itgavemeyou

[itgavemeyou]

[itgavemeyou]

Please forgive me for ranting, but...I am so tired of AI. Just so tired. I don't want Microsoft Copilot, or Google Gemini, or Meta AI, or whatever other energy-sucking, water-wasting, mediocrity-spewing LLM is currently being thrust upon me. I just want to be left alone to create in peace.

[itgavemeyou]

Do you think I meant to write "stoopid" google docs. Do you think I meant to describe a character as "stoopid." Do you think that is what I meant to do

[itgavemeyou]

me, logically: it’s never gonna happen the tiny hopeful goblin in my brain: but what if it did

[itgavemeyou]

When it hits 9 pm and I pull out this combo:

Ps: I have severe writers block. Help

[itgavemeyou]

“You’re a nerd” I say as I look at you with heart eyes while you info dump to me

[itgavemeyou]

E. PRENTISS HEADCANONS !

a/n — very random sfw headcanons, just cause this is the best i can do on my writers block ok.

☆ Likes horseriding, it was a huge hobby for her when she was a teen and she was really awesome at it — lowkey got athletic because of it, but dropped it as a hobby in adulthood.

☆ Had the worst case of comphet, because it was intertwined with how much she wanted to be liked and it took a lot of alone time to dismantle it and now she’s a proud lesbian, maybe just not to her mother…

☆ Her favourite flowers are forget-me-nots.

☆ Likes to blast music and sing along to it — alone or with someone she’s used to having around her home.

☆ Likes being called handsome, not like all the time, but enjoys an occasional „handsome girl” being thrown around.

☆ Her favourite alcohol is red wine 🍷

☆ She’s a nerd. I feel like this is so forgotten and it is canon, she can ramble just as much as Reid, but picks up on social cues better (dw if you’re dating her and watching a show she loves or reading a book she loves you will hear all about it, she will explain everything and guide you through the lore).

[itgavemeyou]

I just typed up the sentence

‘if you take the ‘surface-to-track’ ratio, it would be the USA having 644 tracks’

bc we were talking about the f1 movie that came out, and parts of it were shot at Spa-Francorchamps, and I off-handedly said how ridiculous it is for Belgium, a country you drive through in less than 4 hours on a good day, to have 2 racing tracks.

And how ironic that it is considering the famously terrible state of our public roads and highways.

Like tell me that that’s not something that sounds fake.

[itgavemeyou]

I'm so fed up of my home life I need to be sold to the BAU like in those one direction wattpad fics

LMAO REAL😭😭😭

[itgavemeyou]

i'll get high at a baby shower idgaf

[itgavemeyou]

… I think I need a therapist.

[itgavemeyou]

my fave writing reminder

honestly, this phrase has been on my mind more times than i can count. i've kidnapped it, taken it as a hostage with no ransom money because i need it to live permanently in my head.

[itgavemeyou]

I get that the new world is struggling to be born but can we get an epidural or something

[itgavemeyou]

what doesn't kill you makes you stay on tumblr for 13 years and counting

[itgavemeyou]

baby, if your love is in trouble | e.p

Tags: emt!reader, flirty!emily, blood and injury, established relationship (we won’t question how they went from point A to point B), canon typical injuries, quite a few mentions of blood in this one oops, medical inaccuracies, use of petnames, reader is pissed but emily’s a smooth mf with big brown eyes

Summary: You get called to a scene and find your girlfriend—yet again—all bruised and bloody. She flirts, you don’t reciprocate. Requested here.

Word count: 2.2k

Part one (you don’t have to read it to read this part)

When you arrive at an abandoned warehouse, the last person you expect to see is your girlfriend. The surprise is muffled; you were aware this wasn’t outside the realm of possibility once Emily told you two weeks ago that the unsub they’re hunting is local.

Even in a messy, crowded scene like this, crawling with FBI agents and police officers alike, it’s easy to spot her amidst the chaos. She doesn’t notice you, leaning against a cop car and shying away from a lanky guy who reaches out with his finger, attempting to prod at her bleeding nose. A crumpled tissue is held between her fingers; it’s soaked through with blood, barely an inch of it unblemished white. Emily doesn’t seem to mind it as she glares and avoids the guy’s touch, swatting at his hand with hers.

“It’s not broken, Reid.”

“I’m just saying, it looks a little swollen—”

“Emily.” You say unthinkingly. She turns, her ponytail swishing as her eyes meet yours. 

The first thing you notice is the bruises on her face, a violent galaxy etched around her right eye. The cut on her cheekbone, dried blood crusted around the skin you just recently discovered you loved to kiss. Not the way her brows lift in surprise, her mouth parting to breathe out your name.

“Hi,” she says. Her voice is muffled into the hand holding the tissue.

You can’t reply for the nausea in your throat. Emily’s coworker is frowning at you, no doubt mentally tearing this interaction to pieces. It kickstarts your brain into action, practicality forcing its way over the queasy roiling in your stomach. 

“Are you hurt?” You ask him.

He shakes his head.

Jaw set, you meet Emily’s eyes and try to pretend they’re anyone else’s. “Come with me, please.” You say tightly, one hand listlessly extended to her body.

This time, it’s easier to wrestle her into the back of the rig. Emily wordlessly shoves off of the cop car and lets your fingers grip her elbow, lets you drag her to the ambulance and force her to sit on the hard metal ledge. The heat of her eyes follows you as you get your kit, burning holes into your face when you set it down next to her and pinch the sodden tissue she’s holding. Her hand falls away, exposing the bottom half of her face; a blooming cut on her lip stains her chin red.

Your mouth flattens into a thin line.

“Hi,” Emily says again, softly. “I, uh, didn’t know you’d be here.” She tilts her head to meet your gaze.

You don’t let her.

She exhales a low sigh. You ignore it as you toss away the bloodied tissue and scan her face, surveying the damage but not settling on the near magnetic pull of her eyes. What you find is harrowing: bruises on her temple and brow, a black eye, a cut on her cheek. They’re quickly darkening into deep reds and purples, visciously marring her ivory skin. Oh, and not to forget her bloody nose and split lip. Her face is a kaleidoscope of color.

Jesus.

“What happened?” You ask, reaching for the straps of her kevlar. Velcro separates, screeching as you rip the wretched vest off of her body. Shoulders, hips; you free her, then toss it carelessly into the ambulance.

“Can I get a hi first?” Emily retorts tiredly. You finally meet her eyes, the weight of them a physical blow to your gut. The black eye doesn’t help. “Hi?” Her fingertips skim yours.

You swallow thickly. Grab her hand, squeeze. “Hi.” You say back.

A smile flickers over Emily’s face. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m okay, I just got a little banged up.”

A little.

Your lips purse. “What happened?”

Emily laces her fingers through yours. You need to pull away, but you can’t help the way your shoulders loosen under her touch. Her skin is warm, thumb skating over the back of your hand with her head ducked. 

“Doesn’t matter.” She murmurs.

“Emily.” You take your hand back. The movement isn’t quite so gentle; Emily’s brows dip into a frown as she winces, a low curse escaping past her lips. “What?” You demand. Taking her hand again—carefully—your eyes travel until you find a dampness on her shirt sleeve, the blood almost invisible against the navy blue fabric. You cut it off to expose a long cut, the width of her arm, just above her elbow. It’s still bleeding sluggishly, most of it staunched into her shirt.

Nausea stirs again. 

Your jaw is tightly set as you let go of Emily’s arm and snap on a pair of gloves, eyes fixed on your hands and the forceful sting of the elastic. If you look up, if you find the face of the woman you’re half in love with rather than some nameless stranger’s face, you’ll fucking lose it. Already your breathing is shallow, not enough oxygen filling your lungs as you try your best not to breathe in the scent of Emily’s blood.

“Hey,” she says quietly. You let the silence answer as you clean around her cut. It looks deep, deeper than you can manage, but at least it’s clean. Emily’s ragged inhale sours your mouth when you place pressure on it, stopping the flow. Blood blooms on the gauze, and—maddeningly—she still persists. “I’ll be home tonight.” Her voice is only slightly choked. “All on my lonesome. Would you like to keep me company?”

There’s a few things you’d like to do to her right now. You voice none of them.

When you’re certain the bleeding has stopped you grab a roll of gauze, wrap it around her arm. “We could order pizza. Get that cheese crust you like.” The first layer dampens; the second doesn’t. Neither does the third, but you still wrap another layer for good measure.

A low sigh tickles your ear.

“I miss you,” Emily says, velvet soft. 

Work had gotten in the way more than usual these past few days, both yours and hers. You missed her too, more than you think is in any way logical, but you can’t rise to her flirtations when she’s half beaten and bloody. Just the sight of the bruises on her pale face turns your stomach.

You snip the gauze and tuck the end under the layers. Her shirt is in tatters now; you don’t linger on the fact that it was one of your favorites on her.

“It’ll probably need stitches,” you lift your gaze from the bandages around her arm and grab another antiseptic wipe. You don’t mean to catch her eyes. It’s accidental, a stupid move that freezes you in place, stops your hand from meeting the cut on her cheekbone.

Her pupils are blown wide with adrenaline, the black carving out her irises until all that’s left is thin brown rings. And still they’re captivating. Emily shakes her head, tongue darting over her lip. “Honey, talk to me.” She says desperately.

You exhale a short breath through your nose. “What do you want me to say?” You murmur, dropping your eyes from hers and focusing your attention on cleaning her wound. The skin scrunches beneath your touch as she winces; guilt stabs you in the chest. Your heartbeat quickens, the pace of it making your hands shake. Briefly, ever so briefly, your eyes fall closed.

You can’t do this. Fuck, you can’t, not when it’s her.

“I already asked you what happened and you didn’t answer.” You toss the wipe away. Looking down, you take a moment to breathe in before grabbing the antiseptic ointment. She’s fine now, you try to remind yourself. Mostly. At least she’s in one piece.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.” Emily says. Her fingers find your chin; she pinches it gently and tilts your face up, to her tentative smile. It tugs at the cut in her lip. “I’m fine now.”

You can’t tell if it’s profiling or if she can genuinely read your mind.

An exasperated breath parts your lips. “You have a skewed definition of fine.” You huff, dabbing ointment on her cut. Emily’s lashes flutter closed, a frown digging its way between her brows. You bite down on your lips, immediately hating yourself. “Hurts?” You ask quietly.

“Mmm,” she doesn’t verbally confirm nor deny. It’s answer enough. By the time you peel a bandage and are placing it over her cheek she’s opened her eyes. “Maybe you can kiss it better?”

“You’re bleeding.” You say flatly.

“Babe,” she murmurs, frowning as if you’re being unreasonable, “don’t be like that.”

Her too calm tone sparks fire in your blood.

“Like what?” You bite out. “Like someone whose girlfriend is beaten and bloody because of god knows what trouble she was in? How exactly do you want me to act, Emily?”

“Girlfriend?”

You falter. “W-What?”

Emily grins stupidly. “You called me your girlfriend.” Her eyes glitter.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. It knocks over the guilt, the nausea, swarms of butterflies crowding your lungs. God, what are you, fifteen? 

You huff out a flustered breath. “Well, aren’t you?”

You’d had this conversation weeks ago. Not over an intimate, candlelit dinner; rather Emily had found romance in the early morning light of her bedroom. Body warm over yours, she’d grabbed your sleep-pliant hand, murmured into your knuckles if you would be her partner, let her be your girlfriend.

It had taken a few slow blinks of your eyes, chasing the blurriness from your vision and sharpening her tentative silhouette, before you’d said yes.

“I am. It’s just the first time you’ve called me that.” Emily’s arm goes around your waist. Her smile is transcendent and bloody.

“Don’t try to distract me,” you rub at your temple. “I’m still mad.”

“I’m fine,” she says quietly. Her fingers squeeze your side. “Cross my heart.”

The childish promise makes you huff out a humorless laugh. It thins out quickly, dissolves into the air between the two of you.

“You can’t look me in the eye and honestly tell me you’re fine, Emily.” You sigh. This close, you can’t help yourself. You gently cup her jaw, your thumb just shy of the broken skin at her bottom lip. It’s wet with fresh blood, the cut deepening with her careless smiles.

Emily gives you another one. You internally wince, wishing she’d stop. “Okay, well, I’m banged up.” She murmurs, leaning into your hand and blinking long lashes at you. “At least I have you to stitch me back together.”

Stupidly, thoughtlessly, your heart jumps. With no regard for the violence on Emily’s face or the complete lack of privacy of the scene around you. It’s basically your first meeting, reincarnated.

“And if I wasn’t here?” You mumble half heartedly, beginning to crack under her persistent flirtations. “Do you flirt with all your EMT’s or just me?”

Emily gives you a soft smile, a dizzying flash of dimples. “Just you, sweetheart. Only ever you.” 

The saccharine drip of her voice only makes you feel more like shit. Here she is, actually, physically hurting, and taking the brunt of your sour attitude because you couldn’t stand seeing it for yourself. You don’t know how she wipes the pain almost clear from her voice, how she can brave injuries that make you squirm at the thought of bearing them yourself, but somewhere beneath all the worry, there’s awe. 

“That’s reassuring,” you say lamely. You give her fingers a squeeze, attempting to convey what your dry tone can’t as you lean away. “Just please don’t get so banged up next time.” Reaching for another patch of gauze, you gently press it to her bottom lip. Her knee bumps into yours. “You do already have my attention, y’know.” 

A whole lot of it. Who are you kidding, probably all of it is hers.

Emily tucks the gauze into the corner of her mouth. “Like to have it at all times.” She mumbles.

You shake your head, breathing out a slow breath through your nose as the corner of her lip turns up. The ring of bruises around her eye has darkened into purple, capillaries bursting in blooms to chase away the unblemished expanse of her skin. It’s a terrible contrast, unmistakably stark and dripping violence. Still, you try your best not to shy away from her gaze.

“Will you come home with me?” Emily asks again.

You’re nodding before you know it. “Is that okay?” It’s a miracle she still wants you around after your wretched demeanor.

“That’s a stupid question, Y/N.” She says, so bluntly a laugh is forced from your lungs. It bubbles past your lips, making Emily’s smile stretch into a beam.

“Don’t fucking do that,” you scold, grimacing when fresh blood soaks the bandage. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot girlfriend.”

It’s no use trying to staunch the blood. Her grin is so wide you discard the gauze and reach for her jaw instead of another one. 

When you finally kiss her, the metallic taste of her blood flooding your mouth, you know you’re in too deep.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights @professorsapphic

[itgavemeyou]

Hey so, if anyone wants to help them out, they’re looking for some place where they can yap about criminal minds angst. They’re 17, and *most* spaces are 18+. I have no clue where I’d start looking, so… anyone?

Criminal minds — 04x19 - “200”

14: “I’m trying” : Memory Loss | Adrenaline Crash | Knots

Solace : 1/10 published

Emily comes back from London to save JJ from Askari, but the rest of the team are still rushing from DC. JJ is crashing, and Emily is struggling to undo the painfully tight bindings holding her up.

@juneofdoom for prompt :: @saradika-graphics for dividers

Emily Prentiss & Jennifer “JJ” Jareau (platonic. can be read as romantic but is not explicit)

Jennifer “JJ” Jareau / Tivon Askari (rape. not romantic, not glamorised/romanticised.)

Tivon Askari :: Emily Prentiss :: Micheal Hastings :: Jennifer “JJ” Jareau :: Aaron Hotchner :: Derek Morgan :: Alex Blake :: Mateo Cruz

Gags, Kidnapping, Restraints, Hitting/Battery, Chains, Torture, Drugging, Concussions, going unconscious, implied past s/a, past miscarriage mention

JJ’s eyes flicker open with a slap to her face, the dirty cloth in her mouth muffling her gasp of pain. She panics, her sight blurry for a few seconds in her confusion. Fear runs down her spine as she notices the man looming over her. The glaring face of Askari is only a foot away. An image she thought remained in only her nightmares. His rough, calloused hand cradles her cheek. She tries to pull it away but he grips it harshly, his dirty fingernails digging into her skin, keeping her head in place where she has no option but to meet his gaze. His eyes are burning, the sadistic joy making her chest feel like it’s being crushed by the pressure and overwhelming terror. ”Fuck. Not him.”; she can’t do this again. She can’t. She’s spiralling. She can’t tear her mind away from the thoughts of… of then. Years ago, but her mind manages to slip back into the memories, into the mindset as if it was merely days. Being blown up, the pain, the heat, the scorching feeling activating every nerve. The fear, the terror, the despair, the loss of her child. And how she rushed to help Emily, leaving her mission, ignoring everything that had happened, the moment she needed her. She tries to shake her head, to clear her mind. She recoils in disgust when its held in place with the… bloody hands of Tivon Askari. She swallows, her mouth dry and her tongue suddenly feeling too large for the space.

“The code, Jareau.”

Her blood runs cold. She tries to respond with a hard “No.” but it just comes out as a hmph behind the rag stifling her. She receives another hard slap against her face, causing her left eye to water when it’s caught too sharply at the wrong angle. Askari slowly lifts the cloth off her cracked lips. She doesn't hesitate before biting his finger, the appendage uncomfortably close to her face. She’s sure Spencer would come up with some fact about the human jaw strength, but he’s not here. Nobody is. So she just bites down as hard as she can with her aching jaw, aching jaw? She had’t even realised that she was injured there, feeling the joint pop and shift in her mouth. He yells out, pulling his hand away with a splatter of blood across the floor and JJ’s clothing. She gathers as much spit as she can before directing it as his face, only angering him more. His face is red as he wipes the spit off, blood smearing on his chin. In barely contained anger, he barks out an order to his anonymous hired muscle, his voice stiff. She knows Askari. And she knows he is saving his anger for a violent outburst. She can only pray the team will find her first

“Chains, now.”

Before she can process the words, heavy shackles are clasped around her wrists, neck and ankles. They’re made of thick iron, and despite her extensive training, in her weakened state she can’t lift her hands more than a few inches. It’s tight, heavier than the normal handcuffs they use. Heavier than the ones they use in jail. She shudders. They must be custom. And that scares her. The metal around her neck that is attached to the chair back certainly seems to be a collar, and she feels ill at the image. It weighs heavily on her shoulders, the cold metal making her shiver. The involuntary instinct makes it move against her collarbone and shoulder blades and she winces in the sharp temperature. Her ankles are restrained too, tied together with a metal clasp. Even if she escaped from the godforsaken restraints on the chair, she would be reduced to squirming on the floor, unable to stand. Her eyes scan the room, trying to find an exit. She struggles in panic as she sees Askari approach her with a needle and a small vial, suppressing a pained breath as she tries to wrench her body, her arm, away. But he’s stronger than she is, taller than she is, and doesn’t have a concussion like she undeniably does. He easily grabs her arm with his harsh hands and holds it firmly in place, slipping the needle into the crook of her arm where she knows Spencer has a constellation of marks and she slips into a fuzzy unconsciousness that isn't quite sleep. She can feel the looming presence above her. She’d rather see anyone but him. His thumb pulling at her lip, the dulling, foggy pain of it splitting open the last thing she feels before she’s stolen away into a unconscious, restless state.

AN: i am having so much fun with cm angst… but i have nobody to TALK TO ABOUT IT. I’ve been glaring at the Quan-Tea-Co discord server because i keep seeing it mentioned but alas. i am 17. and will not be 18 for almost a year. so if theres anywhere i can yap about *this* type of cm fic where im age eligible please hmu…. Or if you want to talk to me abt it my dms are open!! The next chapter should be out sometime next week :) find me on ao3 at may_be_angsty