#I just don't have the wherewithal....

[drewtanakagf]

So i was scrolling through the drew tanaka tag as one does and found this post by @curseofdelos that i was like !!!!! about, and i read through it and I was like. Yes, but also… 

So this is my also. I suggest reading the post first as it does very well in explaining the issues with Piper and Drew’s writing and why that’s harmful. 

But I’d like to take it a step further and extrapolate to the bigger picture of cabin 10. 

What about the boys? 

TL;DR: There are a lot of in-text and meta negotiations of masculinity versus femininity that occur in /influence PJO/HOO, and that leaves boys in the Aphrodite Cabin in an awkward limbo. 

Before we get into the nitty gritty, I first want to establish that masculinity is not femininity. Which like, duh, but that means that anything that is not masculine can and will be considered feminine. Point blank, no nuance (There is a literature backing, but I think its a bit too much, so I’ll just put it at the end if you wanna find the article I’m referring to). 

And that’s what Rick is operating on, while you can’t deny it is a spectrum, at the time of writing TLH and such, there was a general societal understanding of masculinity as being macho and strong and rejecting softness for hardcore or whatever. And this positioning is where femininity comes in, and where we can begin to talk about Cabin 10. 

Rick writes Cabin 10 as inherently feminine, thus attaching “beauty” to this narrow idea; best shown through describing the cabin as a Barbie house and Piper's claiming ordeal. It is a place where there is nothing “masculine,” leading to the stereotype of Aphrodite kids not being able to fight, since war is masculine and thus out of their purview. 

This does deconstruct with Silena and then Piper, but the existence of Drew proves that it is still upheld and important enough to the story. 

I do believe that Rick tried to have his “oh you can still be feminine without being hyper feminine!” moment with Piper & Drew’s conflict, however, he failed to give Drew enough agency to make it seem like there was a genuine conflict rather than just “mean girl v girl-next-door.” (again, @curseofdelos explained it very well, go read!). 

Now with the girls out of the way, the boys are kinda… lost in the sauce? The only Aphrodite boy we get is Mitchell and it is very telling that a lot of people hc him as gay… which again is the posturing of masculinity vs femininity and whatever is not masculine is therefore feminine. And being gay is being attracted to masculinity and this feminine etc etc (according to societal norms). The fact that he is the only male Aphrodite kid rep is again, telling and really affirms the inherent femininity of Cabin 10. 

“Hey! He’s not the only ‘Aphrodite’ Kid! What about Michael!” And Michael just further proves my point! He’s the son of Venus, and Roman counterparts are considered as more “warlike” than their Greek ones. War being considered masculine and a rejection of femininity, as established earlier w/ Cabin 10 kids not being warriors. Now, Micheal exists as a (hyper) masculine counterpoint to Drew’s (hyper) feminine, making the Roman Venus a direct opposite as the Greek Aphrodite. 

This is actually, kinda commendable in terms of plot, since it helps reinforce the differences between Greek and Roman and how extreme they were. Great storytelling device, bad everything else. 

One more thing I want to touch on is the vilification of femininity, and why it must be rejected in the pjo/hoo. You can only fight if you adopt masculine traits, and therefore not fighting and still surviving means that you are doing something dishonorable like, abusing charmspeak (Drew) or using magic (Circe, Medea, etc) or even spying (Silena). Which is a very masculine idea, of how things should be solved by violence ( i mean, look at violence perpetrated by men compared to women in our society…) I think I’ve said this before, but in Piper’s arc, there needs to be an antagonist to prove how she doesn’t “fit in” at CHB, and create that tension of her either choosing to save her father and betray or continue the quest as is; and that antagonist ended up being Drew, and that makes sense bc Cabin 10 is against what Piper is characterized as, and she just is a rejection of that femininity. 

Anyways, let me not get away from myself. Basically, within the story, there is no real opportunity for the characters to reject gender stereotypes without falling into others. And Rick wrote himself into that hole. 

Literature Referenced: Shippers, Mimi. “Masculinity and Femininity, Theories of.” The Wiley Blackwell Encyclopedia of Gender and Sexuality Studies, 2016. Edited by Nancy A. Naples. John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

[creekfiend]

I think the very worst thing about being this sick and in being this much pain is just the bone deep exhaustion I feel

I want to connect with the world and it's like trying to touch the sky when you're lying at the bottom of a well. I can reach my arm all the way up as long as it will go and I can't touch anything I'm too far down and I can barely even see it from where I am and there's no way I can reach it at all

[thatlittleegyptologist]

I need someone to hold me to writing at least 1k words today. I'm not on a deadline or anything, but I'm sick of my brain wandering from the only thing that's keeping me afloat most days.

[raphaelapproves]

" This quaint little scene is decidedly too middle-of-nowhere for my tastes. "

INDEPENDENT. PRIVATE. SELECTIVE.

WRITTEN BY WALDEN.

[anghraine]

🌤️☔

🌤️:

Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

Ooh, interesting! I have many, many WIPs, so ... let's see. I was trying to vary which WIPs I picked, but I think I'll go with the next of my Lucyverse/f!Luke Skywalker fics again. I won't give the context, but:

"Father—" Lucy's throat burned, but she seized his arm as well as she could, her fingers barely digging into the metallic cloth. "Haven't you had enough of masters?"

☔️:

Is there a fic concept you have that you’d like to just explain and share because you’re not sure you’ll ever write it? If so, what is it?

I've mentioned it before, but speaking of P&P AUs significantly involving the Gardiners, one I've thought of for years takes the simple premise that the weird Darcy/Elizabeth rumor that reaches Lady Catherine just doesn't happen. Jane/Bingley goes off as in canon, but Elizabeth and Darcy are still in their high-octane pining phase. Darcy leaves Netherfield with nothing resolved, and both have only the likelihood of their paths continuing to cross and hopes that maybe, hopefully, his/her feelings will become reciprocated over time...

The path-crossing happens somewhat earlier than anticipated, though, because a little while later, Darcy and Georgiana return to London while Elizabeth is visiting the Gardiners. Darcy pays a respectful visit only to find Elizabeth there(!!!! on both sides) and the Gardiners helpfully keep inviting him/him and Georgiana, and Elizabeth and Darcy spend the time pining, repressing burning UST, and trying to act Very Normal as they navigate their strange relationship. Eventually Darcy does piece together enough hints to get the hope to propose again, Elizabeth accepts, HEA etc.

[natjennie]

I feel like I've seen the heat death of the universe and have been left forever changed. I can't speak. everything is in slow motion. I think I'm going to pass out genuinely.

[carbonateddelusion]

the pile of writings I will probably never show anyone aside from Ben is slowly growing

[ancientbeast]

by the way please reach out and let me know if you need something tagged - i'm extremely forgetful and might miss things

[slowcrime]

i’m preaching to the choir but over a million people (even with under-reporting) are dead from covid in the usa. and people are just. going to bars and not wearing masks and letting anti-vaxxers stay in their lives? people are shrugging and eating indoors anyway? at times i don’t understand anything anymore? the grotesque belly of the machine is made apparent?

[vamptastic]

had many many people throughout my life tell me both explicitly and implicity that i'm probably autistic and should get it checked out but god the process is daunting. i got diagnosed with adhd in like two hours and haven't had my diagnosis challenged since (i do radiate it and have an extensive family history). the process for an autism diagnosis looks like a bunch of different different paper assessments and an interview and takes months, and that just doesn't seem worth my time when I don't really need any specific accomodations. most of the time people point it out in reference to my social skills or occasionally sensory issues, and unfortunately those are just kind of things that others can't really help with and that i have to cope with on my own, while for ADHD and my other stuff the diagnosis is needed for meds and probably schoolwork but i haven't bothered actually requesting an IEP yet even though it'd help.

[dsabian]

Me to myself: Can you please stop putting my shit in weird places I can't find anything anymore!

[the-cooler-king]

Let me reiterate... you should be scared of me, but never afraid. Hope this helps!

[izvmimi]

barely thirty seconds pass before you finally bite.

"what are you doing, satoru?"

the question is silly, because it's quite clear what he's doing, crystal even - he's staring into your eyes, and despite questioning it, you still haven't broken the eye contact, electric blue practically glowing as he stares into your eyes. you're close together, noses just inches apart, but he's not on top of you this time, nor is he about to kiss you anytime soon. still, you're rather intimate, sitting across his lap, your arms folded in your own.

it's a private and still moment, captured in the safety of your shared home. satoru clears his throat softly before answering.

"i'm trying to see if you'll fall in love with me," he replies, matter-of-factly. despite how reasonable he means to sound, his voice is subdued and breathy, and you laugh, and still you don't break eye contact.

"i'm already in love with you, silly."

you'd meant to wrap your arms around his shoulders with this statement, but his hands grip gently at your wrists, holding you still. he's barely blinking as he looks at you, not wavering as he stares deep into your soul. a minute has passed so far in your exchange, neither of you backing down.

"i want you to be sick with it. so full of love you can barely eat or whatever."

your eyebrows scrunch, and you scoff. "conceited."

gojo swallows your taunt like the sweetest honey, a smile tugging at his lips. his thumbs pass over the soft skin of your wrists, and he breathes in. your gaze continues to be held. he does love you, he loves you far more than anything in this world or the next.

"it's only fair that if i have to be this way that you do the same."

two minutes have passed now, but neither of you are really keeping track anymore. you can feel your own breath slowing, your heartbeat trying to match his in rhythm.

"you can't possibly love me more than i love you," you remind him. your lashes lower but your gaze does not. satoru tilts your chin upwards slightly, guiding you not to back down with the touch of his index finger.

"wrong. my love has no limits."

if you weren't so absorbed in the way his pupils dilate, or in the shades and sparkle in his eye, and your reflection in them, you might have had the wherewithal to remind him he's cheesy. but you can't. love is overtaking you again, and pulling you into his eyes.

another minute passes, and neither of you speak, suffocated with something intangible.

satoru breaks the silence again with another murmured 'i love you."

you say it back through a kiss, through your arms reaching for him, holding him close, through your repeated moans.

[natalieironside]

Alright, I got one. It's called the "I ought to jack off" test.

So I got this one bit of good advice from Have Spacesuit, Will Travel, which is probably Robert Heinlein's best book; it's a fun read wherein service does not guarantee citizenship and nobody has to become their own mom. When you find yourself bellyaching about how you "ought to" go and do this and that, you're suffering from a crisis of motivation, and the best thing to do is take a moment to examine what you're doing and why you're doing it so you can make sure it's actually what you want to be doing and not what someone else thinks you're supposed to be doing. You'll either have a new perspective to come up with a better, more effective plan, or you'll realize it wasn't so important after all.

Good advice. Obviously not applicable to a lot of situations, one of which is the avolition and executive dysfunction you get from mental illness. So! When everything in the world just feels like awful bullshit more or less equally, how am I supposed to differentiate "I don't want to do Task because it is in fact stupid and unnecessary" from "I very much do want to do Task but I can't because my brain is fried."

I think the answer is to examine how you feel about the Tasks that require little investment of effort or time for pure reward; fun things you want to do just for fun. Like jacking off for instance, or going to the park, or playing video games, or whatever.

If you can't muster up the wherewithal to fill out that application or go to that meeting or do the job, it's worth a moment of your time to examine if you really ought to and why; it's sure to be an illuminating exercise. If you can't muster up the wherewithal to turn on the TV and watch cartoons, that one's definitely depression.

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

executive dysfunction so bad today it's a wonder I'm breathing

[luveline]

𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when internet trolls poke fun at your appearance while working on a case, hotch is there to make you feel better. fem!reader, 3k

tw cyberbullying, poor eating habits, criminal minds typical violence

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You're not a media liaison or anything close, but with JJ off for maternity leave and Penelope in Quantico, there's a face needed for the press announcement on TV, and you offer to step in. 

You aren't particularly eager to do it, but Hotch doesn't have the time or wherewithal and such a high intensity case, not while Spencer is at half-mast, migraines rendering him ineffective and stubborn. You're trying to keep the ship sailing smoothly, doing your part of the profiling while juggling media and supporting the police sergeant that's heading the tip line.

You're not expecting to become a joke. After a red-eye, three sleepless nights trying to find a missing woman in Oklahoma —the domestic violence capital— and a full day without something to eat, you're aware you don't look your best, but you aren't sure what that has to do with your missing person. 

The FBI — fugly bitches International. #FindDanaLangley

Damn, are they not letting those agents sleep or what? She looks terrible ! 

she should be less worried about Dana Langley and more concerned with the dead woman in the mirror, ew 

hope theu find her just so they stop putting this creature on TV #FindDanaLangley

"Well," you murmur, wondering if it would be inappropriate to burst into tears, "these aren't especially helpful." 

Derek looks at you, his gaze measured, and you know he's not sure how to react to you or what's happening. He settles on his usual loving encouragement, because he's a very good friend. 

"Don't listen to all that," he says, throwing his arm around your shoulder, "those trolls wouldn't know beautiful if it hit them in the face. But we could always try it?" 

You sink into his hold, needing the reassurance even if you wish you didn't. "No hitting," you say, covering your mouth to hide a large and possibly fugly yawn. Your head is racing with regurgitated insults. "It doesn't matter, Derek. Promise. We have bigger stuff to deal with." 

The door opens and Hotch and Emily step inside, Rossi just behind them. You're thinking Hotch is going to agree with your sentiment, no time for comfort when a woman's life is at stake, so you move away from Morgan to sit in front of your laptop again. 

"Is something wrong?" Hotch asks. 

You meet his eyes just long enough to smile at him. "Nothing. What did Amandla have to say?" 

Emily retells the alibi of Dana's ex-girlfriend and is clearly suspicious but without proof, you're forced as a team to move on to the next lead. Spencer returns shortly afterward and you try to brainstorm your next step. 

It's Penelope that pulls through. "You asked me to cross reference the neighbours at Dana's previous address with people crossing state lines, right, after that one guy ended up being kinda icky? Well I did that, and nothing came up, which was–" 

"Garcia," Hotch interrupts. 

"Right. Long story short, one of the neighbours recently had an extreme falling out with Icky Guy after a years long friendship, his name is Justin Mantova, he has extreme PTSD with documented episodes of confused aggression, and he's been seen coming in and out of a storage unit in Paseo Storage Solutions for the past four days." 

"Address?" Hotch asks. 

"Already sent to your phones." 

"Thank you, Pen," you say. 

"Just go catch the bad guy, pretty girl," she says. 

Ah, so she's seen the tweets too. You frown rather than smile, reminded again of what's been said and wishing you could be anywhere else. 

You get your wish and forget all about personal grievances for a while, concerned with the safe location and extraction of Dana Langley. The operation is clean, and she's hurt but has a great chance at a full recovery. It's quick, it's professional. 

You're falling asleep in the SUV on the way back. Hotch at the wheel, Spencer in the backseat, you rub your eyes from the passenger side and try not to look suspiciously morose, but it's impossible. Hotch is too good at his job. 

"Are you sure everything's okay?" he asks. With Spencer's window open and the wind whipping, it's hard to hear him. 

"Hm?" 

"Is everything okay?" 

"I'm just tired." You don't look at him. It's rude of you, but if what they've said is true —you'd seen the photographs, and you looked tired, sure, but you still looked like you. "Just tired," you say again. You snap your mouth closed when your voice wobbles. 

Hotch is regularly too sweet on you. Most of the team say it's a crush. Emily calls it 'character development. Whatever it is, he's nice to you. He warmed up to you near immediately when you first joined the team, and he's been as welcoming months later as he was in your first week. 

Maybe he feels sorry for me, you think, submerging yourself inch by inch into self pity. 

The three of you regroup with the others at the police station to pen immediate recounts of what happened before you can forget, tying up loose ends. 

Finally you're able to go back to the hotel. Another half an hour and you're in the lobby.

"We'll go home in the morning. Nine AM flight, meet in the lobby at eight thirty," Hotch says. "Get some rest." 

You disband. They've squeezed you in all over the place, and you're lucky enough to be next to the elevator on the second floor. Hotch is the third floor, and everyone else the sixth, so you say goodbye to your colleagues and exit the elevator, stepping onto the second floor with a parting smile.

You can't know it, but Hotch notices the way your smile falls before the doors have well and truly closed. Your shoulders slump in defeat. 

You trudge into your room and don't bother turning on the lights. The door closes behind you and the mask you'd been holding up starts to crack. You put your laptop in the closet despite temptation to boot it up, knowing no good can come of looking at the tip hashtag again. 

You head into the bathroom to pee, and you're confronted with your appearance as you wash your hands. 

You stare at yourself. 

You look tired. 

Tears well as you look at yourself. You're not those things those people said. You're pretty, and when you smile everyone knows it. There's nothing so beautiful as a smile. You can't summon one, but you know it's the truth. 

Or, it should be. 

A single tear falls down your cheek, quickly followed by a second, and a third from the other eye. You ignore them, tracing the line of your bottom lip, the texture of your skin on your cheeks, the slight sunken effect of your under eyes. 

A knock makes you flinch. "Fuck," you say, wiping your cheek with the back of a hand, twisting on the spot like looking into your room might reveal whoever it is at the door. Probably one of your team. "Hello?" you call. 

"It's me. It's Hotch. I know it's after hours, but I wanted to speak with you."

Whatever reassurance he has to give might actually make this all much worse. You don't want any pity from anybody, you just want today to be over. Still, you wiggle your toes into the plush hotel carpeting, debating only for a moment about the pros and cons of pretending to be asleep. 

"Hey," you say, opening the door. You wipe your eyes and hope he takes it for a tired gesture rather than a method of hiding the glassy sheen at your waterline. "Hi, Hotch, how are you feeling?" 

"Fine. Tired. Thank you for asking." 

"Do you want to come in?" you ask. 

"Please." 

Hotch follows you into your room. There's an armchair across from the bed next to a desk and an old TV sitting atop it. Your suitcase is still open on your bed, your pyjamas crumpled in the shell. You close it before Hotch can see. That's another thing to add to your list: being a slob. 

"It's very clean in here," he says. 

You startle. "What?" 

"It's clean, considering how long we've been here. Have you ever seen Spencer's room at the end of a case?" he asks. 

"No, is it bad?" 

"It's like a paper hurricane."

You look down at your knees, hyper aware of his gaze on your face, tired of feeling uneasy in your skin. 

"I wanted to say thank you for doing the press release yesterday. You did an amazing job. It's something to be proud of." 

Of course he's talking about the press release, the one thing you need to not think about. 

"Did Derek tell you?" you ask. 

"Tell me what?" he asks, voice sharpening.

You look up. Hotch is a picture of concern, professionalism slightly off centre. 

"Nothing." 

"Something's been bothering you. Something Derek should've told me, I'm guessing." 

You chew over your words. "Uh. Hotch, it's really nothing, it's a hiccup. The press release, I…" You really don't want to have to say it. The words get stuck at the back of your throat.

He leans forward. "What?" 

"I looked sick. On TV. I looked really unwell, and it– it actually–" Why are you stammering? What's wrong with you? You laugh and it's not your laugh but it's better than your nonsense stuttering. "Sorry. On the press release, I didn't look my best, and it was a hot topic. That's what I thought Derek told you about. But I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me, Hotch." 

"I don't feel sorry for you." 

You wince, "No, of course not." 

"Two seconds," he says, putting his hand forward in the air between you. "A hot topic? I don't understand." He looks genuinely apologetic. 

"The tip line got clogged up with comments about my appearance," you say. You phrase it as a professional error rather than the embarrassing event it represents in your personal life.

His lips curl downward. "Saying you looked tired." 

"Saying I looked unagreeable." 

"As a friend," he says, tone softening, "could you tell me what they said?" 

Heat blooms in your cheeks and behind your eyes, your throat aching as you scratch at a nonexistent itch in the crook of your elbow. "Um. Well, there was a lot of them, and they weren't all about me, but the ones I saw, they seemed to think I needed more sleep. That I–" 

Hitch rarely interrupts, but something in your voice must impel him. "What did they say?" he asks again. 

"That I looked like a creature. That they hoped Miss Langley would be found, so that they didn't have to see my face on TV again. Hotch," you say, your throat sounding as tight as it feels, "it was pretty bad, but it really doesn't matter." 

"I think it matters if it's upset you," he says. 

He has the warmest voice when he wants it to be, so dulcet, almost melodic. You'd think it was a practised phrase, but he speaks freely. 

"It didn't," you lie. 

Pointless in your line of work and automatic anyways. Hotch doesn't deny you the safety of your untruth, but he doesn't entertain it, either. 

"You're beautiful when you're tired," he says. 

You don't mean to, but you hold your breath. The silence that follows his remark is deafening. 

"You're beautiful," he says, again, as though you could've missed it the first time. "Regrettably, you're very tired, but you don't look any less pretty. Don't think what was sent in to the tip line has any merit." 

"Are you saying that as my friend or my boss?" you ask. It's meant to be a joke that lightens the mood. 

"Neither," Hotch says.

You gawp, and then falter. "Why…" 

Hotch is close enough to offer a hand, and you're feeling stupid enough to take it. He squeezes tenderly, looking you straight in the eye. "I'm sorry about what's being said. I had no idea. We can pull the video, and the tipline should stop now Dana's been found, but it doesn't erase what's already happened. I'm so sorry. It's not right, and it's not fair." 

"It's a hard job, right?" you ask.

His hand is so so big, and not as soft as you'd pictured. It doesn't make a difference, not when he's touching you like you might shatter. 

"That's not the job," he says.

"It's silly to care, though. About what other people think." 

"I hope you care about what I think. The merit of an opinion comes from the person, and the relationship you have with them. Anyone who knew you would know that you're beautiful." 

"Inside that counts," you say, not fully comforted, but trying to give him an out. 

"You're beautiful on the outside," he says, giving your hand a small shake. "You're an amazing woman, of course. But I, for one, enjoyed seeing your face on TV."

You try not to smile too hard, directing your gaze at your joined hands lest he get a read on you.

Hotch must know how you feel about him. He'd be an awful profiler if he didn't. You fawn when you're around him even now, months down the line from your very first meeting when you were sure your heart would ricochet from your chest, the intensity of your instant crush like nothing you'd felt, not even as a schoolgirl. He'd been tall, striking, classically handsome and completely unaware of the fact. Now he's sitting across from you and he doesn't seem so tall, nor so striking. His caring side shines like a gem. It's blinding, and it really does make you feel better. 

"I cried in the bathroom," you confess, rubbing your thumb against his in minute, near imperceptible circles. "I wish it didn't matter to me, how I looked. I know I was doing something important, and there wasn't time to freshen up. Maybe I should've just asked somebody else." 

"You did it perfectly. You were perfect. No one else could have delivered the profile to the public that professionally, and that astutely." 

Hotch stands up, and you don't know what to do. You decide to look up at him just as he takes your face into his hands. 

"No crying in bathrooms, okay? It would… it breaks my heart thinking about it. You come to me."  

Such a dramatic statement, yet Hoch lays it out like it's an unquestionable truth. No bravado, only a sincerity that makes your throat hurt. His frown slides back into place as his palms warm your cheeks. 

"You're so busy, I could never," you say, shaking your head. 

"Time and place, sure, but. I will always try to make time for you. I hope you know that by now." 

You nod dazedly. Hotch's hands drag with a pressure down to your neck, your shoulders, leaving tingling skin in their wake. He looks at you and time stretches, a few seconds pulled out of order. It's his closeness, and his affectionate, empathetic smile. 

You nod again. 

He relaxes. 

"Try and get some rest, okay? You need to take care of yourself. I know it's hard to ignore how you feel, I know today was hard, but you're one of the strongest people I've ever met. I have faith in you." He gives your shoulder a final squeeze. "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah," you say. It comes out much more quietly than intended.

"Rest, honey. Call me if you're upset again. I mean it." 

He smooths your cheek with the back of his forefinger and you wonder if this is some weird fantasy. Hotch makes for the door, and you know for sure it's real when he says, "And no more caffeine tonight." 

"No more caffeine," you agree. 

He doesn't realise he's twice as bad as a coffee. Your heart races all by itself, his phantom touch on your cheek. 

—

"Hi, beautiful," Derek says. 

"There's the girl of the hour," Rossi says. 

You roll your arm in a bow, eyes stinging from the bright lobby lights but otherwise quite happy. Hotch called you beautiful last night. Hotch called you honey. People on the Internet who have nothing better to do thought you looked gross, but Hotch thinks you're pretty. It's hard to focus on the negative with a positive that good. 

"Good morning, my favourite boys," you say sweetly. 

Spencer looks up from his book. "Hey." 

"You didn't say hello," you say, "you excluded yourself." 

Spencer frowns and goes back to his book. You offer him a mini cookie from your pocket and he perks up, better when you whisper, "You know you're my favourite, Reid." 

"We all know that's a lie," Emily says, rolling her small suitcase to your left and nearly trampling your foot. 

"Unfortunately so," Rossi agrees. 

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Hotch looks chipper this morning, doesn't he?" Derek asks, nodding. You follow his nod too quickly and give yourself away, earning a scattered round of laughter from your tired team. "Got you."

"Laugh it up," you say. You're on a high that can't be killed, even with their collective teasing. 

"Why are we laughing?" Hotch asks from behind you. 

You jump half out of your skin. 

"We were laughing at Y/N's swift observational skills, but we spoke too soon," Emily says.

Hotch takes a moment to smile at you. "Hey, you look a little more rested. Feeling better?" 

A flush rises to your cheeks. "Much," you say, sounding foreign to your own ears. 

Hotch gives a pleased nod and clasps your shoulder gently before manoeuvring around you. "Let me go see where JJ is." 

He walks around the lobby corner and into the hotel restaurant. You have your face in your hands before he's gone, harassed by quiet whistles and giggling. 

"She's so embarrassed!" Rossi cheers, like a proud dad. "How hopeless, young love." 

"Someone please shut him up," you beg, rubbing your aching eyes. It's an excuse to hide your smile a moment longer. 

"Are you still tired?" Spencer asks. "You look tired."

"She does not," Derek says severely. 

You raise your head with a smile. Tired or not, Hotch thinks you're beautiful. He liked seeing you on TV. You lavish the memory.

"I'm genuinely exhausted," you say eventually, a smile stretching from cheek to cheek as you stand tall again.

"I want whatever kind of tired you're feeling," JJ says as she arrives, Hotch a step behind her. 

You meet his eyes. You think he might not acknowledge what's been said between you —it wasn't strictly professional to have held your face in his hands like that, after all— and the beginnings of disappointment creep in, until he stands at your side, his fingertips brushing yours. It cannot be accidental. 

"She wears it well, doesn't she?" he asks the group. He gives no time for an answer. "Everyone ready?" 

You practically vibrate your way to the SUV. Not a bad case, as they go. 

 ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, so much! I hope you enjoyed! if you did and you have the time, please consider reblogging cos it makes me happy <3