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started watching Killing Eve and hgdhfhsjshshgagdhsh. enough said.

w marvel still on my mind I couldn’t help but think FUCK villanelle would make a FANTASTIC black widow, she’s basically one already, so i indulged a bit ❣️

there’s no way a meeting between these two wouldn’t end in blood

i could take em both btw (and not in a fight) ❣️

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Bunny. Youve held many of my tears today. Thank you. 🫶

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This blouse literally did something to me 🫣🤭🥵

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Ok so since we're both bored and we're both momily fiends, what are some of your favorite momily headcanons? How many kids do you think she'd have? What would she name them? Would she carry or adopt? I'm constantly thinking about her :( she won't go away

Some MOMILY headcanonons!! 🤍

How many kids?

Ok so!! She would be content/grateful with one. But I honestly think her ideal would be two kids – partly because she’d never want her child to feel alone? She’d do everything in her power to be present and loving!! but I think she’d still carry this big fear of not being enough, of not always being able to protect them. So having two means they’d hopefully at least have each other, especially for when she’s not around anymore. She wouldn’t want them to grow up feeling how she did. I do think she’d be open to more, (in the right circumstances) especially if it’s through adoption.

She has the resources. The space. The means. And knowing how the system can fail kids (because of the job), I don’t think she could stomach the thought of a child ending up in a bad situation if she had the ability to help. That would destroy her.

Carrying?

As for carrying – I think she would want to, but it’s complicated. She carries a lot of guilt over her teenage abortion in Rome, and deep down she feels like she doesn’t deserve that “second chance.” Even though logically, she knows it was the right decision at the time. I could still see her going the adoption route though – especially depending on timeline. I can’t really picture current Emily with young kids (like babies), but (slightly older) kids who deserve a second chance? Yeah. Think of someone like Carrie. OR MILA! She’d absolutely step up for them. (S19 Emily, DO YOUR THING!)

Names

Names are HARD. But I do think she’d like names that can be easily shortened. Some options from my ongoing name list:

Charlotte (Char) (Lottie)

Juliet/Juliette (Julie) (Jules)

Isabel/Isabella (Belle) (Isa)

Lilly?

A while ago I asked people on Twitter what they thought she’d name a daughter and I got some stuff like Beatrice, Rosemary, Katherine and like… I get it! Classic, old-money names (probably because of her upbringing.) But they don’t hit right to me. They feel too polished, too posh. Not very Emily. (TO ME. Please don’t come for me with pitchforks)

Someone once said they picture her naming a son “Matthew” (for obvious reasons), and yeah… I could see that. But I also wonder if it would just be too… painful?? And honestly I don’t super see her as a boy mom LOL so I struggle with boy names in general.

Me ranting about the writers – what’s new

Also SAME I will never be free from this momily prison — I hate how the show teased us with all these moments of her clearly yearning for a family, especially kids, and then never followed through?? Like that scene on the jet with JJ — “I can see it. You. Kids.” — was that written before they knew AJ was pregnant? Were they originally gonna explore that idea for Emily and then scrapped it because JJ was pregnant (because AJ was) and they didn’t want two profiler moms? Idk. It just feels oddly specific and then suddenly they pivoted. Now they’re so committed to this “married to the job” angle but never show her being happy or fulfilled by it??? Like if that’s the narrative, then show her thriving in it… but they don’t. They keep giving us these little contradictions and it drives me insane.

ANYWAY thank you for letting me yap about momily she literally won’t leave my brain ever 🤍

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I dunno I went to the eye doctor and which I don’t like but it’s better than the dentist, got in a car accident everything’s fine my knee hurt real bad but it’s okie and I drank my water. I personally feel like a “good girl” is in earned but whatever

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ever since i was a child ive had a headache

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hey u missed ur shift on tumblr.com why aren’t u reblogging

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I miss 2021 period.

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I get to touch my boobs and you don’t lolllllllll

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Oh kms

nothing's gonna hurt you baby | e. prentiss

summary: A slow, tender night between you and Emily where you find peace and safety wrapped in her arms. Requested here!

word count: 1.6k

tags: fluff, slightly more hurt/comfort than i originally intended, established relationship, no plot just vibes

Somewhere inside Emily’s apartment, a record was playing low, something dreamy and slow, all haze and warmth. You barely got the key all the way in before the door creaked open from the inside. Emily stood there, barefoot, her silver hair loose and falling over one shoulder. She didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, eyes soft, taking you in.

You weren’t crying, but your face said enough. The stiffness in your shoulders. The way your hands stayed balled in the sleeves of your coat. The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful.

Emily didn’t ask. She just opened her arms. And that was it, whatever was holding you together gave out the second you stepped into her. Her arms wrapped around your back, strong and steady, and your face pressed into her collarbone like you belonged there. She smelled like sandalwood and something sweeter underneath. The softness of her t-shirt was warm from her skin.

You didn’t speak. Neither did she. Her hand rose to cradle the back of your head, thumb brushing the fine hairs at your nape, like she needed to be touching you in as many places as possible just to ground you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It held you both, just like her arms did.

After a while, Emily shifted slightly, leaned down to press a kiss just above your temple. “Hey,” she said softly, a little breath against your skin. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”

Your fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt. You weren’t going to cry. You weren’t. So instead, you nodded. Just once. She pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing her knuckles down your cheek like she was memorizing every detail.

“You wanna stay here?” she asked gently. “Or come lie down?”

You leaned your forehead against hers. Whispered, “Just... here. For a second.”

Emily’s smile was the kind that only ever belonged to you. The one that softened all her edges. She kissed you again, this time slower, her mouth against your cheekbone. Then your jaw. Then your lips, once, like punctuation.

“Okay,” she murmured. “We’ll stay here, then.” She held you a little tighter.

Eventually, your coat ended up draped over the back of a chair. Your bag was somewhere by the door, forgotten. The apartment felt like a bubble, all golden lamplight and the low hum of rain tapping against the windows. The record played on, spinning lazily and slowly from the player in the corner.

You sat curled up on the couch, your knees tucked under you, a blanket over your lap that Emily must’ve brought over without you noticing. You were watching the easy way she moved, and the quiet steadiness in her presence. She was pouring you a glass of wine with one hand, holding her own in the other, still effortlessly composed in that way only she could be.

She caught you staring. “What?” she asked, soft amusement in her voice as she walked back over to you. “You’re looking at me like I just grew wings.”

You shook your head, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just really beautiful.”

Emily’s eyes softened, like the compliment hit somewhere deep she didn’t always know how to reach. She set the glasses down and held out her hand.

“Come here.”

You blinked. “What?”

She nodded toward the open space between the couch and the window, where the music was still playing, the same slow, echoing dream of a song. “Dance with me.”

Your first instinct was to laugh. “Em, I just cried in your arms for ten minutes. I’m hardly dance-floor ready.”

She didn’t budge. “I’m not asking for a performance. I just want you close.”

You hesitated, then took her hand. Emily pulled you gently into her arms, one hand slipping around your waist, the other lacing your fingers together. Your head fit right under her chin. The rhythm of the music was barely there, more suggestion than beat, but she swayed with you like it was all she needed. You felt your body soften against hers, piece by piece, like each movement was melting something heavy out of you.

“You know,” she said into your hair, voice low, “I think I’ve been waiting my whole life to hold someone like this.”

You looked up at her, heart stuttering. “Like what?” you asked.

Emily brushed her thumb against your cheek. “You feel like home.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Not without crying again. Instead, you rested your cheek on her shoulder and let yourself sway with her, slow and steady. Her arms tightened around you like she knew exactly what you needed, like she needed it just as much.

—

Later, the two of you were tangled on the couch like it was the only place in the world. The blanket had fallen halfway to the floor, but neither of you moved to fix it. The record had spun into silence, leaving only the gentle hush of rain and the rhythmic sound of Emily’s fingers combing through your hair.

You lay with your head on her chest, legs draped over hers, your body slack with the kind of safety that made your bones ache in relief. Emily’s arm cradled you close, her palm warm against your shoulder, the slow glide of her fingers against your scalp enough to make you want to purr. 

“I like your place when it’s like this,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Still. Safe.” You picked at the hem of her shirt idly. “Like we’re in a snow globe.” 

She pressed a kiss to the top of your head and didn’t say anything for a moment. Her fingers never stopped moving in your hair, gentle and rhythmic, like she was trying to memorize every strand.

“I used to think I was too used to being alone to ever get this,” she said, voice a little rough.

You tilted your head to look up at her. Her expression was soft, wistful. Lit by the low lamp across the room. “Get what?”

Emily looked down at you, thumb brushing against the curve of your cheekbone. “This. You.” She paused, like she wasn’t sure she should say the next part, but then did anyway. “You’re so open. You have so much love to give.”

You relaxed, cheek pressed back to her chest. Her heartbeat was steady. Soothing.

“I’m not always open,” you said after a moment. “Some days it feels like I’m too much. Or not enough. I don’t know. Just wrong.”

Emily’s hand stilled for a second, then resumed its slow movement. “You’re not wrong,” she said softly, firmly. “You’re human and you fit me better than anything ever has.”

You closed your eyes. Tried to hold on to the way that felt, the way she said it like it was just true, and always would be. After a long pause, you said, quieter now, “I don’t know how I got so lucky with you.”

Emily tilted her head, brushing her lips against your temple.

“You didn’t get lucky,” she said. “You walked in, you looked at me with those eyes, and I was done for. That’s not luck. That’s fate.”

You smiled into her skin, soft and quiet. And although you didn’t say it out loud, you thought it, I love you more than anything.

Emily must’ve felt it anyway, because she kissed your hair again and whispered, “I love you too, baby. So much it aches.”

The world had narrowed to the warm press of her body beneath yours, the faint tick of the rain against the windowpane, and the gentle way her fingers had slowed in your hair, still stroking, but lazier now. Drowsy.

You were somewhere between awake and asleep, nestled in the space where her heartbeat thrummed under your ear and everything else felt like static. “Still with me?” Emily murmured, voice rasped by the hour, half-amused.

You hummed. “Barely.”

She chuckled, low in her chest. “Did I bore you to sleep?”

“Mm-mm. You’re my favorite lullaby.”

Emily let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. Her hand moved down to your arm, rubbing slow, steady circles into the skin just below your sleeve. You opened your eyes just enough to glance up at her. Her head was tilted back, her gaze unfocused on the ceiling, one hand absently tracing your skin like she didn’t even realize she was doing it. Like she couldn’t not touch you.

There was something so rare in the way she looked at you when she finally met your eyes, like she wasn’t seeing anyone else, and hadn’t for a long time.

“You make it really easy to stay,” you whispered.

“I want you to,” she whispered back. “Every night. Every morning. As long as you want me.”

You blinked slowly. Your whole body felt heavy with comfort. “I always want you.”

Emily’s eyes shimmered in the dim light, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry, but then she pulled you in tighter instead, holding you like the promise itself.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured. “You’re safe.”

Your breathing slowed to match hers, your hand curling lightly in the fabric at her waist. The rain outside fell steadier now, as if in rhythm with the hush between you.

You felt her kiss your forehead, her lips lingering just long enough to make your chest ache.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I know,” she said. “I love you more.” And then you were asleep.

Emily stayed awake a little longer, just enough to brush a few strands of hair from your face and press her lips there again, more whisper than kiss.

“You’re my favorite thing,” she breathed.

Then she let her eyes close, her arms still wrapped around you like a promise.

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oh yeah people..... this is what FAME looks like...

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what’s the pink they put in pink lemonade that makes it so poppin

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we as a society don’t talk about emily prentiss dimples enough!!!!

like HELLO!

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Im a hopeless romantic in a way that’s embarrassing.

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I have the biggest attitude known to man rn.

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Evelyn and Celia from Seven Husbands Of Evelyn Hugo