chosen shortly. 

You did it. You actually hired an escort. 

A couple hours later after going about your day, you receive a text message from an unsaved number.

Hello, this is Johnny Suh. Thank you for hiring me as your escort on December 25 from 1pm to 11pm. I have read through the information you have given me and look forward to spending my time with you. Please let me know where you would like for us to meet and any other information I should know. 

After reading through his message, you reply back to him with the meeting location.  

There wasn’t any other communication sent between you two after that, other than a I’ll see you at 1pm, so you just counted down the days left until you would be spending Christmas with Johnny.

-----

Today is December 25. 

You looked at your phone. It was currently 12:58pm, two minutes before the time you were supposed to meet Johnny. 

You had a light layer of makeup on and dressed as nice and warm as possible because it was pretty cold today. Your heart pounded from nervousness as you thought of all the possible scenarios as to how the day will unfold while making your way to the designated meeting point that you and Johnny agreed on. Once you arrived, you stood there and stared at the people passing by as you waited for Johnny to arrive. 

As you stared at the people passing by, you suddenly began to hesitate, feeling dumb for hiring a male escort to pretend to be your boyfriend so you can spend your plans with someone that were originally supposed to be spent with your now ex-boyfriend.

What am I doing? You thought to yourself. This is stupid, I can’t believe I’m doing this. This was such a selfish and impulsive decision just because I didn’t want to be alone on Christmas. I should have just stayed home, not go out with some male escort I don’t even-

“Y/n?” 

You turn around at the mention of your name. 

Whoa. 

You stare up at the man that just called your name and you were absolutely speechless. 

Johnny looked just like in his photos, maybe even better in person. He could even pass off as a model. His hair was nicely styled and he was dressed in a long, beige coat, and black jeans. He was tall, had a sharp jawline, and the most mesmerizing eyes that you were slowly getting lost in. There were no words to describe this man other than absolutely stunning. 

“Are you y/n l/n?” Johnny asks, snapping you back into reality.

“Y-yes,” you stutter. 

“Hi, I’m Johnny.” He extends his hand out for you to shake with a gentle smile on his face. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” You shake his hand. 

“You look really pretty today, y/n.”

You blush at the compliment. “Thank you. You look really good too.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. “Are you excited for today?” 

“Yeah. A little nervous as well,” you honestly confess. “I’ve never hired an escort before so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Whatever you want to do, just let me know and I will happily do so. Also, if anything I do makes you feel uncomfortable, tell me and I will stop. My goal for today is to be the best boyfriend for you. Alright?” 

You nod, feeling a little less nervous at how easygoing he seems.

“What are we doing first today, my love?” he asks before taking one of your hands in his and presses a kiss to the top of your hands.

You swoon at his gesture before quickly pulling out the two tickets to the fair from your pocket and presenting it to him. 

Johnny looks at the pieces of paper in your hands. “The Christmas fair first? Alrighty then, let’s go!” 

And thus your day began with Johnny at the fair. You two played games, rode on the rides, and ate fried food together. For hours, it was just filled with fun and laughter. 

There were quite a few people, so Johnny would hold your hand to keep you by his side whenever you two would walk by a large crowd, making sure no one strays away from each other. 

For a second, it didn’t even feel like you were with an escort because Johnny was such a natural at playing the boyfriend role that there was never an awkward moment with him. It genuinely seemed like you two were just a couple going on a date to anybody looking. 

If Johnny was made of something, it would be boyfriend material. He was handsome, treated you like a princess, and a great conversationalist so there was never any awkward silence.

At around 5:30pm, it was time to leave the fair because you had a prepaid dinner reservation at 6pm. 

The restaurant was dimly lit and there was a pianist softly playing classical music at the back.

A waiter from the restaurant arrived to escort you both to your reserved table in the middle of the room. The table was surrounded by lit candles, roses, expensive silverware, and a bottle of wine. 

Johnny, like the gentleman he is, pulls your chair out for you to sit and pushes the chair back to the table after you sit down before he takes his seat. The waiter opens the wine bottle and pours both of you a drink. You both clink glasses and enjoy your meals while chatting throughout the dinner.

After dinner, the fancy restaurant was in the same building as the hotel you booked, so you checked in and then headed to the elevators up eight stories to your hotel room.

You both look around the nice hotel room in awe. There was a nice view of the city lights by the window, a single king-sized bed, and a large bathroom by the door.

There were a basket of flowers and a card that sat on the table. You went over to read the card and your heart clenches.

Welcome to the SME Hotel, y/n and Lucas. 

You forgot to call the hotel ahead of time to get his name removed or changed. 

You were so distracted by the card that you didn’t even notice Johnny looking over your shoulder, peering at the card in your hand that has your attention. He reads the card and notices the male name, ‘Lucas’, written after yours. Then, Johnny looks at you and notices your sad eyes.

Johnny walks in front of you and gently cups your face, grabbing your attention as he brings your face up to look at him.

“Is something wrong, my love?” he asks.

You look away from his gaze with a shake of your head. “Nothing’s wrong."

“Are you sure? Because you looked really upset reading that card. You can tell me if anything’s wrong.”

You stay quiet for a moment before you release a sigh.

“I was supposed to spend Christmas with my boyfriend. Well...ex-boyfriend now,” you explain. “He broke up with me a few days ago, even though we had all these plans together. I guess I just got a little upset when I saw his name on this card because I’m suddenly reminded that we’re no longer together.”

Johnny softens at your story and strokes your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m sorry he did that to you. I know it hurts right now, but just know that the pain will slowly go away with time, and you will find someone new again.”

You nod with a sad smile. 

“But for today, you’re mine. So I don’t want you to be thinking about another man in front of me or I’ll get jealous.” 

You know Johnny is just playing the character of your boyfriend, but you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat at his words. 

He takes the welcome card from your hand and places it back, face down, on the table.

“Come here.” He brings you into his warm embrace. You softly smile at his comforting gesture and hug him back.  

You both just stand there while hugging each other until an idea suddenly pops up into his head. “Hey, let’s get your mind off of him for a moment.” 

You look up at him with a raised eyebrow and tilt your head to the side at his words. 

Then, Johnny takes out his phone and clicks on the Spotify app. Suddenly, Taylor Swift featuring Shawn Mendes’s Lover plays. He turns the volume up to the highest setting before placing his phone on the table. Then, he turns to you and brings his hands out.

“Dance with me.” 

You stare at him for a second before looking down at his extended hands and slowly take his hands. 

We could leave the Christmas lights up ‘til January. This is our place we make the rules.

The dance began playful, filled with giggles and laughter as Johnny spun you around, doing elegant twirls. 

Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close? Forever and ever. 

As the song progresses, Johnny brings your head to rest against his head and you melt into his body. His arms wrap around your back and your arms wrap around him. You both close your eyes and silently listen to the song while your bodies slowly sway to the music.

See I finally got you now, honey. I won’t let you fall.

There was nothing on your mind right now except Johnny and the feeling of his body against yours and the steady beating of his heart against his chest. 

Oh, you’re my, my, my, my. Darling, you’re my, my, my, my lover. 

The music ends. 

You remove yourself from Johnny’s body to look up at him who was already staring down at you with a tender gaze. For a moment, you were both just lost in each other's eyes. Slowly, your eyes went from his eyes to his lips. 

You gulp. The longer you stared, the more you thought about leaning in to kiss his plump lips. Is it wrong to have such a strong desire to kiss another man a few days after getting dumped? 

“What are you thinking about right now?” he asks, his voice one octave lower, making you feel some type of way. 

“How much I want to kiss you,” you confess. You don’t know where this newfound confidence to say that sentence out loud came from, but knowing that you probably won’t be getting another opportunity like this any time soon, you threw all care out the window. 

Johnny leans in dangerously close with a smirk on his face. “Then do it.”

No one knows who leaned in first, but the next thing you know is that you’re both kissing each other. 

The kiss starts off gentle, like two lovers kissing each other for the first time again. Then, the kiss became more intense as Johnny’s arms wrap around your waist to pull you closer into his body and your arms cling onto Johnny’s shoulders.

Eventually, you both part ways to gasp for air without letting go of each other. You look up at Johnny with eyes full of lust and his eyes are just as dark as yours. The sexual tension was lingering in the air and you couldn’t take it anymore. You feel wetness pool in your underwear that you could no longer ignore and you desperately want him to do something about it.

“Johnny…” you breath out.

“Do you want to…” He didn’t finish his sentence but you already know where this is going.

“Are you sure? You’re not obligated to just because you’re-”

“You’re not forcing me to do anything. I want to do this,” he states. “Do you?”

You search his eyes for a bit before you reply, “Yes. I want you too.”

The verbal consent was enough for him to dive back in for another kiss. You wrap your arms around Johnny’s neck as you feel him lift you up with his arms and make his way over to the bed where he gently places you on your back without breaking the kiss. 

You shiver as Johnny stops kissing you and begins sucking open mouth kisses on your neck, but not leaving any marks in case you didn’t want any visible hickies on your skin.

He removes all your clothes, so you were completely bare in front of him. You become shy as Johnny’s large figure looms over you, his hungry eyes raking over your exposed body while he’s still fully clothed.

Johnny brings his face right in front of your chest and cups your soft mounds. A moan escapes your lips as he suddenly takes one of your erect nipples into his mouth and pinches the other one in between his fingers. As he continues to suck on your bud, you feel something poking your thigh, so your hand palms his erection and he shudders at the contact.

After a while, he removes himself from your breasts and starts taking his clothes off but keeps his pants on. 

You couldn’t help but stare at the sight in front of you because Johnny was built like a Greek god, sculpted by the finest artists. 

“Like what you see?” he smirks.

You nod. You weren’t even going to deny it and he chuckles at your honesty.

He brings two of his fingers to your awaiting entrance and you shudder.

“God, you’re fucking soaked,” he whispers into your ears. His sultry voice and fingers rubbing against your folds just made you even more wet.

He slowly pushes his two fingers inside of you and you bite back a moan. Oh god. 

“Let me hear you,” he says as he nibbles on your earlobe. “I want to know that I make you feel good.”

Johnny slowly thrusts his digits in and out of you as you release your moans that you could no longer hold in for him to hear. 

Once he thought that you were ready, he added a third finger and you grip the bedsheet from the additional intrusion.  

“Johnny,” you gasp as he brushes against your walls and hits that one spot that causes your body to arch against the bed.

“Right there,” you chant so he continues to rub against that spot.

You could already feel your orgasm starting to approach as your breathing becomes harsh and your wall clenches around his fingers as the pleasure continues to build up in your body.

You usually last longer than this, but something about doing this with Johnny, a somewhat stranger to you, an attractive stranger might you add, made it so much more thrilling. 

“I’m going to cum,” you warn him.

“Go ahead. Cum for me.” 

After a few more thrusts, you cry out in bliss and release all over his fingers. You pant heavily as you quickly try to recover, knowing that there was more to come. 

As you try to recover, Johnny finally removes his pants and boxers, allowing his cock to spring forward. You look down and your eyes widen at the sight of his erection. Holy shit, he’s huge. 

As you continue to stare, he reaches for the condom in the bedside table drawer he found while looking around the room earlier and rips the plastic open. 

He was able to get hard from kissing and fingering you, so he easily puts the condom onto his dick without any additional stimulation and positions his length in front of your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

Your heart was pounding, wondering if he’ll even fit inside of you. But regardless, you still nod. 

Johnny slowly enters you and you gasp at the pain and the pleasure. It felt like he was ripping you in half, even after being stretched open with three fingers.

“Shit, you’re still tight,” he hisses as he continues to enter you.

“Too big,” you whimper as your nails dig into the mattress. 

“I’ll go slow.” He kisses your forehead to distract you from the pain and continues to slowly enter you, just as promised. Once he is fully inside you, he waits patiently for you to adjust to his size. “Let me know when I can move.”

After adjusting to his size, you tell Johnny that he can move. 

He begins his thrusts slow just in case it was still too much for you. He was so gentle with you as if you were going to break. You were still slightly overstimulated from being fingered earlier, but you didn’t care and allowed Johnny to thrust inside you. 

"Faster,” you plead and he does as you request. You moan his name, along with a string of curses, as he begins to pick up the pace. 

The room was filled with nothing but the sounds of loud panting, skin slapping against skin, and the bed creaking as Johnny pounds into you. Hopefully, the hotel walls are thick because the people staying in the rooms next door or even passing by would surely be able to hear everything.

It didn’t take long for your second orgasm to approach again and he could feel it too as your walls clench around his length. 

“I’m going to cum again,” you announce.

“Fuck, me too. You feel so good, baby.” Johnny begins to groan and his thrusts become less accurate, signaling that he was close too.

Your toes curl and your back is arching off the bed as you come around his cock. With one last thrust, he groans and releases his seeds into the condom. 

Both of you just stay in your current positions, chest heaving as you both try to come down from your highs. After a minute, Johnny slowly pulls himself out of you and gets up from the bed to make his way to the bathroom. He removes the cum filled condom, ties it up, and tosses it into the trash can. Then, he returns to the bed and plants a kiss on your cheek before wrapping his arms around your body in a warm embrace. 

For the remainder of the time left, you and Johnny just cuddled naked under the blanket until your time with him was up. 

“What did you think of everything?” Johnny asks.

“Are you referring to the date or the sex?” You tease.

Johnny laughs, “The date, you pervert. But yes, I’d like to know how the sex was too.”

Seeing his laughing face brought a satisfied smile to your lips. “I had a really good time today. And the sex? Wow.” 

“I’m glad.” Johnny returns a smile and he brushes a stray hair of yours away from your face. “I had a good time today too.” 

There was a comforting silence before you hesitantly ask, “Do you do it with all your clients?” 

“Not all of them. We have the right to say no,” he replies. “And don’t worry, I always do it protected and get tested regularly just in case.”

A few minutes before 11pm, you both start putting your clothes back on because it was almost time for Johnny’s departure. You were quite sad the day is already over, but today has been such an eventful day. 

Even though you knew Johnny was just a male escort only meant to comfort you by spending the day with you so you wouldn't be alone during Christmas, you were going to feel empty once again. But you were still happy nonetheless. Johnny made you feel so loved, even if it was just temporary. You were so glad to have met Johnny because this will be a Christmas worth remembering for sure. 

You walk him to the door once 11pm hits. 

“Thank you for today, Johnny,” you smile up at him. 

He returns the smile back, “It was my pleasure.” 

Johnny leans down and presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. You just couldn’t get enough of his kisses. 

“Goodnight, y/n. Merry Christmas.”

“Goodnight, Johnny. Merry Christmas.”

And with that, he turns around and walks away from your hotel room and heads to the elevator. You wait until you are no longer able to see Johnny before retreating back into your room and shutting the door behind you.

A loud sigh escapes your lips as you stare at the empty hotel room as memories of your day with Johnny flooded your mind. This day didn’t turn out like you expected it to, but it was way better than what you could have hoped for. 

You were definitely going to have to thank Jaehyun later. 

The loneliness begins to settle in again, so you grab your phone from the bedside table and begin to type a text message to someone, then hit send. 

You: Can I see you again on New Years? 

#nct fanfic #nct smut #nct fluff #nct johnny fic #johnny fluff #johnny smut #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct johnny fanfic #nct johnny fluff #johnny fanfic

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The Reward of Suffering

next chapter

Summary: A retelling of the events of season 12 episode 13. 

Gif credit to the wonderful and talented @imagining-in-the-margins​

A/N: After several months of contemplation, I have finally decided to post part one of my first ever fic on Tumblr! This fic will follow the event of Spencer’s prison arc, so needless to say there will be SPOILERS. This first part is super long, but I felt that it needed to be in order to set up the plot. I hope you all enjoy reading! If you would like to be tagged on future updates, let me know!

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem! Reader

Warnings: no smut (yet), mentions of past frug use, cursing, typical CM case talk

Word count: 12.1k

           “Reid is in jail.”

           I felt the color immediately drain from my face and an intense feeling of dread began to wash through my body. I sat up in my chair, back ramrod straight. I briefly looked towards the faces of my teammates, Luke and JJ to my left and Penelope to my right. Their faces were all contorted, displaying varying degrees of shock and confusion. It was hard for any of us to process what we were hearing. The idea of Spencer Reid, the same Spencer who wore a mask to the office on Halloween and put on elaborate magic shows for everyone’s children, doing anything that would warrant being put behind bars was preposterous.

           Surely, this is all just a big misunderstanding.

           “Jail?” Penelope squeaked out. My eyes flitted to her, taking note of the way her eyebrows were drawn together in disbelief. She was thinking the same thing I’m sure we all were; that there was no way Spencer Reid had engaged in any illegal activity. Spencer was a well-educated, highly regarded FBI agent, for Christ sake. He knew the laws of the land better than any of us.

           “In Mexico.”

My attention focused solely on Emily. In the few weeks since I had come to know her, I had begun to look at her not only as a sort of fearless leader, but also as a kind of fiercely loyal friend that I was incredibly lucky to have. Emily somehow managed to find the perfect balance between being accommodating and stern. She was the kind of boss you could have a drink and cut up with after a long day, but she also carried herself in a way that demanded the utmost respect in the workplace. Emily Prentiss’s bravery was unmatched, and I admired her for that.

It shook me to my core when her eyes met mine and I saw the pure, unbridled fear in them. If Emily was scared, then this must be leagues worse than we could have ever imagined.

“What the hell is he doing down there?” JJ asked, crossing her arms and shuffling from one foot to the other.

“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to him. The call came in to Cruz from their lead investigator.”

Luke was the next to chime in. “What’s he being held for?”

“Drug possession,” Rossi said, before taking on, “with intent to distribute.”

For the second time that day, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Images of Spencer sitting across from me in a dimly lit coffee shop, tripping over his words as he confided in me, spilling his deepest and darkest secrets in a voice barely above a whisper. His voice had grown stronger as he neared the end of his story and he had dug deep in his satchel, producing a small golden coin. We both had tears in our eyes as we looked at the writing engraved into the coin; unity, service recovery. Spencer Reid was ten years sober, and the pride on his face was as clear as day.

There was no way he would throw all of that away.

“What type of drugs?”

“Cocaine and heroin,” Rossi said, his voice shaky.

Rossi and Spencer had always had a good relationship. Spencer had admired his work long before he met him, having read and reread every book he had ever published. It had delighted Spencer that he and Rossi had managed to develop rapport so quickly. Rossi was the only one talented enough at the game of chess to even think of giving Spencer a run for his money, though many of us had tried. In one of many hushed conversations shared on the jet, he had once told me that he had begun to think of Rossi as somewhat of a father figure; he didn’t quite fill the role in the same way Gideon had, but Spencer was thankful just the same. One look at Rossi’s troubled expression was enough to tell me that the feelings were definitely mutual.

“Oh my God. This can’t be happening.” JJ was positively crestfallen, clutching a hand against her own chest in an attempt to ground herself. Her other hand came up to her face as she absentmindedly pushed her hair away.

“We need Lewis and Walker here, ASAP,” Emily directed her order and Penelope, who was quick to comply.

Everyone sprang into action, but I found myself unable to move, weighed down by the deeply unsettling circumstance. It felt as if I was no longer in my own body, like I was watching everything unfold from an outsider’s perspective. Maybe I am, I thought. Maybe this is all just some horrible nightmare. Any second now, my alarm will go off and this will all be over.

I waited and waited for my alarm to sound, but that never happened. Instead, Emily crouched down in front of me, grasping my arm firmly in her right hand.

“I know how devastated you must be. Trust me, I do,” she sympathized, her deep brown eyes boring into my own. “But Reid’s going to need you now more than ever. You’re his best friend and you know him better than anyone. Did he ever mention to you that he was going to Mexico?”

I shook my head numbly, my motions feeling alien and stilted.

“Never. He told me the same thing he told you; that he was going to Houston for a few days to meet with his mother’s doctor,” I whispered. I feared that if I raised my voice any higher, tears would begin to fall. Maintaining my composure was becoming harder with every passing second, and I wasn’t exactly privy to breaking down in front of my boss. “I guess I don’t know him as well as I thought.”

Emily sighed, letting go of my arm before straightening up.

“Apparently, none of us did. But I know damn well that this has to be a mistake. We’ll get him out of this.”

           The apprehension in her voice told me that even she wasn’t sure we could pull this one off.

--

           “This has got to be Scratch,” Tara stated, her voice wafting through the speakers of Luke’s laptop. Emily, Rossi, Luke and I were currently in the jet, on our way to the jail where Spencer was being held. All of us were huddled close together around the computer, listening on with eager ears. “He was laying low, and now we know why.”

           “Crossing the border as a fugitive is a huge risk,” Luke pointed out.

           “The reward is even greater. He’s been punishing the team, and now his target is Reid.” Emily’s voice was full of frustration and contempt.

           “Peter Lewis dropped off the map after attacking Tara’s family,” Stephen chimed in. Not even his deep baritone voice could do anything to calm my frazzled nerves. “Maybe he’s been hiding in Mexico this whole time.”

           “We also have to consider that it isn’t related to him,” I murmured. Several pairs of eyes locked on me, shocked. I had been uncharacteristically quiet since this whole ordeal began, limiting my responses to one word replies and hums of acknowledgement. On a normal day, I’d be throwing in my two cents any time I saw fit. Today, I was struggling just to keep breathing.

           “Who else would it be?” Rossi asked.

           “Drug cartels. Could’ve threatened Reid and used him as a mule.” Saying his name was painful, because it reminded me that we weren’t just talking about a victim with whom we had no personal ties; we were talking about our colleague and beloved friend.

           “Agreed,” Rossi nodded. “This could simply be a case of bad luck. Reid was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

           “Spencer’s mom is okay.” JJ’s announcement was like music to my ears. I let out an audible sigh of relief. “The home nurse he hired said all is stable.”

           “How long did he tell the nurse he’d be gone?”

           “Three days.”

           “That sounds reasonable. After the Palm Springs case, Reid said he had to get back to Houston to talk to his mom’s doctor,” Emily interjected. I nodded along in agreement. He’d told me the same thing when I talked to him the night before last.

The fatigue in his voice had alerted me to the fact that things hadn’t been going so well with his mother. Her condition had been rapidly deteriorating in the recent months, prompting Spencer to make the tough decision to remove her from the assisted living facility she was at and into his own apartment. His main argument had been that no one could possibly take better care of his mother that him; that he was familiar with her condition and how best to respond when she had an episode. When I had asked him how he was handling it all, he was quick to reassure me that it was not anything he couldn’t handle.

Spencer’s loyalty ran deep; so deep that I knew he would do anything in his power to take care of Diana, but I’d never imagined that it would land him in fucking jail.

“Well, Houston is only a five-hour drive from the border,” Tara mused. “The question is, why did he go down there?”

“And why does he have narcotics?” Rossi was the first to speak on what was at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

“Yeah, exactly. He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t do that. Those drugs were planted on him,” Penelope insisted.

“Absolutely, but there’s something bigger in play. That’s why he crossed the border and kept it a secret. There’s something he didn’t want to share with any of you.”

I cringed at Stephen’s choice of wording. Spencer and I were as close as two people could be, and there was nothing I withheld from him. He knew everything about me, every dark and embarrassing thought that had ever crossed my mind; yet, he accepted me just the same. I had always assumed that it went both ways, that he was just as honest and forthcoming with me as I was with him. It hurt to know that there were things he kept from me, secrets that he felt he couldn’t trust me with.

But most of all, it absolutely gutted me to think that he was dealing with something so horrible that it landed him in jail, and he that he had to do it all alone.

“Okay, so what would make him risk everything?” Emily pondered aloud.

“His mom.” My answer was instantaneous.

A ping sounded from the other end of the video call, and we all leaning in, our interest piqued.

“Cruz just sent me the arresting report,” Penelope announced, clicking away at her computer before continuing. “It says here that Reid was involved in a high-speed chase.”

“What?” I choked out, my voice coming out several pitches higher than usual. “Spencer hardly ever drives.” I could feel my stomach begin to churn, bile threatening to force its way up my esophagus. This isn’t right, I wanted to scream. Our Spencer would never get himself involved in something that would put himself or others at risk.

“None of this sounds like him,” Penelope whispered, her thoughts mimicking my own. “It says he was wearing jeans and a baseball cap and that he was really confused. According to the arresting officer, he was really high on something.”

Unity, service, respect; ten years sober. All down the fucking drain.

I shot up from my seat, bolting down the walkway and into the bathroom. I immediately fell to my knees, barely managing to push my hair out of the way before retching into the toilet bowl. I continued like this for several minutes, only pausing momentarily when I felt large, soothing hands running up and down my back. Soft murmurings of reassurance alerted me to the fact that it was Luke who was sitting with me. I let out a strained ‘thank you’ before another wave of nausea hit me, rendering me speechless. Luke held my hair back, never once leaving my side.

When I had thrown up the entirety of my breakfast and all I could do was dry heave, I slumped back against the wall, relishing in how cool it felt against my flushed skin. A stretch of silence passed before he decided to break it.

“That was an extreme reaction,” Luke pointed out, still sitting in the floor with his legs crisscrossed. I noticed how closely he was watching me, his eyes focused on reading my expressions. He was profiling me, that much was obvious. It was an unspoken rule between us all that we would never profile one another, but any fight I had left in me had long since dissipated.

“He worked so hard to get clean, Luke. I wasn’t around when it happened, but he told me about it. He was so proud of himself,” I whispered. My throat was now raw and my voice came out more than a little bit hoarse.

Luke’s eyebrows came together, confusion clear on his face.

“Get clean? What are you talking about?”

I let out a shuddery breath. It felt wrong to divulge information on Spencer’s personal life; like I was betraying his trust. Given the circumstance, I supposed he wouldn’t mind, but it still felt treacherous and left a bad taste in my mouth. Sorry, Spence.

“Ten years ago, Reid was kidnapped by an unsub with DID. He kept him in a remote cabin for several days, alternating between beating him senseless and shooting him full of so much hydromorphone that he couldn’t remember his own name. At one point, he even,” I trailed off, hot tears spilling out of my eyes and running down my cheeks. Luke took my hand in his in an act of reassurance, his way of telling me not to rush. Luke hadn’t been with us for long, and our interactions thus far hadn’t gone much farther than conversations about work. Seeing the way he was offering himself up to me as a confidant and shoulder to cry on made me feel guilty for ever having written him off.

Thank God for Luke Alvez.

After a long pause, I managed to continue. “Spencer ended up having a seizure and he died for several minutes. The unsub’s more benevolent personality, Tobias, was able to resuscitate him. Eventually Spencer was able to take him down, but the trauma mixed with the exposure to such a highly addictive drug led to him developing a dependence on it.”

Luke swore and ran a hand through his hair.

“I never would’ve guessed it. The kid carries himself so well.”

A small, fond smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

“He’s amazing, really. He detoxed all by himself and started going to NA meetings. This past October marked ten years. We celebrated by going to one of those really fancy museums he likes and he insisted on taking the guided tour so that he could see how many errors the guide would make,” I let out a light laugh at the memory. “Every time they’d get something wrong, he’d lean down whisper the correct information so that only I could hear it. I don’t think I’d ever seen him that happy,” I reminisced, allowing myself to forget about the current situation for the tiniest of moments. I wondered if I’d ever get to experience a day like that with Spencer ever again.

“You two are close, I take it?”

I nodded. Luke had fit in with the group so seamlessly that I had forgotten that he had only been with us for a short time. He didn’t really know the dynamics of everything yet.

“He’s my best friend.”

Luke hummed, and I could feel his eyes looking at me inquisitively.

“And that boyfriend of yours, he doesn’t mind?” Okay, maybe Luke was a little bit more perceptive than he let on.

Gavin and I had begun dating at the end of my first year with the BAU. He and I had meet in the most cliché of ways; bumping into each other in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. Gavin was more than a little bit handsome, but what had reeled me in had been the way he taken one look at the box of cereal in my cart and immediately scrunched his nose up in disgust.

“Plain Cheerios? Are you some sort of masochist, or something?” he had asked, a playful lilt to his voice. Normally, if a strange man had approached me in public, I would’ve been quick to express my disinterest. If my job had taught me anything, it was that a woman being approached by a strange man was a recipe for trouble. But something about him seemed wholly unthreatening, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his forwardness, raising an eyebrow at him.

“As if your choice is any better. Lucky Charms? What are you, six?”

“Don’t even go there. Lucky Charms are magically delicious, thank you very much,” he sniffed, feigning superiority. “And if we’re touching on the subject of age, the only person I know that eats plain Cheerios is my eighty-six-year-old grandmother. You look a bit young to be worrying about heart health, and I refuse to believe that you actually enjoy the taste, so what gives?”

“First of all, I find it concerning that you are so familiar with cereal slogans,” I breezed, leaning against my shopping cart. “Second, I am curious; do you make it a habit to harass people about their cereal preferences?”

“Only if they’re cute.”

And that had been that. Several dates later he had asked me to be his girlfriend over a dinner he had attempted to make himself. I said yes and he kissed me, nearly knocking over his plate of burnt chicken parmesan in the process.

“We, uh, have an understanding. He knows that Spencer and I are just good friends.”

Gavin and I did have an understanding, but it wasn’t a very solid one. In fact, I was sure that he damn near despised Spencer’s very existence. He had done a good job at hiding it for a while, but after coming home one night from an impromptu movie night with Spencer, he had revealed to me that he had a jealous streak a mile long. I reassured him that there was absolutely nothing that he needed to worry about, but I could tell he didn’t believe a word of it. Gavin had out flat demanded that I cut all ties with Spencer, and I had laughed in his face.

“I’m not the kind of girl that likes to be told what to do. Either you learn to live with him being a part of my life, or you can find someone else to boss around, because I can tell you right now, that won’t fly with me.”

My threat had proven to be effective, and he had apologized, and that had been the end of that. He still wasn’t fond of the idea that Spencer and I were such close friends, but he hadn’t tried to proposition me with any more ridiculous ultimatums.

“That’s good to hear,” Luke hummed, squeezing my hand before rising to his feet. I could tell that he didn’t necessarily buy into what I was saying, but I was thankful that he didn’t press it any further. “What do you say we go back out there. We’ve got to be getting close by now.”

I nodded and he helped me to my feet. I bent down to the faucet, swishing some water in my mouth before spitting it out.

When Luke and I returned to our seats, I was immediately aware of the way Rossi and Emily were eyeing me; like I was a delicate thing that needed to be handled with kid gloves.

I absolutely hated it.

“Sorry about that. It won’t happen again,” I said, before turning my attention back to the video call and saying, “so, what did we miss?”

--

The police station was surprisingly small. The hallways were narrow and the light bulbs above me gave off an almost green tint, casting an eerie glow on the place. The sounds of disgruntled detainees calling out drifted through the hallways, sounding akin to the moaning of a ghost. My eyes darted around constantly as we walked, the uneasy feeling in my stomach growing with every step we took towards the heart of the precinct.

“Thank you for calling us.” Emily’s words were directed at the police officer, Chief Castenada, who was leading us down the hall. He was a short man with graying hair and a seemingly permanent frown etched into his face. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that he wasn’t happy that four federal agents were in his jail.

“A U.S. fed in our custody isn’t something we see every day,” the man said, his tone entirely unfriendly. I grimaced.

“Have you gotten any of his tox screen panels back yet?” I prodded, quickening the pace of my strides until I was walking alongside him. He looked down at me like I was a pesky gnat that he wanted to bat away.

“No.”

Color me unsurprised.

“You’ll need to expedite that. We have cause to believe that Doctor Reid was drugged.”

“He was definitely high and driving like a bat out of Hell. Not to mention he had $20,000 worth of heroin in his possession,” he sneered, ceasing to walk and staring down at me with distaste. “Both of which put my officers at risk. You’re in our jurisdiction. Don’t forget that. The rules are different here.”

I opened my mouth, ready to fire back with some smart-assery of my own, but a hand at my elbow stopped me. I turned and saw that it was Luke, who nodded his head to the left of us. I looked in the direction he was referring to, and I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.

Just up ahead was a holding cell with several poorly constructed benches in the center of it. On the very first row of seats sat Spencer, who had seemingly retreated in to himself. He was hunched over, his arms wrapped pitifully around himself, much like you’d imagine a child might do to keep warm. Spencer’s clothes were tattered and dirty and a bandage adorned his right hand. His usually beautiful chestnut curls were flying around his head in a mess of tangles and dirt. Despite the fact that Spencer towered over most of us, I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly small he looked.

Even as awful as he looked in his current state, a direct contradiction of the way he usually presented himself, I’d never been happier to lay my eyes on someone in my life.

My feet carried me forward before my brain had time to catch up. I closed the distance between me and the cell, pausing and taking a good, long look at him before allowing myself to speak. He hadn’t noticed me standing there yet. His gaze was instead trained on something at the other end of the room, his eyes red rimmed and glassy and his face completely slack.

“Spence?” I called out, the nickname falling from my lips like a prayer. In a way I suppose it was; a prayer that he was alright, that the horrible things Penelope had told us about were nothing but a horrible lie. At first, I was worried that he hadn’t heard me or that he was too out of his mind to even register the sound of my voice. Just when I opened my mouth to speak again, he turned his head in way that I would have described as comically slow if the situation hadn’t been so serious. The spacey look in his eyes told me that my prayers wouldn’t be answered.

Spencer’s eyes locked with mine, but his face remained completely blank, devoid of all expression. I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, until it hit me like a ton of bricks; he had no clue who I was.

I wanted to be mad. I wanted to scream at him, to ask him how could he forget me, of all people. My anger was irrational and unfair, but I couldn’t help it. While I understood that it was no fault of his own, that the drugs coursing through his veins were to blame, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

I swallowed down the emotions that threatened to spill out, pushing them down into the depths of my being. I couldn’t let my emotional attachment hinder my judgment. I needed to be as vigilant as ever, no, more vigilant. The fate of my favorite person in the whole world depended on it.

“It’s me, Y/N,” I explained, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage. “It’s good to see you, Spencer. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

He watched me for a moment before standing and making his way to where I was leaning against the bars.

“Y/N,” Spencer murmured when he reached me, as if testing my name out to see how it rolled off of his tongue. His stare was still vacant, but having him in front of me after worrying about his wellbeing for the last five hours was more than enough for now. I’d take him however I could have him. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, we came,” I murmured, my eyes raking over every inch of his body for any signs of distress. Other than the bandage on his hand, he seemed to be in one piece.

Rossi was quick to join me, coming to a stop at my left.

“We’re going to get you out of here, kid,” he reassured, his tone more serious than I’d ever heard it.

           “We need to work out some details with the locals, okay?” Emily said, waiting for a response but getting none.

           “Who was your contact down here?” Luke asked.

           Spencer was quicker to respond this time.

           “Rosa,” he mumbled as he grabbed his shirt sleeve and pulled it up. On his inner arm, the name Rosa Medina was written in what was undoubtably his own handwriting. Spencer was notorious around the office for having the worst handwriting. I like to blame it on the fact that he was a doctor, which always elicited a laugh from him. “I think she’s a doctor.”

           Luke pulled his phone out from his pocket, snapping a picture of the name.

           “Where did you meet her?”

           Spencer shook his head and a frown pulled down at the corner of his lips.

           “I… I don’t remember.”

           “If you saw her, would you remember her?”

           Spencer nodded in affirmation.

           “You’re missing time, aren’t you?” I asked, causing him to look at me once more. His brows furrowed together and he was nodding again, slightly surer of himself this time.

           “It’s peeking out. It’s coming in flashes.”

           “And you’ve been drugged?”

           I didn’t know it was possible for his face to fall any more, but the look of shame that manifested itself when he registered my words was absolutely heartbreaking.

           “Yeah, but I didn’t take it myself,” he insisted, a spark of life burning bright in the depths of his eyes. Somewhere in there, under the haze of narcotics, was the same Spencer that had fought tooth and nail for his sobriety all those years ago. My heart broke for him.

           “Of course, you didn’t, Spence. We know that,” I said, almost reaching out to touch him before thinking better of it. “We’re thinking it might be Scratch.”

           Just like before, when I had first spoken to him, absolutely no sign of recognition showed itself on his face.

           “Scratch,” he muttered detachedly, much the same as before.

           Luke’s phone rang then and he excused himself for a moment before stepping away. I looked to Rossi and Emily, who seemed to also be at a loss for words. The silence that filled the room was excruciating, and I once again started to feel like the walls were closing in on me. I wanted nothing more than to scream, to cry out in frustration. The whole situation was unfair in a way that I didn’t think was possible. I was a big believer in karma; put good in and get good out, or something like that. But now, standing outside of a holding cell that looked more like a dungeon than anything, I was ready to throw away that belief entirely.

Of all the people that I know, Spencer was the least deserving of something like this.

           Just when I began to consider ducking outside for a breath of fresh air, Luke returned.

           “Hey, the team sent this. Is this the doctor you met?” he asked, pointing to a picture of a woman he had pulled up on his phone. The woman was of Mexican descent, with short, choppy gray hair. She appeared to be middle aged, from what I could guess.

           Spencer stared at the picture before nodding.

           “Her alias is Rosa Medina and her real name is Nadi Ramos. Garcia tracked her to a motel just outside of town. Does that sound familiar?”

           Spencer’s brows furrowed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

           “No.”

           “Okay, we’ll need to take Castenada and his officers with us,” Emily announced, before turning and heading towards the door.

           “Do you want company here?” Rossi asked.

           Spencer seemed to take a moment to process before answering with an almost imperceptible nod. He turned his head and focused his gaze on me.

           “Can… Can you stay?”

           Rossi turned to face me too, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘are you okay with this?’ I gave him what I hoped was a convincing smile. Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure that I could handle this; the this that I am referring to being a nearly catatonic Spencer Reid. I was used to the Spencer who regaled me with interesting tidbits of information whenever there was a lull in conversation. The Spencer that stood before me now was a shell of his former self, and that terrified me.

           “I’ll be fine here. Let me know if you guys find anything,” I told Rossi. He nodded once to me before enveloping me in a tight hug.

           “Resta forte mia piccolo colomba,” Rossi murmured in my ear. I hadn’t a clue what the phrase meant, but the words draped over me like a warm blanket. Suddenly the weight of the current situation didn’t seem so heavy, and I felt immensely thankful that a man like David Rossi was in my life.

           Rossi pressed his lips to the top of my head before releasing me. He gave one last, despairing look to Spencer before hurrying off after Luke and Emily. It could’ve been the light playing tricks on me, or maybe the exhaustion, but when Rossi turned away from us, I swear I saw tears welling in his eyes.

           And then there were two.

           I took glance at my watch for the first time all day, cringing when I saw the time to be 8:17PM. Quantico was an hour ahead, meaning Gavin was probably losing his shit wondering where I was. I sighed, fishing my phone out of my back pocket and turning it on.

           “Spence, I’m going to make a phone call really quick,” I murmured. He offered no reply, just as I had come to expect. He was watching me, standing stock still in the same place he had been the entire time. I moved to stand in the doorway, hopefully far enough away that he couldn’t hear me anymore.

           As soon as my phone booted up, a plethora of notifications came through. Seventeen missed calls and twenty-four unread text messages, to be exact. I decided to forgo reading the messages, instead pressing the return call button and tapping my foot anxiously against the floor. Gavin didn’t keep me waiting long, picking up on the very first ring.

           “About time you answer your goddamn phone,” he hissed out. “Do you know how worried I’ve been? I even called your office phone and no one would answer that, either. What the fuck is going on? Where are you?”

           “I’m… In Mexico.”

           A long pause followed and I held my breath, waiting for the onslaught to begin.

           “You left the country without even bothering to tell me?” Gavin asked, his voice raising in volume. I could picture him now; probably sitting on our sofa, fists balled together and jaw clenched. “Would you like to enlighten me as to why you’re in Mexico?”

           I closed my eyes, frustration bubbling deep inside me. Today was arguably the shittiest day of my entire life, and I certainly didn’t need Gavin harping on about how I hadn’t been in touch. Honestly, informing him of my whereabouts had been the furthest thing from my mind.

           “It’s Spencer,” I began, trying to think of the proper way to word it all. “He got into some… trouble. We think he’s being framed by Scratch.”

           “Isn’t that the guy that just went after Tara’s family?”

           “Yeah, it is. He’s been laying low for the past few months, and I guess he was just building up to all of this. It’s really bad, Gav,” I whispered the last bit, hoping that Spencer couldn’t hear me. If he did, he made no move that indicated it. “He’s high out of his mind and can’t remember anything.”

           “How long will you guys be there?” Gavin asked, completely ignoring the fact that I mentioned Spencer at all. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from saying something I might regret. I understand that he doesn’t like the guy, but he could show some common decency and at least pretend.

           “I’m not entirely sure. Rossi, Emily, and Luke just headed out to go check on a lead. I don’t know how long that’ll take.”

           “Wait, so, where are you?”

           “I’m at the jail with Spencer, why?” I inquired, running my hand through my hair and absentmindedly combing out the knots that had formed. I was sure that I looked a right mess, but I couldn’t be too bothered to care.

           “Let me get this straight. They left you alone with a guy who is wasted on God knows what, not knowing how he’ll react to it?” A bitter laugh flowed through the phone speaker. “Sounds like you don’t exactly work with the smartest bunch. What if he tries to attack you or something?”

           I let his words hang in the air for a moment, unable to formulate a reply that wasn’t something like you’re being an absolute fucking dick bag right now. No, I was a grown woman and I was going to communicate like one, despite the fact that his ignorant reply was making me shake with rage.

           “The first thing I’m going to address is the fact that this is not some guy. We’re talking about my best friend and teammate, and his name is Spencer. Use it,” I said through gritted teeth. “The second thing is that he’s not some wild animal. He’s not going to try to come through the bars and pounce on me. What he’s going through right now is traumatic, and he doesn’t need to be left alone right now. Show some compassion.”

           “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry,” Gavin muttered. It was the most unapologetic apology I’d ever heard in my life, prompting me to roll my eyes. I don’t understand how I can love someone and want to throttle them simultaneously. “I’m just worried about you, is all. How are you holding up?”

           “I’m as good as can be expected,” I sighed, bringing my free hand up to rub at my eyes. “I’m just tired of watching this guy terrorize all of my friends. First, he takes Hotch from us, then he nearly kills Tara’s brother, and now this. I’m beginning to think we’ll never catch a break.”

           “I know you’re tired, baby. Just try to hang on a little bit longer. As much as I question some of their decisions, your team is good at what they do. You guys will catch him. I have faith in you.”

           There it is. That’s the Gavin that I fell in love with.

           “Thank you,” I murmured. “It’s been a long day and I needed to hear that.” I cast a glance back at Spencer, who was now staring down at his bandaged hand, an indiscernible expression on his face. He looked so lost, standing all alone in the grimy holding cell. The lights cast shadows on his face, making his already angular face look gaunt. The Spencer I knew was the human embodiment of light; filling up every room he was in with his delightfully idiosyncratic presence. The Spencer in the cell was so shrouded in darkness that the room seemed to be swallowing him whole, taking his brilliance and crushing it into smithereens.

“Gav, I think I need to get back in there.”

           “Yeah, alright. Just keep me in the loop this time, please. I don’t like not knowing where my girlfriend is.”

           “I’ll make sure to check in whenever I can,” I promised, before tacking on a, “love you.”

           “Love you, too.”

           I pocketed my phone with hands that shook, no longer from rage but from apprehension. I liked to think that I was good at my job. I had done well at the academy; not well enough to have graduated at the top of my class, but I did manage to be in the top ten. After lucking into the job of a lifetime, I had fully committed myself to learning to be the best profiler I could possibly be. Two years of piecing together the innerworkings of criminal minds had taught me more than I ever could have imagined about the human psyche. I had talked many a deranged psychopath down from the ledge, and I had saved more than a few lives along the way. Unfortunately, not all cases can end favorably. Those are the ones that taught me the most.

           For all that I learned, nothing could’ve prepared me to deal with the shell of a man that stood before me.

           I was standing in front of him now, fiddling nervously with my hands. When Spencer had originally told me about his battle with addiction, I had taken it upon myself to do some research of my own. I wanted to be able to identify the signs, God forbid he ever relapse. While conducting my research, I had read somewhere that the best way to support someone during a come down is by remaining positive and creating a calm, safe environment.

           I was currently the antithesis of calm, but for Spencer’s sake, I was going to do my best.

           I took a step forward and offered him a small smile.

           “I’ve never seen you in jeans and boots before,” I said. I was proud of myself when the words came out sounding relatively casual. “It’s a good look on you, but I have to admit I prefer the academic look. I suppose it’s the sapiosexual in me.”

           He gave no response, but the tinniest tug at the corner of his mouth told me that he found my comment amusing.

           I let my eyes drag over him again and I fixated on the bandage on his right hand, frowning.

           “Do you remember what happened to your hand?”

           Spencer raised his hand up, absentmindedly flipping it over and inspecting it.

           “I don’t know,” he murmured. Spencer’s usually high pitched voice came out gravely, no doubt a byproduct of dehydration related to the drugs. My eyes skimmed across the holding cell and I frowned when I saw no water fountain in sight.

           “M’ gonna go get you some water, okay?” I turned away and pivoted on my heel, taking one step before a hand wrapped around my upper arm. I spun around so fast I nearly caught whiplash.

           Spencer’s eyes were wide and full of panic, conveying more emotion than he’d had since we’d arrived. His eyebrows were drawn together as well, contorting his face into a pitiful expression.

           “Don’t go,” he rasped, his hand still firmly grasping my arm. “Please.”

           The hopelessness in his voice was like a dagger through my heart. I nodded fervently and placed my hand over his, prompting him to loosen his grip. He did, and I took his hand in both of mine. I rubbed my thumbs over his skin, haphazardly tracing patterns in an attempt to calm him.

           “Yeah, okay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” I soothed, bringing his hand up to my mouth and placing a chaste kiss to the skin. “I’ve got you, Spence. It’s all going to be okay.”

           The look of panic slowly washed away the longer we stood there. He held onto my hands like I was a lifeline, the only thing tethering him to the ground. While I longed for nothing more than to really embrace him, to pull all of him into my arms and hold on for dear life, the bars that separated us inhibited me from doing so. So instead I just relished in the feel of his hand intertwined with my own.

           It would have to be enough for now.

--

           Nadi Ramos was dead.

           I didn’t have to ask Emily to know that the situation had gone from bad to absolutely fucking terrible. We knew Scratch was a horrendous individual; that much had been proved by his preferred modus operandi. We also knew that he had become fixated on taking down each of us one by one. He’d tried twice with Hotch, even going as far as to target his son, resulting in the two of them joining WITSEC for their own safety. The next blow had come when he had set his sights on Tara, or, more specifically, her brother. We’d gotten lucky with that one, having located and freed her brother just in the nick of time. After the incident with Tara’s brother, we all expected the next attack to come in quick succession. When several months passed with no sign of Scratch, we all became terribly on edge. No one was saying it, but we all were waiting to see which one of us would be next, crossing our fingers and hoping it wouldn’t be us.

           I knew that none of us were exempt from Scratch’s wrath, but for some reason, I’d never imagined him targeting Spencer.

           And target him he fucking did.

           “We know you didn’t do this,” Emily spoke for the group, knowing good and well that we were all on the same page.

           “How did it happen?” Spencer’s back was to us. His shoulders were slumped and his face downturned.

           “She was stabbed multiple times. It looked personal,” Luke answered, his voice low and careful. It was obvious to us all that he was being extra careful with his wording, making sure to broach the subject carefully. We all knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Spencer was innocent; but that didn’t mean that Spencer did.

           Chief Castenada trudged into the holding cell, the portrait of all things cranky and unpleasant. His presence acted as a proverbial storm cloud on an already shitty day.

           “We got the results of your blood work. There’s cocaine and heroin in your system.”

           “What else?” Emily asked, causing Castenada to give her a confused look.

           “He was in possession of cocaine and heroin when he was arrested. I found what I needed.”

           I felt myself bristle and before I knew it, my mouth was open and I was spouting out pure venom.

           “Thanks so much for doing the bare minimum, but we’re going to need a full tox screen panel. We’re looking for scopolamine.”

           Emily’s eyes cut over to me and if I hadn’t been fighting on Spencer’s behalf, I would’ve withered under the weight of the shut the fuck up look she gave me. Instead, I continued on, silently praying I’d still have a job after today.

           “It’ll take longer, but we need it,” I explained in what I hoped was a slightly more accommodating tone. Castenada gave a curt nod in reply before exiting the room, grumbling something in Spanish that had Luke and Emily shooting daggers at his retreating figure.

           “Do I want to know?”

           Luke shook his head, shooting a small smile in my direction.

           “Let’s just say he’s not your biggest fan, and we’ll leave it at that,” he offered, before straightening out his expression and turning back to Spencer. “You were given a speed ball. The opiates block the dopamine in your brain. That’s why things go from clear to hazy. The combination of the drugs causes a dissociative state and explains the memory loss. Are you coming down now?”

           “I think so,” Spencer said. His cadence wasn’t as slow as it had been earlier, which was a relief.

           “Do you think you could do a cognitive interview?” Emily’s voice was hopeful, and if Spencer was one thing, it was a people pleaser. It was obvious that he was overwhelmed; I had taken note of the fact that he was displaying one of his nervous ticks. Spencer was touching the pad of his thumb on the tips of his other fingers in rapid succession. Despite his obvious discomfort, he nodded his head in agreeance.

           “I’ll try.”

           Rossi took the lull in conversation as an opportunity to hold up the plastic bag in his hand. I narrowed my eyes at it inquisitively. There were five vials of a murky, dark brown liquid in the bag.

           “There were five of these in your bag at the motel. Do you recognize them?”

           Spencer’s eyes zeroed in on the bag and its contents, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t long until a look of partial recognition flashed across his face. It was so faint that if he hadn’t been in a room of profilers, it would’ve gone unnoticed.

           “What is it?” I asked from my place at his side. He’d been somewhat clingy since the incident that had transpired while everyone was at the motel, gravitating towards me as soon as we all had been granted entrance to the holding cell. I knew that he needed familiarity right now; he was in a very vulnerable state and he needed something that made him feel safe and secure.

           Butterflies erupted in my stomach when I had realized what he was doing, that I was that thing that made him feel safe and secure.

Spencer opened his mouth once before closing it, as if trying to put his thoughts into words was difficult. He did this a few more times before settling on,

“Whatever’s in those vials, I was giving it to my mom,” he said, his eyes darting around the room as he spoke. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of.”

           “I’ll have them run it through the lab,” Rossi said, before leaving and heading towards the direction in which Castenada had retreated.

           Emily and Luke were quick to hop into a rushed conversation, leaving only Spencer and I still in the cell. I looked up at him, at the way his forehead creased as he bit his lip in quiet contemplation.

           “Are you sure you’re ready for a cognitive? I know the effects may be wearing off, but you’re gonna be cloudy for a while. If you don’t want to do it now, all you have to do is say the word,” I murmured, keeping my voice low so that only he could hear it. “I can tell that you’re a bit overwhelmed, and that’s okay.”

           Spencer’s response came in the form of a shrug of his shoulders.

           “I want to try, because I know it’s important. I just don’t know that it will be of much help,” he replied, casting his eyes down to me.

           “Yes, it is important, but don’t put too much pressure on yourself. We’ll figure this out even if you can’t remember it all right now.”

           Spencer nodded once before running his tongue across his chapped bottom lip.

           “I don’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill her,” he whispered, barely audible. Even though his words were quiet, I could hear the desperation in them; almost as if he was begging me to believe them, begging himself to believe them.

           I made the irrational decision then to throw professionalism aside and wrap both of my arms around his torso, my grip tight and assured. Spencer’s aversion to touch was common knowledge amongst us all, but for some reason that never seemed to apply to me, and I could see in his eyes that the way we were all treating him like he was fragile was wounding him more than he would ever admit. I hoped to remedy that with my embrace, and the speed in which he reciprocated was so fast that I was certain he was thankful. He wrapped his injured hand around my waist, the other finding purchase in my hair. I felt his chest move as he let out a shuddering breath.

           “I know you didn’t, Spence. Everyone on the team knows you didn’t,” I reassured him, my words muffled as my face was pressed against his chest. “And we’re not going to stop until everyone else knows it, too.”

           I was well aware that our embrace had garnered the attention of our teammates, but Spencer’s hold on me hadn’t faltered in the slightest, so I didn’t let mine either. Instead, I gripped the fabric of his flannel shirt tighter in my hands.

--

           When Emily exited the room in which they had conducted the cognitive interview, the look on her face was grim. I visibly cringed at the sight as I felt the sliver of hope that I had left die a miserable death.

           We are so beyond fucked.

           “How’s he doing?” Rossi asked, obviously taking note of the distress on Emily’s face.

           “He’s made some breakthroughs, but I’m not sure how helpful they’ll be,” she sighed, running a hand through her jet-black hair. When none of us spoke, Emily’s eyes flitted around, finally noticing that our expressions were a direct reflection of her own. “What is it?”

           “They just charged Reid with the murder of Nadi Ramos.”

           Hearing it said aloud wasn’t any easier the second time.

--

           While the rest of us had taken it upon ourselves to lean against the cement walls, Luke had begun pacing down the short hallway. After about ten minutes of unbearable silence, he decided he’d had enough.

           “We can’t get him out of here, can we?” he finally spoke, his voice a mix of anger and desperation.

           “I don’t know how.”

           “He didn’t kill her,” I reiterated, speaking more to myself than the three of them.

           “If all I had to go on was the evidence, I would swear he did,” Rossi sighed. I knew he was right; Spencer’s personal belongings were all over the hotel room, which was about as incriminating as you could get. “But knowing Reid, hearing the cognitive…”

           “Yes, he said there was another person in that motel room, but,” Emily pressed play on the audio recording, and her voice proceeded to flow through the speakers.

           “Who has the knife? Who is stabbing Rosa?”

           “I don’t know. It’s in my hand.”

           Emily pressed the power button and the screen went black.

           “Right now, this is just more evidence against him.”

           “So, what do we do now? Do we just sit and twiddle our thumbs until the consulate agrees to the extradition?” I asked. “There’s got to be more we can do. We can’t let them take him to jail, he won’t survive in there.”

           “I called in some help from IRT. Clara Seger and Matt Simmons will be arriving at any moment,” Emily said, checking her phone after hearing it ping. “In fact, that would be them. They’re here.”

           I breathed a sigh of relief as we all fell into step beside Emily. Having people from other areas of expertise that are willing to help is a good thing. Maybe they’ll be able to see something that we didn’t.

--

           “We come bearing good news,” I announced, leading the group as we all entered the holding cell. Spencer was quick to turn around and the corners of his lips pulled upwards as he set his sights on all of us. “Back up is here.”

           “Hey Spencer,” Matt greeted, offering up a small smile before crossing his arms across his chest.

           “Hey,” Spencer replied, moving to stand up from his spot on the bench. He was still a little wobbly on his feet, but he was doing much better than he was when we had arrived. “Thank you for coming.”

           “Yeah, of course. Jack and me are finishing up a case in Costa Rica, so we hopped on a commercial plane to get here,” Clara explained.

           “We’re trying to stop you transfer to El Diablo.”

           Spencer’s eyes darted over to me and he swallowed hard before speaking.

           “Do you think it’s possible?” Hearing the hope in his voice tugged at my heart strings. The way that he could manage to stay optimistic at time like this was a true testament to his character.

           “Yes,” Clara began. “Lab reports on the vials came back and some of what was in there hasn’t been approved by the FDA, but there aren’t any illegal substances.”

           “That’s great news,” I sighed, letting out the breath that I didn’t know I had been holding.

           “Is there anything else you remember about your time here?”

           “I remember what happened to the vials at home. My mom threw most of them out.”

           “So, that’s why you were here. To get more,” Clara said in an attempt to clarify.

           “It must be,” Spencer murmured, shuffling anxiously from one foot to the other.

           “Well, you’re off the hook for that. There’s no contraband involved,” Matt announced. Okay, this is good. One less thing to worry about.

           “Yeah, but we’re still looking at the planted drug and the murder charges, which could keep you here for a long time.”

           “Can we do anything to delay the transfer?” I wondered aloud. Clara took into account what I said and sighed, before turning towards Spencer once again.

           “You said that you met Nadi, who calls herself Rosa, in Houston. Why didn’t she just give you the vials in the U.S.?”

           “I don’t know,” Spencer said, running his uninjured hand through his hair. “I don’t know, but she helped us and I trusted her. I was right to. I still believe that.”

           “Well, she convinced you to cross the border multiple times. She had you risk your life,” Matt argued.

           “Because she must have something to lose, too,” I mumbled, eliciting a series of fervent nods from Clara. “Family, maybe?”

           “We need to know more about her,” Clara said.

           And then, something glorious happened. It was like a switch had flipped inside of Spencer’s head, and all of the sudden the lights were back on. I could tell that he had been struck with an idea, and it was a wonderous sight to behold.

           “What was in those vials?” Spencer asked, only solidifying my observation.

           Matt produced a paper with the lab results and began reading off the results.

           “There are so nootropic compounds like Ampalex, uh, but also some more natural stuff; coral calcium, jimson weed, coconut oil, a variety of vitamins. B12, D3-”

           “Where are we right now?” Spencer interjected.

           “Matamoros, Northern Mexico.”

           “Jimson weed, otherwise known as the Devil’s Snare, originated in Mexico but its natural growing region is further north or south of the border,” Spencer said, his words flowing out rapidly. I felt my heart soar and I didn’t even try to suppress the smile that fought its way to my face.

           “Boy Genius is back,” I announced, and for just a moment, the mood in the room lightened for the first time all day.

           “So, if it isn’t from here, then were did she get it?” Clara asked.

           “Let me get Garcia on,” Emily murmured, dialing the number and tapping her foot as it rang. On the third ring, Penelope’s bright and cheerful voice filled the room, a sunbeam shining through on a cloudy day.

           “Please tell me you’re calling to tell me some good news.”

           “Garcia, I have some questions for you.”

           “Hey, Penelope,” Matt greeted, earning a pleasantly surprised gasp from the woman on the other end.

           “Oh my God, it’s the dulcet tones of Matt Simmons,” Penelope gushed. “Are you there to save the day?”

           “I’m trying. Clara’s here, too.” A relieved sigh floated through the speakers.

           “Knowing we have you guys as backup is providing me some much-needed hope, and I work better this way.”

           “Hey, lady,” Clara greeted. “We’re trying to catch up on a few things. Where is Nadi Ramos from?” Before Clara even managed to finish her sentence, the sound of Garcia’s acrylic nails tapping away at her keyboard could be heard.

           “Mm she lives with her family just north of Matamoros.”

           “That must be where she got the jimson weed,” Emily pointed out.

           “What’s weird in she crosses the border, like, a lot.”

           “Why?”

           “Well, she works in Houston at that clinic, but she also helps at a low-income healthcare center. I can’t find a visa on her, which is double weird. And, in finishing the weird trifecta, there’s a social security number on her W2 form.”

           “Social security? She’s an American citizen?” I asked. Matt confirmed my suspicions with a nod of his head.

           “Yeah, she had dual citizenship. She was born in Houston, and her family had to move back to Mexico. She lives with them and she works in the U.S.”

           “This changes everything. We need to talk to the consulate,” Emily stated.

           Just as things were beginning to look up, Chief Castenada decided to grace us with his presence once more; and this time, he had an entourage.

           “It’s time for his transfer,” Castenada announced, looking pointedly in my direction.

           “We’ve had a break in the case,” Emily argued, shaking her head at him. “The victim was also American, and that calls for extradition.”

           Castenada merely shrugged before walking past us all.

           “I’ve got orders, sorry,” he muttered, making Gavin’s apology from earlier in the day sound heartfelt in comparison. Castenada wasted no time in beginning to place handcuffs on Spencer, locking them in place with a definitive click. Spencer and I shared a look of panic before both of us looked towards Emily in a silent plea.

           One of the men roughly grabbed Spencer by the arm and led him from the room. I watched in horror as they led him away, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. I barely registered the fact that Emily was now on the phone. I just stood there, staring blankly at the entrance to the cell.

           “With the victim having dual citizenship, we now have concurrent jurisdiction. It was my understanding that the official order to extradite SSA Spencer Reid would be evaluated,” Emily damn near snarled into the phone. She paused for a moment, listening to the voice on the other line, before a look of relief washed over her face. “I understand, thank you.” She promptly hung up the phone before turning to face Luke. “They’re taking it to their brass. Go get him.”

           Luke took off in a rush, not needing to be told twice.

           I only wished I could be there to see the look on Castenada’s face.

--

           “We’re working on all channels here. Matt Cruz is on with the consulate right now. We could get an immediate extradition, but it’s just the beginning,” Emily explained, her voice stern.

           Spencer regarded her with a weary expression. The drug induced haze had finally lifted, leaving him painfully aware of how dire the situation was.

           “I really screwed up and I’m so sorry,” he choked out, resulting in a crack forming in Emily’s hard exterior. I couldn’t blame her; it wasn’t easy to stay mad at Spencer Reid. Spencer’s eyes were like kryptonite to most; big and brown and full of emotion. I’m sure if you searched ‘puppy dog eyes’ in the dictionary, a picture of Spencer Reid would be found in example.

           “It was for the right reason.”

           “I can’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill anyone.” It was obvious in the way that he kept repeating the words that he was desperate for us to believe him. No amount of calm reassurance from us could quell the voice in his head that was surely telling him that we thought him guilty.

           “We do, too.”

           Clara was first to enter the cell, immediately followed by Matt.

           “Hey, they approved the extradition,” Clara announced, smiling brightly at the three of us.

           “Effective immediately,” Matt added on.

           We all exchanged relieved smiles before Matt and Clara led Spencer from the cell. Emily and I were quick to follow, right on Matt’s heels when we were stopped by Castenada.

           “I must point out that I feel like justice isn’t exactly being served with this move.”

           I pursed my lips together. In the short time we had been in Mexico, my feelings towards the man had grown from distaste to almost a full-blown hatred. That being said, I couldn’t help but understand where he was coming from. If Spencer hadn’t been a federal agent, he wouldn’t be granted the privilege of the extradition. Nor would he be allowed to fly home with us. I hated to admit it, but Castenada made a valid point.

           “I understand, but I can assure you that this has gone to the highest ranks and there will be a full investigation,” Emily reassured him.

           “Thank you for working with us,” I offered in an attempt to smooth over the rift I had created earlier. Now that my judgement wasn’t so clouded by my need to defend Spencer, I could see the error of my ways. I hadn’t been the most professional.

           Castenada nodded once in my direction before turning his attention back to Emily.

           “For our reports, I would like to have the recording of that cognitive interview.”

           I felt my blood run cold. That interview would just add to the list of things that could be used against Spencer in court. He had openly admitted to holding the murder weapon in his own hands, an admission that would surely earn him twenty to life.

           We cannot give him that recording.

           Emily seemed to be on the same page as I was.

           “I didn’t record it.”

           Castenada’s face contorted into an ugly frown.

           “But that was our agreement,” he squawked angrily.

           “I determined he was still under the influence. Anything he said wouldn’t have clarified matters.”

           Castenada’s gaze never faltered, eyeing Emily in an attempt to discern if she was giving him the run around. Luckily, Castenada was unable to find a hint of dishonesty on Emily’s face, and he nodded in resignation.

           Years of profiling will teach you how to control your micro expressions.

           “You’re committed agents. And I’ve worked with the IRT before. I trust you know what you’re doing.”

           “We do. I promise,” I stated, my voice giving off more confidence than I felt. Yes, I thought to myself, there’s no doubt that we’re good at what we do.

           But so is Scratch.

--

           All was quiet on the jet, the steady thrum of the engine being the only sound that could be heard. Rossi had been the only one able to fall asleep, something that I would be sure to tease him about later. Next to Rossi sat Emily, who had busied herself with flipping through Spencer’s arresting report. Clara and Matt sat across from them, engulfed in their own hushed conversation.

           Spencer had opted to sit on the couch, but he didn’t allow himself to sprawl out like he normally would have done. He was visibly exhausted, wiping at his eyes frequently in an attempt to keep the fatigue at bay. It was almost like he was punishing himself; like he didn’t feel he deserved the solace that sleep would bring.

           “You should go talk to him. See if you can’t get him to lay down,” Luke whispered encouragingly from his seat beside mine.

           “I have no idea what to say to him,” I confessed. I tore my gaze away from Spencer and turned my attention to Luke. “There’s nothing I can say that will make this any better.”

           “You’re not wrong about that, but maybe just letting him know you’re here for him will help. Just go and sit with him, I’m sure he could use a friend right now.”

           Luke was right. I let out a dramatic sigh before shooting Luke a pointed look.

           “Since when did you get so insightful?”

           A grin stretched its way across his face.

           “Always have been, sweetness. It’s part of my charm. I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.”

           “And on that note, I’ll be going,” I announced, standing up from my seat and walking the short distance to the couch. Luke’s chuckles sounded off behind me and I couldn’t help but smile; note to self, make more of an effort to get to know Luke Alvez.

I approached slowly, hoping not to startle him as he seemed to be lost in his own world. He didn’t notice me until I came to a stop in front of the couch. Spencer’s head shot up suddenly, the worry on his face melting away to form a small smile.

“Hi,” I greeted, returning his smile tenfold. “You looked like you could use some company. Do you mind if I sit?”

Spencer gave me a soft smile and scooted over, patting at the space next to him. I lowered myself onto the couch, angling my body so it was facing him.

“You’re tired,” I observed, leaning back into the soft cushions. Spencer shrugged in reply, opening his mouth to argue, only for a yawn to slip out. I let out a light laugh. “Don’t even try to argue. There’s no telling how long you’ve been up. Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

Spencer’s eyes reluctantly met mine and I felt almost paralyzed when I saw the sheer vulnerability in them.

“Researchers from the University of Cardiff conducted a two-part study looking at whether people’s daily frustration or fulfilment of their psychological needs, such as feeling autonomous or competent, affects their dreams. The results from the first study showed that people who were frustrated with their daily situation tended to have recurring dreams in which they were falling, failing or being attacked,” he rasped out, his words jumbling together as they fell from his mouth in rapid succession. “The lead author on the study concluded that negative dream emotions may directly result from distressing dream events, and might represent the psyche’s attempt to process and make sense of particularly psychologically challenging waking experiences.”

“And you’re worried your dreams will reflect what happened today.”

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek before nodding in affirmation.

“I can’t promise you that you won’t dream about those things,” I began, my voice coming out soft. “But I can tell you that sleep deprivation can cause lots of very unfortunate symptoms like impaired memory, reduced physical strength, and inability to concentrate. Do you know how I know those things?”

A light flush dusted over the tops of his cheeks.

“Probably because I’ve made it a habit to bore you with my information dumps.”

I shook my head adamantly, reaching a hand up and ruffling up his hair. He batted my hand away, ducking his head to try and hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“Never a bore, Spence. But yes, I know those things because of you and that remarkable brain of yours. And we’re going to need that remarkable brain in tip top shape if we want to get you out of this mess, understood?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he relented.

I patted a hand on my lap, an invitation for him to use me as a pillow. He seemed hesitant, eyes flitting from my face before going back down to my lap.

“Don’t act shy around me, Pretty Boy. I know better than anyone that you’re a secret cuddle bug,” I teased, earning a snort from the man next to me.

“Am not,” he harrumphed, before deciding to take me up on my offer. He laid his head down on my lap before stretching his legs out across the expanse of the couch. My heart lurched pitifully when he nuzzled his head into my leg before letting out a loud sigh.

“Thank you,” Spencer whispered, voice thick with emotion. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, casting tiny shadows on his face. I smiled at the sight and began carding my hands through his hair.

“No need to thank me,” I murmured, raking my nails against his scalp and eliciting a pleased hum from him. “Don’t you worry about a thing, okay? We’re going to get you out of this. I know we will. And don’t worry about your mom, either; I’m going to check on your mom every day, I promise.”

Spencer’s breathing stuttered at the mention of Diana, and I worried I had crossed a line. He stayed silent for a moment, before moving his hand up and squeezing my knee.

“You’re entirely too good to me.”

“Yeah, well, you’d do the same for me. That’s what friends are for.”

No more words were exchanged, and within five minutes Spencer’s breathing evened out and he was asleep.

--

Several hours later, we were all filing out of the elevator and into the bullpen. I shivered slightly as the cool air hit my bare arms, but I tried not to show my discomfort. I’d shrugged off my sweater and offered it to Spencer the moment we stepped off the jet, draping it across his cuffed hands in an attempt to conceal them. Spencer had thanked me with a pitiful smile and I returned the sentiment, blinking several times to try and stifle the tears pooling in my eyes.

JJ was the first to greet him, with Stephen, Tara and Penelope following closely behind. I watched on for a moment before my attention was pulled elsewhere. Stephen’s phone had rung, prompting him to slip away from the group and retreat further down the hall. I furrowed my brow at this, taking advantage of my colleagues’ distraction as I wandered towards Stephen. I strained to hear his whispered words, but just as soon as I neared, he ended the call.

“What was that about?” I asked quietly. The look on his face told me that the news couldn’t be good, and I didn’t want to ruin the reunion going on just down the hall. They all deserved a few moments of relief.

Stephen let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair before speaking.

“I, uh, just got a call. Reid isn’t eligible for the bureau’s legal assistance.”

Stephen’s words sent a jolt of white-hot dread through me. “How is that even possible?”            “Spencer went without being briefed, and he wasn’t in Mexico on government business. They refuse to represent him.”

I let my wary eyes drift down the hall, towards the group of wonderful misfits that I had grown to think of as family;

Penelope, whose optimism never wavered, even in the face of the absolute worst that the world had to offer.

JJ, a devoted mother with a heart of gold and a fierceness that inspired me every single day.

Tara, one of the most intelligent and caring women I had ever had the privilege to know.

Rossi, a father figure to all with enough wisdom to create a legacy that would inspire generations of profilers to be.

Emily, a fearless leader whom I trusted with my life and would follow into battle without question.

Luke, a newcomer who took special care to comfort me when I was at my worst.

Spencer, a man too remarkable to even try to describe with words. A man that anyone of us would defend until our very last breath.

That undeniable truth gave birth to the tiny sliver of hope growing inside of me. Spencer Reid was innocent, and we are all hellbent on proving it.

I nodded once in affirmation, more to myself than to Stephen, before allowing myself to meet his gaze.

“We’re on our own.”

And if anyone could pull this off, it was this team. My team.

There is a point when facing the unknown stops being a longed-for adventure and becomes a terrifying reality.

           -Storm Constantine

#spencer reid smut #spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds self insert #prison spencer #prison!reid

[restlessfandoming]

“the president and the troublemaker” (part 3) (chilumi fic)

“Lumine is the student council president and Childe is the school’s number one troublemaker. They cross paths more than they’d like. Especially when Childe finds out Lumine’s big secret. Highschool AU à la Kaichou wa Maid-sama.”

[part 1] [part 2]

hello sorry for the wait my brain just be straight up farting sometimes

[Fic Masterlist] // [AO3 Link]

the president and the troublemaker (part 3)

When Lumine woke up, she was back in her bed at home, with Aether taking a damp towel off her head. The morning sunlight shined in through the window. 

“Did I sleep through the entire night?” Lumine asked, her voice hoarse. 

Aether hummed out a ‘yes.’ “I think your body was absolutely exhausted.” He sighed sitting down next to the bed. “Sis, you have to stop overworking yourself; I worry—we all worry.”

She gave a small nod. “I know. And I’m sorry.” 

“Just take the day off to relax, okay? I promise the whole world isn’t going to blow up.” He stood up. “Also, mind telling me why Childe of all people brought you back here?” he asked, eyeing Lumine’s hands. 

She hadn’t even realized it; her hands were set atop a red scarf—Childe’s red scarf—and only then did she vaguely remember him wrapping it around her as he carried her home. Clutching it, she answered, “About that...he may or may not have found out I’m Outlander.” 

Aether’s eyes widened. “He found out? And he didn’t tell the whole school?” 

“I’m surprised as well. He actually seems...nicer ever since he found out.”

“Maybe he’s trying to mooch off your earnings. Or blackmail you.”

“See, I thought that too, but he hasn’t done any of those things.” She gripped the scarf again. “In fact, he offered to be my coach.”

“Your coach? What, he does the underground fighting too?”

Lumine shrugged. “I don’t know. Apparently he has ‘connections.’”

“Are you going to accept?”

She looked out the window. “I told him, ‘no.’”

Aether silently regarded her, looking like he wanted to say something, but then shook his head. “Well, remember to relax today. Your work has been taken care of, so just take it easy, okay?”

He left the room, and Lumine turned onto her side, eyes cast out the window. Without thinking, she brought Childe’s scarf up to her nose, breathing in. She was caught off guard as the scent of salty beach shores filled her senses. 

Her face flushed and she thought, How do I even pay him back?

* * *

Lumine pushed open the door to the school’s rooftop, taking in a breath of the gentle breeze floating by. Sitting near the edge of the roof was Childe, his orange hair ruffling slightly in the wind. Lumine took a moment to observe him; he looked so serene, and suddenly Xiangling’s words intruded into her mind: He’s so handsome. 

“So, Pres, did you call me up here just to stare at me, or did you actually want something?” he asked, not even turning towards her.

Lumine felt a vein pop out on her forehead, and she proceeded to stomp towards him. “I was not staring,” she argued. “Here.” She harshly held out a little paper bag which contained Childe’s red scarf. 

His eyebrow raised an inch, and he took the bag. “You could have just left this in my locker, you know?” 

“Why do you have to make everything I do so difficult?” 

A chuckle. “I’m just teasing you, Pres. Thank you for returning it.” 

She gave him a stiff nod, then sat down next to him. “I...I also wanted to say thank you. For helping me.”

Childe tilted his head, regarding her curiously. 

Before he could say anything, she continued, gazing out at the city. “And thank you for not telling anyone. I don’t know why, but really—thank you for not saying anything.” 

From the corner of her eye, she saw his lips turn upwards in a small smile. “Of course. Wouldn’t want anyone else enjoying our little secret, now would I?” 

“This is fun to you?” she grumbled. 

“Very much so.” 

Lumine sighed. “Anyways, I don’t like to be indebted to people, and I couldn’t think of a way to pay you back—so please think of something.”

“In that case…,” he said almost instantaneously.

“You already have something in mind?”

He leaned towards her. “Let me be your coach.” 

...

...Of course he would say that. 

* * *

“And you’re sure Childe is trustworthy?” Aether asked Lumine as they walked through the bustling city of Snezhnaya, located in the next city over from their hometown of Mondstadt. 

Lumine readjusted the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder. “I mean...he hasn’t said anything yet, right? And anyways,” she muttered, “I owe him for saving me.” 

Aether frowned, crossing his arms. “I guess you’re right…It’s just...He’s been a constant pain in your ass for the better part of your council career, and now he just suddenly wants to be your best friend?” 

“He’s not going to be my best friend. Maybe he just felt sorry that I have to do all this for the sake of money, so he’s helping us out,” Lumine tried to reason. “If he’s my coach, we’ll get better conditions and pay.” 

Her twin nodded, looking around at the modern, high-rise buildings surrounding them. “Snezhnaya is really a rich city, isn’t it?” 

“I guess that’s a good sign.” Lumine stopped in front of a building labeled “Zapolyarny Palace.” She glanced down at the business card Childe had given her. “I think this is it: the gym he told me to go to.” 

The two of them took in the building before them: a gym with large windows through which they could see many members training intensely within. The building itself was made of sleek, silver materials, making the gym look like a glittering gem in the sunlight. Definitely an upgrade from the concrete basement of Kaeya’s establishment. 

Lumine was first to climb the steps, Aether following closely behind her. She pushed open the heavy glass doors, and immediately noticed everyone inside watching her from the corner of their eyes. 

“Lumi, these are some real scary looking people,” her twin whispered. 

She nodded, but continued walking forward to the front desk. The receptionist looked up at her; her name tag read Ekaterina. 

“How can I help you?” she asked. Her tone wasn’t friendly, but Lumine suspected that was the nicest the woman would sound. 

“I was told to come here by a friend,” Lumine answered. “By, uhm, Tartaglia?” 

Ekaterina looked her up and down, then stood. “Follow me.” 

The three of them walked through the gym, heels clicking against the dark slate flooring. The gym was huge, all of the high-tech equipment greatly spaced out, machines Lumine hadn’t ever seen before. 

The group made their way towards a boxing ring, elevated off the ground, and even from far away, Lumine could tell it was made from very expensive materials. 

“Tartaglia is up ahead,” Ekaterina said, gesturing towards the boxing ring, then went back to her desk.

Currently, there were two people sparring in the ring. To her surprise, Lumine recognized them both. 

“Is that...Kaeya? And Childe?” Aether asked.  

Lumine didn’t even answer, finding herself speeding up to get closer and watch the fight. 

She had only heard of Kaeya fighting from others in his arena, and that he was a fierce opponent due to his training in the military where he had actually been a high ranking captain. Childe, on the other hand, she had only seen in schoolyard scuffles, and never as an actual fighter in the ring. She was mesmerized by the two. 

Kaeya’s moves were very sharp and sneaky, while Childe’s style was lighter and much faster—until he struck, which he did so with great force, like the sudden crashing of a powerful ocean wave. Despite the huge gap in years of experience, it seemed like Childe actually had the upper hand in the fight. 

Childe threw a jab at Kaeya’s face, which the captain easily blocked. But then, Childe quickly switched his footing, twisting his body around to prep for a spinning heel kick to Kaeya’s unprotected side. As he turned, Lumine made eye contact with him for a split second. 

His foot would have slammed into Kaeya’s face, but suddenly, Childe stopped short, his leg still in the air, foot hovering right by Kaeya’s face, who regarded the near hit with wide eyes. Stopping a powerful kick like that took a lot of strength, Lumine knew, and she could see it in the way the muscles were flexed in Childe’s leg. 

“It was fun, captain, but it seems our guest is here,” Childe said, relaxing his leg and setting it down. 

Kaeya let out a shaky laugh. “It was indeed fun. Though, it seems like I need to get back into proper shape; it’s been a while.” 

Childe ducked under the ropes, sliding out onto the ground. “I look forward to that rematch then.” He picked up his water bottle and looked at Lumine. “You made it! Good job not getting lost.” 

As he drank his water, Lumine couldn’t help but look him over, at his exceptionally well-toned body. Usually his long limbs were covered by their school uniforms, but now he wore a gray tank top with gray sports shorts. It didn’t help that he was practically glistening in sweat. 

She cleared her throat. “So can you tell me why Kaeya is here?”

Her manager walked up to them, offering his signature smile. “Why wouldn’t I follow my dear Lumine to the next step in her career?” 

“I invited him,” Childe said. “I figured you’d want to keep him around.” 

He wasn’t wrong; it was nice that Kaeya was there as another familiar face. She wasn’t really sure what to expect from Childe now.

“I see you brought a guest as well,” Childe noted, his blue eyes on Aether. 

Aether subtly put his hands on his hips, defensively. “I’m Aether. Her twin.” 

The ginger tilted his head. “Ah, the Vice-President. How cute.” 

“Okay, so you’re my coach,” Lumine said. “Now what?” 

He held out his hand. “Where’s your Outlander mask?”

Lumine blinked at him, but then pulled the mask out, handing it over. He flipped it over in his hands, then chucked it behind him. Both her and Aether gasped. 

“You won’t need it anymore,” Childe said. 

Lumine glared at him. “What do you mean, I won’t need it anymore?” 

“Are you trying to get her arrested?” Aether spat. 

Childe held up his hands. “Relax. The reason I wanted you to join me is because we’re no longer going to have you fighting illegally. So no need for the mask.”

Kaeya nodded. “Yup. We’re bringing you into the world of legitimacy.” 

Lumine crossed her arms. “Kaeya, you know the reason I came to you in the first place. You get me way more money, much faster, than any legitimate competition. Especially at the beginner levels.” 

“And that’s why you’re here now,” Childe interjected. “Fighting here will give you even more money without having to worry about the cops busting in and arresting you one day.” 

“What if people from school find out?”

“No one from our school is going to come here to Snezhaya, much less to a gym.” 

Lumine and Childe stared at each other, unyielding. 

“Excuse us,” Kaeya said, pulling Lumine and Aether away from Childe. 

“Kaeya, you know it’s dangerous for her not to be in a disguise,” Aether hissed. 

“It was dangerous when she was fighting in my arena,” Kaeya said. He put a hand on Lumine’s shoulder. “Look, Childe is trying to help you, not hurt you. He knows you need that money, and that you’re good at this. He, like the rest of us, doesn’t want to see you get arrested for just trying to help your family out.” 

Lumine bit her lip. “What makes him so qualified though?” She turned towards Kaeya. “You guys are always talking about his ‘connections,’ but you haven’t really talked about who he is in this community.” 

“All you have to know is that, despite you guys being close in age, he is a known professional in this field. He’s fought and won many competitions.” He sighed. “I mean you saw him earlier: he almost handed my ass to me in that little spar. And I was a captain in the military.”

Aether sighed as well. “Lumi...as much as I dislike Childe...I think they’re right. I’ve always worried about you in those illegal fights. You’ll be safer here.”

As scary as it was that she was no longer concealing her identity, a part of her relished at the freedom. And they were all right. It was safer here, down this road. 

Lumine nodded before leading them back to Childe. She stood in front of him, arms crossed. “When do we start?”

* * *

[part 4]

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