#Carson clock

[whyiliketitantvman]

✨️More art of my kinito pet. Oc cuz yey!✨️ :)

okay ngl If carson had to voice actor He would have the Same.Voice as king dice would ( Seriously not going to lie Carson might Have king dice voice or somebody else's idk -_-)

[krislgfox]

Just some random lazy doodles :_]

Bonus: gift for @whyiliketitantvman

Susan doesn't used to give gifts or normally communicating with other people(except for her friends and plants), so if she gives you a gift and talked to you that only means you're blessed :_]

[unicornachos2]

Can't believe the only Carson-Fitz interaction we got was Carson giving Fitz some fucking jerky. I needed them to sit down together and have a long fucking chat and a lifetime of friendship

[saidcarsondrew]

It seems to me you have been looking troubled lately. Do you feel well?

[harrison-abbott]

this is a fantastic book

[laolafi]

Some thoughts on Thomas Barrow's background. Yes, he's a working class lad from Manchester, but ... consider the clock shop.

Clockmaking is a rather rare and highly skilled profession. Clocks are highly sought after and expensive. Owning a clock shop would mean money. Not riches, but money. And I'm assuming Mr Barrow Senior would be the owner, considering it was said he was "a clockmaker" not "working in a clock shop" or similar and Thomas "grew up around clocks" learning his father's skills.

The Barrows would be in the upper stratum of working class, maybe even lower middle class, not industrial proletariat. A certain standard of living. Probably living in a small but nice and tidy flat above the shop, not a draughty, mouldy, vermin-infested tenement flat. The mother would be a housewife and mother, probably helping her husband with keeping the books and other shop-related tasks, not a factory worker or domestic. They might even have had a domestic themselves – not full staff of course, but a charwoman coming in to help out or something.

Does that mean he had a good childhood? Yes. Not happy and loving, that much we know from canon, but stable, in the sense of having all the basic necessities met, not struggling from day to day. Thomas would've grown up fed, clothed, shod, clean, warm. Which, for a working class kid in Victorian times, already means a lot.

Thomas is well-read, educated, even knows a bit of Latin. Unlikely that came from nothing but basic schooling in a rough part of town, or a hobby while working gruelling 14 hour days in service. I'd like to think he would've gone to grammar school eventually, maybe on a scholarship, or at least gotten a solid education while apprenticing as a clockmaker with his father, as sons of craftsmen and tradesmen used to do these days.

And that's the difference between Thomas Barrow and someone like Daisy. The Barrows wouldn't be the kind of people, not from the sort of background where it'd be normal, and an opportunity, to send a barely adolescent son away to work. So to Thomas, a position in service doesn't necessarily mean an upgrade in class and status, he's not escaping abject poverty and some Dickensian hellscape.

Whether he made the conscious choice out of his own volition – knowing he didn't get along with his father well enough to work with him long-term, knowing that service was a good option for gay men, where he wouldn't be expected to marry – or whether he had no other options – my preferred headcanon, that he got outed, disowned, kicked out, and service seemed like the only sensible option when the alternative was manual labour, factory work. Having grown up in Manchester at the time he would've been aware of the brutal working and living conditions, the industrial slums, the workhouses; even if he knew he had to compromise on the standard of living he's used to, he knew he wouldn't be able to bear that, so service it is. But it still rankled. Especially when Carson, subtle as a German tank, reminds him over and over again how much of a blessing and a magically elevated position working as a servant is.

[temporarywelcome]

hii

i absolutely love the spencer reid smooth criminal fic you wrote 💝

kinda sad no hotch mention 😩

could you please write more for spencer reid x kelopto!reader? like they need her to discreetly get something from an unsub for them and more shenanigans take place?

THANK YOUUU

( and sorry if this isn't coherent!!!)

hey bae here it is! Sorry it took so long, I had to flee from a hurricane... Didn't mention Hotch much in the first fic bc honestly i didnt think hed gaf like everyone else did lol. Anyway, here it is:

Special Consult - Spencer Reid

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: The BAU has a tricky case, though the clock is ticking, only a matter of time till the unsub strikes again. And so they bring in some help: Spencer's girlfriend, the one person who can break into a millionaire serial killer's home undetected.

Warnings: some swearing, very brief violence

A/N: can be read as standalone but is technically part of my "Smooth Criminal" series.

____________

This unsub was slick.

An unsub in Virginia. Convenient enough for the BAU, only a few hours away. 

This unsub had tortured and killed four girls, recording the events and sending tapes to the families of the victims. 

According to the profile the BAU created, the unsub was way too sophisticated for these to be his first kills. 

And it led the team to a man named Richard Smith. Thirty seven years old, with a wife and two kids. 

The BAU knew he probably had more tapes, prior victims’ pain and suffering locked away somewhere. So the team came in with a warrant, turning his home upside down in search of not just tapes, but any piece of evidence that could be used against him.

They came up with nothing.

According to Garcia, that house was the only property under his name. 

So were they wrong? Did they suspect the wrong guy? The BAU reevaluated the profile, coming out stumped.

It was him. It had to be him.

So how did they prove it? Did they have to catch him in the act of slaughtering another innocent woman to actually catch him? 

“He should have the other trophies,” Morgan muttered, staring at the information on the whiteboard intently, “What are we missing?”

“Where else could he be hiding them?” Hotch asked, more to himself than the rest of the team, “There's no wooded area in a thirty-mile radius. A family member? Friend?”

“That doesn't fit the profile. He's incredibly secretive with his work, he would want it close to him, but hidden away,” said Reid. 

“Garcia's on the line,” Prentiss gestured to the open laptop, Penelope’s face filling the screen. The team stopped conversing, bringing their attention to her.

“Hey, my loves, just got some juicy, juicy information on Mr. Richard Smith,” she began, “He had this home built in 2009, and I noticed something fishy with the blueprints. There was one room on the second floor labeled ‘mechanic room’.”

Rossi's brows furrowed in confusion, “We found no ‘mechanic room’? Where is it located?”

“The door is in the library!” She replied.

“In the library? There was no other door…” Realization hit Prentiss, “A panic room?”

“Possibly,” JJ agreed, “You think the evidence we need would be in there?”

“That could be where he's torturing the victims as well,” Hotch suggested.

Rossi wasn't convinced, “You think he could get those women in there without his wife and kids finding out? Even knowing their schedules, there's always the chance of them going off schedule at some point and accidentally catching him in the act.” 

“It's worth a shot,” said Hotch, “Especially with his timeline. He should have his next victim now. He'll kill her tomorrow. Dump her the day after.”

“We don't have time for another warrant,” JJ pointed out in worry. 

“Isabella Carson was reported missing two days ago,” added Garcia, “he's probably got her.”

“She doesn't have a lot of time left.” Said Rossi.

JJ crossed her arms over her chest, “What do we do then?”

“We have to save that girl,” Prentiss stated the obvious, “Warrant or not she needs us.”

“We can't just bust in there. Especially if we're wrong-” Derek paused, a grin forming on his face, “Who is someone who can get into that mega mansion undetected and get out just as undetected?” 

“Someone who has done this before?” added Prentiss.

“And gotten away with it?” added JJ.

They all turned to Spencer, who looked at them in confusion. “What? I've never done that.” 

“Not you, Reid,” Rossi deadpanned, “Y/N.”

Spencer's eyes widened, “Y/N? Absolutely not! She's never done a house robbery before!”

Y/N, Spencer's lovely girlfriend, was a diagnosed kleptomaniac, who can't resist her urges to steal. Most of the time, it was stupid things like a pencil or a pack of gum. She usually returned what she had stolen. 

However, that was just most of the time. 

She had admitted to robbing a bank once (well, multiple times, actually, but the team didn't need to know that). And other robberies like stores and gas stations.

She was a master with her hands, able to steal within seconds without a single person noticing. 

“I'm not going to send her off to the home of the unsub.” Spencer said firmly, shaking his head.

“Reid, that girl is going to die unless we can find new evidence against him!” exclaimed Prentiss.

“As sad as that is, it's either her or my girlfriend,” Spencer said dryly, “And I don't know about you, but I'd like my girlfriend to live.”

“We will be right there. If she needs backup, we'll be there.” Rossi persuaded.

“Still, no.  Besides, she has rehearsal tonight.” Reid said firmly. 

His phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket to silence it.

Y/N.

“Gee, Reid, maybe you should answer.” Said Rossi.

“So you can harass her?” He scoffed.

“Reid's right, we can’t put Y/N in danger.” Said Hotch, “It’s unprofessional and dangerous.” Always the voice of reason.

“Then what do we do? We're going to have another body,” Derek pointed out. 

“Another body?”

Spencer jumped and looked down at his phone, noticing he was holding it so tightly he had pressed the ‘accept’ button. “Oh… hi, Y/N.”

“Hey, baby. What's going on?”

__________

Oh, he was going to shit his pants.

Well, he wasn't, but he felt like he was going to, his girlfriend sitting surrounded by the BAU as she viewed the blueprints of Richard Smith's home. 

“So I just have to go here?” Y/N asked, pointing at the room labeled ‘mechanic room’. “Easy enough,”

“It’s on the second floor,” Spencer reminded her, biting his bottom lip. 

“Yeah. Should still be pretty easy.” she looked up at him, “Baby, sit down. You look like you’re going to pass out.” 

“Because you’re going to infiltrate the house of the unsub!” he exclaimed. Was he the only one who thought this was crazy? That this was a terrible idea? “Hotch, would you let Hailey do something so dangerous?”

“Of course not,” Hotch answered honestly, “I think this is a bad idea too,” 

“Come on,” Y/N scoffed at them, “I’m like a pro at this.”

“You’ve never broken into people’s homes before,” Spencer huffed. 

“Actually, I have,” she noticed the looks the BAU members were exchanging, “A long time ago.”

“Kleptomaniacs steal from impulse. You broke into homes on impulse?” Rossi asked with a raised brow.

“Oh, no. That was for attention. Anyway…” Y/N looked down at the blueprints again, “Garcia, Imma need you to check to see if this guy has ever purchased an alarm system. Imma assume he has one, to keep all his rich people stuff safe.”

“I believe I saw a system when we searched the place,” JJ added helpfully. 

“Ah, look at that,” Reid said, “Guess she can’t break in,” 

“Of course I can. Don’t start doubting me now,” 

Holy shit, can’t she take a hint? He didn’t want her to do this. He wanted her at her rehearsal, safe and far away from Richard Smith. Unfortunately for Spencer, her rehearsal was cancelled, which was why she had called him in the first place. 

Y/N pulled him down to the seat next to her, an arm going around his waist as she began scribbling plans of execution all over the blueprints. "Relax," she said simply, which didn't help him relax at all.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy,” Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, “We’ll be right outside just in case. She’s not going to get hurt, even if she gets caught.”

“The only reason I’m allowing this,” Hotch pointed out, “...is because I believe she won’t get caught.”

“We value our jobs,” Rossi added.

“Think of it like this, baby: most of the times I got caught,” Y/N smirked, “It was because I wanted to be.”

______________________

The car ride towards Richard Smith’s home was silent. 

Spencer was seated in the passenger seat, being the Passenger Princess he was, arms crossed, staring out the window with his bottom lip jutted out.

“Baby,” Y/N said.

“Humph,” was what she got out of him.

“Baby,” she repeated. 

“What?” he finally faced her, arms still crossed over his chest. 

“I’m going to be okay,”

“Why did you even agree to this?!” he finally exploded, his anger and worry finally coming out in one swift motion, “That man is a serial killer! He could kill you! And if I lose you…” he huffed again, turning to look out the window once again.

“You’re not going to lose me,” Y/N’s free hand went to his knee, the other on the wheel, “Besides, even if I did meet my unfortunate demise, I’ll make sure to haunt you.”

“This isn’t funny!” he whined, looking at her again with those big, sad puppy dog eyes that literally always got him what he wanted from her.

But not this time. 

She chuckled softly, patting his knee, “Sorry, baby. Just trying to lighten up the mood.”

“It’s not working,” 

“I’ll buy you a really nice present tomorrow,”

“You can’t do that if you’re a ghost,” 

She hummed in response, “I’ll be a special ghost. You’ll know it’s me whenever you enter your apartment and somehow Girls’ Generation is playing,”

Finally, the corners of his lips curl up in a tiny smile, “Of course it’s Girls’ Generation. That’s how I know I’m really in a horror movie.”

“Whoa!” Y/N said dramatically, “Spencer Reid said a joke? A disrespectful one towards my queens, but a joke nonetheless!” she laughed, pinching his cheek. “I love you, baby. Never disrespect Girls’ Generation again, though,” 

A giggle escaped him, “Yes, ma’am, I love you too” his smile faded when she parked the car, a few blocks away from Richard Smith. “Oh. We’re here,” 

“Mhm, can you pass the equipment, please?” 

With a sigh, Spencer reached towards the backseat and grabbed a headband with a camera attached. Y/N held out a hand to take it but Spencer ignored her, putting it on her himself. His brows were furrowed in concentration, bottom lip puffed out as he adjusted the camera on her head.

“Stop being cute, it makes me want to make out with you,” Y/N grumbled. 

“Shut up, you’re going after the unsub, like you want me to have a heart attack. No kisses for you,”

“Okay, but like, if I do die and become a ghost, I won’t even need to haunt you, because the fact the last time I ever asked for a kiss, you denied me, and I die a few hours after will haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

“Stop it!” he huffed, hitting her shoulder, “You’re making me nervous!” 

“Does your team know you’re both demanding and abusive?” Y/N asked dramatically, rubbing her shoulder that didn’t even hurt.

“I'm neither,”

“You're demanding, a thousand percent. I guess you just save that for me.’

“No I don't!” 

Y/N laughed, cupping his cheeks, “I love you. I'll be okay. This ain't my first rodeo.”

She leaned in for a kiss but he huffed at her. “No kisses for asshole girlfriends.”

“Shit, baby, you're evil.” she giggled, “I guess I should hurry up and get this over with so I can get some, eh?”

“Youre not getting shit.” it was a venomous thing to say, but he giggled again, leaning in and giving her a kiss. He was never much of a playful person, but with Y/N it was different. She was different. And he quite liked it. 

“Ah, I'm such a bad influence, got you cursing all over the place,” she pinched his cheek lovingly before getting out of the car. 

The couple gathered with the rest of the BAU, cramped in the back of a van where Garcia had computers set up, typing away. 

“Alright,” she began, “We will be able to see everything you see,” she pressed a button, and the monitor changed, showing the side of Spencer's head, because that was exactly what Y/N was looking at. “There!” 

“Remember your task. Look for tapes, or any other sort of evidence while you make your way up to the library. Once in there, access the panic room.” Hotch began, holding up a USB-like device, “Insert this into the lock, and Garcia will be able to find the pass code for you. Remember, the main goal of this mission is to get Isabella out of there.”

“I got you,” Y/N grinned, nodding, “Easy peasy,” she turned to Spencer, who looked ready to vomit. “I'll be okay! Promise. Have I ever broken a promise?” 

Spencer looked up at her, plump bottom lip between his teeth, “No.” 

She smiled, cupping his cheek, “I don't plan on starting now,” she kissed his cheek before pulling away, “Time to commit some crimes.”

________ 

Once the alarm system was disabled, Y/N found herself opening a window and entering the mega mansion’s dining room. The BAU stood huddled together at the monitor, watching her work.

“Shit,” she smirked, picking up the fancy centerpiece, “This is fancy,”

Spencer groaned, saying into the mic, “Y/N, focus.” She was wearing an earpiece to hear any direction from the team. 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” she put the centerpiece down, “Find evidence. Got it.”

Fuck, he was biting at his nails, silently cursing out his team for coming up with this idea, cursing out Y/N for agreeing to this. He felt like vomiting. 

Y/N began searching around the first floor: dining room, living room, other living room (?), kitchen, and then… the first bedroom.

“I’m going to throw up,” Reid muttered, head in his hands. 

“The fun’s just started,” she said smugly, twisting the knob quietly. She entered the room, and Spencer realized he was holding his breath. 

Richard Smith’s daughter, Emma, was fast asleep in her bed, luckily with a pair of headphones on, easing Spencer’s worries somewhat. Y/N began rummaging through her things, looking to see if her father might have left something in her room. For all they knew, the whole family could be in on it. 

“Holy shit,” Y/N whispered.

“What?! What is it?!” Spencer exclaimed, feeling his hands begin to sweat. 

“Do you see Richard?” asked Hotch, brows furrowed, his usual unamused expression on his face. 

“Emma is a Sone!” 

“...a what?” Rossi asked.

Spencer, feeling second-hand embarrassment over his girlfriend’s words, explained, “People who like Girls’ Generation,” 

On the monitor, a musical album filled the screen, showing what Y/N was looking at. She held it, obviously observing it.

“Y/N,” Spencer said, lips uncomfortably close to the microphone, “Put that back. Please,”

“It’s an old album too,” she opened it up. 

Rossi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “This is what we can expect sending a kleptomaniac into the home of a very wealthy family…”

“Y/N,” Spencer repeated, “Put down the album. I will literally buy you that exact same album. Please focus,” 

Y/N gasped, making the whole team jump in worry. “She’s got Jessica!” she held a small cardboard album inclusion with a pretty woman on it to the camera on her forehead. “Jessica!”

He couldn’t believe this was happening. His girlfriend who was supposed to aid the BAU in catching a serial killer was busy ogling over her idol Jessica in said serial killer’s home. He couldn’t tell if he was horrified, embarrassed, or both. 

“We might have made a mistake,” Prentiss muttered as the team watched Y/N begin to shove objects into her bag. 

“This is stealing,” Spencer stated the obvious, trying to stay calm, “Put it back, Y/N,” he pronounced each word slowly, as if sternly speaking to a small child.

“Fine,” she huffed.

Spencer glanced at the team, “We’re going to have to pat her down when she gets out of there,” 

“Must be nice having a girlfriend you can’t even trust,” Rossi stated sarcastically. 

“Not now, Rossi,” Spencer groaned. He spoke into the mic again, “Y/N, I’m begging, please get on task.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” she grumbled quietly, leaving the room, “No fun,”

“A girl might die,” Rossi reminded her dryly. 

“We’re going to get fired,” JJ added. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Y/N huffed, going into another room. “Trust me,” she began to go up a grand staircase, “Imma be this rich, baby, trust,” she whispered, obviously to Spencer.

“Legally?” Rossi deadpanned.

“Let’s focus on the task,” sighed Hotch. 

“Yeah, Rossi,” Y/n grumbled, “Let’s focus on the task,” she reached for a random decorative piece on the wall, her impulses taking over.

“Y/N,” Spencer said through gritted teeth, “Don’t,”

She paused, hands hovering over it, “Sorry, baby,” 

He sighed in relief, realizing he’s getting somewhere with her. She was starting to actually listen to him and fight the urges. 

“Good job, pretty boy,” Morgan said with a nod, “Keep her on task,” 

Spencer nodded, biting his bottom lip, “I’m trying,” He knew this was going to be the most stressful case of his life. 

It was a complete mess, a constant battle to keep her from stealing unnecessary junk throughout the abnormally large home. From diamond jewelery to magnets, this woman was struggling to not grab everything around her.

She finally made it to the library, and Spencer let out a soft sigh of relief. They were getting somewhere. However, so far, not a single piece of evidence was found. This was their last shot to prove their profile was correct. 

Y/N closed the door behind her, scanning the area. She began going through the desk, humming to herself as she looked for anything of use. She then paused, eyes on a small container of paper clips.

“Focus,” Spencer already knew what she was thinking. “Y/N-”

She snatched up a handful and placed it in her bag. 

“Y/N!” he groaned, “You do not need more paper clips.” That was the problem with kleptomania. She never needed the things she stole. It was a desire she couldn’t control (okay, sometimes it was for fun). There was absolutely no reason she needed a whole handful of paper clips. But her brain told her she did. 

Y/N ignored him, grabbing another handful and looking around the room again, “The mechanic room should be… here.” she gestured in front of her, a large bookshelf, “Oh my God is there like a book that when you grab it, it’s actually a lever, and it reveals the secret door to the secret room?” she started grabbing at books on the shelves excitedly. 

“We’re going to get fired,” JJ repeated.

Gripping another book, Y/N hooted in victory, the book not budging and making a clicking sound instead. She backed up, watching the shelf move, revealing a door. “Fuck yeah,” she took out the USB device and a screwdriver, getting to work on the passlock. Once it was open, she inserted the USB.

“My turn,” Garcia hummed, typing away on a monitor, “Okay, the code is 9-1-4-7-2.”

Y/N repeated Garcia’s words as she pressed the buttons, unlocking the door. “Moment of truth,” The large metal door began to open on its own, and Y/N entered the room, flashlight in hand. She began looking for a light switch, pausing when she saw a small bin. In curiosity, she went towards it.

“Look for evidence, not things to steal,” Spencer reminded her.

“No fun,” she opened the box, “Shit…” she held up an object to the camera, “...tapes.” She looked down at the tape again, reading it, “ ‘Fun with Hannah“

“Same handwriting as the unsub,” Morgan pointed out, “Same language use,” 

To confirm, Y/N picked up another tape. Fun with Katherine. 

“That’s what we need,” Hotch said, “These were before he decided to send them to families, so there’s a chance these aren’t edited and his face might be visible. Y/N, grab a few.”

“Jackpot,” she held up something else: a leatherbound journal with yellowing pages, “Journal,” 

“Okay, you got evidence. Get out of there,” Spencer said quickly. 

“We still need to find Isa-” Y/N’s eyes widened as she moved her flashlight, coming face-to-face with a girl bound to a chair, “Shit, fuck, shit, I’m like actually in the mega mansion of a serial killer,” 

“I’m going to throw up,” Reid gasped, biting at his nails again. 

“Untie her!” Hotch stated the obvious, trying to keep everyone from losing it, “Untie her and get out of there,” 

“Right, right,” Y/N reached for the girl, when she suddenly went, “Oh, shit!” 

Spencer’s eyes widened in terror as Y/N turned around, coming face-to-face with Richard Smith. Without a second thought, he shoved his gun into its holster and bolted out of the van, sprinting down the street. 

“Go, go, go!” Hotch shouted, the rest of the team barreling after the boy genius. 

Spencer was not a runner.  He was a terrible athlete. Yet he ran like a track star, his heart beating practically out of his chest with each step on the concrete. 

If anything happened to her, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

___________

“Hi there,” Y/N said casually, trying to calm her nerves in front of Richard Smith, the unsub, the killer of God knows how many young women, “Does your wife know about this little hobby of yours?”

From the profile given to her, Y/N knew he was narcissistic and full of himself. She had to keep him talking. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said simply. 

“I know,” she replied, glancing at poor Isabella Carson, who looked terrified, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “You know, you did a great job here. How did you manage to not get caught?”

Richard looked at her in confusion, a brow raised in suspicion, “Excuse me?”

“How’d you do it? How’d you get away with it?” she asked

The serial killer smirked, leaning against a wall in the secret room, “You broke in here to ask about my killing methods?”

Y/N nodded, biting her bottom lip in an innocent way, “They’re admirable, actually. I’m sorry I didn’t go to you directly, I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.” 

A look of victory crossed the killer’s face, “No no, that’s fine. I just… didn’t think anyone was admiring my work.” 

A very rich man who made his riches by exploiting others. He was a dominant force, and needed to feel it. And Y/N knew this. 

“So how did you do it, Sir?” Y/N asked, “I want to learn from you,” 

Richard’s smirk grew as she spoke, “Learn from me, huh? Alright… well, my family is here at the moment but… some other time, I can absolutely teach you my ways,” his eyes flickered towards her chest, then her eyes again. 

“Well, I won’t bother you anymore,” Y/N said, inching towards the door, “I hope we can meet again-” Richard put his arm in the way of the door, and Y/N knew she was trapped. “Um, I’ll leave you be-” 

“No,” a devlish look appeared on his face.

“Yes,” without a second thought, her hand flew out of her pocket, and she was tazing his balls.

He did not like that.

“Okay.” she began as he shouted and crumbled to the floor, “Now my super hot FBI boyfriend is going to come arrest your ugly ass in three… two… one-”

“Y/N?!”

“There he is,” she grinned, turning over her shoulder, “In here, baby!” she called after him. 

Spencer came sprinting up to the library, “Y/N?! Y/N!” he threw his arms around her, “You’re okay,”

“Yeah,” she brought an arm around him, eyes on Richard Smith who was laid out on the floor, “I’m okay,”

_________

The rest of the BAU came in after, freeing Isabella Carson and arresting Richard Smith.

His family was not happy. 

Once outside of the mansion, Spencer conduced a pat-down of his girlfriend, removing all of the stolen objects from her bag and body. 

“Do you really have to steal everything you see?” he grumbled, finding some pens in her boot. 

“I can’t help it, baby,” 

“I know,” he sighed, standing up, “By the way,” he cupped her cheeks, “You’re not allowed to help on a case ever again,”

She laughed, pressing a kiss to his lips, “I don’t think crime solving is my thing anyway, darling,” 

“Good, I was terrified,” he nuzzled into her neck, “This job is stressful enough, I don’t need to worry about you as well,” he paused, “I still have to worry about you anyway.” 

“Am I really that much of a terror?” 

“A bit,” 

He then was called up by Hotch, so he gave her another kiss on the cheek before grabbing a box filled with the goodies she stole, walking off to him.

She waited till he was far enough away before, with a big smirk, she pulled out a card from under her sleeve. 

The Jessica Jung photocard she found.

_________

A few weeks later, the BAU sat together, viewing a case.

“I don’t understand,” Rossi muttered in thought, “How can these two rob these banks so easily? No weapons, they kill their victims an hour after with their bare hands. How are they doing this?”

“If only we knew someone who has robbed a bank before,” said JJ.

“With no weapons either,” said Morgan.

“And didn’t get caught,” said Prentiss.

All eyes went to Spencer.

“I’ve never robbed a bank before-”

“Not you. Y/N,” Morgan deadpanned. 

“Well, actually, she did get caught-”

“The first time,” Rossi corrected, “Garcia found some messaged between Y/N and a friend. She gave us printouts,”

Spencer sighed, rolling his eyes, “She’s always giving printouts,” 

“So,” JJ grinned, “Is Y/N busy?”

And that's how Spencer found himself with an annoyed expression in the corner of the office, the rest of the team huddled around the case's special consult, Y/N.

______

Inbox is open!

[trikaranos]

TRIKARANOS CHAPTER II: THRESHOLD (part 1)

TRIKARANOS is a comic about Crassus until it isn't. Intended for an adult audience.

SO! Chapter 2 clocked in at over 20 pages, which means I'll be posting it in batches of like, five or six pages as I finish lettering because trying to format 20 pages in a single photoset is a nightmare and I'm not going to do that lmao

⭐ Trikaranos will always be free to read. In the near future, you’ll have the option to support this comic & my ability to spend time making it through Patreon! currently, I have a tip jar!

⭐ There is no set update schedule (chapters vary in length and will be posted as I finish working on them)

⭐ alternative places to read it (coming soon!)

CREDITS all additional art used are in the public domain, and the specific images used are open access, etc

📌 The Mouth of a Cave, Hubert Robert

📖 PREVIOUS CHAPTER | START HERE | ToC (under construction!)

UNDER THE CUT entirely optional: the creator’s commentary, ancient citations, stuff I thought was neat, etc.

on the topic of legendary ancestors and gods and heroes, T.P. Wiseman's Legendary Genealogies in Late-Republican Rome is a really fun read

also have you ever noticed that caves are fucking weird. like. what's up with caves. however: caves perform the same function as a forest (and a maze)

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, ché la diritta via era smarrita.

-Dante, Divine Comedy

(it's a transformative journey) (a transformative underworld journey, even!)

speaking of which. parents. brothers. oof. can't think too hard about how crassus grew up eating meals with his whole family otherwise I'll feel like I have to walk into the woods and start screaming.

Sophocles’ Antigone (trans. Ruth Fainlight & Robert J. Littman) / Catullus 101 (trans Anne Carson)

[clippy]

more photos of Silly Mode:

when Clockboy is turned to the right (making it look like his hat is crooked) he is in Silly Mode... which happens every 2 seconds

[whyiliketitantvman]

Yep I have decided to make my own ✨ KinitoPet Oc! ✨

✨🕒MEET Carson clock!🕒✨

Basically I noticed that some kinitopet Ocs or more like sea creatures but I decided to change it up a bit with My Oc Carson being a clock! (He's kind of more like a spider too) He's Also evil! Since there was no evil KinitoPet Oc.

Oh yeah decided to draw doodlenit Meeting Carson (✨yeah he can change the color of the eyes✨)

And here are his ✨clones! ✨ Basically his clones help original Carson cost trouble (well number three doesn't show up because from the rest of the clones his looks more more different from the other clones)

Oh yeah here's some art of Carson stealing Susan's cactuses (and probably taste testing some) yeah Carson secretly likes eating cactuses

Also Susan and doodlenit belong to @krislgfox

yeah and here some Silly Doodles of this evil but silly guy even though he's very rude and big meanie he's still a silly guy

Oh yeah if you're wondering here's clone number three's design (Carson number 3) or Larry his new name basically clone number free accidentally tripped into an unknown purple portal which teleport him to a different dimension well he couldn't find his way back changing his appearance but at least he's ✨happy!✨

So yep I have created ✨Carson an absolute evil menace and Larry his silly clone✨

[krislgfox]

Just some doodles with Stefan :_]

(Why I'm so obsessed with selfish, zesty, charismatic oc's?)

(Carson Clock belongs to @whyiliketitantvman)

((Damn, there's now two Carson's))

[meridasblog]

The White's Rabbit Promise

Chapter 3

It’s been two hours since the bad moment with the Carson brothers. Both kids have been slowly rebuilding the helicopter piece by piece.

“Can you pass me the screwdriver, please?”

“Sure.”

Y/N smiles and hands over the tool.

“Hey, how do you connect these?” she asks, holding up some black wires with copper ends.

“Oh, you just have to line them up with their plugs on the small panel near the tail.”

“And how do you know where each one goes?”

“Look—” he sets the half-finished body of the helicopter on his desk and walks over to the bed where she sits. He picks up one of the wires and shows her a thin red strip of tape on it. “I marked them all with different colored tapes. The panel has matching marks on the plugs.”

“Oh, right,” she exclaims with a smile, grabbing the one with yellow tape and connecting it to its slot. “I guess I still have a lot to learn about tech.”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t know much either,” he shrugs. “It’s not as hard as it looks. You just have to be patient.”

He sits back down in front of the helicopter and carefully begins screwing the blades into place. Y/N stays quiet for a few seconds, watching him work.

“How did you learn all this?” she asks eventually, sitting on the edge of the bed, her feet dangling.

He doesn’t look up at first. He keeps screwing with focused care, brows furrowed in concentration, making sure he doesn’t damage the rotor. Then he sighs and answers, his voice low, not too emotional.

“I learned by doing stuff at the orphanage I was in. Old radios, broken fans… sometimes even the TV in the living room. The repair guys would let me mess with things, and sometimes they let me help. I guess I liked the idea that if I could fix something, then maybe the bad stuff wasn’t permanent.”

Y/N nods slowly, saying nothing. She pulls one knee up to her chest and hugs it, resting her chin on top. The warm light of the sun filters through the window, illuminating the dust floating in the air like tiny stars in a paused world. The only sound is the soft click-click of the screwdriver turning.

“I’ve always liked drawing,” Y/N says suddenly, her voice small, as if unsure whether she should share it. “But… I usually do it in secret. Ever since I got here, I feel like the desire’s been fading. Mr. Carson says art is a waste of time, that I should focus on helping around the house.”

He stops and looks at her. His eyes don’t hold judgment or pity—just quiet understanding.

“I think a gift like drawing, especially drawings as amazing as yours, should never be silenced.”

She smiles faintly, tilting her head.

They fall silent again, but it’s not an awkward one. It’s the kind of silence that feels warm, where nothing needs to be said to improve it. The kind of silence that could stretch on for hours in peace. She lowers her leg, gets to her feet, grabs her part of the helicopter, and walks over to sit beside him. She smiles at him.

He smiles back. No words needed.

“Well,” he says eventually, glancing back at the helicopter, “if we’re going to finish this thing, maybe we should build it a secret hangar too.”

Y/N laughs softly.

“And a secret landing strip,” she adds, thinking for a moment. “We can build it… on top of the wardrobe.”

“Perfect,” he nods, picking up the screwdriver again. “Then we better hurry before Bruce finds it and decides to throw it at our heads.”

Y/N doesn’t reply, but her smile lingers. She focuses again on connecting the wires—until her face suddenly shifts, like a thought crashes into her.

“Wait—what time is it?” she asks, her voice tight with worry.

He blinks, startled by the sudden change, and sets the screwdriver aside to check the clock on the desk.

“It’s 5:10 p.m. Why?”

“Oh no. No, no, no.”

Y/N stands, body stiff, hands trembling as she turns to the door.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, but she’s already rushing out, her footsteps clumsy and fast down the hallway. He hesitates for a second, then runs after her.

She takes the stairs as if they’re burning her feet, reaching the dining room breathless. What she finds hits her like a slap: the table still covered with dirty dishes from earlier, glasses scattered, napkins a mess, and the wooden surface sticky with juice and sauces. "This is bad; it's terrible," she thinks. Mrs. Carson had made it clear: everything needed to be set before Mr. Carson got home. And that wasn’t far off.

“No, no, no…” she mutters, eyes wide. She can’t panic now. She rushes to clear the table, carries the dishes and glasses to the dishwasher, and wipes the surface with a wet rag. She sets clean plates, grabs fresh napkins from the cupboard, but spills some water as she fills the glasses. Her whole body is shaking.

“Y/N? What’s going on?” the boy asks softly from the doorway.

“The table has to be ready before they get back,” she answers without looking, her voice automatic, like she’s repeating a rule she’s been forced to learn.

“But… do you really have to set it so perfectly?” he asks, concerned, but moves closer to help her arrange the silverware. “We can do it together. It'll be okay.”

“You don’t get it. Mrs. Carson is really particular about every little detail. If something’s off…”

And then, the unmistakable creak of the front door opening cuts her off. He freezes. Y/N goes pale, her eyes fixed on the drop of water she spilled on the table.

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound of heels approaching makes both of them tremble.

“You need to go,” she says, eyes locked ahead.

“What? But Y/N…”

“Please.” She looks at him with a plea, full of fear. He glances at the door, then at her, takes two steps back, and slips quietly upstairs.

Y/N takes a deep breath, tries to smooth her blouse, and adjusts her braid.

Tap. Tap, tap.

Mrs. Carson’s footsteps land like soft, calculated hammers. She walks into the dining room, her eyes scanning the table. Her gaze hardens at one spot. She steps to the corner and touches the little trail of water.

Y/N feels the air freeze. Her body tenses like a rope about to snap. And the woman’s voice is the blade.

“What is this?” she asks softly, sweet as poison, dragging her fingers through the water. Then she walks slowly toward the girl, wearing a crooked smile that never touches her eyes.

“I… I spilled a little when pouring the glasses… b-but I was going to clean it,” Y/N murmurs, eyes downcast.

“Was going to? ‘Was going to’?” the woman repeats with a soft laugh. “You think in this house we accept ‘I was going to’? No, child. We don’t leave things for later. We do them now.”

Y/N lowers her head.

“I’m sorry…”

The woman steps closer. Slowly. No rush. She lifts a hand and lays her fingers on Y/N’s arm. The touch is almost maternal. A soft stroke.

“Look, sweetheart,” she says gently, “you’re here because I chose to let you be. Understand? You and that other brat, you’re our charity.”

Y/N barely lifts her eyes.

“You have a roof over your head because of us,” the woman continues, tightening her grip. “Food on your plate. Clean clothes. And this is how you show gratitude? With carelessness and laziness?”

The grip is no longer gentle. Her hand feels like a claw pressing through the girl’s fragile skin. Y/N’s eyes fill with tears.

“If I wanted to, I could pack your things tonight and send you back to that miserable place I found you,” the woman whispers through clenched teeth. “Is that what you want? Do you want that?”

“…no…”

“No what?”

“No, Mrs. Carson.”

The woman holds her grip for a few more seconds, then shoves her back lightly, making her stumble. She turns sharply and walks to the next room, sitting gracefully in her favorite armchair as if nothing had happened.

“Good. You’ll eat last tonight. You’ll serve everyone. That’ll give you time to reflect on what it means to pay attention.”

Y/N doesn’t move. She just breathes fast, cheeks flushed, throat tied in knots. She can’t cry. Not here. Not now.

At the top of the stairs, hidden behind the banister, he saw everything. His hands clutch the wood so hard his knuckles go white. He pulls away, heart pounding. Every part of him wants to run down there and do something. But he knows… if he does, things will only get worse—for both of them.

That’s just how things work in this house.

Dinner begins with a calm so forced it only holds thanks to the stiffness in the air. The adults sit at the head of the table; the lady cuts her food with quiet precision, while Mr. Carson stares at his plate with disinterest. The three sons take their usual spots. Michael eats in silence, barely touching his food, distracted by his spoon. Ross chews fast and without appetite, a slight frown on his brow. And Bruce wears that unpleasant grin on his face—amused by everything happening around them.

Y/N moves around the table. With a damp cloth, she wipes up the food stains. And every time someone lifts an empty glass, she refills it with cold water. Her tired eyes drift over the plates of steaming, appetizing food. Her stomach lets out a faint growl; she presses her right hand over it and holds her breath. She ignores the hunger and keeps serving the others.

At the table, the boy eats in silence. His head hangs low, shoulders slightly hunched.

He takes small bites, and occasionally, his gaze flickers toward Y/N—watching her with quiet sadness.

Then Bruce reaches out and takes a portion of his food straight from his plate.

“Hey, share a little, orphan boy,” Bruce says, chuckling under his breath. Michael lets out a short laugh. Ross just raises an eyebrow.

The boy clenches his jaw but says nothing at first. He keeps eating, now with tension in every bite. Bruce, seeing he got no reaction, does it again—this time more blatantly.

“Strange. I thought strays were good at defending what’s theirs.”

That’s when the boy lifts his head. His eyes flash with irritation. He raises his fork to reclaim the food stolen from him. The problem is, in that sudden motion—and just as Y/N walks by with the water jug—he accidentally knocks over his glass. Water spills everywhere.

Everything freezes. He and Y/N turn to look at Mrs. Carson, worried. She stares back at them with restrained fury, and the silence hanging in the air is more terrifying than any scream.

“You…” she begins in a soft, icy tone, “you spoiled brat!”

The boy opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t get the chance. Unexpectedly, the woman slaps him so hard he’s thrown sideways, crashing to the floor with the chair. The sound echoes through the dining room.

He lands with a muffled gasp, one hand clutching his reddened cheek, his eyes wide. Michael drops his spoon. Ross lowers his gaze. Bruce crosses his arms, satisfied.

“How many times do I have to tell you to eat with respect in this house?!” Mrs. Carson shouts, storming toward the boy.

And just as she’s about to raise her voice—or perhaps her hand—again, a figure steps in between them. Y/N, arms stretched to each side, plants herself there with her heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes stay on the floor, her voice nervous but steady.

“It was my fault.”

Everyone stares at her. The boy, too, still on the floor, eyes wide.

“I… I accidentally bumped the glass when I was about to refill it. It wobbled, and that’s why it fell. He barely touched it accidentally… I swear. It wasn’t his fault. I’m sorry.”

She says it with such firm conviction that even the air seems to hesitate. Mrs. Carson blinks, then narrows her eyes. She slowly steps toward Y/N.

“What did you say?”

“That it was my fault… Mrs. Carson,” Y/N repeats, a bit less sure now.

The woman takes another step and stops right in front of her. The silence is so intense that even Bruce lowers his fork mid-bite. Ross stares, unblinking. Michael swallows hard.

“Say it again,” Mrs. Carson demands. “But this time, look me in the eyes.”

Y/N feels something tighten in her stomach. It’s the perfect trap. If she looks away, if she stammers, if she shows even the slightest hint of doubt… the punishment will be worse. For both of them.

Her hands ball into tense fists. She slowly lifts her head until she meets the icy gaze of her tormentor. Just holding that stare feels like looking into the sun—but more painful.

“It was my fault. Mrs. Carson,” she says, her voice clearer now. No blinking. No flinching.

The tension lasts exactly five seconds. But they feel like five hours. Then the woman lets out a dry, short laugh.

“So you’re brave now? Or just stupid?”

She grabs Y/N by the chin with cold, claw-like fingers. Pulls her close, as if trying to rip the truth from her skin.

“Don’t test my patience, girl. I don’t give third chances,” she whispers, her voice dripping with venom that makes everyone’s skin crawl.

Then she lets go of her, as if disgusted by the contact.

“To your room. No dinner tonight.”

“But I—”

“To your room, now!”

Y/N steps back at the shout. She nods quickly, eyes lowered, and without looking at anyone else, she turns and walks toward the stairs with steady steps.

The boy remains on the floor. He says nothing but watches her leave. She lied for him. In front of that woman. In front of everyone.

Mrs. Carson returns to her seat, adjusts her napkin like nothing happened, and snaps her fingers.

“Ross, bring another cloth and clean up this mess. Bruce, if you play with your food again, you’ll be doing the dishes.”

And dinner continues.

Enjoy the chapter.

See you next time. 😄❤️

[reigningqueenofwords]

Oh, Sassy

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 3,610 Request: Anonymous. May I ask for Dean getting to know a car girl who is also a chef (like she loves food and stuff)? Take care of yourself and drink enough! Xx

“Y/L/N!” Your boss called out, making you slide out from under the car you were under. 

“Yeah?” You called back as you got up and made your way to his office. “What’s up?” Leaning on his door frame, you crossed your arms. “I was just finishing up Mr. Carson’s car. You know the one you jumped down my throat about this morning?” You raised an eyebrow. 

Your boss gave you a bored look. “This is Dean Johnson.” He sighed, motioning to the man sitting across from him. “New hire. He’s gonna be shadowing you while he gets used to the garage. Probably only a couple days.” He shrugged. 

You gave Dean a small wave. “Why me? I work odd hours because of the restaurant.” You reminded him. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to shadow one of the guys who are here all day?” 

“Nate’s last day is Friday, he’s moving, remember? Then Gage threatened the last guy I hired within two hours and made him quit. Kyle is…Kyle.” All you could do was nod at that, knowing exactly what he meant. Kyle was nice, but a bit out there. 

Sighing, you nodded. “Alright. Well, I’m only here for another hour. It’s up to him if he wants to help me on Mr. Carson’s car or meet me here tomorrow morning.” 

“I’m here, might as well start, right?” He smiled as he got up. “Nice to meet you.” Dean held out his hand for you.

You shook his hand. “I’m Y/N/N. Let’s go get started. Do you have something to change into?” 

He glanced at his clothes, then at you. “Should I? I usually work on cars in jeans and a t-shirt. Sometimes I’ll throw on a jumpsuit.” He shrugged. 

“Yeah, we had jumpsuits when I first started, but we all got tired of wearing them.” You motioned for him to follow you to the car. “Right now I’m finishing up this old 1993 Pontiac Bonneville. Mr. Carson will be in first thing tomorrow morning to pick it up, so you’ll meet him then.” 

“You make it sound like he’s a grumpy old man.” He chuckled. 

“Sometimes.” You said simply, wanting to get back to work. 

Finally, you were clocked out and walking through the parking lot. You lived just a couple blocks away, so you didn’t bother to drive. You had an hour and a half to clean up and get to your second job. “Need a ride?” Came Dean’s voice, making you look over. He was standing next to a beautiful 1967 Chevy Impala. 

“Nice car.” You motioned. “But I’m good. I live a couple blocks away.” You shrugged. “Thanks, though.” 

“Anytime.” He said simply before getting in. 

The next day, you yawned as you walked in, downing a large Monster Ultra. “Those things will kill ya.” Dean told you from where he was leaning against the wall. 

“But it keeps all you guys alive after I’ve worked most of the night.” You gave him a sarcastic smile. “And why are you out here…and not in the garage? Are you in time out?” 

“Oh, sassy. Nice.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes. “Let me guess, you’ve been put in time out before?” 

“Gage got mouthy my first week here, so I might have superglued a couple of his tools to his bench.” You shrugged. 

Dean threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, that’s hysterical. My brother would do that to me. Don’t give him any ideas if you ever meet him.” He shook his head. “And no, I’m not in time out. I was told to wait out here for my ‘babysitter’ by one of the guys. He didn’t give me a name.” 

You nodded, motioning for him to follow you to the back. “That would be Nate.” You told him. “Bummed that he’s leaving.” He was a chill guy overall, and didn’t really get mouthy like Gage. And he was all there, unlike Kyle. 

“So, you said you worked most of the night. Second job?”

“Yeah, I’m a chef.” You finished your drink and tossed the can into the recycling bin. 

His eyebrows shot up. “So, you’re a mechanic and a chef?” Dean couldn’t tell if he was more surprised or impressed, then remembered hearing you mention a restaurant the day before. Now that made sense. “Couldn’t pick one?” 

Laughing, you pulled your hair into a pony tail. “Nope. I used to help my dad work on cars when I was a kid. He died when I was 13, and I kept it up. When I was 15 I got sick. I binged Food Network for a few days. I went to culinary school when I graduated. Couldn’t find a job as a chef right away, so I got a job as a mechanic right outside of town. After working there a year, I finally landed a job as a chef. Quit my other job. And that seemed to be okay for a bit, but something was missing.” 

“You missed being a grease monkey.” 

You nodded. “I really did. Started working here about 9 months ago. Bossman likes to get on my case. I think it’s because I’m the only girl, but he’s not a bad guy.” By now you were used to it, and just dealt with it. “What about you? What’s your story, Johnson?” 

“Traveled a lot as a kid, and kept it up after my dad died about a year and a half ago. Finally decided I was tired of it. So, me and my brother picked a spot to stay put for a while.” Dean knew he was omitting details, but he didn’t feel he was truly lying to you. How could he say he was wanted by the FBI? And that his family had hunted spirits up until recently? That his brother had psychic powers? He would be honest as much as he could, while keeping out other things. 

“Losing a parent is tough. I’m sorry for your loss.” You said honestly. 

“Y/L/N. Mr. Carson is here for his car!” Your boss called down the hall. 

“Coming!” You called back before glancing at Dean. “Ready to see if he’s a grumpy old man today?” 

You and Dean got along great, and you found yourself crushing on him as the days went by. He was easy to talk to, and it was nice to have a friend at work. A couple weeks after he started, you approached him at lunch. “Hey, De? I have a question.” 

He grinned at you. “De, I like it. What can I do for you?” 

“There’s this awards thing for all the chefs in the state this weekend, and I kinda don’t want to go alone…” You explained awkwardly. “I was wondering if you’d come with me?” 

“Like a date?” He licked his lips, clearly flirting with you. 

There was no way to stop the blush that formed on your cheeks. “I-if you’d like.” Why turn down a date with a fun, nice, and handsome guy? 

“Do I need a suit?” 

“Unless you have a tux.” You joked. “But a suit should be fine.” 

Dean sipped his soda. “Guess we’ll have to exchange numbers. I can drive. We can arrive in style. Unless you have a nicer car than Baby, which I doubt.” 

“I have nothing as pretty as her.” You told him. “Dinner will be served at the awards, as well, so we’ll be well fed.” 

“Do I get to try your cooking?” He was curious, that was for sure. 

You pretended to think. “Maybe on our second date.” 

Dean leaned against Baby as he waited for you downstairs. He stood up straight when he saw you come out. “Wow.” He breathed. “You look beautiful.” 

“You look very handsome, too. You didn’t have to rent a tux, though.” You smiled. 

“It’s an awards thing, right? Gotta look good.” He brushed over the front of his jacket. “And clearly I needed it because you look… wow .” It wasn’t like him to be this speechless, but he was so used to seeing you in a tank top and jeans. He was used to seeing you with grease all over you, your hair pulled up out of your face. “Shall we?” He moved to open the door for you. 

Smiling, you stepped forward. “We shall. And hey, maybe you’ll be a good luck charm and I’ll win an award.” It would mean a lot to you if you did. 

“Hi, Dean, come in.” You opened your apartment door for him. The date to the awards had been a blast, even if you didn’t win anything. When he dropped you off after, you kissed his cheek and asked him out on a second date for the next night. Dinner at your place. 

His face lit up when he saw you. “Hi, sweetheart.” He greeted you. “Oh, these are for you.” He held out a bouquet of flowers. 

Smiling, you took them. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.” You shut the door behind him once he was inside. “Can I get you something to drink? Beer, water, soda, milk?” 

“Beer. Thank you.” He looked around your living room as you went to put the flowers in some water and get him a beer. “So, something smells amazing.” His mouth was watering. 

“Thank you.” Handing him his beer, you sipped your own. “Baked potatoes are almost done, and then I’m making some steaks with butter garlic onions. Then, for dessert, homemade cherry pie.” 

“Love me some cherry pie.” Dean winked. “Sounds delicious, sweetheart.” One perk about staying in one place was not having to microwave his meals. “Maybe for our next date I’ll have you over for burgers. I make a mean bacon cheeseburger. I’m sure I can tell my brother to scram for a few hours.” He was already mentally planning a few dates for the two of you, wanting to spend as much time as he could with you. He pictured taking you to the movies, out to eat, to the beach, and to the fair. Maybe walking away from hunting was the best thing that happened to him because he’d met you. 

You smirked at him. “What? Are you worried your brother is more charming than you?” You teased him. 

He chuckled and shook his head. “More like I don’t want my baby brother around while we’re on a date.” He countered before taking a swig of his beer. “Want any help?” He asked when your timer went off. 

“Sure. Can you get the cheese and sour cream from the fridge and put them on the table? And how do you like your steak? Warning: you say well done and I’m kicking you out.” You gave him a playful look. You couldn’t help it, he made you feel fun . 

“You wound me. Do I look like the kind of douche that would order ‘well done’?” He put his hand on his chest. “Medium-rare, thank you.” 

“Good boy.” You winked before heading to start the steaks. Hearing Dean groan lightly, you giggled to yourself. 

One year from the date of that awards show, you were moving into the house that Sam and Dean rented. You got along with Sam, and had no problems with him staying. If anything, you felt it was a really good idea. Because you had two jobs, there were technically four incomes for one home (also, because you worked two jobs…you did the least amount of housework, only doing it on your days off). “That was the last box.” You grinned as you saw Dean coming down the stairs. “I am officially all moved in.” 

“Awesome.” He looked like a kid on Christmas. “Sammy has to work until 5, so he said he’ll meet us for dinner.” He took the box from you and went to take it upstairs. 

“So, this means we have a few hours to ‘celebrate’? Just us?” You followed him, eyes on his butt. “I work tonight, so right now would be perfect.” 

“I like how you think, sweetheart.” The two of you just seemed to fit together perfectly. 

“I’m home!” You called out as you shut the door behind you. 

“You’re early.” Dean glanced at the clock. “Like…4 hours early. What’s wrong?” He saw the look on your face and rushed to you. 

You sniffed. “Uh, remember Darla?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, the older waitress that told you she wanted to pinch my cheeks? Everything okay?” 

“She didn’t come in for her shift tonight, which is really unlike her. She has never missed a shift without calling, and even that’s rare.” You started. “So we sent Jimmy, the busboy, to check on her.” Your voice broke. “Poor Darla…Poor Jimmy.” 

“Baby, what happened?” 

“Her door was busted in. And sh-she was dead. Brutally killed.” He pulled you to him, holding you tight as you cried. “We closed early for the night, and the cops came to talk to everyone before we got sent home.” 

He hated that you were hurting, but beyond thankful that you weren’t the one that went to check on her. You didn’t need to see something like that. “Do they have any idea who killed her?” 

You shook your head. “I asked one of the officers how she died. The look on his face…” You breathed, pulling away slightly to look up at him. “He said he’s never seen anything like it, and if he didn’t know any better, that a bear got her.” 

“A bear?” He furrowed his brows. 

“That’s how bad she looked.” Letting out a breath, you stepped back. “I’m going to take a hot shower and take a couple sleeping pills.” You kissed his cheek softly. 

He nodded, rubbing your arm. “I’ll be up shortly.” Sam was supposed to be home from work soon, and wanted to talk to him about this. Something in his gut told him his two years in town were coming to an end. He watched you slip off your shoes and then make your way upstairs. He’d stay and grow old with you if he had the choice. Part of him had let himself dream about an actual future with you. The two of you working on Baby with a little you. Him watching you teach a little him how to properly chop on onion. Clenching his jaw, he forced down the tears. 

“Dean?” Sam paused in the door. “What’s going on?” 

Looking at his brother, he didn’t have to say a word. He saw that Sam understood what was going on. Sam knew that them living away from the supernatural was over. He was angry enough that he was losing his apple pie life, but even angrier that Sam was losing his. His baby brother had really just started letting his guard down in the last 6 months or so. Just in time for it to blow up in their faces. 

Dean jerked awake when his phone rang. “Hello?” He yawned as you shifted besides him. “Bobby?” He sat up. Dean had called him now and then to check in, but Bobby never called him. 

“You still in that town you told me you settled in?” 

“Yeah, we are.” He said softly, glancing at you before slipping out of bed. He didn’t want to risk waking you up. 

Bobby sighed. “Been hearing rumors from the town about half an hour away. Sounds like a crossroads demon.” He warned him. “I don’t know if it ever went your way…”

Dean groaned. “It has.” He knew that was what tore Darla apart. “Y/N/N’s coworker must have been one of them. She came home upset, and I can’t blame her. Darla was always nice.” He ran a hand over his face. “We had planned to keep an eye out just in case.” 

“Not gonna lie, was hoping it woulda passed your town by.” Bobby told him. 

Standing in the kitchen, Dean looked out the window into the backyard. The same backyard that you had just been lounging in the day before, in the bikini you’d bought just to wear for him. “Maybe it’s a sign, Bobby.” He said, letting his emotions show. “Maybe it’s a sign I need to get out of town. What’s next? Werewolves? Vampires? I can’t let her die.” 

“Dean, you’ve been there two years.” Bobby pointed out. “In those two years I’ve heard you happier than I ever have before. You’ve sounded more alive than ever before.” He was clearly trying to talk Dean out of leaving. “That woman loves you! And from what Sam says, she’s perfect for you. Walk away now, and you’ll always wonder what could have been.” 

“What happens if we decide to have a family one day, and then something comes after them? What if I can’t protect them?” 

“Boy, that’s a question every parent has. To this day I wonder the same damn thing! You boys might be hunters, but you’re my boys. At least think about things.” 

Sighing, Dean closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bobby. We’re leaving.” 

Waking up, you rolled over to cuddle Dean, but he wasn’t there. “De?” You blinked, slipping out of bed. Usually, if he couldn’t sleep, you could find him in the garage, so that’s where you went. “De?” 

He whipped around, blocking the trunk. “Baby?” He had clearly been crying. 

“What’s going on? What the hell is that in your trunk?” You moved over to look. “Why do you have so many weapons?” Your eyes went to him. “Why were you crying?” 

“Let’s go inside to talk. Sammy, why don’t you go start packing my clothes?” He glanced to Sam, who was off to the side. 

“Why does he need to pack your clothes?” Why weren’t you getting any answers? You pulled your arm from him as he tried to lead you away from Baby. “Talk to me!” 

“My name isn’t Dean Johnson.” He swallowed. “My name is Dean Winchester, and up until I moved to town…Sammy and I traveled the country hunting things.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Hunting things? Like deer?” 

“I wish.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Vampires, ghosts, demons, wendigos.” He listed. 

Blinking, you tried to let that sink in. “You’re telling me that’s all real?” You stared at him. “Say I believe you, why leave now? Why try to leave in the middle of the night?” 

“Because Darla was killed by a hellhound. She must have made a crossroads deal and her time was up.” He explained. “It was a wake up call. We can’t escape that life.” 

“You’re leaving me, us, because someone else was killed?” Of course you cared about Darla, but what did she have to do with your relationship with Dean? 

“What if the next thing that comes through targets you?” 

“By that logic- you running away from your girlfriend is running away from protecting her!” You countered. “What if something comes through, and you aren’t here? What then, Dean?!” 

“Us being here is like a beacon. Bad things just follow us.” 

You shook your head. “So, what the hell was the last 2 years? What bad happened then?” You locked your eyes on his. “What ‘bad thing’ followed you over these past 2 years?”

He looked down. “Nothing.” He admitted. “They were the best 2 years of my life. I let myself hope for things that I can’t have.” He managed. 

“Who the hell says you can’t have them? I’m here, aren’t I? I love you, and I think I’m pretty fucking good!” You threw your hands up. 

“Sam got out once. Had the apple pie life. It got his girlfriend killed.” He told you. “I can’t let that happen to you. I love you too much.” 

Clenching your jaw, you stepped closer to him. “So don’t let it.” You said firmly. “Teach me.” 

Dean whipped his head up to stare at you. “What?” He breathed. 

“Teach me. I’m a fast learner.” Your heart was pounding in your chest. “We stay right here while you teach me anything I have to know. I’m sure there’s a way to make this house safe, right?” He nodded a bit. “Then we do that. I’ll quit my job as a chef, and we keep working. All three of us. You teach me until you think I know what I need to know. Then we can leave.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that. You have a life here.” The pain couldn’t be hidden from his eyes. “You don’t want to live motel to motel. Eating shitty food and sleeping on crappy beds.” 

You cupped his cheek and gave him a soft smile. “You know why I want to do this?” 

“Why?” 

“Because I love you too much to let you walk away from me.” You kissed him softly. “I can’t see my life without you. We all have some money put aside, and we can put even more aside between now and when we leave. That’ll get us a couple nicer motel rooms now and then, right?” 

Dean looked in your eyes, wondering how the hell he got so lucky to find you. “You believe me?” 

You took a breath. “Mostly.” You admitted. “It’s a hard thing to wrap my head around, but I’m sure as you tell me more, and as you teach me- I’ll come around.” Your heart told you to trust what he was saying. “Please, let’s go back inside, tell Sam to stop packing, and talk.” 

“You won’t hate me for taking you from the two things you love? Cooking and working on cars?” 

“I’d hate myself for letting you walk away.” 

[dylniz]

TMNT MUTANT REIGN CHAPTER 3 Sneak Peek

April was honestly considering throwing away her whole future just to beat someone up again.

How was it possible for someone to be so annoying and dumb it’s almost comedic? How was it possible for Casey Jones to be the literal worst project partner in the history of human education?

“We have to pick a specific genre from a specific country as our topic. Shakespeare on his own is not a genre.”

Casey just shrugged, arms crossed, looking infuriatingly bored. “I dunno. I just said the first name I thought of. Are we allowed to pick, like…singers? ‘Cause they write lyrics? Writing about Ken Carson could be pretty rad.”

If god was real, she clearly was not on his good side. There was no other explanation for her having to deal with this oatmeal cookie in thrifted JNCO jeans besides divine punishment.

“No! We are not writing about Ken Carson for our—“ she sighed, exhaling through her nose to calm herself down.

“Can you tell me up front whether or not you give a fuck ‘bout this assignment? It’ll be a lot easier that way to explain to Mrs Choi why only my name is on the final project.”

That got his attention. He straightened, slightly.

“Okay okay, jeez! Listen, Amy—“

“It’s April.”

“Can I just call you Red? Red, listen, I’m sorry.”

April raised a very unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re sorry.”

Casey nodded. “I can’t fail this class. Like, at all. My grades already circling in the drain.”

“Then why aren’t you doin’ jack shit??” She said, her voice a little louder now. One kid glanced over, clocked the chaos, and promptly looked away again, deciding it wasn’t interesting enough to keep listening in on.

Casey glanced around nervously before speaking a bit more quietly.

“I genuinely don’t know anything! Okay? We miss hella classes due to hockey season and I’m really, really bad with names. These authors all sound like gibberish to me. Okay?”

..Oh. 

April bit the inside of her cheek, that explained some things.

“Okay…okay, look. This is a research project right? It’s not rocket science. We have like…a month to complete it. We’ve got a month. If you show up, we can knock it out together. I’ll help you research, maybe do most of the writing, help with your section. Deal?”

He lifted his hand like he was going in for a dap.

April gave him a look so cold he put it back down without a word.

“How about this,” she continued. “We hit the library after school, pick a topic, do a little diggin’ and go from there. Sound good?”

Casey nodded.

“Perfect. Now—“

Her sentence was interrupted by the bell and the sound of chairs scraping against the floor as students enthusiastically got ready to leave.

Casey immediately slung his bag over his shoulder like he was training for a sprint. April was about to do the same when her phone buzzed.

Phone call from: Mikey

“Uhh, can you gimme just a sec? I need to take this.” April said as Casey just shrugged,  wandering off toward Taylen, who immediately looped her arm through his and threw April another sharp look over her shoulder.

April ignored and picked up. 

“Mikey, what’s up?”

“April! Are you free after school?”

April glanced back at the doorway. Casey was now fist-bumping one of his hockey teammates while Taylen scrolled on her phone, still hanging off his arm.

“Uhh, not really. I’ve got a project to—”

“Well you better make time because we need you.”

“Mikey, man I wish, I got a project I need to start tonight.”

“It’s about the lab, we need the portal again.”

April blinked.

“You wanna drag me down that hole again?? Why??”

A new voice, Donnie’s voice specifically chimed in from the other end.

“I hacked a US satellite to locate more mutants.”

“…”

“April?”

“You’re telling me—” she glanced around and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You’re telling me you hacked a—”

“Technically also a CIA satellite.”

“Oh, even better. Now I’m an accomplice. Get the CIA on my ass too! I’m gonna get waterboarded in a warehouse somewhere in Jersey. Is this call being traced?”

“Of course it’s not, I made sure our phones make all our calls untraceable.” Donnie scoffed.

“Great. Awesome.” April rubbed her forehead. “So you need me to unlock the portal so you can…what, find a mutant?”

“Yyyup.” Leo said.

“And this is like- urgent. Like- I have to head over to the Gramercy sewer like..RIGHT after school.”

“Preferably. We’re hoping to find this one mutant before we lose its signal.” Donnie said.

April glanced at Casey and sighed. “Okay. Okay fine I’ll— I’ll be there in 40.”

She hung up, squared her shoulders, and dragged herself to the doorway, where Casey was waiting, Taylen still hanging on him like an accessory.

“Red! Red-y to head out? Get it? Like ready but—“

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” April offered a pained smile. “So…I’m sorry Jones but something came up. My friends uhh..” she trailed off under the stares of Taylen and Casey’s hockey teammate, both eyeing her oddly.

“My friends…dog died and he’s like…crying. And stuff.”

“Awh what? That’s horrible!” Casey said.

“Yeah yeah he was like full on sobbing over the phone so…rain check?”

“Of course man. Totally get it. Like when I was 6 my dog Princesa choked to death on one of my mom’s earrings and I cried so much I threw up.”

Taylen wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Wow.” April said, already backing away. “Okay, that’s really sad. Really sad— but I gotta get going so…just text me on insta!”

“I don’t have your insta.”

“…I’ll text you. Bye!”

And with that she scurried off.

There was a beat of silence before Taylen snorted. “She’s such a weirdo.”

Liam, Casey’s teammate, smirked. “She’s got issues y’know. Like, actual psychological problems.”

“Okay okay, she’s not bad.” Casey said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Taylen played with the ends of her shiny brown hair. “You don’t remember when I told you about the lunchroom incident? I couldn’t get that juice out of my top after two washes. It looked like hippie tie-dye.”

“Okay, that was a bit uncalled for but that was like— two years ago right? Drama from 8th grade? And like, she’s smart. At least I won’t flunk!”

Taylen rolled her eyes. “Whatever, she’s still an aggro freak. Does this mean you’re coming to Monica’s tonight?”

“Yeah totally. Do you need me to bring drinks?”

“Duh.”

…

[toasttt11]

next

May 22, 2021

Wyatt shot up waking up immediately hearing little whimpers and he immediately pulled the covers off him and stepped over to his daughter’s bassinet seeing Carson whimpering and squirming, something that is very rare for her.

Wyatt delicately picked her up and started gently rocking her, “What’s wrong my little bear?” Wyatt cooed softly his eyes glanced to the clock knowing Carson doesn’t get hungry at this time and she doesn’t need to be changed.

Carson’s sad whimpers slowed down and she seemed to fall back asleep in his arms.

Wyatt kissed her for her softly and started to set her back down in her bassinet and immediately she started whimpering again making Wyatt immediately pick her back up and rock her again in his arms calming her down.

Wyatt furrowed his brows confused why she was getting upset and then to clicked, “Do you want to stay with me?” Wyatt asked softly realizing Carson was fussy when she was in her bassinet and not with him.

Wyatt fixed the pillows on his bed to keep Carson safe in the bed and he laid back in his bed and gently set Carson on the bed next to him keeping his arm over her and she didn’t stir once.

Wyatt hummed softly seeing how peaceful Carson looked laying next to him.

Wyatt rested his head next to hers just starring at her peacefully sleeping, he kissed the side of her little forehead gently, “Goodnight my little bear.”

Wyatt would come to realize that most nights Carson just wants to sleep next to him and wants cuddles.

[sinfulsalutations]

the bad batch irl headcanons: brainrot edition.

hunter

watches the boys, breaking bad, and basically anything with jk simmons in it

his top artist on his spotify wrapped was lana del rey and has been lana for 3 years straight

listens to self help audiobooks and true crime podcasts

stopped posting on tiktok because 30 year old moms kept commenting weird freaky shit

makes capcut template edits of himself

snap score is in the millions; his parents were confused on the questionnaire and instead ordered a thot son

tech

listens to playboi carti, earl sweatshirt, and ken carson. below them is classical music

never beats the “erm, actually” allegations. his friends turned him into a nerd sticker to use in conversations

reddit WARRIOR. his karma score is in the millions. he posts, no matter what, every two hours (schedules the posts if needed to). most active in the subreddits r/techtips and r/javascript

obeys the traffic laws in gta but if a pedestrian says some shit like “hey watch where you’re going asshole” he is CLOCKING that mfer

plays swipe games on tiktok religiously and will change his answers to fit better with the “lore”

watches jujutsu kaisen, has a tiktok collection dedicated entirely to gojo edits. despite that, maki is his favorite character

wrecker

his entire tiktok for you page consists of workout videos and cute animals

did the trend of tying a bow on the bicep and breaking it while he flexes

doesn’t know how to take photos of himself; watches tutorials on every social media he can find but still can’t figure it out

listens to bad bitch music. beyoncé, megan thee stallion, tinashe, doja cat, glorilla, nicki minaj, all that stuff.

comments “looked at my girl and smiled because she’s perfect” on a hot girls post

says “what the dog doin” all the time. all. the. time.

crosshair

serves cunt; serves all of the cunt

a back arching straight man; ur gay tote-bag carrying boyfriend

almost all his friends are lesbians. they take him to the queer/sapphic clubs and the chappel roan concerts

comments “why no one hating” on the most INNOCENT and PURE videos just to start arguments

is a biker boy but hates the whole “biker tok” stereotype and so he doesn’t go out on the bike anymore out of fear of being recorded without his consent

instagram notes is his main form of communication; he is an olympic ghoster

echo

his vocabulary contains “skibidi” “what the sigma” and “gyatt”

his most used “social medias,” in order, are pinterest, whatsapp, and tiktok

worked at a waffle house before he got fired for starting a fight

kpop fan. stans newjeans, tomorrow x together, and le sserrafim

the definition of “female rage”; also, indeed, serves cunt. not as much as crosshair, but serves cunt nonetheless.

has 13 daily hours of screen time. what is he doing for those hours? fuck if i know. fuck if he knows. fuck if his PHONE knows. (in reality, he leaves youtube videos playing all night and doesn’t even realize it)