#This has been a wip for far too long

[entomolog-t]

Full size not meme-y version of these two <3

I've been playing around with some alternate fits for Aedes (not necessarily design change but more so givin' him some options)

I like a lil mix of like 50-60s with some vaguely Victorian elements.

[saessenach]

What is honor compared to a woman’s love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms… or the memory of a brother’s smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.

Jon Snow - and family that haunts him, because sometimes ghosts make for the best love stories.

[seancefemme]

ouch 🌌

[harmorii]

"it's still raining...

i did what i was supposed to,

why is it still raining?"

[artsy-airhead]

knight of the most honorable duty (sanitation)

[juckalope]

ceo of pizza hot 🍕

[mttg-kc]

baby powder baby powder baby powder baby baybaybaybay

i LOVE this look sm!!

[waywardstation]

May I share a small idea?

You could use the poll as some sort of list for some future WIP Wednesdays. The most popular choice is first and then the next in line comes on the next Wednesday when you got the time and so on.

It could save you plenty of time to prepare something and may lessen the pressure a little!

Obviously it’s up to you but I’m leaving the suggestion here for you to think about.

Hope you’re having a good time and remember to stay hydrated and take care of yourself~!

Oh this is a fantastic idea!! I think I will do this!! (Though I am hoping at least three of the options on there will be going up within the next several weeks, all of them are so so close to completion!!)

I will do this though!! Thank you very much for the suggestion friend, it’s a great idea!!

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Wednesday | Tagging @thesingularityseries @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @strangefable @nightbloodbix @aceghosts @madparadoxum @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @euryalex @sstewyhosseini @detectivelokis @purplehairsecretlair @jinfromyarikawa @shegetsburned @clicheantagonist @locustandwildhoney @fourlittleseedlings @poisonedtruth @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cassietrn @wrathfulrook @jacobsneed @voidika @harmonyowl @henbased @schoute and anyone with something to share <3

Sharing another snippet from Chapter 10: Calahan and Leslie's first meeting. A rocky start of a bromance. Sprinkling some Mary May x Hartley breadcrumbs in there, too. <3

Hours after discovering Harker passed out on the side on the road among two other dead Resistance members, Calahan found himself parking his truck in front of the Spread Eagle. Arguably, he had never needed a drink more. Not only had he lost two recruits, no matter how difficult they had proven themselves to be, while the third was still recovering from the Bliss bullet he was hit with, but he had discovered his biggest fear to be true: Sabrina was in the hands of John Seed, just like Hudson. He couldn't come up with any other explanation for what Justin had seen on that road after Charlie's group had ambushed the bastard. The woman sparing a life, the child in the car, every detail he had received from the woozy teen further confirmed his theory about the identity of the woman John had with him. And Savannah. His gaze darkened at the thought of the kid that called him uncle anywhere near that goddamned bunker. "Gray wouldn't allow it. She would fight like hell.", he whispered to himself as he finally exited the Eden's Gate truck he had recommissioned from a capture party recently. "Rest in peace, NOT, fuckers.", he said out loud as he slammed the door shut and turned in the direction of the bar. A couple of minutes later he was sitting in his usual seat inside, nursing a glass of whatever liquor Mary May still had in stock after John Seed had his men confiscate her main stash few days back. Bastard is quickly climbing up my shit list. Calahan didn't care much about what she was serving him as long as it took the edge off, calmed him down after finally getting news on Sabrina and her sister. His eyes fell down on the handmade rainbow bracelet Savannah had gifted him few weeks back, something he hadn't taken off since she had tied it around his wrist with the biggest grin on her freckled face. It was another reminder of what needed protecting, why he fought as hard as he did even before the Reaping's start. Why he argued with Whitehorse so often, why he lashed out at the damned Peggies as a result, why he didn't give a single fuck about protocol when it came to the Project. As he ran his fingers over the white beads that spelled out his actual name, not "Rookie", he told himself this is what Joseph should never get his claws into: the innocents he could so easily poison with his deadly ideas. And yet John had done just that- gotten his hands on Savannah, too. Where are you, Tiny? You better be alright or he will be paying in blood.

"Something's on your mind, Rookie. I can tell.", Mary May stopped in front of him. He let out a dry laugh, "Just the usual bullshit, gorgeous. Don't worry." "You sure?", she eyed the way he was gripping the glass in his hand as he willed his anger to settle down, to retreat, "You seem out of sorts. I've seen that look before, you know, then seconds later you were punching a customer." "He was asking for it." "Didn't say he wasn't. But still… what's up?", Mary May raised an eyebrow and leaned against the bar, her hand coming to rest on top of his. Calahan found himself unable to process the unexpected touch after months of her ever only being annoyed with his flirting. He opened his mouth, wishing all his worry would pour out as easily as she poured his next drink, knowing she was good at listening to people. Her soft blue eyes assured him of it in that moment, hinting that maybe she actually cared for him. Was willing to hear him out. But the words never came, instead the bell above the door chimed, putting an end to the brief moment between them as she returned to her post to greet whoever had entered. Calahan didn't bother turning around, instead he released a tired sigh and took another sip. He reveled in the familiar burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat, in the promise it would get him closer to feeling numb, even for a short while. "I will be damned.", Mary May exclaimed suddenly. Her tone made him look towards the bar's entrance sharply, his hand immediately reaching for his pistol on instinct in anticipation of trouble. It took him seconds to register the sight in front of him, seconds where he wondered if he was imagining things, if the liquor was hitting him harder than expected. Certainly that was the only explanation for seeing John Fuckface Seed standing in front of him. Before he could think twice, he practically flew from his chair, almost knocking it over as he charged at the bastard. His hand wrapped around his neck before he slammed him into the wall next to the door with all his might.

"Where is SHE?", Calahan screamed, the anger he was struggling to keep under wraps escaping at the unexpected appearance of the man that fucked with him daily. The man that paraded Hudson on his broadcast as a cautionary tale for what's to come. The man that he suspected had Sabrina and an innocent child as prisoners, too. Deep blue eyes stared at him in confusion, betraying his panic. Good. You should be afraid. "I'm-", the bastard tried to croak out, the force of Hartley's hold on his windpipe made it impossible for him to get anything else out. Calahan knew he had to loosen his grip, that he'd get no information from a deadman, but his hate for the Seeds had reached a boiling point with the missed opportunity to save Sabrina still fresh on his mind. "CALAHAN! Stop.", Mary May pulled at his shoulder, trying to bring him back from the edge, at the same time the man grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back swiftly. "I am not JOHN SEED.", came out as a frustrated shout as he restrained him, the words making Hartley blink in surprise, his face no doubt mirroring Mary May's. "Let go of my arm, bastard, if you don't want me to break yours.", he gritted out and whoever the man was finally released his arm. "Rookie. You okay?", Mary May whispered as she put a hand on his bicep, her gaze a mix of shock and concern. "He attacked me, m'am. And you're asking if he's okay?" M'am? Fuck me. Definitely not John Seed. Calahan turned around, scanning the man that stood in a defensive pose in the doorway from head to toe. The dark hair, beard, blue eyes… he could pass for John's fucking double. "I will be damned.", he parroted Mary May's words from earlier, "Who the fuck are you?" The stranger rubbed his throat before answering, "Detective Leslie Parish. I'm here looking for, well, you." Calahan couldn't help the shocked laugh that escaped him, "Isn't my day just getting better and better?", he returned to his seat and pointed to the chair next to him, "Sit."

Mary May sprung back into action, retreating behind the bar as she addressed what she considered now a potential customer, "Anything to drink, Detective?" "Whiskey. On the rocks, uh-", Leslie responded in a low tone as he sat down and rubbed his face, "Sorry, I didn't catch your name…" "Mary May." She wasted no time pouring him a drink which he downed immediately the second she put it down in front of him. "Thank you." "Now you've officially passed the test. Definitely not John Seed.", Calahan spoke up, making the detective next to him laugh. "Sorry for almost choking the life out of you.", he added and reached a hand to him, "Deputy Calahan Hartley, though most call me Rookie." The man accepted the handshake with a raised eyebrow, "You're new to the Sheriff's?" "No." "Should I call you Rookie, then?" Calahan paused, not many had bothered to ask him that question, not since Sabrina had shown up on her first day months ago. "Calahan or Cal would be nice." Leslie nodded, "Noted." "I gather you're aware you look like a certain someone?", Mary May interjected. "My last few days have been hell. Fuck, the moment I arrived in your beautiful County, I had a shotgun pointed at my face. Lost count how many times I had to explain to people I'm not John Seed, or say I'm not related to him or his brother in any way." "Have to admit, it's kind of a challenge not to punch you in the face, no offense.", Calahan eyed him with curiosity, "Why are you here?" "I planned on visiting someone when all hell broke loose. Haven't managed to find her yet." "Who?" "I thought if anyone would know where she is, it would be you, Deputy.", Leslie took a deep breath, his blue eyes filled with worry as he muttered, "I'm looking for Sabrina Donovan. She used to tell me stories about you anytime we talked over the phone, then people mentioned your name as the one in charge of things out here, and it all clicked. I knew who I had to track down." Well, fuck me, ain't that a plot twist.

"I don't know what to say, aside from that I'm looking for her as well. Have been for days now.", Calahan took out his zippo, flicking it open and closed in attempt to soothe his nerves. "Where is she, Calahan? What happened?" "You might need another drink before I tell you that story." Leslie's eyes narrowed while Mary May poured him a second glass. "What happened?", he repeated in a low tone. "On the first we got called in afterhours by the Sheriff himself, Sabrina included, weren't told much about why until a Federal Marshal walzed in announcing we'd be arresting Joseph Seed. He was so giddy, too giddy." "Sabrina didn't tell me anything about the cult, how serious things were…" "Sounds just like her, too independent for her own good.", Calahan gave him a sad smile, before continuing, "So, we flew over to his compound, entered the fucker's church while he's holding a service in the middle of the night. Like what the hell, right? Sheriff had decided Sabrina would have the honors to slap the cuffs on him. At the last second, she backed away, all frantic, saying something's wrong." "She's never afraid of arrests. I've known her for years. She has chased down all sorts of questionable characters… not once have I seen her flinch.", Leslie's face darkened, but he didn't say anything else, waiting for more. "My thoughts exactly, but this family, Detective… They're different.", Calahan lowered his voice, "The second we walked in John fucking Seed was eyeing her with interest. Got even worse when she hesitated to arrest his brother while the Marshal lost his shit at the delay. I jumped in, cuffing him. We managed to escort him out… but his people refused to let him go, crashed our chopper." "Sabrina… is she dead? Is this what you're trying to tell me?" Hartley shook his head, "Last time I saw her, she was alive. I insisted to get her out, to help with that fucking seatbelt. Joseph's men were all around, took away the others from the chopper. Sabrina demanded I run, promising she'd be right behind." He was close to losing his cool at the memory of that cursed early morning.

Mary May put an ashtray in front of him then, whispering, "I'm making an exception this one time." Calahan gave her a grateful smile, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag of it before adding, "We never reunited, I bumped into the fucking Marshal instead, bastard left me to drown after we tried to make a run for it and a freaking plane sent our truck flying off a bridge." "Fuck." "Yeah. A good samaritan saved me. Dutch. Helped me get back on my feet, offered we start a resistance seeing how the cult has everything on lock down and no help is coming." "Good call, with everything gone to shit." He nodded, "We had a mole, you know. Fucking Nancy. Loyal to the "Father", as Joseph likes to call himself. Didn't get us the reinforcement Whitehorse asked for." "And Sabrina?" "Have been looking for her ever since the goddamned Reaping started. It's what they call this shitshow. "Reaping". Think they're saving our souls, that the world is about to end…" Leslie looked lost in thought as he uttered out, "I saw John's broadcast with the other Deputy." Hartley lit another cigarette, his anger bubbling as he kept reminding himself the man in front of him wasn't John, despite how much he resembled him. "Yeah, he has Joey. Has been calling me daily too, railing me up with her capture, but hasn't said anything about Sabrina." "I went to her house. Cult trucks were parked at the front, no sign of her or her sister, it's why I've been trying to find you, Calahan." "I might have something, but I doubt you'd like it. I sure as hell didn't. Are you sure you're ready?" Leslie downed his drink, "Yes." Mary May winced, "Yeah, maybe avoid saying that word," she gestured to his head, "with that face." "Sorry.", he sent her a knowing smile.

"Earlier today, a trainwreck of a recruit showed up here with his buddies, claiming he has intel on John's next move, was planning to ambush him. I didn't believe it, so I turned down their invite." "Something tells me they were right?" "Sadly. Hour or so later, I get a call from the youngest guy, saying they have him, listing off their location before he went silent. I drove there and found quite the bloody scene." Leslie's hands formed fists on the bar. "Bastard killed two of the three guys, slashed their throats, the one that contacted me got shot with a Bliss bullet, but he's recovering." "Bliss bullet?" "Potent shit. It's a drug the cult makes, knocks you out in seconds, the things they use it for… pure hell, Detective." "How are things this bad?" "They've been preparing. Joseph claims to see the future, you know. Visions from God, he calls them. When we showed up at the church, he said he knew we'd come, that we'd try to take him away, but "God" won't let us." "Fuck, and Rina didn't think to tell me any of this. Assured me it's all fine.", Leslie muttered in frustration. "She does that a lot, doesn't she?" "Who shot Harker with a Bliss bullet?", it was Mary May that spoke up, her voice curious. Calahan took a deep breath, revealing what he had planned on keeping a secret. "Sabrina.", he said quietly, glad the bar was empty. "What the fuck, Rookie?" "She saved the bastard, gorgeous. He has her sister, from what Harker told me." Leslie slammed his hand on the bar, "Savannah. Where are they?", he got up from his chair, but Hartley caught his arm, stopping him from storming out. "Sit down, Les. As much as it pains me to say this, to be the voice of reason… we have to be rational about this."

"I should have come with her.", he said darkly, but followed Calahan's advice. "I've been down that road, too. Thoughts about what I should have done keep me up at night. But if I know one thing about Sabrina… she's resourceful, resilient." "She is.", he smiled. "I don't know for certain where she could be, it kills me to think he dragged Savannah into that bunker.", his fingers touched the bracelet again absently, "But we can't storm it, not with how much manpower and resources he has, not without a solid plan or people we can rely on, especially when we have no eyes inside to be sure she's even there." "Fuck. I- I know you're right, Deputy." "He hasn't mentioned her once, Leslie. Not once in the radio calls to me, she's not in the broadcast, it's like he doesn't want people to know he has her. Anytime I ask about her, he dodges my question." "He's planning something." Mary May looked between the two with a unreadable expression, "You don't think he turned her?" "Fuck no, Mary May. You know Sabrina. I just told you she saved Harker." "Fuck.", she pursed her lips, "Rookie, I know the games John plays, how he breaks people. And after Nancy… what if Sabrina's on his side, too? Maybe has been all along." Calahan shook his head sharply, "She's not turned. She's not a fucking Peggie. I know her." "Fine. For what is worth, you know I trust your judgment.", Mary May crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a stern look. "Peggies?", Leslie seemed lost in thought as he asked that. "Project at Eden's Gate, Peggies for short. It's what locals call Joseph's men." "Noted."

Hartley took a deep breath, putting out his cigarette before he turned to Leslie, "Look, I know there's not much to do right now about Sabrina, not without more information… but seeing how you're here, that you found me, maybe it's all for the best. I sure as hell can use another helping hand against the Project." Leslie's eyes darkened, a look of determination coming over his features, "Your battle is now my battle, too, Calahan." "Good.", Calahan raised his glass for a toast before asking, "You got a gun, Detective?" Leslie nodded, "My service weapon.", he opened his leather jacket, showing off a holstered pistol. "We're gonna get you more serious firepower ASAP.", Calahan pointed to the gun, "You had to use it yet?" "A few times. The "Peggies" are everywhere. Even tried to take over the motel I was staying at. I tried to help people along my way here as much as possible.", he said the nickname with uncertainty. "Learning fast. The only good Peggie is a dead one, Les, because chances are they'd try to take you back to John's bunker or dunk you in the river to cleanse you.", Calahan's voice became lighter, "Hell, now that I'm thinking of it, you have an advantage, if you ask me. They see your face and start to wonder if they're not about to shoot their precious leader, giving you an extra second to strike." Leslie chuckled humorlessly, "What a way to spend my vacation days. I will keep it in mind." "Is Abeline okay?", Mary May questioned, her tone laced with worry. "She was when I left, she's a fighter. Who do you think pulled that shotgun on me? Never have been more confused in my life. She went from wielding a gun to making me coffee." "Good old Abby.", Mary May laughed, "Thank you, Detective. For looking out for our people." Her words made Leslie look away, "Just doing my duty." "We got a shy one on our hands, gorgeous.", Calahan slapped him on the back as he got up and headed for the door, "Come now, there's some people you need to meet." Leslie finished his drink, muttering a quiet "thank you" on his way out. "Leslie." Mary May called out before they could exit, reaching under the bar and pulling out a Spread Eagle branded hat that she threw at him, "Might want to cover your face as much as possible. Spare yourself a "friendly" welcome or two."

[abernant]

she is doing some cocomelon shit 2 me

[bottomvalerius]

local retired twink attacks senior citizen unprovoked—senior does not seem to mind this, or seem phased at all, actually

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

*gripping the google docs for my fics* why won't you write yourself you f u ck

[you-are-my-neverland]

[id: a header with a deep blue gray background. in the center, there is a circular photograph of a lighthouse. behind the photo is a monoline sun, eclipsed by the photo. in block text across the center reads ‘the metamorphosis of the lost: an update’ / end id]

it’s been a while since i’ve done one of these, but my writing has been going pretty well these past couple of weeks, so while i prepare other content (re: character intros (!!!). in 2022, i’ve managed to cobble together act iii: relapse, which was written over the course of the spring semester. i also, more recently, started act iv: revolution, and that’s going by nicely, especially as i strive to meet my daily word goals (hello, excel spreadsheet). 

anyways, in honor of having a taglist with more than one person on it, i’ve decided to post a few excerpts, which i haven’t really done for this wip lol. 

all words + the taglist will be under the cut for length purposes.

i. the red saint & her shadow. 

(an interaction between june and india from the beginning of act iii. a/n: this was written at the beginning of the year. writing them currently, i really feel like i’m missing something from their dynamic, so i’ve been rereading this scene a lot lol.)

Belladonna was quiet, her face slightly pinched beneath the domino. 

“If you didn’t have to,” she started. “Then why did you?”

“How could I not?” India said, and it sounded too honest, too vulnerable, even to her own ears, as if it was painfully obvious she was revealing some hidden part of herself to someone else. “Back then, I believed they were helping the city. When I was younger, I used to scoff at the idea of vigilantes and heroes, but after a while, after seeing it firsthand, I did become convinced that I could change things for the better for someone else. It gave me a drive for the first time in my life. Instead of just trying to survive for no particular reason, I could do something about it.”

“Yes, I was young. Fifteen. All the people I know started out younger.” She paused, thinking carefully over how to formulate her next thought. “Someone I knew used to always say that we can’t help what happened to us, or what it turns us into, but we can try and change ourselves once we see our own reflection. We can make things clearer. We can use what we see as flaws to do better. I grew up in the South District. I was an orphan. I learned how to hurt other people to protect myself. I never thought about justice because I never thought it was something I could control.”

Until now. Until then.

India hated to think that Vin had given her anything, but he had. He had given her power for the first time in her life, had allowed her to write her own destiny, decide how she wanted to do things, more so than anyone else had ever before.

It was what had blinded her, in the end. Believing that following someone else’s cause was her own. India had been beholden just as everyone else was; that was why she had been benched. She just hadn’t realized it, how trapped she actually was.

Now she was free. Now no one could tell her what to do. Now India was allowed to decide what was right and wrong and act on it. 

No more changing herself. No more being told to be better, be different, be someone else, someone they thought was more than whatever she was, a South District orphan born and raised on the rocks, unable to outgrow her own edges for fear of how unprotected it would leave her. India might not love her roots, but they were hers, in the end. She had come from this city. She was Kevlan, through and through. 

ii. flame & phantom

(another excerpt from act iii. emrys and mika go patrolling after finding out india is alive as the red saint, but are unable to save a woman’s life. a/n: somehow, a lot of tmotl ended up being emrys’ story, which i can’t say i mind. her pov is a lot of complicated thoughts most of the time.)

She had said she could do this. She had sounded so cool and confident, too. Emrys had been proud of herself, for being able to stand up for what she wanted. The rest of the conversation hadn’t gone as well, but she hadn’t let herself be shut down. Not this time. 

Now, she thought that they probably had a point, about her. Maybe she couldn’t do this.

Maybe she could.

Maybe both thoughts were equally terrible.

“I’m going to find India,” she announced. The flames licked at the edges of the jacket, already crinkling, the outer layer peeling away as the cloth beneath caught more easily, the fire dancing up into the sky with a bright shower of sparks that had her flinching back and shielding her face. The embers fell to the ground around Mika’s feet, burning and burning and then burning out.

Mika didn’t say anything. Emrys glanced at him coolly, and found him looking away from her. Fine by her. She didn’t care if he approved or not; better he didn’t notice she was gone at all, until she could clear more space.

Emrys waited another few seconds just to be sure, ignoring the part of her that whispered that she should check on him, make sure he was okay, but this was Mika. He was never not okay. Nothing fazed him, and no one. 

She sighed, staring down at her own feet, battered and bruised through the white of the ballet flats. There were drops of blood scattered along the seams, which bothered her now that she had noticed; she couldn’t stop focusing on it, the innocuous drops in no pattern except the one she conjured.

Mika still hadn’t said anything. Emrys looked at the embers of the jacket, then turned to scan the skyline, wondering where she could start, the wind whipping through her body and helping to pull her seams apart with vicious, grabby hands.

The abandoned warehouse, she thought. The place where India had died. She should start there, right? If there was going to be anything anywhere, it would be there. Maybe a clue to India’s resurrection, even. 

Emrys started to walk without even really thinking about it, setting forward at a determined pace, quickening as she got further and further away from the fire, and getting colder and colder. Without her jacket, much of the skin of her body was bare to the winds, her tank top protective but not warm. Kevla had vicious winters, so the fall became crueler as the months went by.  

She had turned the corner by the time she heard the footsteps behind her, not clattering or loud, but soft and steady, a quiet, rhythmic thump that belayed Mika grabbing her arm and grinding them both to a halt as he slowed, clothes and hair settling back down on his body as gravity descended.

“Let me go,” she said, white knuckled.

Mika let her go. Emrys turned to move, and he tripped her. It was only years of getting used to falling that had her catching herself with a half-dance of steps, turning so that they were facing one another.

“Enough of this,” Mika said. His eyes were burning. She could hear the quiet sounds of him breathing, harsher than normal.

“No,” she said. “I told you. I’m going to find India.”

“And Crow and X-le told us not to,” Mika said.

Emrys scoffed. “Like you’re the poster child for following orders.”

“Enough,” Mika repeated. “We’re either finishing patrol or going home.”

Another Emrys would have been happy that he used the word home, but this Emrys was feeling vicious and vengeful and torn up inside.

“I don’t want to,” she said spitefully. 

“Flame,” Mika said, the warning clear. 

“You’re my partner, not my boss,” Emrys said scornfully.

“I’m not either of those things,” Mika hissed, stepping closer. “I’m just the person making sure you don’t fuck anything up.”

That hurt. Emrys didn’t flinch, and was absurdly proud of herself for growing thicker skin in the time since a few hours ago. She was getting better and better at it.

“I didn’t ask you to do that!” she burst out. “You’re the one that followed me to begin with. I never asked for your help.”

“But you needed it,” Mika said, and though she couldn’t see his mouth, she could picture the small, cruel tilt of his half smile. She had to narrow her eyes to stop tears from falling, already feeling them well up in her eyes, like she was some weak and pathetic person who couldn’t keep it together.

“I’m going to look for India,” she repeated. “You can go home if you want.”

iii. sunrise after the fall gala

(an interaction between india and june in the aftermath of the fall gala (which takes up the majority of the beginning of act iv) and india’s ill thought out confrontation with the black saint. a/n: more recent writing and a more recent interaction between these two. act iv has been a mess lol.)

The laugh slid off India’s face.

“You can’t create something from nothing,” she said savagely. “I imagine that not even Catrin Flint can save someone who was burned alive.”

“Someone could,” June replied steadily.

“Then maybe it was Kevla herself,” India remarked sarcastically, rising to her feet and gritting her teeth against the spasm her leg sent.

“You’re really not curious?” June asked, also standing. The morning air nipped at her cheeks, the rosy glow of the rising sun starting to cascade over the skyline ahead of them. 

India shrugged carelessly. “It’s not that I’m not,” she said. “It’s just that it doesn’t matter. Or, it didn’t.”

June eyed her, pondering the words. In a way, that was understandable. June herself tried to care as little as possible pertaining to the motive of The Organization or the Benefactor. Motivation didn’t matter in the end. It was the actions that did.

They were both women of action, though they went about it very differently.

“Will I be hearing from you soon?” India asked after a second. 

June looked at her, parsing her thoughts.

India raised an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, we were kind of in on this together, right? This whole revenge scheme, or whatever you want to call it,” she hurriedly corrected after June coolly raised an eyebrow at the words “revenge scheme.”

June considered her. “Yes,” she said after a pause. “We are.”

India smiled. It transformed her face beneath the domino, softening the edges. India, June had found, often bared her teeth, but rarely smiled.

“I’m a comm away,” she said, sounding almost pleasant and energized at the prospect.

“I might take you up on that soon,” June said.

“Not gonna kiss and tell then?” India replied. “Just going to string me along.”

June surprised herself by the sharp half laugh that bubbled out of her.

“You’ve been helpful,” she said instead of replying, doubting that she could match India’s newfound wittiness. She had always had a sense of humor, even as a child. June was used to being the dour, serious one. Now she was the serrated blade, cold as steel and just as harsh. “Thank you.”

India sobered, looking at her as if she was an alien before she managed a stiff and slightly unsure, “You’re welcome.”

“Take care of yourself,” June added. “I don’t want to find you dead in a ditch before you can be useful.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” India replied sarcastically, but they had talked enough times for June to pick up the undercurrent of fondness with which she said it. “Take care, Belladonna.” She gave June a two fingered salute, and June found herself returning her impression of it before she could stop herself.

India smiled, and then she was sauntering off into the darkness, only a slight limp in her step and the helmet tucked under her arm any indication of what had gone down only hours previously.

June smiled privately to herself. India was wearing off on her.

taglist (scream to be added or removed!):  @cannivalisms   @sunshineomeara @thepixiediaries @muddshadow

[sandycookie]

i wanna write my fic i wanna write my commission I wanna write a VN I wanna write cabbage men I wanna write EVERYTHING AND CONSUME THE UNIVERSE IN ITS ENTIRITY

[see-arcane]

Our good friend Jonathan Harker is getting ready to leave for his business trip, Mina Murray is picking out a new journal, Lucy Westenra is charming a gaggle of smitten suitors, Abraham van Helsing is wrapping up his lectures, and Castle Dracula is prepping the guest room for a very long stay.

Which must mean that Dracula Season is here again!

 ‘Dracula Season’ being a catchall term for the voracious reading, memeing, writing, illustrating, analyzing, and general fun-having that’s ensued since Matt Kirkland’s project, Dracula Daily, caught on with us back in 2022. The Substack had already been running before then, but it sparked a conflagration as time went on and readers old and new to Bram Stoker’s Dracula—the actual novel, not Coppola’s fanfiction—devoured it in a way that scratched an itch none of us knew we had. Stoker wrote the book in epistolary fashion, clumping sections together as needed for the pacing without perfect adherence to chronological order. Matt went ahead and put all the events in order and proceeded to set up a lovely chain of emails that delivered entries on those correlating dates.

This style of organization and pacing turned out to not only make the virtual book club that much easier to engage with, but left space in-between to stew on the story and relate with the characters themselves. Every day of waiting in the book feels weightier when you have to pace and sweat and worry in tandem with poor Jonathan trapped in the castle or Lucy wasting away or Mina running out the clock before she loses the fight for her own humanity. And while we sat with the story or the lulls between Dracula Seasons, some of us found ourselves craving more of that ghastly gothic horror goodness to the point that we figured:

“Well. Why don’t I make something?”

And then we did! Tons of creative works have been churned out in the wake of Dracula Daily’s high. I figured that while we’ve still got a bit of time to wait for May 3rd, we should check out all this new stuff in the meantime. (Plus a handful of neat stuff that just clicks with the Dracula itch overall.)

So, in the interest of Dracula Season pregaming, let’s take a look at…

FICTION

Blood of My Blood – A recent addition to the Dracula Bad Ending AU pile, and definitely one of the most harrowing and addictive group-produced narratives I’ve ever come across, Blood of My Blood is the dramatically gothic currently-WIP work of @ibrithir-was-here and @animate-mush’s devious design. Give or take a heap of other fascinated folks (hello!) adding ideas to put more Horror into the Horrors that our cast has to face. The premise:

The Transylvanian climax went fatally sour and the Harkers were forced to shelter with Dracula himself, including their half-vampire son, Quincey. Cut to two decades later, and Quincey finds himself out in modern London, smitten with Lu, adopted daughter of Arthur and Jack, and diving into certain bloodstained old documents that detail the real history of how his parents came to live in the castle. Said revelations coming not a moment too soon, as a storm is coming for him straight from the Carpathians…

Dracula Daily Sketch Collection – An array of illustrations that captures every entry beat by beat, the Dracula Daily Sketch Collection by Georgia Cook, alias @georgiacooked was dished out over the course of the last Dracula Season. Some of the most fun character designs out there.

Fanfiction Spotlight: BlueCatWriter – With a whopping 99 works devoted to the novel Dracula (so far, the number may have gone up since I blinked), @bluecatwriter is one of the most prolific and talented fanfiction scribblers out there. Romances, nightmares, and overlaps between the two seem to crop up the most, give or take a crossover. Seems fitting that those blue paw prints have contributed to BoMB too.

The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk – An ongoing comic in which all your favorite characters from the Classics section get together and tackle some perils ranging from the mundane to the monstrous. Started by the amazing @mayhemchicken and posted on @lxgentlefolkcomic, this series is a love letter to beloved Victorian era lit, with a spotlight on the two couples leading the League. Namely, the Harkers, ala Dracula, and the Nortons, ala Sherlock Holmes,’ “A Scandal in Bohemia.” Mina and Irene are the driving investigative and steering forces here, and still deeply in love with their likewise-infatuated husbands, just like in their canons! What a concept! Alan.

Without spoiling the full character list, just know there are going to be a ton of familiar faces roaming around before you finish reading the first arc. Said arc having conveniently wrapped up just a few days ago! Give the comic and its bonus silliness a look if you’re in the mood for a new comfort-adventure epic.

Re: Dracula – Probably the most well-known and incredible thing to come out of the initial Dracula Daily wave. This podcast is a full audio drama that follows the same format as the Substack, with episodes coming out in time with the entries themselves. And it has an unfairly cool soundtrack. They have a Tumblr with @re-dracula, a site and a Patreon to check out before the series kicks up again on May 3rd. (Also, keep an eye out for their next work, an audio drama in the same style with Carmilla.)

The Soldier and the Solicitor – Another treat from @ibrithir-was-here, this one involves a bit of time travel trouble. Quincey Harker has stumbled out of World War I and into the same dark forest where his father once fled for his life…then runs into the man himself, on that same night. Jonathan Harker, young and starved and lost, who has no choice but to trust this stranger while the Weird Sisters are at his heels…despite said stranger having no shadow. It’s a tasty emotional trek, already complete on Tumblr, but now it’s turning into a Webtoon. While Ibrithir is juggling a number of other stories, she’ll be redrawing spruced up versions of the comic and adding a few new scenes as things unfold.

Substack Stack – You know what’s better than one emailed-out public domain book club? A mountain of them. Just. So, so many of them. You’ll see that a lot of these are finished, but some are still ticking along. Either way, they’re all great picks if you’re craving some more old school lit to fill the void between undead emails.

Frankenstein Weekly – Frankenstein

Jekyll and Hyde Weekly – The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Voyage of the Nautilus – Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

Letters from Watson – Sherlock Holmes

The Invisible Mail – The Invisible Man

Letters from Bunny – E.W. Hornung’s short stories of the eponymous Bunny and Raffles

Letters Regarding Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster short stories, including the novel, Right Ho, Jeeves

…

……

………

…The Beetle Weekly – The Beetle (NOTE: Do Not Read This.)

The Vampyres – A novella I finally wrenched through the gears of self-publication as of March this year. Starring a petite but powerful paranormal cast, The Vampyres, centers on an unscrupulous undead fellow who finds that the revenants of the world are being mowed down by an entity known only as ‘Quinn Morse.’ Between trying to save his neck and figure out where the shadowy bastard came from, the Vampyre in question crosses paths with a new paramour and handy human shield in the form of a grieving Good Samaritan. He’s even polite enough to invite the Vampyre into his home while he’s in dire straits! Surely this will end well. All the info is available here and a little author site is over here.

What Manner of Man – This is the one made for everyone who started out hoping there’d be a real love story with our good friend Jonathan Harker and the Count when he was at his most charismatic. Where that sea of wonders dried up into a mire of horror, What Manner of Man by @stjohnstarling keeps things firmly on the romantic tracks. This Substack stars the letter-writing priest Father Victor E. Ardelian as he finds himself meeting with one enigmatic Lord Alistair Vane. It isn’t long before interest turns into intrigue and intrigue into undead intimacies.

The entire novel has been completed—along with multiple epilogues in the author’s Patreon, allowing readers to choose for themselves just how the uncanny romance plays out in the end—and the Substack now has a number of other gothic goodies piling up in the meantime.  

NONFICTION

Dracula Daily: A Unique Reading Experience: This one comes courtesy of @realwomenofgaming. It’s a short and sweet piece that amounts to a fun snapshot of the entire Dracula Daily ride. A cozy couple-minute read.

‘Dracula Daily’ is the One Substack You Need a Subscription To: Features my favorite Matt Kirkland interview. @mattkirkland, if you’re still floating around on here, thank you for dispatching our vampire newsletter again this year.

Dracula Daily is Tumblr’s hottest new book club: Alright, the ‘new’ part is worn out by now, but this one is still a delightful article to swing back around to. Two years on, this Polygon piece is a time capsule of those early months when people outside our bookworm bubble realized we were all happily receiving letters from our favorite classic gothic horror blorbos.  

“How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” – Princess Weekes, if you ever read this, thank you, thank you, thank you. I am sending oceans of love and millions of rewatches to your video essay. If you haven’t seen it yet, “How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” is one of the most refreshing and well-made breakdowns of both the title subject and numerous other issues that have proliferated in the public view of Dracula’s cast and plot as adaptations endlessly warp or outright bastardize the actual novel. An incredibly cathartic watch.  

Literary play gone viral: delight, intertextuality, and challenges to normative interpretations through the digital serialization of Dracula: A mouthful of a title for an even more elaborate article about the Dracula Daily phenomenon. This one is a full-on study that analyzes just what happened within the big bloodsucker book club surge and how its ‘wandering reading practices’ enriched the experience for participants.

 “The Undying Undead: An analysis of the Dracula Daily community for a theory of online community formation and interaction” – We have a thesis on here! Look at that! @sirangelothebestest’s MA thesis used our vampiric book club as the bones for a massive brick of an academic piece that definitely deserves a look.

…And I think I’ll go ahead and cap things here.

This isn’t everything I got recommended, but if I had squashed all of it in here, I think folks’ eyes would start to fall out of their head. I hope you can find something cool to comb through here. Or, if there’s something great I overlooked, tack it onto the list! We’ve got just two weeks to go until we’re off with Mr. Harker. Let’s enjoy our respite before those castle doors close behind us.

[pathologicalreid]

stuck between a rock and a hard place | S.R.

next

You, an undercover agent, uncover a hidden secret of the country's largest operation, putting your life in danger and under the protection of the BAU.

who? spencer reid x fem!FBI!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, hospitals, medical inaccuracy, drugs, sex crimes/trafficking, attempted sa, reader works in sex crimes. mentions foyet and also 6x24 (supply and demand). established relationship. word count: 7.7k a/n: this has been sitting in my wip folder for far too long. i am now emotionally attached to these two. i will write more of this specific pairing because now all i want is for them to be happy.

Spencer

It wasn’t every day that men and women in suits piled into the BAU carrying evidence boxes, everyone stood up at their desks. Spencer watched as Andi Swann followed in behind the other agents, not even bothering to greet the team as she went straight to Emily’s office.

Prentiss opened the door, letting Andi in before beckoning for Reid to join them. This had to be about you.

Ignoring the way his heart rate spiked, Spencer stood up from his desk and went up to Emily’s office. On the other side of the bullpen, the rest of the team filed into the roundtable room.

“Spencer, have a seat,” Emily offered, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of her desk.

Glancing at Agent Swann, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “No, I’ll stand.”

Andi cleared her throat, looking at Spencer, she spoke, “Y/N missed her last two check-ins. As her next of kin, I need to notify you to let you know that as of now, the FBI is considering her missing.”

He wanted to be angry. He wanted so badly to be mad, but he’d seen this before. Years ago, an agent in Andi’s unit missed her check-ins and the BAU helped find her. More than that, he knew how much Andi cared about her agents, so he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad.

“Section Chief Cruz has asked that the BAU help to recover Y/N,” Emily said, looking at Spencer. “You know I have to tell you that you can’t be on this case,” she explained, leaning against her desk, eyes flickering as she tried to read Spencer’s expression.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer looked at Emily, “Y/N’s gone missing, and I’m not allowed to help look for her?”

Sympathetically, Prentiss shook her head, dark hair swaying with the movement. “You know it’s a conflict of interest to be involved with a loved one’s case.”

“Isn’t that kind of what the BAU does?” He could’ve rambled off a list of BAU agents who worked on cases involving their loved ones – including himself and Emily.

Turning to face Agent Swann, Emily suggested she join the rest of the team in the roundtable room. She waited until the door was closed before speaking again, “When’s the last time you saw Y/N?”

Closing his eyes, he remembered the morning of the day you left, the both of you had stayed up late as if you could delay your departure, but the last time he saw you was when he dropped you off at the Sex Crimes Unit before making his way up to the Behavioral Analysis Unit. “We haven’t even spoken since she left,” he answered, almost a month ago now.

“Is there a chance she tried to reach you or her family?” Emily asked. She had to ask, he knew that, but it didn’t make the questions any less ridiculous to him.

Shaking his head, he began to pace around the office, “No, she wouldn’t have done that. She follows the undercover playbook obsessively. She always said freestyling was like signing your death certificate.” He tried. He tried to get you to leave him breadcrumbs, but you never did.

Nodding, Emily watched as he paced back and forth “When did you get married?”

Pressing his lips into a thin white line, he stopped in his tracks, “When I came back after The Believers. It was the next day.” You had offered to sleep on the couch in an attempt to give him space when he asked you to go to the courthouse with him. That was two months ago now.

He didn’t want space. Not from you. Never from you.

Finally, he sat down.

“Did you tell anyone?” Emily asked, sitting down in the chair next to him. “Did you have a witness to sign your marriage certificate?”

Nodding, Spencer reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and produced three rings, his wedding ring, your engagement ring, and your wedding band. You didn’t have the time to get them soldered together yet. “Rossi was our witness,” he responded, “He was the only one who answered his phone.” He slipped his ring on and closed his fist around your two rings.

After a moment, Emily stood, “I’m going to speak with the rest of the team, but I won’t tell them anything I don’t think is pertinent to the case.” Which was her way of saying ‘Your secret is safe with me.’ “Stay in here as long as you need, Spence,” she offered before walking out, shutting the door tightly behind her.

He thought of the last night you were together. Spencer tried to check in with you, he told you that if your job ever became too much, you just had to tell him, and he’d be there. What he neglected to tell you was that he was beginning to feel like your job was too much for him.

You had given him the opportunity to hold you close, and instead, he let you slip through his fingers.

Opening his fist, he looked down at your rings and the indent they had left on his palm, slipping them back into his pocket before he walked over to the roundtable room. Everyone paused what they were doing to look up at him.

Spencer just shrugged and looked at Emily, “I can’t just do nothing.”

In response, Emily nodded solemnly and suggested he go through the case files with Matt.

It had been hours. The sun had set, jackets had been shed, and takeout had been ordered. The clock behind him showed it was nearly midnight, meaning it had been almost two days since anyone had last heard from you.

“Oh god,” Penelope said, her voice cutting into the thick silence of the roundtable room. Her fingers began frantically typing on her laptop.

Spinning in the office chair, Spencer wheeled over so he could look at the screen, vaguely aware of Emily hovering above him, “What is it? What did you find?”

She hit the keyboard so hard he thought they might break, but she answered, “The trauma center at Johns Hopkins reported a Jane Doe brought in a few hours ago. She matches Y/N’s description.”

“Did they run prints?” Andi asked, of course, there would be red tape if the hospital tried to run your prints, seeing as you were undercover.

Another tap and dozens of files opened, “It looks like she went right into surgery. Uh, the EMTs reported she was listing off a string of numbers when they brought her in… 265D019Z?”

Spencer swallowed thickly, “That’s Y/N’s badge number.”

Shaking her head, JJ looked over at the map of DC on the wall, “It’s a two-hour drive to Baltimore from here.”

“But it’s a thirty-minute flight, Reid, Tara, Swann, and Alvez go. The rest of us will look into what happened from here,” Emily doled out responsibilities, nodding at everyone as the team broke.

Spencer stayed still, still looking at Penelope’s screen, his eyes flickering over the documents. Words jumped out at him, drugged, punctured, and knife. It made his stomach churn. How had you gotten to Baltimore? Your unit had you set up in an apartment near the Hill. When did you travel from the district to Baltimore?

The thirty-minute flight felt like it was hours long, the drive from the airstrip to the hospital dragged on, but thankfully Emily had called the hospital ahead of time to let them know who you were and who was coming for you.

A doctor stopped the four of you from going into the room, a police officer was already stationed outside of the room, and the blinds were closed. Please, Spencer wanted to plead, please just let me see her.

“She’s weak, she just came down from recovery and she hasn’t fully woken up yet,” the doctor said, placing her hands on her hips. “I can’t in good faith let you go in there and badger her with questions. Not with no one in there to focus on her well-being,” she ordered. The doctor stared the four of them down with piercing gray eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer peeked through the doorway when a nurse exited your room. “She’s my wife, I’ll advocate for her,” he responded, hoping the doctor would let him through. He could feel Tara and Luke staring, but he didn’t care.

Nodding, the doctor continued sizing Reid up, “Alright, but just you, for now. She’s not awake enough to be questioned anyway.” Stepping to the side, the doctor let Spencer through before blocking the doorway to everyone else.

In the worst way possible, you took his breath away. Your skin was sallow, you had an IV, nasal cannula, and a chest tube out the left side. Walking to your right, he took a seat next to you, taking your hand in his and pressing a gentle kiss to your bloodied knuckles – evidence that you had put up one hell of a fight. “Oh sweetheart, what did they do to you?” He whispered even though he knew you wouldn’t answer.

Reaching over you, he smoothed your hair from your face, your skin was clammy, probably as a result of blood loss. It looked like they were still transfusing, so you had probably lost a considerable amount of blood.

Shuffling the seat closer to you, Spencer took your hand in his. The doctor came back in holding a tablet, “Dr. Reid?”

He hummed in response, not daring to take his eyes off of you. “What happened to her? Why did she need surgery?”

“She had been bleeding out in an alley, according to the police officers who reported to the scene. The other agents are talking to them now,” the doctor said, tapping a few buttons on the tablet. “She had been stabbed several times in the upper left side, we went in to repair damage to her spleen, liver, and lung. There was some strain to her heart, it appears she was drugged before she was stabbed.”

He intently watched the steady rise and fall of your chest before he spoke up again, “Is she going to be okay?”

Setting the tablet down, the doctor paused before answering, “We’ll know more when she wakes up.”

Spencer leaned back in the chair, finally taking his eyes off of you and looking at the doctor, “Was there anything… did they…” He felt ridiculous, having spent the better part of his adult life in the BAU, and he couldn’t even put the words together.

To his relief, the doctor shook her head, “There were no injuries that suggested she was sexually assaulted.”

Reading the doctor’s badge, Spencer nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Herman.”

“Hit the call button when she wakes up, we’ll need to evaluate her pain and other treatment,” the doctor said, gathering her things before walking out of the room, and shutting the door behind her.

Spencer kept his eyes on you, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently, every once in a while, his phone rang, but he didn’t have the energy to talk on the phone. When his phone buzzed, he pulled it out of his pocket and checked the messages.

Penelope Garcia: How is she? Spencer Reid: Still sleeping. Penelope Garcia: How are you? Spencer Reid: Not sure.

Setting his phone on the table, screen down, he watched you again, every once in a while, your nose would twitch, or your eyes would flutter. Every time he would hold his breath, hoping you’d open your eyes.

He waited, and about an hour after he had arrived, a small, keening noise came from you. His head snapped up at the sound, your eyes were still closed, but you were moving. “Y/N?” He whispered hesitantly, not wanting to wake you up if you weren’t ready. Slowly, he stood up from the chair, not sure if he should keep waiting or if he should hit the call button.

You were muttering something, talking to someone in your sleep, when suddenly you jerked away. Instinctively, Spencer put his hands on your shoulders to stop you from tearing your stitches, and it was that touch that caused your eyes to snap open. “No, no, no, no,” you babbled, frantically looking around the hospital room.

“Y/N,” Spencer said, keeping his hands on your shoulders, “You’re safe, I’m here. You’re at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.”

With wide eyes, you looked up at him and mouthed the word ‘Baltimore.’ As if you were trying to figure out how you had ended up in Baltimore, something the BAU still hadn’t figured out. “I thought I…” Your voice was nothing more than a rasp, but with the bruises he could now see littering your neck, that didn’t surprise him much. “Did you see it?”

Spencer pushed the call button without you noticing, “Did I see what, love?” He asked, keeping his voice low as he gently sat down on the edge of your hospital bed.

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked around the room, “Is Andi here?" Your voice was tight, like you were struggling to breathe. "I need to talk to Andi.”

Helplessly, Spencer watched as the number signifying your heart rate jumped, “Not just yet, alright?” He said, looking up when the doctor and a nurse came through the door.

The doctor introduced herself and started trying to get you to even out your breathing, one of the monitors was beeping like crazy until the nurse hit a button on it.

All he could do was watch, making sure he didn’t get in the way. Listening in to words about medications and making a mental note to research everything. “How’s your pain, Y/N? On a scale from one through ten.” The doctor asked, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Like a seven? When I breathe it’s more like a nine,” you answered, every word was strained. The doctor flashed a light in your eyes, “That isn’t helping,” you said through gritted teeth.

The doctor said something to the nurse, prompting her to nod before pushing something through your IV. After a few moments, Spencer watched as your heart rate lowered and your body visibly relaxed into the mattress. You nodded softly when the nurse asked if that was better.

Dr. Herman left and the nurse scrawled some notes down on your chart, introducing herself as Amelia before she left as well.

“Oh no,” you whispered, looking in the direction of the door. “Is the whole BAU here? How badly did I fuck up?”

Quickly, Spencer shook his head, “You didn’t, at all. It’s just me, Tara, and Luke,” he tried to reassure you as best he could without knowing the full story. “Do you feel up to talking?” He asked, smoothing your hair away from your face.

You nodded gently, “I need to talk to Andi. Alone, if it’s okay with you.”

“I can wait right outside in the hallway,” he offered, holding your hand in his and skimming the pad of his thumb over top of your knuckles.

You hummed contentedly, “Could you see if I can have water?”

Grateful to have something to do, Spencer stood up, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I’ll be right back.” He stepped out of the room, garnering the attention of the agents who were waiting in the hallway, all of them staring at Spencer expectantly, “Andi, she wants to talk to you.”

The Unit Chief nodded and disappeared into the room, leaving the door open just a crack.

He was gone for three minutes, that was the time it took him to walk to the nurses’ station and ask if you were allowed liquids and back, but when he returned the door to your room was wide open. “Where did they go?” He asked, looking over at Tara.

She was still leaning against the taupe hospital walls before nodding in the direction of the red exit sign, “Swann was in there for maybe two minutes before she came out in a huff, she took Alvez with her.” Lewis spoke calmly like it didn’t necessarily mean anything to her.

But it did to him. Walking back into your room, he stood at the side of your bed, “What did you tell Andi that you didn’t want me hearing?”

“Huh?” You sounded tired – rightfully so. Your pupils were dilated, which told Spencer that the drugs that the doctors had given you were working.

It comforted him that you weren’t in as much pain, but you were still hiding something from him. “You asked me to leave while you talked to Andi because you didn’t want me to hear what you were telling her. What did you tell her?”

Your face softened as your eyes filled with a different kind of hurt, “Don’t profile me.” You were too tired to hide the pain in your voice.

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, “Don’t lie to me,” He countered. You were lying by omission, but what was worse was that you might’ve been putting yourself in danger.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whimpered.

Spencer’s chest tightened as he watched your eyes fill with tears, he sat down on the edge of your bed and took your hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere. Why would you think I’d leave you, darling?”

Your eyes were half-closed, “because you…” your voice trailed off and he squeezed your hand to get your attention. “When Scratch had Emily, you wanted to kill him,” you murmured.

The air had been knocked out of his lungs. You hadn’t been talking about a divorce. You were saying that you could identify your assailant, and you didn’t want Spencer to know. “I won’t go,” he whispered, “I’ll be right here.”

“It was Jake,” you mumbled, barely able to open your mouth as you fought your exhaustion.

That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. He swallowed thickly, “Jake did this to you?” He asked slowly, looking at your hand, your fingers intertwined.

Minutely, you shook your head, “Jake blew my cover, Spence.” Yawning, you proceeded to mumble about him doing it on purpose.

Untangling your fingers, Spencer reached out and smoothed your hair away from your forehead, “Get some sleep, angel. I love you.”

You hummed an ‘I love you’ back, and the next moment your eyes were shut.

A nurse came in and asked for a moment while she checked the output of your chest tube, ushering Spencer and Tara out. “Okay, I’ll bite, who’s Jake?” Tara asked, putting a hand on her hip as she looked expectantly at Reid.

“Jake is her partner. When she’s not undercover and just out in the field, they’re partners,” Spencer explained.

Tara pursed her lips thoughtfully, “So, he would’ve known that she was undercover.”

Nodding as the newly added weight of the situation threatened to pull him down, Spencer turned and faced you, watching as the nurse examined you as you slept. “He blew her cover on purpose,” he reached up and rubbed his eye. Jake knew exactly what he was doing when he blew your cover, and you knew exactly what you were doing when you begged Spencer not to leave you.

“We have to go back in and ask her more questions,” Tara said.

Usually, Spencer agreed with Tara, but not this time. He saw the monitors you were hooked up to, he read your chart, and he watched the concerned looks on the nurses’ faces. They all told him that you weren’t stable enough to be speaking, let alone a cognitive interview. “No,” Spencer said finally.

Clearing her throat lightly, Tara stood next to him in the doorway, “We can’t let them get away, Reid.”

“And I can’t lose her,” he rebutted, ignoring the way his voice broke in his desperation. 

Stepping back slightly, the other agent nodded in understanding. “Okay, I’ll call Emily. You go sit with her.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice; he pulled a chair up impossibly close to your bedside and draped his jacket over the back of it before loosening his tie and sitting down.

You

When you woke up, it was still dark outside, but the bright lights of the hospital room made it hard for you to get any real rest. You were pleased to find that, true to his word, Spencer was right next to you when he woke up.

He was sleeping, resting his head on his hand with his wrist bent awkwardly. “Spence,” You whispered, clearing your throat, “Spencer.” You couldn’t reach out to touch him, but you wanted to wake him up, so his wrist wasn’t sore.

Jolting awake, he looked at you, “Hey, did you just wake up? How do you feel?”

It was a weird question, you felt like an absolute dumpster fire. “Better,” you whispered, “less hurt, achier. Sore. I don’t know, my head feels fuzzy,” you rambled, trying to move higher up on the hospital bed, but being limited by the chest tube. “How long do I have to have it?” You asked, staring at the plastic tubing as if you could make it go away via the power of suggestion.

“At least through the night, but it could be longer,” he said, reaching over and smoothing over the edges of your blanket. “Do you know what they gave you?” Spencer asked, shaking out his wrist.

You hummed in response, “No, it was intravenous though. They were big on amphetamines, but it didn’t feel like a stimulant. Benzos maybe,” you told him, your voice was soft. The pain in your throat had subsided after being intubated during surgery, but you were still swollen from when Cal grabbed you.

None of this made sense to you. The one thing that bothered you more than anything else was why Cal stopped when Jake said to. It couldn’t have been as simple as the money.

Spencer must’ve noticed you burrowing into your memories, “You remember everything?” He asked gently.

He knew what he was implying, in more cases involving severe trauma, victims generally remember everything or remember nothing. It was lucky for law enforcement when they remembered, but bad for the victims. Bad for you. “Mostly,” you breathed, avoiding his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

“Why? You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he tried to reassure you, reaching out and taking your hand in his.

You hummed, “I don’t remember anything after they drugged me, just the stuff before. Just the…” Your voice trailed off as you returned to your confusion. “Who’s still here that I can talk to?”

He squeezed your hand comfortingly, “Do you feel up to it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice,” you answered him despondently.

Spencer nodded before he got up from his chair, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before he stepped out into the hallway and let Tara in.

The agent smiled at you gently, “Hey, Y/N, how are you feeling?” She asked, sitting down at a free chair at the end of your hospital bed, leaving the chair at your side available for Spencer to return to.

You gave your best attempt at returning the smile before you answered, “I think I’m going to make it.”

As Spencer sat back down next to you, placing a water cup on your bedside table, Tara opened a file and looked through it, “Can you start by telling me a little bit about your assignment? You were undercover as… Barbara?” She read from the file.

Nodding slowly, you held out your hand for Spencer to hold, “Yeah, but they called me Babs.”

Three days ago...

You shifted self-consciously in the gold dress. It was a silky, slippery number that displayed more than you particularly liked. Spencer would probably like it, but he’d hate how uncomfortable you were in it.

Inadvertently, you smiled at just the thought of your husband. It was late, so he was probably at home, reading next to the fireplace. Maybe he was on a case, off somewhere in the United States and saving lives.

It had been twenty-nine days since you had last seen him.

“You look gorgeous tonight, Babs,” Johnathan McCallister, better known as Cal, told you, reaching out and placing a hand on either one of your shoulders before placing a kiss on both cheeks.

Bashfully, you smiled at him, “You’re too good to me, Cal. I can’t believe you got me in!” Deep down, you knew tonight could be the night, you would be able to take down The Program. At least the D.C. chapter of it.

When it was over, you could be Y/N Reid again, instead of Barbara McFarston.

The Program took women around your age and sold them into sex slavery. The chapter in Washington D.C. was one of the most active, which made sense when you looked around the room and saw a majority of the people were elected officials – men and women alike.

Andi Swann had assured you that taking down this chapter would create a domino effect, causing the other chapters to topple. According to her, if you could take down D.C., Miami, and Los Angeles, The Program would most likely cease to exist.

Turning to ask Cal about the selection tonight, you were startled to see familiar gray eyes on your companion’s other side. You felt your façade slip, but only for a second before you pasted a brilliant smile back on your face.

You tilted your head to the side, “And who might you be?” You asked Jake, wondering if Andi had sent him in to get a status report on you.

“Jake Cohn,” he answered, and goosebumps spread over your exposed skin at his answer. He should’ve said William Jacoby, that was his identity for this case.

In horror, you watched as Jake leaned in to whisper something in Cal’s ear, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. You bit your tongue as Cal wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in tightly, “Let’s talk.”

You stumbled a little over your own feet and looked at Jake with wide eyes, the leader forcefully shoved you into a private room, one that would probably light up like a Christmas tree under a blacklight. “What’s wrong, Cal?” You asked, standing up straight.

He reached over and grabbed the back of your neck, gathering the hair at the nape of your neck in his fist. The force of it made you scrunch your shoulders up, “You’re a fucking fed?” He seethed, tossing you to the ground in one swift movement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to convince him. Tried to flip the script so that Jake was the liar instead of you.

Cal grabbed your throat next, holding you down on a booth seat. “Oh, Y/N… Jake’s been one of my best employees for years.” He said, chuckling at the betrayal in your eyes, he only laughed more when you kneed him in the gut. “Oh, I like it when they fight back.”

You shut your eyes tightly as you heard the clinking of his belt buckle, but they snapped back open when you heard the word, “Stop.”

“What? Did you want first go on her?” Cal asked, wiping his cheek – you must’ve scratched him in your struggle.

Jake cleared his throat and met your eyes, “We should keep her clean, you know?” He said, and for a moment you thought he was actually trying to help you, “Think about how much a clean fed would go for here. Especially in D.C.”

And just like that, your hopes were dashed, “he’s right,” you told Cal, trying to formulate a plan.

“Shut up, whore,” Cal spat, causing you to involuntarily flinch.

At least there’s nothing he could call you that you hadn’t heard before, in your line of work, people got very creative.

Cal looked at you, inspecting your neck where he had grabbed you before, “You’ll make me a lot of money, won’t you?” He said, rubbing a hand up and down your arm soothingly before poking you with a needle.

Your legs gave out beneath you, but Jake caught you before you hit the ground. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think he’d do this. I thought he’d kick you out, but I didn’t think…”

Looking up at him, your throat burned, and you weren’t sure if you were going to cry or throw up, but you shut your eyes. “No, you didn’t.” You don’t just casually tell the leader of a sex trafficking ring that the person with them is an FBI agent.

Present

“And that’s the last thing you remember?” Tara asked, scribbling something down in your file.

You nodded absentmindedly, “I think…” Your voice trailed off as you looked at Spencer, “I think Jake might’ve been in charge the whole time. Pulling the strings from behind the curtain while he waited for the perfect time to catch me off guard. That’s the only reason Cal would’ve backed off when Jake told him to,” You proposed your theory, not missing the way Spencer was holding your hand a little tighter than before.

Tara’s brows were raised, “Jake Cohn has worked in the bureau for almost a decade, it would be hard for him to evade detection for that long.”

“But he knows exactly how to evade it,” you rebutted. “He’d know all of the tricks from Sex Crimes and all of my tricks. He- He set me up,” you realized.

Spencer turned around and looked at your monitor, “Okay, let’s take a break. We can talk more later.”

Getting up, Tara let Spencer know she was going to call the rest of the team before she stepped back into the hallway.

“My chest hurts,” you said, hating how your voice sounded like a whine.

In response, Spencer smoothed your hair back in an attempt to comfort you. “Your heart is racing,” he whispered, “Take a deep breath, okay?”

You nodded slowly, breathing in deeply through your nostrils and letting the air collect in your lungs before blowing it out your mouth. Looking up at Spencer, worry plain in his eyes no matter how hard he tried to hide it, you came to a decision, “Spence?”

He bowed slightly closer to you so he could hear you better, “What is it, love?” He moved his hand, so it was gently cupping your cheek.

Leaning into his touch, you whispered, “It’s too much.” The only thing you had left was to hope he knew what you were talking about, the words were too hard right now, but you felt them contributing to the burning in your chest.

“Okay,” he answered. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about disappointing anyone.”

You practically melted back into the hospital bed; the weight of your job eased off of you. Nodding, you closed your eyes, “It’s good, this is good. I just feel crazy, but a good crazy.”

Spencer smiled at you, “Okay crazy,” he whispered, “I’m going to-“ He was abruptly cut off by his phone ringing, furrowing his brows, he swiped the screen and held the phone up to his ear, “Hey, JJ.”

Cocking your head to the side, you tried to listen to JJ’s side of the conversation, but either she was speaking quietly, or Spencer had his phone volume really low. From the way Spencer’s jaw tightened, you knew that this couldn’t be anything good.

He looked at you before looking at the door, “Do you know where?” He said in a tone entirely unfamiliar to you, it was low and steely. Reaching over you, he nimbly pressed the call button on your bed, “Okay, keep me updated.”

“Spencer, what is going on?” You asked as the nurse came into your room, faltering for a moment as she looked at the two of you.

Placing a hand on the bar of your hospital bed, Spencer looked at the nurse, “Do you have somewhere secure she can be moved to?”

The nurse looked shellshocked, surely the FBI occupying the hospital wasn’t an everyday occurrence, “I don’t… I don’t think so?” She seemed unsure of herself.

“Spencer,” you repeated his name.

He turned to look at you, “Jake’s here and he’s looking for you.” Turning back to the nurse, he pointed at you, “She has to be moved.”

“I don’t… I’m just a student, my preceptor is taking a break. I could try to find-“ The nurse stammered nervously. “We don’t usually just move people.”

Nothing about this situation was usual, but one look at Spencer told you this was life or death. Your life or your death. You sighed in defeat, “This is really going to suck.” Reaching over to your side, you gripped the tube that had been draining blood from outside your lung and pulled it out. Like ripping off a band-aid.

In the process, you tore the stitches holding it in place and set off all kinds of alarms, leading to a crowd of nurses and doctors charging into the room.

As someone held pressure down on where you were bleeding, someone said something about moving you to a sterile procedure room, and the nursing student trailed along, whispering “That was the stupidest smart thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

Everything was blurry when you woke up next and, through the blinds, you could see that the sun was finally rising. The warm, orange light peeking through like lines on a piece of paper.

“Hey,” Spencer said from right next to you, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispered.

You looked away from him, back towards the blinds, “Will you open them?” You rasped, your throat felt raw, and your body felt heavy.

He got up and ambled over to the window, twisting the mechanism until the sun poured into your room. “How are you feeling?”

“Heavy,” you whispered, the mental weight of the past several days was threatening to take you down, but physically you felt like Atlas himself, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Spencer hummed in response, “They sedated you, standard procedure for people who rip their own chest tubes out.” He adjusted the way your gown rested on your shoulders, “Luckily you didn’t do too much damage.”

You took a deep breath and leaned your head so you could look out the window. The outside felt so foreign to you now, you couldn’t remember the last time you had breathed real, fresh air. “So, what is the damage?” Your voice was little more than a murmur but with just the two of you in your room, it wasn’t hard to hear.

“You’re going to be fine; they think the tube can go later today. Then they’ll evaluate whether enough you’re strong enough to go home, it’ll probably be another couple of days,” He explained to you, matching your gentle tone. “Johnathan McCallister is in custody, and Jake Cohn is dead,” he told you, studying your face for any kind of reaction.

Closing your eyes, you felt white hot tears stream down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, laughing a little despite yourself. He probably thought you were losing it, crying over the death of someone who had nearly had you murdered.

The edge of your mattress dipped down slightly, and you opened your eyes to see Spencer sitting next to you, “You don’t need to be sorry, my love.” Gently, he rested a hand on your hip, skimming his thumb over the rough fabric of your hospital gown, “He was like family to you. I’m not sorry he’s dead – I’m not. I am sorry for that loss, though.”

Nodding, you felt it as your face crumpled, leading Spencer to lean down and hug you as best he could. “I’m sorry I scared you,” you said as he pulled away.

Your furrowed your brows in confusion as he reached into his pocket and produced your wedding ring, taking your left hand, he slid the rings on, “For better or for worse, right?”

A small smile grew on your face as the gem on your finger shimmered in the morning light, “for richer or for poorer,” you continued.

“In sickness and in health,” Spencer whispered, eyes flickering around the hospital room.

You reached up a shaky hand and cupped his cheek with your palm, “to love and to cherish.” You said, feeling a dopey, lovesick grin blooming on your face.

He turned his head and kissed the center of your palm, “until parted by death,” he finished, taking your hand in his.

“No dying,” you insisted, feeling your energy begin to drain, you started to understand why the doctors didn’t want you going home for a few days.

Spencer hummed in response, “You almost did. If you hadn’t been found when you were-“ his voice broke off and you had to tear your eyes away from his for a moment. “I still can’t believe you chose that,” he whispered, looking at you like you hung the moon.

Shrugging as if it was nothing, you melted back into the pillows, “I had a split second to weigh my options – get sold into sex slavery or get stabbed in the chest.”

“A catch-22,” he nodded, wrapping his head around your impossible decision. You couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take until the fear in his eyes left.

You shifted a little in the hospital bed, the sheets rustling as you did, “We get it, you’ve read Joseph Heller.”

He smiled at that, the light teasing seemed to bring brightness to his face, “What is it about blood loss that makes you think you’re funny?”

Laughing lightly, you squeezed his hand as tightly as you could manage, “I am funny. And I’m tired.”

“Go back to sleep then, baby,” he said softly, “it’ll all be here when you wake up.”

There was a party in your hospital room. It started with just Emily, coming in because you were finally up to seeing anyone other than Spencer, and it ended up being the entire BAU.

Someone had gone to the apartment and gathered clothes for you so that, once your chest tube was removed, you could put on real clothes. So now you were sitting up, wearing sweatpants and a ratty old college sweatshirt, and laughing with the BAU. You were leaning heavily on Spencer, who was also sitting on your hospital bed, but he didn’t seem to have a problem with keeping you steady.

Luckily for you, no one in the BAU wanted to ask about what had happened on your assignment, they were more interested in the rings that adorned your and Spencer’s fingers.

“I still can’t believe you two secretly got married,” Penelope said. “Of all of the times for me to not answer my phone.”

Next to her, Luke shrugged, “Honestly, I can believe it. It feels like a very Y/N and Reid thing to do.”

Gently, Spencer rubbed your back. His hovering was quickly going to become insufferable, but right now you were welcoming every touch with open arms.

“Well, we’ll have a party for the two of you. When you’re up for it, of course,” JJ said, smiling from where she was standing next to Emily.

You wanted to shake your head and tell them that it really wasn’t necessary, but asking the BAU to refrain from throwing a party was like asking a shark to stop swimming. Instead of debating, you just smiled and bobbed your head.

Eventually, Andi showed up, just as you knew she would. “Hey, guys,” Emily nodded in the direction of the doorway, “Why don’t we go raid the hospital cafeteria?”

After a few more hugs, including a lingering one from Garcia, the BAU, save for your husband, filtered out, and Andi made her way to the foot of your bed. “Hey,” you said, your voice was soft.

Nine years. You had spent nine years in the sex crimes unit. Spencer had done the math, you’d spent approximately seventy-six percent of that time undercover, missing birthdays, holidays, not ever really looking forward to the future. Until now.

You, the most decorated member of the sex crimes unit, were leaving.

Suspiciously, you eyed the files in Andi’s arms, one was a case file, the other a plain manila folder. She silently handed you the case file, and you shared a look with Spencer before flipping it open. “The Program is gone?” You asked, your eyes skimming the folder.

Swann nodded, her brown hair swaying with the movement, “The arrest of the leader of the D.C. chapter greatly contributed to that, but it was the death of the ringleader that took the remainder of The Program down.”

Closing your eyes, you nodded as you tried to process what she was telling you. Jake had been in charge all along. “Andi, I-“

“It was your intel that did it,” she cut you off. “From your last several assignments, everything you collected directly contributed to the downfall of this trafficking network. One of the largest networks the FBI has ever seen.”

She handed you the next file, labeled with only your name. You flipped it open, well aware that Spencer was reading from over your shoulder. “I don’t qualify for retirement,” you told her, furrowing your eyebrows, and looking at the papers in front of you. You didn’t qualify for retirement, and yet, you were looking at a retirement offer.

Your unit chief nodded understandingly, “I pulled some strings, with some help. Collectively, Prentiss and I know a lot of people.”

Spencer placed a supportive hand on your back, and you looked up at Andi. “I’m only thirty-two?” You asked, it wasn’t a clarification, it was a question.

“And yet,” she answered, “you’ve done more for the Bureau than most agents could hope to do in their whole career. This plan came from the director, Y/N. He wanted you to have it.”

Shaking your head, you handed the folder over to your husband so he could look through it. “I don’t… can I think about it?”

“He’ll want an answer soon but talk it over and give me a call when you’ve come to a decision,” she said, grabbing her things and making her way to the door. “And Y/N?”

You lifted your head up to meet her eyes, “Yeah, Andi?”

She smiled at you, a rare, real smile from her, “Make the right decision for you. You have a small army ready to support you through everything.”

Slowly, your gaze followed her out the door, waiting until you heard the latch of the door secure. Spencer handed the folder back to you, “What do you want to do?”

You flipped through the folder again, it was a lot of money, and there were a few different distribution options, but it was more than you felt you’d ever need. “I don’t really feel like I deserve this,” you whispered, reaching your hand up and rubbing the back of your neck. “The Bureau doesn’t offer early retirement like this, not without extenuating circumstances,” you continued.

“They did it with Hotch,” Spencer said, reading the file over your shoulder.

Shaking your head, you leaned over to look at him, “That was way different, Haley was murdered by a serial killer.”

Spencer sighed, “I think you’re selling yourself short, darling. The Program was trafficking almost 12,000 people across the country. That’s almost 70 percent of the yearly total trafficking victims. You took them down,” he told you earnestly.

Your shoulders slouched forward, “I didn’t do it alone, though.”

“Didn’t you, though? They sent you in with no communication device, no emergency signal, and information that wasn’t even true. Your unit told you Johnathan McCallister was the leader of the ring, but it ended up being a decorated agent and you’re the one who figured that out,” Spencer spoke emphatically. “You almost died in the process, and now there are thousands of victims who are going to go home – all thanks to you.”

Wiping at your eyes, you looked at your husband, “You’re biased.” That felt true, but Spencer was the person who knew you best in the world.

“What’s holding you back?” He murmured gently, sweeping strands of your hair behind your ears.

Smiling unsurely, you closed your eyes, “Fear of the future. In the past nine years, the longest I’ve ever been home was four weeks. I don’t… What do you want me to do?”

He shook his head slowly, “it’s not my decision.” A diplomatic answer, you should’ve guessed.

“But what do you want me to do?” You pressed.

Sighing, you watched him weigh his options, “If my choices are you going back out into the field and getting hurt again, where maybe it doesn’t have this good of an outcome, or you, safe at home, where I get to see you more than approximately three months a year, then the choice is clear.”

When he laid it out for you like that, it was pretty clear. “Maybe I could finally see what all the BAU spouses are talking about. You know, how you’re never home,” you said. Some part of you always felt disconnected from the other BAU family members, Spencer wasn’t the one who was never home, you were.

Spencer laughed lightly, “We could celebrate your birthday together.” That was the one day you always missed. Almost six years together, and something always came up on your birthday.

“I’ve never had this before,” you whispered, there was still something about it that felt tentative, almost frail.

Smilingly softly, Spencer reached out and took your hand in his, “Had what before?”

You beamed, “A future to plan.” Everything was always laid out for you, every day was spent waiting for the next directive, a new assignment. “I mean, not in nine years.”

There were always dreams, late-night murmurs with Spencer about a house with a yard and kids running around, but they were just dreams. The nights when you were able to sleep next to each other. “Do you have plans for us?”

Nodding rapidly, you answered, “Oh yeah, you and me, I’ve got big plans for us.”

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