#and FBI's website tells you they will never ever follow up with you

[wyrd66]

I just want it to go on record that having your identity stolen is the most lonely thing in the world. There is no support. No cure. No one cares. It will just keep happening forever and no one cares.

[babymetaldoll]

Spilling drinks on my settee (Spencer Reid/Reader)

Prompt: Start a story with "Can you keep a secret?"

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader 

Word count: 2,8K

Genre: Fluff

Warning: none 

Summary: Spencer is drunk with Morgan, finally sharing his feelings for Reader 

Part two

Masterlist

- “Can you keep a secret?”

Spencer was drunk. He leaned over Derek tapping on his shoulder a few times, making him chuckle at the scene. Dr. Reid was never the one to go out, less going to a bar and have a few too many drinks. Hell no! He could be the designated driver for life, if only he liked to drive. When he joined his BAU friends on their nights out, he would usually stick with a whisky that could last the whole night, or even left untouched at the table after he left. But that night, Spencer Walter Reid was drunk as a skunk. Wasted. And his best friend was the only witness.

- “Ok kid, tell me your secret”

- “I'm in love”- the words came like a slur out of his lips, the ones that curled into a guilty smile- Stupid, crazy, and irrevocably in love.

- “No shit!”- Derek pretended to be surprised, but he would have been a lousy profiler if he had missed the look on his best friend's face in the latest months. He nearly had hearts draw on his eyes, like a cartoon.

- “Yesss”- he made that "s" sound longer than it should have and closed his eyes for a few seconds- “Yes, I am.”

Morgan was still chuckling as he stared at the kid. He was still a kid for him, though he was already 30. He still acted like one, still shy, inexperienced. He had more attitude on his job now, on the field, with the unsubs, his pairs. But in his personal life... well, that was a whole different story.

- “Do you want to know who she is?”- Reid whispered and brought a finger to his lips.

- “But shhhh! you can't tell anyone 'cos it's a secret”- it was getting harder for Morgan to remain serious at that conversation, but he managed to keep his poker face and nodded at his friend.

- “But you can't tell Penelope 'cos she is going to tell the whole FBI! I'm sure!”

- “I won't tell her”

- “When I told her I was afraid of the dark, everybody ended up making fun of me...”

- “I swear I won't, kid”- Derek nodded and reassured his best friend he could trust him. He knew it was hard for Reid to talk about his feelings, that was probably why he had gotten that drunk to share them.

It had been unusual when Spencer walked over to Derek and asked if he wanted to get a drink with him after work. It was weirder when he said he wanted it to be just the two of them instead of the whole team, cos "he had some serious business" he wanted to share with him.

- “I'm in love with (Y/N)”- and yes, Derek was right. Spencer wanted to talk about the obvious.

The whole team knew he was in love with (Y/N). It was crystal clear. It was so obvious even Strauss had joked about it with Rossi once. Yes, Spencer's feelings were so clear and visible, everybody was aware of his love.

Everyone but (Y/N), apparently.

Derek knew ('cos it was a well-established fact that Penelope couldn't keep a secret) that (Y/N) was sure Spencer wasn't interested in her. Garcia had tried to convince her their genius was head over feet for her, but Reid had made an excellent job in looking uninterested in her.

Why? 'cos he was stupid, and it had nothing to do with his high IQ. It was simply 'cos he was scared. Petrified by the idea he could lose her, so he had made sure his actions were nothing but friendly with her. They were best friends ever since they met, over six years ago when they both had started in the BAU, but despite their feelings, none of them had acted on them.

- “No way!”- Derek pretended to be shocked, and Spencer was so drunk he didn't get Morgan's sarcasm. Instead, he nodded and sighed.

- “Yes, I love her... I am in love, I think about her all day long when I'm not with her, and when she is around, I can't stop staring, she is the sun and I orbit around her existence.”

Derek widened his eyes as he listened to the corniest words he had ever heard Spencer pronounce before.

- “And I need help, 'cos I don't know what to do about it”

- “I think you should tell her, kid”- but Spencer shook his head frantically as if his friend had asked him to do the worst thing he could have ever thought.

- “No man, really, you've got a pretty good chance there, and you don't wanna live in the regret of thinking what could have been if you had done anything”

- “No, Morgan, I can't, I can't do that”- Spencer nearly started shaking at his best friend's suggestion. The fact he was being honest about his feelings to his friend was one thing, but sharing those feelings with the woman of his dreams, that wasn't on his plans.

Why? He couldn't find a good reason to do it. As far as he knew, letting (Y/N) know he loved her as no one had ever loved her before, could only mean the end of their friendship. And Spencer could live having (Y/N) only as his friend for the rest of his life, though it would break his heart deeper and deeper every day. But he couldn't live not having her by his side. He knew he couldn't. And he was sure if he revealed his true feelings to her, she was going to leave his side and disappear, end their friendship, and ignore his existence for the rest of his life.

Yes, Spencer was being dramatic, but he was scared. His mind kept telling him as soon as he told her how much he loved her, (Y/N) was going to disappear from his life as fast as everyone he cared for had done before.

- “If you don't want to tell her, then what's your plan, kid?”- Morgan asked the one million dollar question. Spencer just stared at him and took a sip of his whiskey.

- “I don't know”

- “Shit!”- Derek nearly shouted- “That's the first time I ever hear you say such a thing! man!”

- “Shut up! I don't know why I'm telling you this, I knew you were gonna make fun of me”

Spencer rested his head on his arm on the table and closed his eyes.

- “I just thought 'cos you are so smooth with women, maybe you could help me”

- “I can help you, Reid, I can, you just have to be open to the idea of telling her how you feel”

- “How can I tell her? she is gonna hate me”

- “She won't!”- Morgan tapped on his friend's back again and tried to calm him down.

- “How do you know?! You have never been rejected by any woman ever since I met you!”- but it didn't work, mostly because there was nothing on earth that could calm Spencer down at that point.

- “I know she likes you”

- “Sure, right!”- Reid snorted and finished what was left in his glass- “I need another one.”

- “You need to slow down, maybe get some water and fresh air”- Morgan stopped him when he tried to get to the bar and pulled him back to his seat

- “No, no no, you don't get it, Morgan, she went on a date with some random guy from a dating website...”

And Morgan realized where his friend's fears were coming from.

- “She is looking for someone, and clearly that someone ain't me!”

- “Maybe she is looking for someone to stop thinking about you”- Spencer furrowed his brows at Derek's words and stared at his hands on the table for a moment.

- “Come on man! you have to give yourself some credit! you are smart, you are funny, she is always laughing when she is around you”

- “At me! laughing at me! everybody laughs at me!”- for someone so smart, Dr. Reid was acting like an ass.

- “With you! be real, she is the girl who laughs at your jokes, listens to your rambling for hours, and actually pays attention to what you say”- Reid nodded, thinking of the sound of her laughter- “And you two spend most of your weekends off together!”

- “Clearly, she doesn't want to do that anymore, if she is looking for guys on dating apps”- Reid sounded bitter and hurt, two things he had never been very good at dealing with.

- “Why don't you ask her?”- Derek knew what Spencer was going to answer at that, the same he had said when he told him to be honest with her about his feelings: "No way". But instead, he only got a deep silence back.

- “Reid?”

- “You know what? I'm gonna ask her”- he whispered and nodded at himself- “I wanna ask her if she doesn't want to spend time with me anymore”

Morgan widened his eyes in shock.

- “And I'm gonna ask her now!”

- “Wait, kid”- but this time, he couldn't stop him, Reid grabbed his sachet, his jacket and stormed out of the bar, stumbling against a few people on his way out, 'cos he was too drunk to walk straight.

- “Kid! come one, wait!”

Derek followed him as fast as he could and grabbed his arm as he walked to her house. (Y/N) lived a few blocks from the bar, Reid didn't need a cab to get there, and he decided to face her and ask her why she didn't want to spend time with him anymore.

Of course, that wasn't the reason (Y/N) had gone out on that date. She actually wanted to spend all of her free time with him, but Prentiss had her forced to go out after hearing she hadn't been out in at least two years. Two years without a date. Two years actually without sex. Emily nearly died at the news, she couldn't believe anyone could live like that, and so, she forced her friend out with some random guy from a website.

- “There's no way you are spending another Friday night on your own! you need to have fun!”

- “I'm not gonna spend Friday night on my own! Friday nights are board game nights with Reid”- Prentiss frowned and crossed her arms on her chest staring at (Y/N) pouting.

- “Whatever it is you are thinking, please don't say it”

- “Boardgames with Reid, please tell me that means he is fucking your brains off on his dining table on top of a monopoly board”- (Y/N) wished her friend was right, but no.

- “Actually... no, it's Jenga night”

- “You are so going out this weekend!”

And she did, not Friday night, but Saturday afternoon. And it had been one of the worst dates (Y/N) had ever been on. Just like she had said that day back in the office, the guy was cute but dumb. On his behalf, she was in love with Spencer Walter Reid, any guy on earth was going to look dumb compared to him. But to be honest, he wasn't really bright either. And (Y/N) wasn't into him at all. They had a coffee, went to see a movie, and called it the night.

Spencer had no idea about that date, she never wanted to tell him 'cos it meant nothing to her. But after hearing the story of the date earlier that day, Spencer was a mess. He didn't know what to think, and that was the reason he was out there, drunk, asking Derek for advice.

He had tried to avoid her for the rest of the afternoon, he was upset, and he knew he was going to be passive-aggressive if they shared any word - he couldn't help it even when he knew he didn't have to act that way- and so, he didn't look from his paperwork until it was time to leave.

It was a good thing they were swamped with work, and (Y/N) didn't notice her best friend was giving him the cold shoulder from a safe distance.

- “Reid, Reid, wait!”- Morgan grabbed his best friend's arm and stopped him in his tracks- “What are you doing? you can't talk to her like this!”

- “I want to know! I deserve to know!”

- “Kid, you are drunk, you are not thinking straight”

- “Or am I?”- Spencer was slurring and his eyes were half-closed. Still, he knew what he was doing. He was making a mistake on purpose 'cos at that point, he was desperate.

- “Come on man, you are not thinking this, (Y/N) never said she is going out 'cos she doesn't want to spend her time you with you, those are your insecurities talking”

- “If she didn't do it because of that, then why?”- but Morgan couldn't answer, not because he didn't know the answer, but because Reid's retchings forced him to help him and pull his scarf and sachet back as he started puking in the middle of the sidewalk.

- “I think I'm gonna take you home now, kid”

Spencer felt like shit. He wasn't only drunk, but also miserable. He hated getting intoxicated like his, but he had no idea what else to do. He was lost and scared and wretched. He thought talking with Derek was gonna help, but he didn't know what to expect from his friend anyway, the only advice he got from Morgan was sharing his feelings with (Y/N), but... Reid knew he wasn't doing that, not in this life. Not if it meant he could lose her.

- “What the hell is going on here?”- (Y/N)'s voice felt like cold water running down Spencer's spine. He paused his puking for a second to look at her, and kind of smiled.

- “Oh! hey Buttercup!”- and that was all he could say before he continued vomiting.

- “Derek?”- the woman was shocked, had Spencer just called her by a cute nickname? she had always done it with him, he was her honey bunny, but he had never done it before... and she loved it- “What the fuck?”

- “Hey pretty girl!”- Morgan did his best to play it cool, though he was also freaking out. He knew (Y/N) wasn't going to be happy to know he let Spencer get that drunk. He was aware it wasn't his fault (not completely), but he also knew she was going to blame him anyway.

- “Why is Spencer drunk and puking on the front steps of my building?”

- “There's a very logical explanation for this”- Derek tried to elaborate on that idea, but nothing came to his head.

- “We had a few drinks”- Reid whispered and sighed, after everything he had eaten and drank had left his stomach.

- “Did you know alcohol is essentially a toxin, and so it can easily upset your stomach and cause you to vomit, particularly if you consume too much?”

Of course, being drunk didn't stop Spencer from being himself. After all, he didn't know how to be anybody else.

- “And now I'm taking him home”- Derek wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulder and looked around, trying to find a cab.

- “But what are you guys doing here?”- (Y/N) wasn't getting what was going on, and she was honestly concerned Spencer was intoxicated. She knew he lived alone, no one was going to take care of him.

- “Honey, do you wanna come inside?”

- “Yes, yes, I do”- Reid didn't hesitate- “We should go inside”

- “No, you are drunk, you are going to your house”- Derek didn't let Spencer move, knowing he was too drunk to have a coherent conversation with (Y/N), and making his best to prevent him from making a huge mistake. 

Morgan knew she was in love with him, but he didn't want him to talk to her under the influence, he knew it was something Spencer was going to regret in the morning.

- “Are you sure you don't wanna let him stay here?”- the girl asked and bit her lip, worried- “He can stay on my couch...”

- “He's gonna be ok, I'll take care of him”- Morgan smiled at (Y/N) and nodded- “It's my fault he is like this, I'm not gonna let you clean this mess.”

Her lips curled into a short smile. She looked at her best friend wasted, puke on his pants and shoes. His hair was a mess - a mess she wanted to run her fingers through, even when he was intoxicated - and his brow eyes were glassy. Even drunk he was gorgeous.

- “I'll call you tomorrow, ok?”- she whispered and Spencer nodded- “And I'll see you at work... I'll bring aspirins and coffee”- he kept nodding, feeling sick at the stomach again.

Derek stopped a cab and helped Reid in as (Y/N) stood at the sidewalk staring at her friends leaving.

- “What the fuck just happened?”

- “You owe me, kid”- Reid heard those words as he hugged his pillow and closed his eyes. He was on his bed, still fully dressed. He had only managed to take out his satchel and his shoes.

- “I wanted to stay over”- he murmured, making Morgan chuckle. The kid was acting like one.

- “Believe me, you'll thank me in the morning”

[lovelyirony]

hi hello i am feeling very angsty so: rhodeytony ft tony's worrying lack of interest in avoiding getting kidnapped and his bodyguard rhodes' increasing stress levels to save a boss that doesn't want to be saved (and, if the flutter in his heart should be anything to go by - should not be his boss anymore). bodyguard to lovers??

Rhodey is a good bodyguard. Hell, he’s the best. 

That was why Pepper Potts hired him, after all. He’s not easy to fool, can follow anyone with a dogged determination that nearly defies human nature. He’s had successful stories before with glowing reviews from multiple people from all different threatened backgrounds. 

(Including at least three world leaders and a pope.) 

Tony Stark is...new. Well, nearly new. He’s a businessman, which isn’t anything out of the ordinary for Rhodey to deal with. 

…except Tony’s highly eclectic, a billionaire, and purposely makes his behavior as erratic as possible. 

It’s fun. What can Rhodey say? He loves a challenge, and Tony is about as challenging as they come. 

-

When he first starts, Tony tries every trick in the book. Rhodey still sticks to him, although he does leave some distance. Tony tries to make him uncomfortable by bringing just about everyone who looks home, and all Rhodey says is, “you gonna feed them cereal when they wake up? Because that’s all you have in your pantry right now, and you don’t pay me to do the shopping.” 

Tony scowls at that, and then changes his strategy. 

-

It’s an odd strategy. 

Tony decides he will just make Rhodey his friend, starting with the nickname of “Rhodey.” 

“That’s stupid,” Rhodey says, because he can already tell it will stick. 

“Not my problem, just my solution,” Tony grins. “Now come on, we’re getting burgers.” 

They’re at a sit-down restaurant. One of Tony’s favorites, actually. Rhodey is not sure why he’s sitting down across from the man with the most influence in the world, but he is. 

“So, what’s new with you? Who are you?” Tony asks. “Pepper sent me your file. You’re from Philly, right?” 

“Oh my god, you sound weird when you say it like that,” Rhodey says, deciding against formality as he basically tells Tony Stark that he sounds weird and shouldn’t say “Philly.” 

“Oh what, is that not what the locals call it?” 

“I’m going to take you there and they’re going to beat you up.” 

“Not the worst Sunday night I’ve ever had,” Tony mentions. “Hey, look at the menu. I don’t want you to flounder when the waitress shows up and you know fuck-all about what they have to offer.” 

“Okay asshole, any recommendations?” 

“The banana milkshake and bacon-burger.” 

Rhodey looks at the menu. 

He does end up with the bacon-burger, but chooses strawberry for his flavor of milkshake. 

“You traitor.” 

“Oh am I? Well then let me tell Pepper that you stole the last good pen she had then-” 

Tony flings a fry at him, and Rhodey laughs. 

- 

Here’s a concerning thing: Tony has a very “c’est la vie” approach about kidnapping. 

Like he genuinely doesn’t really give a shit if he knows what’s going on, or even if he doesn’t. 

Rhodey was eagle-eyed and chased a van three fucking blocks and caught up to the driver, wherein he punched his lights out and got Tony out. His hands were bound in zip-ties and his suit was rumpled, but Tony just blinked at him. 

“You think you broke a racing record with that?” 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they take anything?” 

Rhodey’s all over Tony, checking for any injuries, any stolen wallets or watches, and thank god everything is there. (Not that Tony would really care if anything was stolen, save for his sunglasses. He spends far too much on those, in Rhodey’s opinion.) 

“Okay geez,” Tony says, batting Rhodey’s hands away. “I’m fine. These people were amateurs. Shit, I’m running late for my consultation meeting, aren’t I?” 

“You just got kidnapped,” Rhodey says, tone rife with disbelief. “You just got taken and your concern is with the consultation meeting?” 

“Well I figured that you were going to come by or I’d be gone a lot longer, but now that I’m not? Yeah. Yeah, I am concerned with the consultation meeting. It’s a tech start-up company, only not that shitty Silicon-nice-guy start-up. It’s a more inclusive thing. I don’t know, I read their little ‘about’ section on their website. Which needs work. But that’s besides the point.” 

Rhodey just follows, dumb in disbelief. 

The few rare times that previous clients have been kidnapped or even attempted, they’ve needed a day to recuperate at minimum. They were shaken up, and usually beefed up the security for the rest of time after it. They also scheduled therapy appointments. 

Tony treated this like it was a traffic jam and he was only running five minutes behind. 

- 

The second time it happens when Rhodey’s there, it lasts a little longer. 

Rhodey has to admit, he maybe did some...under-the-radar looks. The FBI wasn’t moving fast enough, and the legal channels weren’t up to snuff. And besides, Tony did say that he could use Jarvis if he really wanted to. 

(Turns out they both went to MIT at the same time, and Tony had been that obnoxiously short guy in his econ class that rarely showed up, but when he did he showed up in a suspiciously nice outfit.) 

It was a weekend. Rhodey had gone away for two seconds to get a drink for Tony and then he was gone. 

It was...bad. 

The problem is this: 

Tony definitely doesn’t need to be kidnapped as often as he is. He has so many inventions that can prevent that, he’s sold quite a few of them to the military. 

But for some fucking reason, he doesn’t want to be saved. No, he’s content just going along with what’s happening, even though everyone else around him wants him back. Needs him back. 

He finds him bruised and tied up to a shitty folding chair. 

“Hey darling,” Tony says, lips a bloody red. “Can you believe this chair? I would’ve thought they would at least have gotten something a tad nicer. I am their best-dressed guest, after all.” 

Rhodey looks over the torn shirt and the pants that have all but been shredded. His shoes are battered and stained beyond repair. 

“Don’t,” Rhodey says. He sounds tired. He is tired. “Don’t do this.” 

“Don’t do what, get kidnapped? I hardly try,” Tony snaps. “Or do I just have a sign on my back that you didn’t know was there?” 

“You know I was in the Air Force,” Rhodey snaps back. “I got high enough clearance that I was one of the guys who got to see what brand new toy you sent our way. I know you could use any of those, shit, you probably tested it out, so you would know.” 

“And your point?” Tony asks. “What, you’re saying I should know better? Saying you know better than me?” 

“You know what? Yeah, yeah I am saying that,” Rhodey yells as he’s untying him. “I am fucking saying that I know more than you because you couldn’t give less of a shit if you tried about your own well-being! You were kidnapped and I’ve been running myself ragged trying to get you back, and you just don’t care!” 

Tony stares at him. Really stares at him. 

“Let’s go home.” 

Nothing else is said in the car ride home. Tony can’t even look at Rhodey. 

They go home, where Pepper greets Tony with a hug and makes him swear not to leave again, and Tony says “I promise,” only they both know that he’s lying. 

But they’re not calling him out on it yet. No, not tonight. 

- 

Rhodey stays. Technically he doesn’t have to. Jarvis is the most advanced artificial intelligence system in the world. Hell, he’s the only one that’s even in his league, but Rhodey just...feels better staying. 

And Tony’s mansion is a gargantuan structure with about twenty different rooms to choose from, so Rhodey gets a nice view and tries to go to bed. 

He’s never gotten enough sleep. He knows he never would. That’s why the army loved him: he could be up at any hour and he’d be fine. That’s why his dad called him the bane of his existence in a loving manner: Rhodey would be up at four in the morning filling out the crossword before anyone else could. 

He’s up at four a.m. making breakfast. 

Tony’s pantry is still shit, but it looks like Pepper went shopping for him or had someone else do it, because he actually has eggs and juice and actual food instead of the odd pickle jar or way-too-old yogurt. 

“You’re...up,” Tony says. 

Rhodey turns around. 

“Sorry. I, um. Stayed.” 

“It’s fine,” Tony says awkwardly. “What are you making?” 

“Omelet.” 

“I always mess those up,” he says. “Either too much cheese or I forget I’m cooking it.” 

“You want one?” 

“You gonna make me one?” 

“Accidentally cracked one too many eggs, so yes. You want onions and spinach in yours?” 

“Sure,” Tony says. “What are you doing up?” 

“Always bad at sleeping,” Rhodey answers. “Can never really stay asleep for too long.” 

“Forget to take your melatonin gummies?” Tony answers, grinning. 

Rhodey can see a bruise on his collarbone. 

“You sleep okay?” 

“No, but I rarely ever do,” Tony says. “Especially after yesterday’s fiasco.” 

“You mean the whole weekend,” Rhodey says, putting the rest of the eggs into the pan. “Can’t imagine that was fun.” 

“Oh come on, it was a ball,” Tony answers sarcastically. “They let me play cops-and-robbers and I was given pizza. Clearly it was a fantastic time.” 

Rhodey stares at Tony. 

“You know in the contract that I had you sign it specifically states that you have to let me help you, right?” 

“It says you have to rescue me regardless of feelings or previous obligations,” Tony says. 

“Rescuing you doesn’t just mean I chase after vans and track you down in an abandoned warehouse, it means that I rescue you from those situations before they can happen. But I can only do that if you agree that you won’t get kidnapped,” he says. 

“And what, I want to?” Tony asks. “Do I say that?” 

“You don’t have to,” Rhodey says, flipping the omelet over. “You never think you’re worth rescuing it because you think you’re never going to be good enough and I think you think that you owe me for giving a shit.” 

Tony looks at him. 

“You’re really honest.” 

“I try to be.” 

“I love that about you.” 

Rhodey’s hand shakes slightly as he moves the omelet a bit in the pan. He hopes Tony doesn’t notice. 

“Well I would love it if you stopped being kidnapped.” 

“Aye aye, Colonel Rhodes,” Tony says, saluting. Rhodey rolls his eyes. 

“Oh my god, do not.” 

“What, am I not supposed to thank our armed services for making this country safe?” he mocks, standing up. “For going above and beyond the call of patriotism and helping keep Americans everywhere safe?” 

Rhodey threatens to eat his omelet when he breaks into singing the national anthem. 

- 

There’s an...understanding. 

Tony starts taking up training with Happy and almost agrees to regular training with Rhodey until Rhodey wants him to get up at six and do some workouts, and he yells “No!” after one workout session. 

Rhodey pointedly pretends like he’s not staring at Tony’s chest when he lifts up his shirt to wipe away the sweat. 

“Come on Rhodey my darling, let’s do breakfast.” 

Tony dragging him to breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. It’s...nice. Rhodey ignores it when Tony waggles his eyebrows as he takes the check and calls him “darling, honey, baby,” and he lets him because it sounds nice. 

He doesn’t say anything to Tony. No, you can’t date your boss. It’s unprofessional as hell and Tony probably is just doing it because Rhodey’s in close proximity and they have a good banter going. 

- 

The next time that Tony has an attempted kidnapping, Rhodey is there. 

He’s there, and he’s being taken away, dragged from Tony, and Tony for the first time looks terrified. 

Rhodey tries to struggle, tries to do anything, because Tony has to get away, and he...

He’s knocked unconscious. 

-

When he wakes up, his head hurts worse than it ever has, and for a moment he’s pissed at Tony because he forgets that he’s been kidnapped and there’s no control over the thermostat because the room is hot as all get out. 

And then he sees Tony across from him, and he’s never seen Tony angry. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, voice shaking. “I’ll get us out of here. I promise. I’m sorry.” 

“Not your fault we have assholes take us,” Rhodey says. “But god I would kill for some air conditioning.” 

Tony smiles a bit at that. 

- 

Here’s a problem: you cannot give Tony Stark anything if you want him to not escape. Either that or he has to be unconscious because he’s a stubborn son of a bitch. 

And they used actual handcuffs to keep him there. God, what a joke. 

Tony learned how to break out of handcuffs when he was twenty and chained to a bedpost on accident. (Long story.) 

This is nothing. 

But the problem is that Rhodey’s here. His bodyguard who really shouldn’t be putting his life on the line for someone as shitty as Tony, but here they are, and he has to get him out. 

“Follow my lead,” Tony whispers. 

“Well of course I will, who else has as much experience being kidnapped as you?” Rhodey mutters. 

“Okay is now going to be the time where you sass me? You’re here too. I could leave you.” 

“You’re not gonna do that, Pepper would make you come back.” 

“No she wouldn’t.” 

“Yeah she would!” 

“Not after I tell her that you used the last of her salad dressing.” 

“Shit.” 

Tony snorts, looking at the room. They don’t have security cameras, which is just...questionable. Oh my god, he got kidnapped by amateurs. 

He’s kind of embarrassed. 

Rhodey gets free, and they’re both headed towards a door, and Rhodey picks up a stray part of a metal pole, and Tony cannot lie and say he’s not intrigued by that. 

Not saying he hopes Rhodey gets to use it. 

He’s just curious how he’ll utilize it. 

- 

They get to just. Walk out. They fucking walk out. What kind of people did they get kidnapped from? It can’t be that easy, can it? 

It can’t be...

It is. 

Okay sure Tony is driving in a hotwired car and they’re being shot at, but all things considered that’s not the worst thing. And the truck is probably considered stolen anyways, and once Tony makes it to the highway, it’s not like they’ll be able to follow without making it onto national news, not that they haven’t already. 

Pepper’s very effective at getting things to trend on national news when she wants to. 

- 

Rhodey is sitting on a beach chair. He shouldn’t be, and he also shouldn’t be drinking a mimosa because it’s four p.m. and definitely the morning, but he figures since he got kidnapped he’s allowed at least one mimosa. 

“So. Your first kidnapping?” Tony asks. “All things considered, yours went well. I think next time we should go to Wendy’s or something, I was starving-” 

“I’m just. I’m glad we’re okay,” Rhodey says. “But yeah. Maybe next time. If there is a next time. I’m going to I think make you hold hands with me so that you don’t get napped by terrible, shitty people.” 

“You could’ve just asked to hold my hand, we didn’t need to be kidnapped together,” Tony says. 

“Hm, is that a breach of contract?” Rhodey teases. 

“Only if Pepper decides to enforce it, and she won’t because you’re the first bodyguard to have an actual success story with me,” Tony says. “So. I’m thinking maybe we skip the kidnapping next time and go straight for dinner.” 

“Oh thank god, I thought you were gonna say a fast food restaurant.” 

“I still could, you don’t know,” Tony grins, winking. “What if our first date is to Burger King? What are you gonna do?” 

“Be mad that I still like you,” Rhodey grumbles. 

Tony cackles, dropping a kiss onto his hand. 

“Do you think I should get another bodyguard or will dragging you away during a party be too awkward for them?” 

“...I’ll think about it.” 

(They don’t get a new bodyguard. 

No matter how much the other security complains that Rhodey’s the only one who knows where Tony is at all times, and they can’t exactly ask them if they’re busy doing...things. 

Rhodey finds it hilarious.) 

[wildlittlefoxsworld]

Booker x Fem Reader Unlike your family you're not a soldier, more of the tech nerd of the group but that doesn't mean your some damsel in distress! It be good of your family to remember that so when you get kidnapped by people with a grudge, the kidnappers aren't the only one in for a surprise! Also if you could maybe add Angst 6,8 and Random 11,29,36 from the prompt list into the story if you can no pressure Thanks!❤

Badass wife | The Old Guard | Booker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: rape (but only mentioned), reader is kidnapped, torture (only mentioned), angst with happy ending

Words: 3k

Prompts:

-Angst

6. “Don’t you ever do this again.”

8. “Nobody’s seen you in days.”

-Random

11. “You’re insane.” “You love me.” “Not right now, I don’t.”

29. “How is my wife more badass than me?”

36. “That was kind of hot.”

Masterlist

***

If you were honest, you never enjoyed or loved being immortal. Of course, your immortal life had a lot of benefits. You couldn’t get ill, you were forever young and beautiful (that was what your husband said all the time to you), you spend the eternity with the love of your life. Sometimes it was very great, but sometimes you hated it. Your loved ones died a long time ago and you saw all the people in the world getting old, and you wanted that with your husband. Growing old, playing with your grandchildren, remembering a wonderful life.

But you had a family and currently you were the second youngest of your group. A few months ago Nile joined your little family and she was a former marine. Nile was a soldier, like the others in your group. You weren’t a soldier; you never learnt how to fight before you died for the first time. You were born in 1985 and during your time in school it emerged that you were a genius, primarily in mathematics and biology, but you focused your interest mainly in computers and other kind of this stuff later in high school. You made money with programming security and anti-virus software for companies to protect their data.

The first time you had died wasn’t something really special or spectacular, but you had died on smoke poisoning after a fire was breaking loose. You had woken up in the mortuary in the hospital and you couldn’t believe what happened. You had been disoriented and confused, so you just wrapped the white sheet tight around your body and searched for a way out of the hospital, because you wanted to go home. But you hadn’t come far… that was when you met Joe and Nicky for the time. Joe had explained you quickly that you had died, because of a fire in your house and they were there to help you. Nicky had wrapped you in his leather jacket and carried you in his arms, because your feet were bare.

That was six years ago in 2015 and you were now married with Booker for four years, these were the happiest in your life. Booker and you had become very close immediately and you couldn’t ask for a better man or husband. Booker was good with all the technical stuff, but you showed him skills that he only had dreamed off and fast you were responsible for finding persons or hacking any websites, searching for information and made sure that all the tech stuff ran smoothly. You felt sometimes like the fictional figure Ramsay from Fast and the Furious.

The time in your little cell gave you enough time to think about your life. You were here for three or four days now and your kidnappers thought you had find out information about their criminal business, and you had gave the info to the FBI, which was true, but the criminals couldn’t prove that. So they had water-boarded you already and now they were trying to starve you, so you would tell them what you did and what exactly you told the FBI.

You had a little worry that your family couldn’t find a way to rescue you or that it was very difficult to break in the building where they hold you hostage. You wore a little location transmitter under your skin, not only one, but four in different places. This was your first idea after you joined the team, because it would be easier for the team to track someone if one or more of you got kidnapped. You hoped the others already found you.

You were sitting on the floor with chains cuffed to your ankles and wrists when one of your kidnappers opened the door. It was Paul, the at least friendly one of the men, but he wasn’t very talkative. He checked the chains and brought a new bottle of water, but clearly no food. You didn’t eat something in the last seventy-six hours and you were very hungry, but you wouldn’t beg for food. You weren’t weak or easy to break, but your kidnappers didn’t know that and maybe your family members would rescue you in the next coming hours. You would definitely eat a cheeseburger and a large portion of fries.

“Do you want to tell me something, sweet girl?” Paul asked you with a gentle voice and little smile, but you only quirked an eyebrow and looked dumbfounded at him. Did he really think you would talk so fast? Andy had one rule; don’t say anything about their missions no matter what they would do to you. It was easy to follow the rule. Of course, you were afraid that they would water board you again. That wasn’t very pleasant, but they could do other things and you didn’t want to think about it.

“It’s very sad that you don’t want to talk with me and it’s impolite, too. You should show us more respect and answer a question when someone asked you.”

With two fingers he tipped your chin up, but you refused to look him in the eyes.

“No, I have nothing to tell you.”

“Well, that is bad… for you. My boss said that I have to make you talk and that I could do anything with you what I want. You have a pretty face, you know, I would really like to kiss your lips. But your body is more interesting, I ask myself what you hide under all your clothes. What do you think… can I take a look?"

That was the first time you gave him a glance and you were disgusted by the smug grin on his face.

“Fuck you,” you cursed and spit him in the face. Your spit landed on his cheek and mouth and brushed with his hand the wetness from his skin.

“Don’t you ever do this again!” he warned you with an angry voice and slapped you across the face, so that your head flew to the side. Your cheek burned where he hit you with the back of his hand, but you only turned your head slowly to him and grinned slightly. “That was your answer.”

His eyes were filled with rage now, because he had thought you were just a pretty little girl who he could threaten and you would sing like a bird. In the next moment he pressed his mouth hard on yours and his tongue tried to invade your mouth, but you bit him as hard as you can on the lip that you could taste blood in your mouth.

“You bit me, you little bitch. You will wish you were never born when I’m done with you.”

“I think it will be the opposite,” you considered and he shoot you a death glare. He came closer to you for a second time and you watched the blood dripping from his torn lip.

“You really want to be hurt, right?”

“No, but it seems you want to,” you replied and kicked your knee into his stomach. He gasped and fell backwards on his butt.  You didn’t get much time to put your plan into action. The chains around your ankles were tied to the ground, but the ones around your wrists were connected with a chain. You stood up fast to your feet, ignored the dizzy feeling in your head from sitting so long and wrapped the chain around his neck. You pulled tight to cut his air supply and he tried helplessly to inhale the much needed air. You used all of your strength to strangle him, because he started trying to put his fingers between the chain and his throat. You noticed how strong he was and he scratched the floor with his feet helplessly. You couldn’t give up now, you know there would other men come, but maybe he had any keys that you could use to free yourself from the shackles.

You felt how slowly his strength faded, but it did and you collected all of your strengths to pull the chain tighter. You thought it took you minutes until he gave fighting, but it was only a few more seconds until he went limp and you counted to sixty in your head to be sure he didn’t fake it.

 You searched in his pockets for any keys and you were successful. You thought why they were so stupid to give Paul the keys, but you thought that they weren’t smart enough to assume that you could have overpowered him. But you could only free yourself from the chains around your ankles, your hands were still in chains and you cursed that you couldn’t defend yourself properly. They weren’t very tight, you could have freed yourself earlier from them, but you would have to dislocate your thumb and break your hand in the process, and you weren’t brave enough to do it. Maybe you would find the keys somewhere else, you weren’t happy how the situation turned out, but at least you weren’t raped by Paul and you took Paul’s gun to your defense, then you walked on wobbly legs out of the little room. You didn’t know if there were any cameras, but you assumed they had a few, because you heart already shouting and appearing footsteps from down the long hallway where you stood now helplessly. You didn’t know where you were or how they got you here. Normally you weren’t active in any mission, you were the tech nerd and you stayed often with Nicky when he searched for the perfect position for his sniper rifle. But the last time you were with Nicky, he needed to change his position and you decided to stay in the first place he had chosen. You always had a gun with you and Andy had trained you, but you weren’t used to fight against so many men that had approached you after Nicky was gone. You were sure Nicky was crestfallen, because he left you there alone and Booker freaked out probably in the moment.

You thought about which way you should take and it would have been probably stupid if you would go into the direction from where the shouting was coming.

“She’s this way, boss,” you heard a familiar voice from behind you and your heart began to beat faster. That was your husband and the shouting was from the other criminal men, when the team had surprised them. You were glad that they finally came for your rescue and started running towards them.

“I hope they didn’t hurt her or I will them kill all over again,” Booker said maybe to Andy, because you didn’t know if all of them were in the building.

“She’s moving fast into our direction,” you heard him gasping shocked. In the next moment you ran around the corner and directly into his arms when he recognized you. Booker his arms around your body and you buried your face in the crook of his neck; you inhaled his familiar scent that helped you to calm your nerves slowly.

“Nobody’s seen you in days,” he joked chuckling in your ear and you laughed along with him. Of course, he had to make a stupid joke in the middle of a rescue mission. “I’m so happy that you are with me again.”

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Andy asked while she observed your surroundings. You looked up and she gave you short glance.

“I’m okay, but my hands are still chained.”

“How did you escape?” Booker asked and you quirked an eyebrow at him.

“The bad man wanted to touch me, so I killed him.”

“How?” – “I suffocated him with my chains.” I held my hands up in demonstration and Booker nodded in admiration.

“How is my wife more badass than me?” he said stunned.

“I trained her. Now let’s go!” Andy replied impatiently and let the direction to get out of the building.

The three of you ran down the hallway from Booker and Andy had come and you saw all the dead men on your way to the exit. You counted the corpse, twenty-four. You were still impressed, because you hadn’t often the opportunity to see the others in action. You saw a lot of flesh wounds that Andy had caused with her axe and the others had bullet holes from Booker’s guns. You hoped you would leave this building without meeting more of the men, but you didn’t come far when you heard again footsteps coming into your direction.

Andy gave a sign to slow down your tempo and you tightened your grip on the gun. You didn’t know how to describe your feelings in the moment, because you hated to be forced with the enemy. You felt tired, because you hadn’t eaten in days and you used the last bit of your strength to kill Paul. You were mostly pissed that they had you taken and they were still stupid enough to stand your in way to freedom. You were glad that you weren’t alone, because when you arrived in a great hall where they stored their stolen guns and drugs and all the other ware which they made profit with.

“I see you managed to escape. You killed one of my best man, you slut.” You knew the voice very well, it was Paul’s boss and he wasn’t happy about what you did to Paul. You saw his angry red face and the gun he pointed at you.

“I’m bulletproof… but please, don’t shoot me. I really hate the feeling of bullets in my body,” you answered him and he looked dumbfounded at you for a second.

“What are you talking about? Are you already gone mad? Well, I don’t care. You killed my man, so I’m going to kill your man, then the crazy axe lady and in the end I will torture until you beg me to stop and you will tell me your little secrets, and maybe then after every one of my men had their fun with you, I let you die.”

“You’re pathetic. You will pay for what you did to my wife!” Booker screamed and tried to push you behind, but you didn’t let him, you were too angry.

“You’re disgusting, Antonio. I make you a better offer: I will shoot your balls off and let you bleeding out like a pig, while you can watch how we kill the rest of your men and then we will blow up this whole building.”

You grinned like a mad woman when you aimed to shoot him between your legs and you didn’t hesitate a second until you heard the echo of your shooting. Antonio screamed in pain and felt down to the ground. You could shoot him again, but his men already began to fire in your direction and Booker pushed your forward, so you could get out of there finally. It took a lot of bullets and fighting until you were even near to the exit and then Joe came through the large door of the hall and shot two of them precisely in the head which left only two of them in the end.

A dark haired man fired a bullet into Booker’s leg and he winced in pain, but kept running. But you got so angry that they had the nerve to shoot your husband, when it was clearly that they were going to lose. You stopped and turned around to shoot them, but you were out of bullets.

“Fuck,” you cursed. That was definitely your favorite swear word. You used the handle of the gun to hit the dark haired man on the cheek and you heard the satisfying cracking of the bone. He tried to punch you, but you crouched down and tackled his body with yours, so you fell on the ground. The man had no time to react when you grabbed his head with both of your hands and smashed his head on the hard floor four times.  

Andy killed the other one with her axe while Booker pushed off the dead of the dead man and out of the building, and that was when you inhaled fresh air for the first time in nearly eighty hours.

“Are they all dead now?” Joe asked still aiming the door, but you couldn’t answer him, because you were pulled in tight hug from Nicky.

“Thank god, Y/N. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Nicky. Are you okay?”

Nicky watched me confused. “You’re asking me if I’m okay after you had been hold hostage for more than three days.”

“Ah yes, you seem very distressed.”

“You’re insane,” he mumbled when he kissed the top of my head.

“But you love me,” you replied laughing.

“Not right now, I don’t. You made me leave you alone there; I will never let you alone again.”

“Isn’t that my husband’s part?” You said still laughing when Booker hugged you from behind with his arms around your waist.

“He can share,” Nicky prompted snorting and both men cuddled you between them.

“Can we go home then?” Andy asked still impatient.

“Yes, boss,” all of you saluted and Andy rolled her eyes on you.

The ride home was silent. Joe and Andy switched on driving and you sat with Booker and Nicky in the backseat. Nicky was peacefully snoring beside you and you were cuddled up in Booker’s lap. When you got in the car earlier he had kissed all over of your face and then your mouth, he let you feel all his love for you.

“When Nicky had told us that they kidnapped you… I thought I would never see you again, but then I remembered how brilliant you were to get us the location transmitter last year and it was easy to find you, but to get in the building was so much harder. Please tell me, he didn’t get a chance to touch you? I can’t bear the thought that he might took you with force… I…”

“Shh, my heart. He didn’t touch me. I killed him before he got a chance. At least I was lucky enough to overpower him… don’t think about all the other possibilities how it could have ended. We are together again and that’s all what matters.”

“You’re right, sweetheart. I love you so much. Please, never leave me again.”

“How could I ever leave you, Sebastien. You are the love of my life and our life had only just begun. Wonderful five years, yes, but I hope it will be at least five hundred more.”

Booker chuckled at your words. “I will five thousand years at least, and more.”

Your lips found each other again and you know that as long as Booker was at your side, you would be never alone.

“I hope you can free me from this chains as soon as possible,” you told Joe and he only grinned at you.

“Don’t worry, we will make it when we’re at home. But are you sure you want to be free so soon? I can tell you that they’re perfectly for role games in the bedroom. Nicky and I had a lot with chains in the past.”

You looked back at Booker questionly. “Sounds like an interesting idea. You know when you hit and tackled the man down on the ground. That was kind of hot. It turned me really on.” The last words Booker whispered in your ear and you knew you wouldn’t leave the bed in the next days.

[companionjones]

Midnight Raids And Hot Chocolate

Hi! This is for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​‘s Star’s Hamilfilm Lyric Challenge! I’m so excited to be a part of this!

My quote was “Are my answers to your satisfaction?”

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (Netflix)

Summary: The Handler sends a team to take you in for questioning about your boyfriend, Diego. Yeah, no. That’s not gonna happen.

Warnings: Cursing, guns

Please take some time to sign some petitions! Please remember not to give any money to change.org. The money would go to the website, not to the cause.

*******

    Nighttime was when the Commission liked to do most of its work. It was because of that that the Handler sent a team after you at midnight one night.

    The team burst through your front door, ready for the worst. They were ready for the legend the Handler talked about. They were ready for the biggest fight of their lives.

    They found you sitting at your dining room table, sipping a mug of hot chocolate. “Evening, boys. Anybody want some hot chocolate?”

    All you got in response was ten different assault rifles being pointed at you.

    You blinked, “Guess sayin’ no was too hard.”

    One man stepped out of the crowd. “Y/n L/n. We are here to take you in to the Commission.”

    “You’re the guy who’s in charge here huh?” You looked him up and down. “You’re the guy I want to talk to.”

    He sighed, and straightened himself up. “I’m here, what would you like to tell me?”

    “Well, for one thing, I won’t be coming with you. Not tonight, not ever. The Handler should know that by now.”

    Everyone in the room with a gun strengthened their hold on their weapon.

    “But I’m happy to tell you everything I know about the whereabouts of Diego Hargreeves!” you teased.

    That obviously got the room’s attention.

    You feigned cringe. “The only problem with that is that I have no idea where he is.”

    “Bullshit,” one soldier groaned.

    The captain officer ordered, “Stay in line, private!”

    “No, I’m telling the truth, really,” you responded to the ‘out of line’ soldier. “Diego left around noon today. I won’t be seeing him anytime soon, if not, ever again.”

    The man in charge was going to say something, but you interrupted before he could.

    “So, are we done here? I stayed up for you guys, and frankly, I’m pretty exhausted now.”  You got up to put your empty mug in the sink. “And listen, if the Handler isn’t a fan of what you come back with tonight, please be so kind to remind her that my ties with the FBI, CIA, and the Board make it impossible for her to do anything to me without my permission.”

    Silence followed you.

    “Are my answers to your satisfaction?” You raised your eyebrows in expectancy.

    More stares were your only response.

    Then the captain ordered in defeat, “Alright boys, move out.”

    “See you guys again never. Hope the Handler doesn’t kill any of you!” you happily called after them.

    Once they were gone, you waited a full minute for their cans to pull away before you opened up the large secret compartment you had under your couch.

    “Jesus, Y/n. You know how I am, and even I’m saying you could’ve been more respectful to them,” an emerging Diego joked.

    “Maybe I would’ve been if I wasn’t woken up at 11:30 at night by my on-the-run boyfriend saying I need to cover for him,” you expressed, a teasing smirk playing at your lips. “I barely had time to make myself some hot chocolate.”

    He hugged you close. “Speaking of, you have any left?”

    “Yeah, I do,” you chuckled.

    Diego kissed the side of your forehead as the two of you walked into your kitchen and completely ignored the people who were after the both of you.

******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! And thank you to @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ for putting together this writing challenge! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! If you would like to read more, I have more fics over on my blog. You should check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[bentforkent]

to the moon and to saturn - chapter two

spencer reid x fem!reader

navigation and summary

there is a version of this story featuring my oc sara on my wattpad and ao3!

word count: 3,559

content warnings: alcohol mentions

previous chapter | next chapter 

betty 

spencer has a recurring dream about her. in this dream, it’s y/n’s 18th birthday. his brain doesn’t know what she looks like past age seven, so dream-y/n has her youthful face on an adult body. her eyes crinkle at the edges when she smiles. she’s holding a birthday cake that’s covered in lit candles. there’s no indication that spencer baked the pink, sloppily-frosted cake, but in his dream, he knows he did. 

she holds the cake out towards him. “make a wish, spencer,” she says, her voice sounding far away and warbled. “it’s not my birthday, love,” he insists, swiping some of the frosting and brushing it across her cheek.

she grins and sets the cake down on the round table in front of her. “sure, but i want to share mine with you.” she pulls out a box, gift wrapped in bright yellow paper with a large blue bow on top. he always wakes up before he can ever open it. 

 he gets this dream once a month without fail. it’s pathetic, he thinks. he hasn’t even seen y/n in twenty years. he’s doesn’t even know her, to be frank. and yet he thinks about her constantly. he---and his therapist, of course---chalk this up to the abandonment he felt when she never came back. she didn’t even say goodbye. spencer thinks about this often, wondering if it was his fault. he wonders if any or all of the horrible things he’s been through have been his fault. his sick brain tells him yes, yes they are. 

 often, when spencer thinks of y/n, he imagines her in some incredible life. a spy, maybe. he knows it’s unlikely that she’s a princess or bank robber now, but he doesn’t put it past her. he doesn’t have enough memories of her, so every play-pretend game they played as children supplements what he knows about her, creating at least some whole adult person for him to fantasize about. she’s become almost a fictional character in the movie of his life. he wishes that they weren’t estranged, wishes that he could know the real y/n instead of whatever caricature of her he’s created. even if she actually was a bank robber. he just wants to know.

wait. he just wants to know. 

spencer is lounged on his couch, cardigan long tossed aside, tie long undone. he’s been home from work for a few hours now, an easy paperwork day cutting his day short. he takes half of a second to make his decision, then pulls out his phone.

 ------

“i need you to look someone up for me,” y/n says nonchalantly, flicking through a cheesy magazine. they’re laying on penelope’s bed, tv in the other room playing a rerun episode of “the office” just loud enough for them to hear. penelope has one hand in a bowl of popcorn, and one on her laptop scrolling mindlessly through some geeky website y/n can’t comprehend.

 y/n had seen spencer that evening on her way to penelope’s house. at least she thought she did. y/n was stopped at a red light, staring straight ahead at the crosswalk before her. living in a decently populated city, there were always fun characters crossing the street, and while y/n had once been in awe of the medley of people living in dc, she’d become used to it, and stopped paying attention. at red lights, she usually takes time to relax, letting her eyes glaze over before the switch to green and the restart of traffic. but before she could check out for her 15 seconds of a mental break, she saw a long haired figure hunched over a book, crossing the street directly in front of her car. 

granted, y/n hasn’t seen spencer in twenty years. she has no clue what he looks like nowadays, but everything from his ray bradbury book to his lanky frame to his beat up converse was familiar. her eyes clung to him, desperate to catch a glimpse of his face, but it never came. and y/n felt like she was going crazy. of all the places in the world, there’s no way that spencer reid’s life path had taken him all the way from nevada to the exact same city she lived in. 

but she didn’t have to wonder, or anxiously await the next time she saw the man by chance, because her best friend was a techy genius and no one could hide from her. y/n decided then, at that red light, that she’d ask penelope to find spencer, something she couldn’t even picture herself wanting just thirty seconds earlier.

y/n’s attempt at casually bringing the topic up is futile, because a.) penelope garcia is a very nosy woman, and b.)....penelope garcia is a very nosy woman. in all of the best ways. “who?” she inquires excitedly, halting all motion that could distract her from this very important conversation. 

“it’s kind of a long story,” y/n says, closing her magazine and sitting up. she crosses her legs, a seating pose that indicates that she’s devoting everything to explaining this to penelope. “so, when i was really little, there was this boy…” 

and the suspense is killing penelope. y/n’s launched into this whole story about blanket forts, and being young, and blah blah blah whatever, but she’s not giving up her male protagonist’s name. penelope has her hands poised at her keyboard, ready to give y/n a location, occupation, and criminal record in less than 30 seconds, but she just needs to know his name. y/n talks, and talks, and talks, and penelope, as the good friend and listener she is, doesn’t interrupt once except to ask a question. 

(“so your mom was sleeping with his dad?”

 “yes! my own mother! i know, right?”)

y/n’s oblivious to the fact that penelope is on the edge of her seat, hanging on her every single word, just waiting, waiting, agonizingly waiting for a name. 

“once, i even put jell-o down a girl’s shirt for this kid,” y/n laughs. “it was cherry flavored, i’ll never forget. my first badass moment.” she stops her story with a shared chuckle, and a silence settles over the two women for a moment. 

“so, did you want me to find this prince charming, or…” penelope waggles her fingers over her keyboard as to emphasize her point.

“oh! yeah! his name is-----” 

penelope’s phone rings, and they let out a frustrated groan in unison. y/n flops back into her laying down position, knowing that when penelope’s phone rings, it almost never bodes well for wine nights.

 ----------

“garcia!” spencer greets as soon as she answers.

“as much as i’m excited to hear from my favorite doctor-profiler-boy-genius, i wonder to what do i owe this pleasure?” penelope glances over at y/n, who has already found her way back into her cosmopolitan magazine. 

 “hey, i was wondering if you could look someone up for me. i know technically it’s not ethical but---”

 “do you have a name for me, wonder boy?” penelope asks. she’s not waiting a second longer for him to spill, lest she gets trapped in yet another long-winded backstory. 

 “uh, yeah. y/n y/l/n. she---,” spencer speaks, and is immediately transferred to hold, with a short and excited “wait!” from garcia. sure, she feels bad for cutting him off twice now during the short span of their phone call, but this? this is major. 

 “y/n, tell me his name is spencer reid,” penelope says, voice coming out rushed and full of eagerness. 

 y/n’s eyes go wide. penelope was really good at her job. she got his name just from her little jell-o story? “yeah, it is, pen!” y/n laughs. “what’s he up to these days?”

 penelope covers the receiver of her phone even though spencer was on hold and couldn’t hear her anyways. “he’s on the phone with me! we work together! we’re like, super close! y/n!” penelope is emphasizing her words with crazy hand gestures, the clinking of her bracelets serving as enthusiastic punctuation.

y/n doesn’t really know how to respond to this information. “he’s FBI?” she asks, stupidly. 

“that is so far beyond the point!” penelope exclaims. “he’s the guy i was texting you about earlier today, the one i wanted to set you up with!”

y/n, with a big goofy grin on her face, tosses a piece of popcorn at her head, watching as it gets stuck in one of her ponytails. “take him off of hold, penny!” excitement courses through her veins. she had seen him earlier. what are the odds?

spencer paces anxiously in his apartment. she’d dead. y/n is dead, and garcia’s trying to find the best way to tell him. that’s why she put him on hold, he knows. there’s a crackle in the phone, and garcia’s voice rings through the speaker. “spencer?” she asks, making sure he’s still on the line. there’s giggling on her end, pulling him to the conclusion that whatever garcia was about to say, at least y/n’s not dead.

 “yeah, garcia?” spencer says, too on edge to say more than a few words at a time. 

 “i’ve got probably a million and one things to tell you about a certain y/n y/l/n,” garcia says, voice mischievous. on her end, there’s a squawk of protest followed by some shuffling. 

spencer waits patiently, and then garcia’s voice is back. “i’ve got her right here with me, actually.” 

 spencer, overwhelmed with nerves, hangs up immediately. 

 “he hung up!” penelope screams, and the two women burst into laughter. penelope’s hunched over at her laptop, cackling.

“i can’t believe he hung up,” y/n says through her fit of giggles.

“you have to come to our work get-together this weekend and see him, y/n. spencer’s hosting!” penelope says.

“he clearly doesn’t want to talk to me,” y/n says jokingly, and they laugh again. not at the boy, but at the scenario. “also, no! no ‘get-togethers.’ you know i don’t do parties.”

 ------

 y/n’s on her way to the party. it took all of 15 seconds for penelope to convince her to be her plus-one. all she had to do is say the words “casual” and “wine” and y/n was in. she tried to ignore the fact that it would just be penelope’s coworkers, one of them being her estranged best friend, and her. at spencer’s apartment, nonetheless. it was bound to be awkward, but y/n tried to focus less on that and more on how excited penelope was to introduce her to spencer. re-introduce her, rather. 

 penelope offered to drive y/n to alleviate some of her nerves, and y/n accepted graciously. neither one of them had talked about spencer since the phone call, except for penelope casually mentioning that spencer hadn’t brought up y/n to her at work at all. they’d all spent the week in limbo, then. the drive to spencer’s apartment is generally silent, penelope jumping in with words of affirmation every so often, if not to calm y/n then just to make her laugh. y/n’s leg bounces as she looks out of the window of penelope’s car. 

when they arrive, after penelope’s parked, she turns to y/n. “y/n. you are colorful, beautiful, perfect, and every other nice word i can think of. everything will be fine. but if, by some odd, unpredictable chance, everything is not fine, say the word and we will be out of there faster than you can say ‘penny.’” y/n pulls her into a tight hug, and penelope can feel her heart beating.

“what if he just tells me to, like, fuck off?” y/n murmurs.

“reid would never. he could never,” penelope says. with that reassurance, they get out of her car and head up to the party.

 -------

y/n stares at spencer’s front door as penelope knocks. the paint on it is chipping, she notes. spencer swings open the door and hoots erupt through the apartment. 

“garcia’s here!”

“hey, garcia!”

“babygirl!”

everyone’s calling for her, so she snakes past spencer and into his home with a pat on his chest. he’s stuck in the doorway and y/n’s stuck in the hall. neither of them know what to say to each other, so they’re sticking to intense eye contact and nervous foot shuffling. y/n’s here, at his apartment. he’s shocked. she’s real, she’s here, and here is his apartment.

 “you look the same,” they say at the same time, and then, at the absurdity of the situation, they laugh together. y/n, feeling empowered by the diffusion of the tension, wraps her arms around him in a hug. he’s broad, she notes. he hugs her tightly, holding on a second too long as compensation for the fact that he’d never know when their last hug had been their last. 

 “come in, come in,” spencer says. as he’s ushering her inside, hand against her lower back, he speaks again. y/n’s acutely aware of his coworkers eyes on her, but she’s distracted by his voice. “did you know that we begin to forget childhood memories while we’re in childhood still? younger children remember 60 percent of early life events, and that goes down by 20 percent in just a year or two.” 

 “hmm, so it’s weird that you remember me, then?” y/n teases as he hands her a glass of white wine.

“well, i don’t, really,” he admits, and y/n hums in agreement against the rim of her drink. 

penelope calls y/n over to where she’s sitting and introduces her to the team. y/n takes notes. penelope never really combines her work and her play, telling y/n it’s to keep her safe, so y/n revels in this insight into her best friend’s life.

 jj, the pretty blonde, seems to be the glue of the group, y/n judges. emily’s guarded, but fun, and y/n sees a lot of herself in her. derek is penelope’s favorite, y/n knows, and it’s not hard to figure out why. he’s attractive, but more than that, he’s charismatic and intelligent. y/n can’t get a good read on hotch, but she likes him well enough. rossi’s her favorite, though, his laidback, cool demeanor just mysterious enough to pique her curiosity. y/n greets everyone with a warm hello and a short introduction, and finds her place at penelope’s side.

she’s out of place for sure, but the team tries their hardest to include her. they’ve got great chemistry as a group, and y/n wins their favor when she cracks a dry joke that gets everyone laughing. she can feel spencer’s eyes on her the whole night, but she doesn’t indulge him by looking back. she’s too nervous. he keeps her glass filled all night, a gracious host, and when she thanks him each time he gives her a shaky smile. he’s nervous too, she realizes.

 when people start filtering out, y/n realizes she’d hardly spoken to spencer all night, save for some light small talk with others. she’d really like to get him alone, but she doesn’t want to overstep. spencer looks at her intently when she stands to leave with garcia. he wants to get her alone, but he doesn’t want to overstep. be bold, spencer, he thinks. it’s just y/n. but it’s not just y/n anymore. they aren’t kids anymore, blindly bonded to one another out of convenience. there’s nothing tying them together anymore except for some flimsy memories, and this scares spencer. y/n’s also insanely beautiful. this adds to his nerves. it’s not too often he has a pretty girl in his apartment alone.

 “you can stay longer if you want, y/n. i’ll drive you home,” spencer says, his words surprising even himself. his eyebrows furrow and y/n wants to smooth the crease in his forehead with her thumb. 

“okay,” she says softly, turning to penelope. “i’ll see you tomorrow, pen?” they embrace, and penelope says her bright goodbyes. when she leaves, y/n leans against the closed front door, staring at spencer expectantly. 

“do you want another drink?” he asks her, unsure of what to do with his hands. 

“no, i think i’m sufficiently tipsy-adjacent,” y/n jokes, placing her hands decidedly on spencer’s shoulders. “i think you and i should talk.” 

“yeah,” spencer replies, his amber eyes searching hers. “we can sit outside.” he leads her to his balcony, and takes a seat on his outdoor couch. 

“it looks like it might rain,” y/n says lamely, sitting next to him, close enough for their thighs to touch.

“did you know women are more likely to give a man their phone number on a sunny day rather than a cloudy one? there’s only a 14% success rate when it’s rainy, as opposed to a 22% success rate when the sun’s out.”

“that’s interesting, spencer. were you planning on asking for my number?” y/n asks jokingly. spencer flushes at the question, stammering a defense. “just kidding. you sure do know a lot of stuff, don’t you?”

“sure,” he says with a bite of his lip. “i have three phds. what i don’t know, though, is where you went when you left vegas. or why you left vegas. or…”

“or why i didn’t tell you i was leaving?” y/n finishes for him. he gives a small nod, embarrassed to admit how much it affected him, and y/n frowns. she lays the palm of her hand against his face, rubbing her thumb against his cheekbone. spencer’s taken aback by the affectionate action, but leans into her touch anyways. y/n holds that position for a minute, surveying his features. she’s not ready to tell him the story, honestly. it’s humiliating. save from the fact that her mom essentially ruined his parents’ marriage; she didn’t know the nature of spencer’s relationship with his father now. for all she knows, it’d done a complete 180 in the past 20 years, and she’d ruin everything with her anecdote. no, she couldn’t risk this. spencer looked too pretty under the moonlight, was too nice to her tonight.

“would you be mad if i didn’t want to talk about that yet?” she asks, tracing her finger down the bridge of his nose. spencer feels a little relieved by this. he’s prepared for that conversation to be a heavy one, prepared for her to say she left because of him. because he wasn’t good enough for her. he doesn’t think he can handle that confirmation tonight, so he welcomes the change in subject. 

“can we just...start over?” spencer says.

 y/n nods. “hi, i’m y/n,” she holds her hand out to shake, finally removing it from against his face. spencer takes it with a small smile. 

“i’m spencer,” he replies. they sit in silence for a while, watching the stars. the moment is long, but it feels like they’re suspended in time. like the cars and people underneath them have come to a standstill. spencer reckons y/n’s always had that effect on him, but the hustle of the city disappearing around him makes it much more pronounced.  spencer steals a quick glance at her. she looks so serene. he wonders if she’s thinking as much as he is, or if she’s simply appreciating the city sounds and night air. 

“are you thinking as much as i am?” y/n pipes up, breaking the silence. 

spencer shakes his head incredulously with a chuckle. “you took the words right out of my mouth.” 

y/n turns to face him, pulling her knees to her chest. “tell me a story. like you used to.” when spencer’s gaze meets hers, y/n’s hand moves to tuck a piece of his hair behind his ear, the movement nearly involuntary. there’s a low rumble of thunder, but it sounds far away. 

“okay,” spencer says, neither one of them breaking eye contact. he remembers her eyes being much more vibrant, but he likes the true hue better. and whenever she thought of him, y/n had always imagined glasses, like when he was a child, but being able to see his face clearly is so much better. 

“actually,” y/n starts. she finishes her statement by pressing her lips against spencer’s firmly. he threads his hands through her hair and pulls her closer to him, letting out a soft moan. the kiss is passionate, but not lustful. it’s gentle and full of energy. y/n nips at spencer’s bottom lip. he tastes like sangria. his hand travels to the side of her face, thumb rubbing against her cheek slowly. he kisses her like she's oxygen and he’s never had a breath of fresh air in his life. 

after a minute, y/n pulls away slowly, resting her forehead on his. “okay, now you can tell me a story.” 

spencer presses another chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. “how do you expect me to remember anything right now?” 

y/n grins, pulling away from their intimate position and turning to face the stars. “i can wait. i’ve got all night.” 

[tintentrinkerin]

Harness & Spears Chapter 6/10

Warning: oral sex

Read below the cut or on AO3

It was a drive of around 6 hours and Sam and Jack needed to take two short breaks to refuel the car and Jack needed some fresh air one hour before they reached their destination. He got travel sick for the first time ever. But they took another car, neither the Impala nor the car Jack drove when he sneaked to Gilead. Jack still felt weird when they arrived at the motel.

Checking in was quick. Jack was surprised which motel Sam chose and Sam just gave him a smirk.

“This is luxurious!”, Jack calls out when they enter their room on the fourth floor.

“Yes, it is luxurious compared to what Dean and I are used to, we lived in really shabby stinky rooms more than once.”

Sam is wise enough to not just start telling tales of the ‘good old times’ with Dean, because that is not what Jack wants to hear right now. Dean is a topic they will avoid for as long as they’re here.

“I would say, I unpack our stuff, prepare some tea and you get better with your sickness, hm?”

Jack turns around. He isn’t that sick anymore, but Sam just offered him some pampering, how could Jack say no to that?

“Are you sure? I can help you with unpacking.”

Sam already opened his suitcase and now starts packing folded shirts and shorts in the cupboard. He turns around to Jack with a grin.

“It’s no bother, just unwind a little, take a nap while I unpack. Won’t take long.”

Jack fills the electric cattle with water and chooses a tea from the tea table. He hasn’t seen any of these so far, it seems very european, at least that’s what Sam told him, when he once was in Ireland. But he is also super curious what Sam packed. While the kettle starts working and Jack chooses fennel tea he looks over to Sam. It looks like he packed a lot for a week trip. Sam is the neater of the two brothers and carries extra underwear, even a hair dryer, three pairs of shoes. They haven’t decided on which disguise yet, but since it was a ghost hunt that had zero body count yet, they would maybe go with the ‘paranormal activity journalist’ thing, even though Jack loved also being FBI. After Cas told him after the teddy bear case he probably wasn’t the best actor in the field, he would let Sam talk anyway. Sam was big and earnest and super convincing.

Jack hears a rustling and how Sam hurries to hide what he was about to unpack back in his rucksack.

“What was that?”, Jack asks with a raised eyebrow.

On their drive here Sam chose to do the whole ride and while riding shotgun Jack played on his smartphone and he did what he always does since he and Sam are together. He educates himself about sex. He knows Sam will show him everything one day and also answer a lot of questions, but some things he just doesn’t spill. Jack is dying for answers, all the time, every waking minute with Sam. And that looked like a foil package of condoms.

Sam blushes and zips his bag, avoiding eye contact.

“Nothing, nothing that’s important.”

The kettle is done and Jack fills a mug with hot water and adds to bags of tea. He likes his tea strong and intense.

“Sam, that looked like condoms.”

Sam looks like caught in the act. And then he lets his shoulders hang.

“Yes, but it’s an old bag, I- I didn’t unpack it completely. They might have expired anyway.”

Jack is a little disappointed. Of course he had his hopes high for a second.

“Hey, baby, please don’t be disappointed.”

Sam shuffles the bag aside and invites Jack on the big king size bed. Damn it would be the perfect occasion. They’re alone and what did Sam just say yesterday? That he wants to be with Jack. And yes, yes, they are together almost all the time and they do the most exciting and thrilling things, Jack is regularly blown away and unable to form coherent statements when Sam is done with him, but… deep inside Jack he is aching for what people call ‘the first time’ and make a big fuss about. Jack reads a lot. He doesn’t like adult movies or porn, though, it’s tacky and he feels like this kind of intercourse in porn doesn’t resemble in the slightest what Sam and him would have. But how could he know if Sam didn’t show him?

Jack follows the invitation after a little hesitation, gets out of his shoes and opens his jeans, his belly hurts and Sam told him reducing pressure would, thus unbuttoning his pants or take them off completely. Sam also is barefoot now, out of his pants and Jack dives in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Jack, I know you want it. And I didn’t want to raise your hopes.”

“Is this all because I’m a virgin and you would be my first? And you have to stay pure and a virgin for as long as possible”, Jack asks quietly.

“Did you browse weird purity websites, Jack? Virginity is just a concept. The human body is made for having sex at one point in their life. That’s why you go through puberty, start having sexual feelings, breasts and penis grow, wet dreams, periods… all of this. Shaming someone for having sex is like shaming monkeys to climb trees. It’s bullshit. It’s sexist. I love being your first, but not because I think you’d be ‘unclean’ if someone else before me had sex with you, I just like the intimacy, being able to get to know you well enough to know what’s the best pleasurable way for you. And I’m very damn glad Hunter didn’t lay a finger on you.”

“But why don’t we have sex then?”, Jack asks with a trembling ache in his chest.

“You might be a virgin, but why I’m going slow is because I like going slow per se. I had sexual encounters that happened on the day the person and I met, and it was passionate and great and all, but… you remember the tacky jokes from Cas and Dean, that my cock is deadly?”

Jack chuckles, then nods. “Yeah.”

“That really happened a lot. I thought I liked someone, and then they were possessed by a demon, were a werewolf, I even had a sexual relationship with someone from whom I knew was a demon and that was even the whole point. I did it when I was mourning Dean. Later Dean stabbed her after-”

Sam swallows deeply.

“She, Ruby, was responsible for Lucifer to be freed from the Cage the first time. She tricked us into opening all the portals.”

“Oh. I don’t know what to say, Sam. I’m sorry.”

“None of this is your fault.” Sam says with a bitter undertone. “Back to the actual topic. I’ve been through a lot of experiences that seemed pleasant maybe, sexually, but in the end they got hurt, or I got hurt. I had a lot of people violate my body.”

Jack stiffens and attempts to get up, protesting.

“I would never-”, he calls out.

“Yes, you wouldn’t . I know that.”

But your maker did , Sam thinks bitterly. But when he looks at Jack, he sees Cas. Never Lucifer. And still he has issues to fully give in.

“But, Sam… I wished we could go further. I know you think I’m just a horny teenager but I feel-”, Jack clears his throat and winds out of the embrace to take a sip of his tea. It’s hot and he burns his tongue.

“I really like you, Sam, I want to be as close to you as possible. It’s a consuming feeling, it’s eating me up. I would say it’s wildly romantic to be so horny for each other, but I’m aching inside for you. Sam… I-”

Jack can’t make himself say it. “I want you so bad. ”

Sam takes the cup out of Jack’s hand and puts it on the nightstand. Slowly pulling Jack in his hug again, this time in his lap. Jack melts everytime when Sam does that and Jack can see in Sam’s face that he knows.

“Jack, believe me, I want you too. I want you a lot. It’s hard to resist you, oh, sometimes I feel like it’s impossible.”

It’s wonderful to hear that, it’s healing the aching, but only for a little and Jack knows it will come back at him even worse. He sighs and enjoys the shivers down his spine when Sam’s hand circles on his back, between his shoulder blades; a familiar motion. Never failing to make Jack either even hotter or calm him down. Sometimes it’s hard for him to differ which feeling is which. With Sam everything is right and upside down at the same time. Secretly Jack envies all of Sam’s lovers. And to hell with it, he is jealous that Dean had to have Sam so close for all these years, see him in puberty, see him maybe feeling lust for the first time-

It takes Jack a second to realize he’s just thinking about brothers, just that with the Winchesters nothing really surprises him anymore. Not even his own fantasy of teenage Sam, in full hormonal rage, humping pillows, like Jack once did when he didn’t know what the feeling he experienced really meant and how to prolong or end it.

“You’re still very victorious of resisting my qualities.”

“You sound like a dandy”, Sam chuckles, “Believe me it’s a daily struggle to not just…”

Jack’s stomach sinks and his groin is painfully hard and hot in a matter of milliseconds.

“Not just what, Sam?”, he whispers.

Sam turns both of them around and Jack lands on his back, squealing a little. It’s such an innocent, young sound that Jack has to recognise himself he sounds young and inexperienced. Sam shoves Jack’s shirt up to his armpits.

“Sam?”

Jack’s voice is shaky.

“I will show you how much I want you, okay?”

“I’m certainly not stopping you, please show me.”

He pushes up on his arms, looking down at Sam, who pulls down Jack’s shorts.

“How’s your stomach?”, he asks, kissing Jack’s abs.

Oh, fuck. Jack has to let his head fall back and he stares on the ceiling, thin blue waves dancing in his eyesight.

“My stomach? Miracle cure” he says with a raw groan.

As soon as Sam touches him in a certain way, Jack just elevates, his senses focus on what they’re doing and probably the motel could just go down in a blast of flames and Jack wouldn’t even notice he’s burning alive.

Sam’s long hair tickles Jack’s skin and he chuckles and winds a little, Sam holds him steady, there will always be one strong arm along Jack’s spine, supporting him, showing him that Sam won’t let go. And that he’s Sam’s. Jack would never ever let anyone else touch him like that. One hand digs deep in Sam’s hair, strong brown streaks, slightly curling. Unsure if to push him further down or pull him back up Jack just holds on, feels for Sam’s lips, his slick and talented tongue, waiting for the next sensation, waiting for his own wishes to form words, then sentences.

“Sam, I want you, I don’t wanna wait any longer…”

The kisses upwards stop and Sam looks up, lips wet and glistening, tongue flicking over his lower lip. It’s obscene as it is beautiful.

“I will make it worth the wait, Jack. Believe me, there are so many unbelievably good things we can do…”

“I want you… really, I want you… inside me.” Jack’s words splatter out of his mouth and he’s aroused yet a little ashamed.

Sam hikes up completely and lays Jack down. Kisses the ‘but’s and ‘when’s and ‘want’s away. Jack struggles, frustrated and horny, mood shifting between whiny and angry.

“You will, Jack. You will get everything you want and more. Please give it a little more time. It won’t be long, I promise. I know how you feel.”

A single mad tear rolls down Jack’s face.

“Sam, I want to be so much closer, I need to feel part of you in me…”

Sam kisses away the tear, tastes the salt. Jack is a shaking, needy mess, legs spread, shirt shoved up under his chin. Nipples hard, goosebumps all over and a raging hard cock between them.

“Are my fingers okay, too?”

Jack nods frantically. He remembers the orgasm that was so mind blowing and got ruined by Dean and Cas running into them.

“Yes, again, please.”

And Sam is a keeper of his promises.

Jack is shaken to the core before Sam even penetrates him. It’s a delight to see, only the sight of Jack’s golden eyes, the slight quakes, he’s so responsive in a unique way and it’s only for Sam. If Jack only knew how hard it really is for him to not just take the boy here and now, thrust in this perfect pale mannequin body, Sam has never seen anything so breathtaking. Of course he wants to feel Jack’s insides, he wants to drain the last drop of cum out of him while Jack rides him, GOD , Sam would do a lot to experience that in a complete guilt free and perfect way, like Jack deserves. Part of him wants to mark the naphil as his, show everyone that Sam is the luckiest man alive, because Jack chose him. Damn, fucking him until he’s loose and barely able to utter anything else than faint moans or sobs, yes, Sam wants to make Jack never forget the sex they’ll have. But he can’t. Not yet.

If Jack only knew that corrupting something so beautiful, so rare, so graceful strikes Sam with such terror -- to do it wrong. To disappoint.

If Jack only knew that Sam isn’t the strong indestructible man he might appear like. That things inside him are just broken and cannot be fixed. And it could destroy what they have. And Sam can’t have Jack shatter on the truth. He wants Jack to shatter on his body, shaking and in extacy. And in perfect bliss.

“Sam, please”, Jack coos.

Sam will not just give Jack his fingers, he’ll give him his tongue and mouth. Jack’s cock is full, red, tip glossy with precum Sam spread across already. He doesn’t hesitate to press the tip of his tongue on the bundle of nerves right underneath the glans while wrapping his lips around the tip. Jack sounds broken, his hips jerk and he simultaneously tries to pull away, his hands in Sam’s hair.

“Sam, so much! It’s so much!”

“Is it good much or bad much, baby?”

“Good”, Jack admits, “it was in a movie and when I saw it…”

Jack covers his mouth with his shivering hand, biting his finger.

“It was good?”

Jack nods.

“I won’t go on if you think it’s too much.”

“Oh, I… I don’t know Sam, it’s really hot, but what if I spill…”

Sam chuckles.

“Don’t worry about it.”

While talking he gently keeps jerking and Jack relaxes a little.

“I don’t want you to stop Sam, I want all of it.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, please keep going. Can I watch you?”

Jack looks down and Sam sees nothing but longing in his eyes. Good.

Sam laughs. “Of course, feel free.”

Jack already tastes a little salty from precum and Sam goes slow, it’s a new sensation and it’s just a matter of time until Jack won’t be able to hold his orgasm anymore. Sam risked it to take two fingers for Jack this time, circling his sweet spot steadily and sucking him in the same slow torturing rhythm. Jack’s hand in his hair clenches and relaxes before also his other hand grasps for some loose strands. His noises are so sweet, Sam’s cock jumps and aches with every new little ‘oh’ or whispered name it’s harder to stay patient and noble. Sam’s primitive part wants to go on without any mercy, suck Jack off, fuck this tight sweet ass with until he’s sore and force orgasm after orgasm out of this beautiful boy.

Jack’s breath hitches and his hips thrust up in Sam’s mouth, not enough to make him gag but enough to make his mouth water even more, make the blowjob sloppy and full of wet noises. Immediate reactions. Moaning. Fingernails scratching his scalp.

“Sam! I’m….”

Jack doesn’t need to finish that sentence, Sam can feel it coming. Jack’s cock grows even harder, a little bigger - or is that wishful thinking? - and Sam can’t resist to swallow as deep as possible, his fingers ramming into that tight hole -- fuck, Sam is about to cum himself untouched just by how Jack feels, tastes and these sounds. Fuck, these sounds should be forbidden.

“Close”, Jack cries, “Sam, so close!”

Sam would love to answer, give Jack some encouraging answers but he can’t stop now. He wants to feel Jack filling his mouth, he wants everything Jack can give right now. It should be painful, how Jack clings onto his hair, pulling and ripping. It isn’t.

With some firm and frantic rubs of Jack’s prostate and Sam moaning with his mouth full of cock the boy arches his back and cries so sweetly, his legs crossed behind Sam’s back start pressing them even closer together, his hands push and pull.

“I’m coming”, Jack’s voice is clear as a bell, no trembling.

And then he shoots his cum, thick hot spurts in Sam’s mouth and while Jack gasps and moans so loud the neighbors might hear, Sam swallows and keeps stroking, keeps sucking.

If Sam only looked up, he could see the molten glowing honey shade of Jack’s angel eyes, wide open, his shaking body and a faint blue light illuminating the face perfectly shaped like marble, Grace surrounding him like a halo.

Light bulbs pop and TV starts crackling -- just seconds later everything turns quiet.

Sam looks up, catching the rest of cum with his thumb from his lips and licks it up. Jack looks down at him, his eyes teary and still shining a little.

“Sam…”, he croaks.

Sam crawls up and Jack immediately snuggles up into an embrace.

“Did you just cause a blackout?”, Sam asks with a grin.

Jack sobs. “I think so... It was…”

“Yes, I felt it. Overwhelming?”

“I still feel like I’m shaking…”

Sam hugs him tighter. “You are still shaking a little. I will hold you.”

It takes a little for them to calm down. Actually, Sam can’t calm down, he is tenting his boxer briefs. There’s no way to hide it. Jack shifts, a hand runs under the fabric. Sam forgets to breathe for a moment.

“You don’t have to”, he whispers.

Jack doesn’t stop.

“But I want to.”

[songtoyou]

Mr. Evans and the Congresswoman - Part 2

Paring: Chris Evans x Politician Reader

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1,858

Warnings: Political topics such as Biden, Harris, our current White House occupant and the current administration. 

Description:  It is the week of the DNC and Chris is once again interviewing you for A Starting Point. 

A/N: The DNC inspired me to write a second part for this story.  This is pure fiction as I do not know what Chris believes when it comes to politics and policy issues. This is a complete work of fiction.

I do not permit my work to be to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Note: Updated for grammar and punctuation edits.

"Hi, Congresswoman Y/L/N?" Chris Evans asked with a smile.

He was once again interviewing you for ASP. This time it was during the week of the Democratic National Convention. Chris and Mark had already talked to other politicians such as Senator Cory Booker and Representatives Ro Khanna and Alma Adams. You were the last elected official he was slated to interview to wrap up the DNC week.

Truthfully, Chris was happy to get the chance to talk with you again. Your previous interview for ASP was such a hit that it garnered a lot of attention from fans and the media. However, it was not because you helped bring more legitimacy and attention for ASP, but instead, Chris found himself genuinely admiring you.

"Hi," you said to Chris, giving a small wave through the Zoom screen. "I told you to call me by my first name."

"I know, but I still want to show respect," Chris responded with a teasing smile. Was he mildly flirting with the congresswoman? Yes, but he had no shame in doing so. "How are you? You are looking well."

"I am doing well. Thank you. How about you?"

"Same. Just trying to stay sane through everything. I'm actually currently in London. Working on a project." Chris admitted.

"Uh oh. You better be staying safe and following the right procedures and protocols," you lightly reprimanded him.

"My fans ratted me out. They found where I was just by the hotel door. Can you believe that? That is some FBI-level investigating, right there. I'd be impressed if I weren't also terrified of the lengths some of these fans will go to scout my location," Chris ranted. He did not understand why he was sharing this with you, but a part of him felt comfortable doing so.

"That…is quite impressive, I must say. Creepy. Scary. But impressive. You need to learn how to put in a Zoom background. It would solve all of your problems," you suggested to him.

"I would, but I'm technology deficient. Maybe I should look up some Zoom tutorials on how to do it. Give it a try."

"There is no try…only do," you advised cheekily.

"Now you're quoting Yoda. A woman after my own heart," Chris replied. He knew he needed to refocus. "So, as you can tell, Mark won't be joining us for this interview. I'm going to hit record if that is okay?"

"Okay. I'm ready when you are," you said.

When the record notification appeared on screen, Chris introduced you and immediately went into the first question.

"How do you think the DNC is going so far, particularly how this year is more of a virtual setting rather than in-person due to COVID-19?"

"Despite not having the big in-person celebration/gathering, I think the virtual setting is working very well. Better than I expected, actually. It gives off a more inclusive and intimate vibe to the DNC that we haven't felt before. I like the whole documentary approach and feel to it," you replied honestly.

"Were you excited that Joe Biden chose Senator Kamala Harris as his running mate?" asked Chris.

"Oh my God! I was so happy that Vice President Biden chose Senator Harris as his running mate. Like, my staff and I were beyond ecstatic. There is no one better to be Biden's running mate than Harris. She is amazing. Such an inspiration. I'm not going to lie, but I'm really excited for the debate between her and Pence."

That made Chris laugh. "Yeah, me too. Senator Harris really knows how to pull all the punches. Her nomination as VP has been met with overall positive response. The Trump Administration and Republican pundits appear to have a hard time painting a negative image of Harris. Why do you think Trump and Fox News are struggling to provide a negative image for her?"

"That is an excellent question. The public's overwhelming response to Harris' nomination is because 1.) she is the first black and south Asian woman to be on a major presidential ticket, and 2.) she is likable and charming. She has this exuberant energy that attracts people to her. You know, black and brown women and girls finally have someone that looks like them running for the second-highest office in the land. That is huge!

"I also have to wonder if people have smartened up in the last four years and won't tolerate the…hypocrisy, sexism, and misogyny…in this case misogynoir that is thrown towards Senator Harris from the media, political pundits, social media bots, etc. So, what we are seeing with Trump and Fox News struggling to attack her is because…well…they just aren't smart. All we have seen from Trump in his attacks against her is that she was mean to Kavanaugh when questioning him during his nomination process. But none of what Trump says holds up because we all know that smart, confident women intimidate him," you finished off your point.

"There is also the left…or more of the progressive left who are unhappy with Biden choosing Harris," Chris spoke up and continued, "They say she is a cop and put people away for weed. That she took kids away from parents when the kid didn't show up for school. That Harris is too conservative. What do you say to that?"

"All of that is…you know…. Senator Harris one of the most policy progressive senators we have. Her voting record is more progressive than Bernie Sanders. All people have to do is research her time as a district attorney and Attorney General for California to find out what she actually did concerning policy. But as we both know, people nowadays don't know how to critically think, which scares me. Progressives need to look at the overall big picture. This election in November is crucial. We are in the fight for our democracy, for our country, and for our lives…literally."

"I talk with my brother, Scott, all the time about certain political issues," mentioned Chris. "He is a tad more progressive than I am. I can admit that I tend to be more centrist. The district you represent is a mix of blue and red areas; how do you balance opposing views from your constituents?" 

You took in a deep breath before you answered. That was a loaded question. Representing a district that was not solely red, or blue could be difficult from time to time. You wanted to be respectful of the different viewpoints from constituents, but maintaining a neutral balance was hard and frustrating at times. 

"The majority of Americans are centrist/moderates. You need a balance of both liberal and conservative policies. Bipartisanship is crucially important when developing and passing laws. We are currently seeing an overt of one-sidedness while sabotaging the other side, which is detrimental to our country's growth. It is important to reach across the aisle to talk with those who may have opposing views than you. At the end of the day, people just want to feel that their concerns are heard and valued. We all want to feel that way. So, as an elected official, I make sure to take the time to talk with those in rural areas, along with urban areas, about their issues and concerns," you shared.

"Do you ever get any pushback from Trump supporters in the red areas?" Chris inquired.

"Well, it is important to note that not all residents in rural areas are Trump supporters. They just tend to keep that to themselves. I have actually talked to Trump supporters in blue areas. We can never and should never assume that one area has this type of person and vice versa. I learned that the hard way when I was campaigning for city council early in my career," you revealed to Chris with a small chuckle. "But overall, my constituents will talk with me and have been respectful. Some of the concerns that have been shared with me do fall under the QAnon conspiracy theories, which do disturb me, I'll be honest. Um…when being confronted with someone who has that extreme of ideals, it is important to remain calm and not to come off combative. Meaning that I have to remind myself that I am not quite dealing with a rational person. The only thing that I can do is calmly talk to the person and respond back with facts. Either they listen or brush me off and call me a radical lefty."

"The majority of people are good, like you said," Chris reminded you.

"That's right. It's a good mantra to live by. I think the American people are tired and have been tired for the past four years with this Administration. We need a sense of normalcy and decency. Compassion and empathy, which were two of the big themes during the DNC. This week was a nice reminder that we, as a country, can have that again."

"I agree. Very well said. You always end on a positive. I appreciate that. Thank you, Congresswoman Y/L/N, for taking the time to talk with me. You always provide great insight into the world of politics and your experience as an elected official," said Chris and ended the recording. "That was really great, Y/N. I know Mark, and I really appreciate you taken the time to do these interviews for ASP," Chris added.

"Oh, it is no problem. Like I said before, I like what you both are doing with the site. Are you happy with how everything turned out?" you asked him.

"Yeah… it's…it took a while to just get the website up and running. I know there is still work that needs to be done. Some areas need to be fixed, but with a project like this, we can adjust. There is more room for improvement and growth," Chris communicated to you.

You nodded in agreement. "Politics is a whole different ballgame. Not many people are willing to venture into the field. It can cause a lot of annoyances and headaches. So, hats off to you, my friend," you said, giving Chris a salute.

"Thank you. Well, I better let you go. I know you must have a million things on your plate."

"Ah yes, I have to go and save the United States Postal Service from corruption. Talk to you later, Chris. Take care," you waved goodbye and signed off.

Chris had to admit, he was in awe of you. There was something about you that fascinated him. None of the elected officials he and Mark talked to for ASP had the liveliness you had. You were not jaded or defeated by the system, at least not yet, since you were still considered a junior member of congress. Chris hoped that the energy and enthusiasm you had for politics and helping people would not diminish. When his Uncle Mike was still a congressman, he shared with Chris that D.C. can cause a lot of strain on a person's values and beliefs. "I have seen too many of my colleagues succumb to the pressures of dirty politics," Uncle Mike once said.

Chris just hoped that you would not succumb to those pressures.

[peterspideyy]

chapter 5 - partners in crime

series masterlist

————

“hey tom, what’s up?”

“harrison, i need to ask you something...important.” tom spoke, through the phone. he hates hates that he’s even thinking this. but, your words can’t help him but wonder.

“okay, mate, go on.”

tom sighed heavily, “are you working for the red dragons.”

“what?!”

“i know it sounds stupid, but please tell me if you are.”

“tom, do you seriously think i would do this?”

“y/n said that-“

“oh, y/n said? so you suddenly believe your ex over your best friend?” harrison snapped.

“n-no that’s not what i meant-“

“no tom, i know what you meant. i-i have to go.” harrison mumbled, and before tom could reply, the call ended. tom’s eyes went wide as he thought him and harrison just fell apart, over what, a case? your predictions?

a small knock on his door, interrupted his thoughts as he lifted his head up to meet your eyes. he could feel his anger bubble up in him at the sight of you.

“what do you want?” tom growled, taking you by surprise.

“erm, i was wondering if your okay? i heard you talking to harrison.” you whispered, coming into his room, sitting on the bed away from him.

“yeah well thanks to you, harrison may not speak to me ever again.”

“thanks to me? tom, what else could i think? you know what i saw. and it looked pretty suspicious to me.” you replied, soon becoming angry. what right does he have to blame you? you were only doing your job.

“i know...i know, i’m sorry but i don’t want to loose harrison. he’s my best mate.”

you nodded your head, understanding what he meant. the amount of friends you’ve lost in the past, has been tough.

placing a hand on his shoulder, you gently rubbed it, calming his nerves. you didn’t even think about it, you just did. tom froze at your actions, looking at you before you pulled your hand away, once you realised what you were doing. the last time you did that, was when you were still together.

“erm,” tom coughed, “should we try and figure out who the mole is?”

you nodded, scared to speak. when you touched tom, you felt a spark. and it scared you. brushing it out of your mind, you followed tom into the living room to work out who the mole is.

hours passed, and you hadn’t got any closer to who the traitor was. you’ve probably been on hundreds and hundreds of websites, programmes, everything you could think off, and found nothing.

tom leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling, “shall we have a look at this again?”

you sighed, looking blankly at the computer screen, before you nodded.

“right, so the person must have database access to even get information for the red dragons. the only people who have access is you, me-“

“-it can’t be us-“ tom inturrupted.

“yeah exactly, carson, harrison-“

“-on the phone harrison seemed pretty upset that we thought it was him, and i trust him, so it’s not him-“

“-true, and that’s it.” you finished.

“no it’s not.”

you looked at him, “who have i missed?”

“peter.”

“peter?” you questioned. you weren’t completely sure on who peter was.

tom leaned over, typing on the computer before bringing a photo of peter up on the screen. you studied it, recognising the few times you saw him in corridors or in meetings, but never actually speaking to him.

“i’ve spoke to him a few times, but not a lot.” tom mumbled, looking at his fact file.

“could be a good cover up.” you shrugged. tom looked at you, clearly thinking how your initial thoughts are sometimes wrong.

before you could speak, your phone went. you glanced up at tom, before looking at your phone.

unknown

5 minutes. warehouse.

showing tom the text, he checked his phone to see if he got one, but he didn’t.

“is it the red dragons?”

before tom could answer, your phone went off again.

unknown

bring the husband.

you laughed, showing tom your phone again, before you both got ready. making sure your gun is filled and your badge is hidden, you both made your way to the apartment.

as you were walking across the street, tom wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you slightly towards his side. you glanced at him, confused.

“what are you doing?” you whispered.

“we’re supposed to be married, love. anyway, there’s probably cameras around, so act natural.” he replied, before leaning down to kiss your cheek quickly. you couldn’t help but blush at this action.

arriving at the door, tom knocked before stepping back, not letting go of your waist.

“i can protect myself y’know.” you whispered, looking around the area.

tom chucked slightly, “oh, i know you can.”

before you can come back with another remark, the door opened revealing one of the red dragons men. he looked at you both, before moving cautiously to the left, letting you both in.

“cheers mate.” tom spoke, patting the guys back. the man growled, making you giggle slightly. but, you stopped once he moved his blazer, so his gun was showing. tom gulped loudly, smiling awkwardly at the guy before walking you both into the meeting room, where you were a couple of days ago.

“ahh the lovely couple!” keith spoke, walking towards you both, before pulling you two into a hug. you couldn’t help but smile, once you felt tom’s hand on your waist tighten. keith pulled away, as did you and tom.

he walked away, going around a massive table which had a model of the building where the cemetery of cultures will be held. every corridor. every floor. where the cameras are. where guards will be. everything was on the model. things you won’t be able to get, without the fbi helping you. you glanced at tom who was already looking at you, thinking the exact same thing.

“how did you get all of this, y’know insight of the building?” you questioned.

keith snarled, “well, the fbi of course.”

you looked at all the men, “who from the fbi?”

“well,” he mumbled against your ear, making your breath hitch as you felt his gun against your waist, “i’ll have to kill you, if you knew.”

“back the fuck off.” tom growled. you know that tom was supposed to act like this, but his protectiveness was getting too real.

“calm down mate,” keith replied, putting his hands up while the other men laughed, “how long have you been married anyway?”

shit. that wasn’t on the case file.

“a-a long time. too hard to count.” tom laughed. good save.

keith nodded, while lighting a cigarette, “right. let’s start then.”

hours passed, and you all went through the plan. of course, you and tom recorded it secretly, to look back on and send to the fbi. well, those in the fbi you can trust.

you were both invited to an exclusive party with the red dragons, so of course you accepted. wearing a silk black dress, which had a cut in your leg, with natural makeup while tom wore a black and white suit, you both walked into the mansion, arms linked.

“you look gorgeous by the way.” tom whispered, in your ear, so only you could hear. you blushed, thanking yourself for putting blusher on to hide it.

“that’s only your case file talking.”

“no. i’m being completely serious. i forgot how beautiful you can be. n-not that your not beautiful anyway, it’s just when you get dressed up you look stunning, but you look stunning without dressing up though-“

you cut tom’s rambling off, with placing your finger on his lips, “stop rambling. i get that your complimenting me. you don’t look too bad yourself.”

tom smiled, stroking his hair back, which is what he does when he’s nervous. why were you both nervous?

you smiled back, letting your eyes wander around his face, while he did the same to yours. of course you’ve always found tom attractive, but now? in a suit? gosh, he was more gorgeous than you could remember. the light from the candles around you, captured his features perfectly. you saw how tom’s gaze dropped to your lips, making you shudder. leaning in, he began to close his eyes. god. what were you doing? do you want this?

fuck it.

grabbing his collar, you yanked his body towards you, causing your lips to meet passionately. tom was stiff to begin with, but soon moved in rhythm with yours. you felt his hands go to your waist, pulling you more towards him, while you stroked the hair on the back of his neck. the chatter and laughter around you, became silent. it was only you and tom. all your emotions and feelings, came rushing back through your body.

pulling away, your foreheads pressed together, you both breathed in and out heavily looking in each other’s eyes.

“wow.” tom mumbled. you nodded, as if the kiss took all your words away.

“t-tom.”

“shush,” he spoke, “we can talk about this later.”

before you could even reply, he walked away towards keith, grabbing you both a drink before winking at you across the room.

you love him.

————

a/n- so a lot of things have happened in this chapter ahah. who do you think the mole is? should y/n and tom get back together, despite there past? let me know your thoughts :)

————

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[palimpsessed]

The Welsh Red Dragon, Kurt Vonnegut, and Social Activism

The inspiration behind Shepard’s pins

(original post with full artwork here.)

So, I spent A LOT of time thinking about the kind of pins our good friend Shepard (from Omaha, NE) would have on his denim jacket. Like a lot. Like an obsessive amount of time. I made a list, which seemed appropriate for this fandom. And because I’m a nerd and this sort of thing really interests me, and I’m proud of what I came up with, and because I think some of these items open up the possibility for some good, good literary analysis, I decided to make a whole post dedicated to Shepard’s pins. You’re welcome.

First, a little bit about my thought process. How did I decide what kind of pins to give Shepard? Well, he’s a guy full of stories. Stories that he can’t wait to tell anyone and everyone. And stories that others (mostly Maybes) have told him, once he’s earned their confidence. So, I wanted his pins to tell a story, his story in particular. What is the story that Shepard wants to tell about himself? More precisely, what is the story he wants to tell his new magickal friends on a disastrous summer holiday? The story is that of his own magickal credibility. His journey to magic (his come to Crowley moment, perhaps?) (I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry…) and his trustworthiness as evidenced by all of the Maybes he’s met along the way. He’s gotten drunk off dandelion wine with a creek dryad, given a toothbrush to a Sasquatch. spilled the tea with a jackalope, midwifed a centaur foal. Shep’s journey is just as impressive as Simon’s, and while Simon has been collecting notches on his dead dark creature bedpost (that’s a weird fucking metaphor…) (and now I’m thinking about dark creatures and Simon’s bedposts…so, you’re welcome, Basilton), Shep’s been collecting notches of the friendly variety. (Shoutout to @adamarks who did some super lovely analysis on Simon and Shep as mirrors here: https://adamarks.tumblr.com/post/188046272067/ok-so-when-shepard-said-he-was-cursed-the-first). So, I decided that I wanted to use Shep’s pins as a way to show the notches on his bedpost, so to speak. (Okay, I’m really losing this metaphor, but I think you’re still with me.)

Let’s dive in!

(I’m working my way down one side of his jacket at a time, for those following along at home.)

RIGHT SIDE

Welsh Dragon: I made this one very large, and easy to spot on his right shoulder. Of all of his accoutrements, this one felt like the most important. Mainly, because of Simon. Simon is, after all, half-Welsh. (The Mage, may he rest in pain, came to Watford from Wales.) And, of course, Simon, just like the Welsh Dragon, is a red dragon. (Or in the process of becoming one? Or a half-dragon? Or a dragon kitten?…) And the dragon that Simon and Baz fought on the Watford lawn, when they first worked together, and first shared magic, was a red dragon. Of course, the actual dragon in question here is Margaret. Shepard would absolutely have a pin to commemorate his friendship with her. And since I was going to give him a pin with a dragon, I knew I was going to have to use the Welsh Dragon because it would perfectly capture his burgeoning friendship with Simon, as well. Now, I want to go on a slight detour here (this blog post will be its own Odyssey) and talk more about the Welsh Red Dragon. I took the design for the pin from the Welsh flag, which is the thing that first made me think more about Simon’s Welsh connection. I’m not really making a point here, I just think it’s fascinating! There’s a lot of Welsh lore about the Red Dragon (and Margaret herself calls Simon “Great Red” - that ‘R’ is capitalized, by the way, so this seems to be a proper name for the kind of dragon that she thinks Simon is). Full disclosure, I am not Welsh and I am not a scholar on any of this by any means. That being said, a cursory, and super academic, perusal of the Wikipedia article on the Welsh Dragon led me to a few different history websites that linked the symbol of the red dragon with Merlin and King Arthur (son of Uther Pendragon, literally dragon head). Merlin, one of the most well-known magical figures and Arthur, one of the most well-known Chosen One figures in literary tradition. I know very little about Arthurian legend, and Welsh history, and dragon lore, though, so I’m going to just say, do a little research on your own when you’re bored and feeling nerdy!

Resist!: Shep is a young black man (and reasonable human being) living in the U.S. during the [redacted] Administration. I should hope this one is self-explanatory.

Hoover Dam: At some point in his visits to see Blue, I’m sure Shepard stopped off at the gift shop and bought himself a souvenir pin to mark the incredible experience he had making friends with an actual river. (This pin design is based on an actual souvenir pin of the Hoover Dam I found on Google Images—along with most of the other pin designs. I think it’s vintage, which just felt even more like Shepard to me, because he’s the kind of guy who would appreciate stuff that’s got a past.)

Deathly Hallows: I mean, IF the Harry Potter books/movies exist in the Simon Snow universe (which hasn’t been confirmed, as far as I know, by our Queen) I’m sure Shepard would have been totally into it as a kid, and probably would have found greater significance in its magical lore once he discovered that ACTUAL MAGIC EXISTS! So, he would have a pin to show his belief in the magickal world, and maybe also as a nostalgic reminder of when magic was still just something fictional he could turn to for escapism (and not something that would result in being cursed by a demon…).

The Truth is Out There: So, I know virtually nothing about The X-Files (my sister was obsessed with it to the point that she wanted to become a FBI agent for a few years, but I never watched it), but I’m sure Shepard is a fan. If nothing else, the sentiment is awfully apropos.

So It Goes: This one is very hard to see. It sort of looks like a black teardrop with a bar on top of it (it’s supposed to look like a bomb). The pin I based this off of reads “So It Goes”, which from my very superficial research, is a line repeated in Vonnegut’s anti-war novel Slaughterhouse-Five every time someone dies. I don’t know anything more about it, other than that it is a Kurt Vonnegut-inspired pin available for purchase on Etsy, and Shep mentions that he wanted to get a Vonnegut quote tattoo, even though “everybody has those.”

Green Alien Head: You will never be able to convince me that Shepard does not 10,000% believe in the existence of aliens. If he were still in the U.S. during the Area 51 Raid, I’m sure he would have stopped by, just, you know, for science…(I’m thinking he was probably still in the UK, but I guess we’ll see in AWTWB.)

Centaur: This one is also hard to see, but I took the design from a pin I found of one of the centaurs (the blue-haired, blue-bodied one, if that rings a bell for you) from Disney’s Fantasia. (Fun fact: I was super into Fantasia as a littlun, and I attribute my lifelong love for classical music in large part to the centaur sequence and my latent lesbianism—I mean, it was ludicrously erotic. Watch it sometime and tell me it would not make an impression on a sapphic three-year-old.) Midwifing a centaur foal was probably a very emotional and formative experience for Shepard. Buying this pin would be his way of remembering that experience, and the excitement and gratitude he likely felt to have been entrusted with that kind of acceptance from the centaur(s).

Jackalope: It doesn’t help that this pin is almost the same color as Shepard’s jacket, but it’s based off a design of a jackalope’s head that, again, I found on Google Image search (honestly, I don’t know how I ever made art without it). We know that Shepard once got some gossip from a jackalope, who vented to him about magicians calling “themselves ‘magicians’”, like “they’re the only ones with magic”. (This is totally irrelevant, but I always think of Americans when I read this. I am an American, by the way. America is a continent, but those of us living in the U.S. calls ourselves Americans, like everyone else living in America doesn’t matter.) Anyway, the jackalope offered Shepard some valuable insight into the political workings of the magickal world, so it gets its own pin.

LEFT SIDE

Pansexual Pride Flag Pin: I mean, technically, canonically, we don’t know what Shepard’s sexuality (or asexuality) is, but I just get some vibes from him. Plus, if we take him as a mirror for Simon (who is somewhere on the bi-plus spectrum), it’s not a far cry to imagine he also identifies somewhere on that spectrum.

Pentagram: This is another symbol that I chose based on my interpretation of Shepard’s character, and not so much on a Maybe or a story that he mentioned. The pentagram, or pentacle, is typically associated with the occult and witchcraft, which is something that could potentially also be said of Shep.

Sasquatch: You don’t go backpacking—or not backpacking—and introduce a Sasquatch to the benefits of dental hygiene without getting yourself a souvenir of the hike.

I [heart] Mystery Spot: The Mystery Spot is a weird sort of phenomenon in California (my home state). It’s a place outside the beach town of Santa Cruz that boasts of a “gravitational anomaly” on its website. I went once, years ago, and while you’re there, it can feel pretty convincing. (Also, I was probably like 10, so…) People outside of California will likely never have heard of this place, but driving around here (at least in the Bay Area, where I am, which isn’t that far from Santa Cruz) you’ll see yellow Mystery Spot bumper stickers on cars everywhere. I’m not really sure what the thing is with the bumper stickers. Like, I’m sure not that many people actually think it’s legit, and maybe it’s like one of those things that Californians just do (like freak out and forget how to drive when we feel water falling from the sky). But yeah, these bumper stickers are everywhere. Anyway, Shepard drives around a lot. He knows about the Vampires of Las Vegas (how is that not an indie rock band?) and the Katherine Hotel, and the Next Blood. So, he’s probably made it past Nevada and into California before. And while he was there, it’s not a great stretch of the imagination that someone who chases after magic wouldn’t wind up at a place called the Mystery Spot and get himself a pin while he was there. (And maybe even a bumper sticker.)

Black Power Fist: Unfortunately, this one is also hard to see, because the fist is black and I didn’t have anything to go over the outlines of the fingers with, which I sort of didn’t think about when I colored it. This one also feels self-explanatory. Shepard is black. Blackness has long been treated in itself as a crime by non-black members of law enforcement, and just the general racist population of the U.S. Young black men are especially vulnerable to racially motivated violence. I’m sure Shep, who drives all over the country by himself and gets into high speed chases at night in the middle of nowhere Nebraska while hunting super shifty rando Maybes has had a run-in or two. Stay safe, Shep!

Every Pronoun Belongs Here [Trans Pride Flag background]: Also, super hard to see because the letters are too small to read. I found this exact pin in a basket by the register at my local bookshop. (Support local bookshops, people!) They were being sold as a fundraiser for a LGBTQ club at one of the high schools, and I loved the idea that I could help them raise money and add this pin to my own growing collection to show off my support for trans rights. (Support trans rights and trans people, people!) I decided to give Shepard this same pin, because I could imagine him having an almost identical book buying experience in a dozen other towns that he’s probably visited. And I love the simplicity of the message, because it’s one of belonging, which EVERYONE is desperately seeking, no matter who they are or how they identify, and Shepard, and every character in this picture, is no exception. (Plus, it seemed like a cool way to connect my pin collection with Shep’s. Maybe I should have mentioned the fact that I’m also a pin person at the beginning? I walk to work and on my lunch breaks, so I carry all of my stuff in a backpack. And I proudly display my random pin collection on my backpack. Including several Simon Snow-related pins.)

Don’t Panic: This was based off a Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy pin. I don’t really know anything about the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (including if it’s okay to abbreviate it as HGG? THGTTG? whatever), even though I did watch the movie years back when it was on TV and I still lived with my parents who had a TV. But the sentiment felt appropriate, and Shepard is a sort of magickal hitchhiker. Apart from managing to hold down a job at Dick Blick, he appears to lead a somewhat nomadic lifestyle. He tells Penny, “the road is my teacher”, and if that’s not a hitchhiker slogan, I don’t know what is. (Ass, gas, or grass?)

Black Lives Matter: They do. Just sayin’.

Magic Troll Doll: When I was growing up, the Troll doll was all the (nightmare-inducing) rage. Trolls are one of those magickal creatures that are continually mentioned in the series. Shepard talks about lonely trolls under bridges. Simon talks about killing trolls. Agatha would rather kiss a troll. And Baz was kidnapped by numpties, who are sort of like trolls. I couldn’t not include a troll. And the Troll doll specifically felt perfect, because the full name was Magic Troll Doll. You can bet if Shepard had to pick a troll-related pin, it would be a magic(k)al one.

[Asshole]: This is another Kurt Vonnegut pin. It looks like a messily drawn asterisk (*), but it’s actually meant to be an asshole (taken from the preface of Vonnegut’s novel Breakfast of Champions, and drawn by Vonnegut himself). I just thought, why the fuck not? So, here. Have an asshole pin. (I should have put it on a buttonhole…)

HONOURABLE MENTION

Shepard’s Phone Case: Remember that line I quoted earlier, about Shep wanting to get a Vonnegut quote tattoo? Well, when I was trying to figure out what to put on his phone case, I thought that seemed like a reasonable place to start. So, I googled Vonnegut quotes, to see if I could find one that I thought Shepard would like. Here’s the quote: “a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.” I just loved that for Shepard.

[typingtess]

NCIS: Los Angeles Season Eleven Rewatch:  “Murder of Crows”

The basics:  When an NCIS Agent with top secret clearance goes missing, the team and his former technical operator have to find him.

Written by:  Chad Mazero co-wrote “Internal Affairs”, “Revenge Deferred” and “Where Everybody Knows Your Name” and wrote “Tidings We Bring”, “Can I Get a Witness”, “All Is Bright”, “Diamond in the Rough” and "High Society".

Directed by:  Suzanne Saltz directed "Outside the Lines" in season nine.

Guest stars of note:  Duncan Campbell returns from season 10’s “Sound of Silence” as NCIS Special Agent Castor, Adam George Key is back from “Missing Time” as LAPD Officer Harrison, Royce Binion is back from “The Circle’ as Eddie.  Anna Akana as Rhea Moretti, Patricia De Leon as Ellie Martinez, Angela E. Gibbs as Ellen, Travis Hammer as Perry Bellamy and Connor Marx as Disheveled Man.

Our heroes:  Search for a missing NCIS agent in a very rainy episode.

What important things did we learn about:

Callen:  Looking at real estate Anna sends him. Sam:  Has a guy in real estate (just like having a tailor or cobbler). Kensi:  Working to find an out of the office activity for Fatima. Deeks:  Processes, doesn’t spiral. Eric:  Working on being more present. Nell:  Absent. Hetty:  See Nell.

What not so important things did we learn about:

Callen:  Announces Anna likes to look. Sam:  Not interested in Callen or Anna’s off work activities – like looking. Kensi:  Fan of the Eagles – band not football team. Deeks:  Late for the Hanson reunion tour. Eric:  Wore a Mandalorian costume to a bris. Nell:  See Hetty. Hetty:  Absent.

Who's down with OTP:  Not much today.  

Who's down with BrOTP:  All is well with the DVD cover fellas bantering way.  A nice few Deeks and Eric moments in the hour.  Kensi is trying a little too hard with Fatima.  

Any pressing need for a young FBI Agent:  Not today.  Oddly, although there is no Hetty or Nell, the team seems properly staffed.

Who is running the team this week?  Callen.

Fashion review:  Blue button-down shirt for Callen over a black tee.  Long-sleeve black tee for Sam.  Kensi starts the episode in an olive green long-sleeve work out top and black running tights before changing into a burgundy henley and tan cargo pants.  We will never discuss the pants again.  Ever.  Off-white long-sleeve tee for Deeks.  Dark blue pull-over sweater and a blue dress shirt for Eric.  

Music:  No.

Any notable cut scene: No.

Quote: Callen:  “Anna likes to look.” Sam:  “You know, I've made it clear, I don't need to know all the details of your life. All right?  Please.” Callen:  “Houses. At houses. It's fun for her. She sends me links.” Sam:  “Well, she's lived an unpredictable life. It makes sense she'd want stability.” Callen:  “Uh, she wants more than stability. She's looking for the whole American dream. I mean, all of it. The milk mustaches, apple pie.” Sam:  “What do you think?” Callen:  “Frankly prefer blueberry myself.”

Anything else:   At a comedy club, stand-up comic Rhea is bombing.  The audience is bailing, heckling too.  A gentleman walks in, causing Rhea to cut her set short.  As she walks off the stage, the man shadows her.  Taking a beer bottle from a waitress’ tray, Rhea attacks the man.  The two get into a fight until she is finally able to flee.

The following morning, Eric is at the bar preparing for a presentation at a cyber conference.  His speech includes wondering why does he does what he does for a living.  He is not good at the answers.  Deeks has a bad reaction.  Not to Eric’s answer but a bad review for the bar – “a minimalist ghost town out of touch with all that is edgy and provocative.”  Yelling libel and slander, Deeks is worry about the bad publicity.  

Eric tells Deeks not to work, the review will be forgotten before anyone sees it.  Deeks thinks Eric is going to make the article disappear.  That wasn’t what Eric meant – besides hacking a website is wrong.  “So is wearing a Mandalorian costume to a bris but that didn’t stop you now, did it?” Deeks asks.  Eric is going to work and suggests Deeks does as well or Hetty will find an edgy and provocative reason to fire him.

After getting their morning coffee from a cart in a park, Sam wants to know if Callen wants to take the lead.  Sam noticed Callen was looking at real estate.  Callen sees it more as looking to invest.  Callen is impressed by the turnkey condos out there.  Sam thinks Callen is looking for more.

Kensi and Fatima are tossing a medicine ball and talking about dating, which Fatima thinks of as a war zone.  She reminds Kensi that Kensi hasn’t been dating for a while.  Kensi wants to hear how bad it can be.  Fatima’s last boyfriend was obsessed with the Eagles – band not football team.  Kensi thought that was great.  Fatima is surprised Kensi was a fan.  

Fatima wanders off and Kensi follows.  Everything is hard right now for Fatima, who is tired.  Kensi brings up Fatima’s tough few months and how she’s been fighting through it.  The job can take things out of a person – having a life away from the office is good.  All Fatima has right now is Ruffles and The Great British Bakeoff.  A call comes in – not Fatima’s Eagles fan – but a case.  They’re on their way to Ops.

Folding his hands and taking a deep breath, Eric invites Kensi and Fatima into Ops.  They of course are already there.  Eric is trying to be present.  On the big screen in the employment background of NCIS Agent Robert Forbes.  Forbes works out of the Key West office but is on assignment in LA.  He missed his 5AM check-in and did not show up to work.  Kensi notes the quick turn around on the missing person report – Forbes must have worked on top secret projects.  Fatima confirms that all of Forbes’s work was top secret.

When Forbes has a project, he goes to that location – his work records has him working in Rota, New York, Norfolk, Philly, a joint task force called “Never More” and now Key West.  He has no family.  His current assignment includes counterintelligence for a new type of network architecture for the Air Force.  That makes him of great interest to America’s enemies or makes him a traitor for selling that info to the same enemies.  They need to find him.

Callen and Sam are off to the house Forbes is renting in Hollywood.  Kensi and Fatima are off to where Forbes was last seen, a church.  Fatima asks about Deeks.  Fearing he’d burst in to flames if he entered a church, Kensi is happy to be working with Fatima.  Besides, Deeks is a little distracted.  

The rental is a nice, two-bedroom that Callen finds too quiet.  Sam thinks there would be noise complaints in this area if Callen was to saw his furniture in half late at night.  By the way, in this nice neighborhood of small bungalows, someone is building a big, new-age techy looking house which looks so out of place (as a New Yorker, I’m all about the real estate porn).  Back to the quiet area, Callen thinks grabbing Forbes and dragging him from his home would also be too loud for the sleepy neighborhood.  Sam tells Callen he knows a realtor – “of course you do,” is Callen’s reply since Sam also knows a tailor and a cobbler.  A window breaks in the back of the house and an alarm goes off.  Callen and Sam find Rhea the comic, who when Callen and Sam yell “federal agents” she announces she’s one too.  Former but still.  She asks if they are with NCIS.

In Forbes’s rental, Callen and Sam tell Rhea she has five minutes to tell them everything because LAPD is likely on their way with the alarm being tripped.  She starts with some comedy – nothing funny to Callen and Sam.  All she wants to do is find Forbes.   Rhea and Forbes worked together in Key West – she was his tech operator and now she’s trying to save his life.  She recalls the fight from the night before but is worried about Forbes.  While she can find, Forbes can’t – tiny wrists.  

Filling in Callen and Sam, Andre Vargas, an arms dealer out of Mexico was the target of a joint task force operation where Forbes and Rhea were key players.  Their covers blown, Forbes and Rhea were pulled out of the investigation.  Everything was fine until Vargas showed up at her show the night before and tried to kill her.  Thinking Vargas is unhappy with the cost of going underground, Callen and Sam see revenge as the reason Forbes could be missing.  Rhea needs protection too – she’s on her way to the boat shed with LAPD.  “What’s that like, a Crab Shack?”  

Looking for a way to get Fatima out and about, Kensi suggests a kick-ball league.  LA has adult leagues all over the city.  It is a way for Fatima to get out of the house without dating.  NCIS is enough of a team sport for Fatima.  Kensi suggests maybe a cooking class – Kensi could use to the help, they could go together.  Fatima’s mother is treating every night like a cooking class since she moved home.  Fatima has a great idea for something they can do together – solve the case.

Kensi gets to the church door only to find it locked – most churches are not locked.  A church volunteer, Ellen, is leaving through another door.  She’s willing to help but doesn’t know much – she doesn’t like to meddle.  She has a list of people who do – Rosemary.  Fatima is not all that interested in Rosemary but the Ellen is surprised two “CSI Agents” would not be interested in an embezzler.  Kensi corrects Ellen about their agency but is interested in Rosemary the embezzler.  “You didn’t it hear it from me,” Ellen tells Kensi and Fatima about Rosemary skimming from the collection plate.  Ellen admits her eyesight isn’t all that good.  Ellen thinks the FBI is lucky to have Fatima.

Kensi shows Ellen a photo of Forbes on her phone.  While Forbes isn’t a member of the church, he attends the weekly AA meetings on Saturdays.  Asked if she knows anything about Forbes, Ellen says they call the meeting anonymous for a reason.  Ellen is yet another winning supporting character.

Arriving at the boat shed with the officer who arrested Anna in “Missing Time”, Rhea is dispensing advice on the guy’s personal life.  She then thinks Deeks is late for the Hanson reunion tour.  Rhea “apologizes” – she left her manners on the floor of the comedy club, Cahoots, while she was fighting for her life.  Deeks wants to know if Cahoots is a “uh, uh” club or a “boom-boom” club.  More of a “ha-ha” club.  Deeks is surprised she’s a stand-up comedian.  Calling it therapy for someone without insurance, comedy is the reason she moved to LA.

Recapping her evening for Deeks, Rhea remembers a grey car outside of the club, idling.  “Something your mom would definitely drive.”  Deeks understands the description but Bertie drives a PT Cruiser “and she drives it hard.”

Again rehearsing his speech, this time in Ops, Eric has an accidental audience – Kensi and Fatima.  After the applause dies down, Eric has photos of Andre Vargas in LA.  He explains Forbes was targeting Vargas on a case a six months ago.   He also tells them about Rhea, who quit NCIS.  Fatima wonders if Rhea left because she didn’t have the energy.  Eric projects more about not being sure why you do your job in the first place.  Kensi would like them to get it together.

Forbes’s finances are fine though he likes expensive wines.  This is a surprise to Kensi and Fatima because of the AA meetings.   Credit card statements have him making regular, high-end purchases at Highland Park Wine.  He’s either a collector of he’s fallen off the wagon.  Kensi and Fatima are on their way to Highland Park Wine to see.

At Forbes’s rental, the bathroom is moldy for house hunting Callen while Sam is amazed at the parking tickets Forbes has amassed in LA and one in San Diego.  The San Diego ticket has a different license plate number – maybe  rental.  The location where the ticket was written was right on the US/Mexico border – the same day Vargas arrived in the US.  Maybe Forbes got him across the border.

Angry that she is wasting away at “this poor man’s Long John Silver’s” while her friend is in trouble, Rhea gets pushed by Deeks on her relationship with Forbes.  Forbes was a “big brother” to Rhea.  They had lunch about two-months ago.  Rhea invited him to her shows but he was always too busy.  Asked about how their covers were blown, Rhea isn’t one for office gossip but the joint task force had NCIS, FBI and CIA – anyone could have talked.  

Deeks pushes the idea that Forbes was the leak.  Rhea isn’t having any of it.  “Forbes took care of me down there,” she tells Deeks.  She was in over her head in the assignment.  Going through a divorce, Forbes still made her laugh.  Deeks is surprised by the divorce statement but Rhea tells him that Forbes’s ex called regularly and he’d have to spend hours calming her down.  Deeks tells Rhea Forbes was lying to her.  When Rhea doesn’t believe him, he asks about Forbes’s trip to the border.  She doesn’t have an answer.

Outside the wine shop, Kensi suggests trivia night.  She dated who loved trivia night but was so bad at it that he thought Borat was an element on the periodic table.  Fatima thinks that’s worse than the Eagles.  “Bite your tongue,” Eric chides Fatima on comms.  He sends a photo of Ellie Martinez, the owner of Highland Park Wine.  Martinez has a record including attempted kidnapping, domestic battery and wire fraud.  Charges were always dropped.  Kensi and Fatima watch Martinez take a delivery of several cases of wine.

As he finishes with Kensi and Fatima, Eric is startled by Callen and Sam.  Sam wants Eric to work on his situational awareness.  Nell use to work with him on that skill.  Eric isn’t able to trace the rental car – seems to be an off-the-books trip to Mexico.  Just before Callen and Sam leave, Eric’s tablet chirps.  The car Rhea saw idling outside of the comedy club belongs to a Perry Bellamy.  Bellamy doesn’t have a record but owns a lot of guns.  Callen thinks he’s a strawman -buys the guns and sends them to Vargas.  Bellamy’s real work is as a plumber.  Callen and Sam are off to see him.

Martinez is helping Kensi and Fatima find some wine for a fondue party neither wants to attend.  They say the party is for Forbes – who Martinez immediately does not recognize.  When she tries to leave, Kensi and Fatima take Martinez into custody.

During a downpour, Callen and Sam are staking out the plumbing company.  Chatting in the car, Callen admits Anna is the real estate fan.  Sam understands that living Anna’s unpredictable life, stability would be important.  Callen thinks Anna wants more – the whole American dream.  Callen and Sam see Bellamy, who think will run.  He does.  Sam corners Bellamy outside his truck.  A few swings of a big wrench by Bellamy does nothing to stop Sam from putting him in handcuffs.

Pretending not to know Vargas, Bellamy tries to sell himself as a plumber who comes from a long line of plumbers.  Callen warns Bellamy if he doesn’t start cooperating, he’s not going to be a plumber, he’s going to jail.  Claiming to know Vargas, Bellamy accuses him of stealing his car.  Bellamy was in business with Vargas until Vargas disappeared a few months ago.  

Showing up the day before, Vargas wanted guns but not the way he did in the past.  Nothing was being sent to Mexico, he was looking for enough for him and for his men.  Vargas told Bellamy he was in LA to get something back.  None of this makes sense to Sam.  If Vargas and Forbes were working together, why go to an old gun-running friend.  Callen looks at it differently – maybe Forbes took something from Vargas.  And Forbes won’t survive the minute he hands over whatever Vargas thought was taken.  The team has to find Forbes now.

While Rhea is not impressed by Kensi and Fatima’s interrogation techniques, Deeks is “still spiraling” according to Kensi by the restaurant review.  Rhea has some questions but Kensi, Deeks and Fatima discussing the case.  After paying her no mind, Rhea thinks Forbes took an informant.  While they were in Mexico, Forbes was responsible for securing an informant from Vargas’s camp.  Deeks is annoyed this is the first they’re hearing of it.  Rhea didn’t know the informant’s name and Forbes was still vetting the person.  When they left, Forbes felt badly they were leaving this person behind.  Deeks realizes that may have been the “ex-wife” on the calls.  Fatima knows that Martinez is holding out on them.  Wanting the team to “put on their best Judge Judy”, Rhea would like to see a tougher interrogation.

Using Kaleidoscope, Eric is able to trace Forbes trip to the border.  A security camera photo in a parking lot picks up Forbes with a woman in the front seat of his rental car.  Eric is running facial rec.  Highland Park Wine is two blocks from the parking lot.  Eric also has info on Bellamy’s car – it really was stolen.  Callen and Sam are on their way.

Martinez says she was a different woman when she was charged with kidnapping, domestic battery and wire fraud.  Kensi notes Martinez’s marriage ended when her troubles did – her former husband shows up in every one of her arrests but he was never officially charged.  Calling he ex a “son of a bitch”, Martinez’s ex was the city controller.  She was abused during their marriage.  When she tried to leave, she arrested on trumped up charges.  Women like her can’t get help.  

In today’s boat shed animal lesson (last done several years ago with racoons), Martinez tells Kensi and Fatima that crows remember the faces of those who hurt them.  They are smart enough to teach other crows about the abuser so the other crows won’t be hurt.  Martinez running an underground railroad to save women like her.  That’s why Forbes found her.  The woman Forbes rescued was Lorena Vargas.  She’s hiding in Angelino Heights.

Lorena Vargas is Andre Vargas’s wife.  Rhea is unhappy – Lorena risked her life to help the task force and they just left her behind.  Kensi and Fatima are on their way to the house.

Finding Bellamy’s car parked outside car repair shop, Callen and Sam look in.  Forbes is tied to a chair in the workshop.  Oh, time in a garage strapped to a chair did not go well for Sam or Deeks.  Callen knocks on the door.  One of Vargas’s men peers outside but sees no one.  When he walks around to look, Callen whistles, distracting the henchman.  Sam grabs the man from behind and puts him in a sleeper hold.

Callen enters the workshop to find Forbes and only Forbes, who is barely alive.  Without Vargas’s men around, Kensi and Fatima could be walking into an ambush.  Eric tracked Vargas and his men – they are five minutes from Kensi and Fatima’s location.  

Banging on the door, Kensi identifies herself and wants to be let in.  Callen and Sam are on their way in.  Lorena opens the door just as Vargas and three of his men arrive.  As Kensi tries to get Lorena way from the door, Vargas kicks it in.  Several shots are fired.   While Kensi and Lorena run, Fatima shoots one of Vargas’s men before being tossed around by another.  Just as the man knocks Fatima to the ground, he pulls out his weapon.  Before he can kill Fatima, Sam shoots him.  

In the back yard, Kensi and Lorena are about to run when one of Vargas’s men moves in.  While Kensi quickly takes him to the ground, Vargas grabs Lorena.  Sam and Fatima join Kensi as they try to get Vargas to release Lorena.  When he does, Callen tackles Vargas.  Kensi and Fatima calm Lorena.

Vargas and his men ransacked Ellie Martinez’s house and were able to figure out where the safe house was.  Forbes did not give up Lorena’s location.  Sam understands – when you love someone, you’d die before putting them in harm’s way.  Lorena Vargas will be protected by the government – everyone is calling it a day.

As Kensi and Fatima are hanging up the bulletproof vests and storing the big guns, Fatima tells Kensi she has plans.  She does – Fatima has plans with Kensi – Eagles tickets with backstage passes.  A thrilled Kensi is going to the Forum with Fatima.

Eric walks into a very busy Squid and Dagger worried that Deeks hired an experienced hacker to change the review.  Deeks is happy to report that “provocative and edgy” are not what everyone is looking for in a bar experience.  He and Eddie the bartender are working hard but Deeks wants to hear Eric’s speech.  

Eric admits he doesn’t have a feel for what he’s going to say.  With all the job offers he has coming in, he can’t remember why anyone would be interested in him.  When Eric tells Deeks he is going to stop overthinking it, Deeks tells him not too.  Eric’s secret power is overthinking things.  In the best way possible, Deeks finds Eric exhausting.  Eric cares too much about everything to ever let anything slide.  “It’s why I do what I do” – Eric finally has a reason for his speech.

Agent Castor is watching Rhea as Callen and Sam enter the boat shed.  Rhea is sorry she didn’t figure out what Forbes was doing.  While her job is still open in Key West, Rhea wants to return to stand-up.  Castor is even offered up as a lift for Rhea to the club.  He is not thrilled.  

While Sam is proud Callen is planning for his future, he’s skipping out on Callen’s offer for drinks.  He has dinner plans with Katherine at Blank.  Callen thinks Blank is like “fill in the blank”.

What head canon can be formed from here:  Anyone else think Eric is not going to be in the office when the show returns for season 12?  This seems to be a ton of foreshadowing that has to have a pay off at some point.

Kensi seems to be overcorrecting for what she feels she missed with Nell being unhappy by trying to make everything great for Fatima.  

Carla the bookstore lady, LAFD Chief Johnson and Ellen from the church are three of the four new Golden Girls – who says no?

Episode number:  Episode 21 – the penultimate episode of season 11.  Episode 261 overall.

[kathrynethegreat]

Dr.Lecter and Leda and the Swan

The below is from an essay by the artist Anne Shingleton discussing Leda and the Swan, her artwork, and why she believes Hannibal Lecter likes it. The essay was originally provided by the now defunct Hannotations from the contributors BloodandIvory and NyxFixx. Minor content edits by me, but you can read the full essay here. You can also learn more about Anne Shingleton and her artwork at her official website.

[Lecter’s] absentee landlord apparently had a fixation on Leda and the Swan, The interspecies coupling was represented in no less than four brozes of varying quality, the best a reproduction by Donetello, and eight pantings. One painting delighted Dr.Lecter, an Anne Shingleton with its genius anatomical articulation and some real heat in the fucking. The others he draped. - Hannibal, Chapter 97, by Thomas Harris

Ever since the misty dawn of Greek mythology, Leda and her doting swan have lived and loved in countless poets' lays and, less ephemerally, in thousands upon thousands of embodiments in paint, line, stone and metal.

They appear in the arts of Rome and Hellas in a profusion of sizes and materials, from golden bracelet pendants and silver table ornaments to great sculptures cast in bronze and hewn from marble (such as the Great Relief in the British Museum), from delicate drawings on precious ceramics to colourful frescoes on the walls of atria and chambers. But after the decline of Rome they nodded off into the many long centuries of bleak post-Roman Europe, awaking briefly now and then and here there to invigorate some ornamental arts and crafts of the Middle Ages.

(The essay, as well as an image of Anne Shingleton’s version of Leda and the Swan is below the cut. It’s a little bit graphic, so fair warning)

                                             Leda and the Swan by Anne Shingleton

It was the Italian Renaissance with its exuberant rediscovery of classical antiquity & say, from about 1400 or so onward that brought them once again into the limelight of profane (in the sense of non-ecclesiastical) imagery. Nearly all the great Renaissance artists drew, painted or sculpted their Ledas, conspicuous among these being an oil-on-canvas by Leonardo Da Vinci, known only through several copies by his followers, and Michaelangelo’s stunning marble, today in Florence's Bargello. From there they coupled their way through the next five centuries and far beyond Italy's shores and borders, into and out of the Baroque and Rococo, into the nineteenth century to brighten some sclerotic corners of Neo-Classicism, and eventually even into Art Nouveau, there briefly to beguile a languorous Belle Époque. After August 1914 they withered, along with the rest of Europe's humanistic culture. 

Nevertheless, even today, in our own age of mostly meretricious rubbish art mass-produced to con newly-rich illiterates, they glow softly still among the now very distant and still receding constellations of our classical heritage.

Who, then, was Leda, and who the swan?

Antiquity sang several different versions of her tale. Most agree that she was the daughter of Thestius, king of Aetola, and the wife of Tyndraeus, king of Lacedaemon. Somehow she inflamed the passions of Zeus, Some said that he saw her bathing in a sparkling sun-drenched stream, others that Hephaistos had told him about her dissatisfaction with her husband's ways in bed, and others still that he was only out to spite his consort, Hera.

In any event, he was smitten and, having just lately visited Danae as a shower of gold, Europa as a bull, Io as a cloud, Ganymede as an eagle and others still in guises no less inventive, he decided to assume yet another one for his tryst with Leda: he would swoop down majestically on snowy pinions . . . as a swan.

Mythology fails to tell us whether these forms were mere travelling costumes, so to speak, and whether, as we may well suppose, upon arrival at the bedside he reassumed his customary and divine semblance of a robust, virile man in the prime of his maturity. I've heard that a swan's penis - to be precise: a cob's - is exactly like a circumcised human one in miniature, and that this gave rise to the amorous-swan legends . . . but I confess that I've never checked it out with a cygnologist, though I should've done so long ago. Perhaps some thoughtful cygnologist will let me know?

In any event, swan or man, he had his way with her, or she with him, or each with the other. Of it came an egg, or, in other versions, three eggs, and in others still seven, and you mustn't act surprised: when a fertile lady mates with a cob she'll lay eggs - faultless logic, that, and winsome science. 

One tremendous event that soon followed was to become a bedrock and fountainhead of Western culture: for whilst out of two eggs hatched the twins Castor and Polydeuces.

I relinquish the podium to Homer. 

My own versions…. differ a little from the conventional ones. For one thing, neither my painted nor my sculpted Zeus arrives in the form of a swan but rather dressed up as one . . . he's wearing a (rather skimpy) swan costume, under which he is very much the Chief Olympian: strong, handsome, supremely male, his ebullient libido refined by aeons (he being immortal) of experience and divine dedication to his beloved's (not always female) pleasure. 

For another thing, most Leda depictions are intra-coital: it's happening, nobody can figure out just how but they're at it. My painting instead shows them as post-coital.

In the painting, the oil lamp on the rocks just right of the love nest is still burning but night is fleeing, crescent Selene is fading, colours are being reborn everywhere. First light is bathing the two dreamy, sated lovers. Birds chirp in chorus. An exquisite post-orgasmic Leda is savouring the last after-tremors of her lique-factions while scenting the dewy flowering of day. Zeus has retired to the top of the bower, his costume all awry, a smile of surfeit on his lips. Post coitum omne animal triste, said Aristotle: after mating all creatures are sad. I think there is truth in that, but it is more complex, less formulaic. The martyrs enter the arena hand in hand but the lions eat them one by one. Lovers in the act dispense with the meum-teum sense (Robert Graves), but after the shared orgasmic heats, the post-orgasmic chills overtake them one by one, and, slowly, deliciously if all went well, they drift apart, sometimes a little numbed, nearly always bewildered, on separate outbound tides. Even, or perhaps especially, if they're gods. My painted Leda and her god are poised over this hot-cold watershed. Until the next time…

Why does the doctor 'delight' in the Leda story? I don't know. Best ask Tom Harris. But I'll have a guess.

As he does in The Silence of the Lambs, as does so much literature both old and modern, Harris draws unconsciously or knowingly - I don't know which - on the world of myth and fable, that genome of the collective human subconscious. The leitmotif in both Silence and Hannibal, not deafening or intrusive but audible throughout from the dark beyond the firelight, is that of The Beauty and The Beast. Since I'm neither a poet nor a scholar I'll refrain from windy disquisitions, but to me the parallels between that fable and the interbraiding of the lives of Hannibal and Clarice Starling seem clear enough.

Clarice-Leda has taken vestal vows, has dedicated her body and soul to the FBI: not for her the traditional role of wife and woman as prescribed by patriarchal orthodoxy. Like the life of chaste and virginal Beauty, Clarice's life, so far as we've been told, is manless, and hence, conventional wisdom would have it, arid. The fable now demands that she be sexually fulfilled, 'sexually' having here a wide, deep, polyhedral meaning far beyond mere genital tiddlywinks.

Lecter-Swan is a beast, no doubt of that, and no need to dwell on definitions. The fable now demands that she make him human, meaning here humane. 

And behold, in the book, though alas not in the film, both undergo the magical transformation: Beauty turns the Beast humane, the Beast wafts Beauty to, up and over the moany summit where she is, presumably, fulfilled. Both are reborn from scratch - from the egg, so to speak, through each other.

I think that could well be why the doctor delights in the one painting in the room that he leaves uncovered for Clarice to see.

Anne Shingleton

[princesstreaclefanfic]

We Meet Again Chapter Six

Disclaimer - All recognisable characters belong to their original owners. I do not make a profit from writing this; I simply do it for my own amusement. No copyright infringement intended.

Splash of Colour

Luke watched as Penelope looked around the plane. He could see she wasn't a fan of the neutral colours. She expressed this and JJ got straight in her good books.

"What, you mean I'm the splash of colour… stop it." She made hand motions for JJ to continue. Luke smiled and chuckled. It was a good metaphor for his life with her in it. Before she came along, his life was boring and neutral and plain. And then she came in with her bright clothes and bold jewellery and amazing personality and he was swept away. She added colour to his otherwise quiet life. And he couldn't complain about that.

***

Penelope stood on the side of the road and watched as JJ spoke with the police officers at the scene. She couldn't understand why someone would do this, purposefully injure innocents? And in such a volatile way. Penelope was only too familiar with the damage that a car could do to a person's body and she hated the thought that these people were suffering.

Seeing her standing there, Luke wandered over and offered his hand to her.

She wasn't going to take it, honestly. Then the corners of her mouth quirked up and those dimples got her again.

She placed her smaller hand in his and tried to ignore the heat coming from his body.

Delicately, she stepped onto the road, aware that she probably should have worn heels that weren't as high. She didn't want to give him the wrong impression so once she was stable she shook his hand off, grimacing at him. Luke took it all in good humour though. He jokingly wiped his hands on his jeans as if he had touched something on her that he didn't want to. It was kind of funny seeing as only a few weeks ago he'd had his mouth on her pussy.

She kept her grimace on her face until she turned away but she couldn't hide the smile that spread across it when he wasn't looking.

***

Luke and Penelope were in the precinct, trying to work out what the unsub's next step was.

"There has to be some kind of connection between the unsub and Veronica Perotta. I mean, he targeted her outside her own home." Luke stepped closed to Penelope. "He had to have some knowledge of her daily routines. This-this was personal." This was the worst attack he had perpetrated. To have a woman run over in front of her own home whilst she unloaded her grocery shopping - it was diabolical. They needed to catch this guy before he hurt anyone else.

"I'm looking through Veronica's social media now," Penelope told him. Her fingers whizzed over the keys. "She was single, she had recently joined something called Amorous Intrigue."

"The dating website." The only reason Luke knew about it was because his friend had tried to set him a profile up. He wasn't interested though. He hadn't been interested in dating since he had spent the night with Penelope.

"Oh, is that what is it? Maybe I should join it, not that I'd want to join anything you know about… or I need a dating website… cause I don't." He was positive she didn't need a dating website.

As they delved into the website they learnt that Veronica had been pinged several times by a man called Jonathan Rhodes. He had contacted quite a few women and all of them had rejected him. That would have made things much worse.

"Here's somebody - Alyssa Miles." Penelope pulled up a picture. "Totally his type." Brown hair, brown eyes and slim build. She fit the victim profile. He could hear Penelope's breath speed up and she began to talk faster.

Luke knew. He just knew in his gut. "That's his next target. Can you pull up an address?" Silly question, he knew she could.

"Yep. Just sent it to your phone."

"Alright, grab your laptop hotshot, let's go." He turned away from her and headed out of the room. He needed to get his bulletproof vest and find Penelope one too.

"I don't go with… I do go with!" she shouted. "I'm precious cargo!" Even though he could hear the fear and hesitation in her voice, she still did as he asked.

Her words echoed through his head - she was definitely precious cargo to him.

***

Outside Alyssa Miles house, Penelope had to swallow her fear as she set her laptop up on the white car and began to furiously type.

Luke wasn't helping matters. "Stop staring at me when I'm searching engining, it's weird." The truth was his stare made her nervous and she needed all her nerves intact if she were to stop this maniac. Feeling his eyes on her made her heart beat faster and her palms sweat.

"Sorry," he apologised as she typed faster and faster.

"She managed to keep ahold of her phone - can you do something with that?"

Penelope turned to him and felt a sliver of relief and hope. Yes, she most certainly could.

"That's helpful, you're helpful sometimes." Luke might have just saved Alyssa Miles' life.

***

Luke was driving not as if his life depended on it but life someone else's life did - because it was true. He had to get to Alyssa Miles and he had to get to her now.

"I've got eyes on him up there, you see?" Luke told her, watching as the car swerved in and out of traffic. Damn those driving games - that is where he got his skills from. He was fearless and that was a terrifying thought.

"Do you have to be so lurchy? I get carsick," she told him. Once again, there was fear in her voice.

Luke reached across the small space and gently placed his hand on her arm.

As they followed the car, Penelope began to panic.

"He's just very good."

"He's not as good as you, okay?" For some reason, she couldn't see it, she couldn't see how amazing she was. Luke watched her day in and day out, the things she had to face and the places she had to go on the internet to find what they needed. As far as he was concerned (and yes, he may be slightly biased), she was the best of the best.

She shrieked about dying and Luke had to roll his eyes at her dramatics. He could handle a car.

"Nobody is going to die today!"

Penelope continued to type and he could feel the movement of her arm under his hand. Then she stopped.

"I'm in!" she shouted. Luke felt a small portion of relief flow through his body. This was half the battle won.

He watched as the car rolled to a stop in front of them, about two feet away from the wall. He jumped out of the SUV immediately, drew his gun and stalked towards the car.

"FBI! Show me your hands!" The guy didn't know what to do. He hauled him out of the car.

As he patted him down and cuffed him, he saw that Penelope had gotten out too. She had gone around to the driver's side and pulled the tape from her hands that the unsub had used to keep her at the wheel. Penelope wrapped her arms around the traumatised girl and comforted her.

Over her head, they shared a look. The case was done. It was solved.

***

Penelope's heart dropped out of her stomach as she and Luke shared a look before she rose to her feet immediately. As Reid was led from the courtroom she placed her hands on the partition separating them, trying to get as close as she could to him. She wanted to shout that it would all be alright, that'd they fix this mess, that'd the judge had got it wrong. But there were no words. None of them seemed strong enough or good enough.

Her heart broke as he disappeared through a door. A tear fell down her face and behind her, she heard Luke stand and then felt him place a hand on her shoulder.

Her breathing was ragged; this could not be happening.

As she felt herself falling apart, Luke's other hand came up and squeezed her arm. He was strong and brave and right now, his hands on her were quite literally keeping her together. If he took his hands from her she was sure she would fall apart.

Penelope didn't remember much after that but as she sat in the offices at the FBI as everyone went home, she couldn't move.

"Penelope?" Luke called, coming to stand in front of her. "Are you alright?"

She could lie and say yes but she wore her heart on her sleeve. "No." She shook her head.

Luke knelt at her feet and took her hands in his. "Listen to me. We are going to catch Scratch and this is all going to disappear. Reid is innocent - we all know that."

Tears formed in her eyes and her throat got tight.

"I can't promise that it's going to be easy because it's not but we are going to do everything in our power to help Reid."

She nodded because she knew that but right now it didn't feel like enough.

"Shall I walk you to your car?"

She shook her head again. "No. I don't want to go home. I don't want to be alone."

"You don't have to be alone, chica." Luke stood and brought her with him. "You drive to your apartment and I'll follow. We can have some tea and talk."

Penelope took her hands from his and swiped at her eyes. "What about Roxy?"

"She'll be fine for a few hours." She had food, water, plenty of toys and a doggy door so she could come and go as she pleased.

"Okay."

Together, they left the offices and went to the respective cars in the parking lot. Luke followed Penelope back to her apartment and when they got inside she made them some herbal tea.

They sat on the couch together, Simon rubbing himself all over Penelope before going to Luke and investigating his trousers.

"I've known Reid for years… he'd never do something like this." Luke listened because that's all he could do. "He loves his mom and that's the only thing he's guilty of. How could anyone think he'd murder someone?" She held back tears of frustration. "He works for the FBI, he'd know how to cover his tracks if he wanted." She sighed. "He is one of the sweetest men I have ever met and he's being treated like some kind of criminal."

"It's a process - they have to treat him like any other suspect."

"But this is Reid - he isn't just anybody! He's boy genius, he's the man who had looked after his mother from a young age, he's the man who can tell you the most boring facts about shrimp, he's the man who has such a big brain inside his head but also a big heart to match!"

"Penelope - I know." Those words. Luke said them so softly and he was right. He did know. He'd only know Reid for a short time but he knew all these things were true. There wasn't anybody else like Spencer Reid on the planet.

Her eyes felt gritty and tired so she took her glasses off and rubbed them roughly before putting them back on. She let her head rest against the back of the sofa she was facing Luke and he did the same.

Her eyes traced over his face and with a slight amount of hesitation, Penelope leaned forward and placed her lips on his.

When she pulled away, Luke was looking at her. He brought one hand up to her face and stroked her cheek. Then, he leaned in and kissed her again.

The passion that overcame Penelope at that moment was instant. She pushed Luke back against the couch quite aggressively and kissed his neck, sucking on the tan skin.

"Penelope… stop." Luke's voice shocked her and she sat back.

"You don't want me," her words were quiet and there was hurt in her voice.

Luke gave a humourless chuckle. "I want you all the time, chica." As if to prove his point, Luke brought her palm to his jeans where there was an obvious bulge.

Before she could do anything he pulled her hand away and helped her to stand.

"I want you but not like this - not on the tail end of all this sadness." His hands cradled her face. "So I'm going to put you to bed and then I'm going to go back to my house and I'll see you at work in the morning."

Penelope was silent as Luke took her hand and led her through her small apartment to her bedroom. He stopped her when she stood next to her and slowly turned her around.

With a smile on his face, he began to undress her. It wasn't sensual, it wasn't erotic… it was caring and tender.

He slowly pulled her cardigan from her shoulders, folding it neatly and laying it on the chair in the corner of the room. Then he was back at her side, spinning her gently around to access the zipper at the back of her dress. He pulled it down until the dress fell from her body. He helped her step out of it and then brought his hands to her shoulders. He slid the straps of her bra down her arms and moved his hands around her back to unclasp the bra. Luke did it with such ease but he never took his eyes from hers.

Penelope pulled the bra away from her chest and let it fall to the floor.

"Pyjamas?" Luke asked quietly.

"Behind you, top left-hand drawer." Her voice was just as quiet.

Luke gave her a small smile and turned. He opened the drawer and pulled out the first nightie he found. It was purple with cats dotted all over it. It was so her.

He returned to her and slipped the soft cotton material over her head, brushing her hair out from the neckline when it fell down her body.

"Turn," he requested quietly.

Penelope did and Luke unclasped the black necklace from around her neck, gently laying it on the vanity next to them. Then he began to take the pins out of her hair. He did it slowly, combing his fingers through her golden tresses as he went, making sure that it didn't tangle.

When he was done with that he placed a hand on her shoulder and spun her once more. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulder and pushed her towards the bed. When she sat down on it, he crouched down and took her heels from her feet.

Taking a minute, he rubbed the soft skin of her feet, pressing his thumbs into her arches until she gave a small groan of satisfaction.

He stood up and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

She slid back on the bed and tucked herself under the covers.

Luke pulled them up to her chin and stroked her cheek.

"Sweet dreams, chica."

Penelope watched as he turned his back and left, shutting the lights off as he went. She heard him whisper goodnight to Simon and then leave. She strained her eyes to hear his footsteps on the stairs and then his car engine start up.

By the time he pulled out of the parking lot, she was fast asleep. Her mind free from the sadness of the day.

[penniesforthestorm]

“It’s a world of truck drivers”: ‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ Recaps, Parts 1 & 2

Slightly over a year after I started this project (which, in terms of me and projects is actually alarmingly punctual...), we’re finally diving into 2015′s Twin Peaks: The Return. I’ll be following a similar format to my other recaps-- two episodes per post, notes made as I watch. I hope to expand on some theories I developed over the course of the original series, and may link to relevant recaps in a few cases. As always, if you’re following along I’d love to hear from you! Let’s part those red velvet curtains and begin, shall we?

Part One:

-We open with Agent Cooper and Laura Palmer in the ‘waiting room’ of the Black Lodge: “I’ll see you again in twenty-five years. Meanwhile...”

-Coop, older but still in his suit and tie, w/ The Giant. They’re in black & white, so it’s hard to see the room, but it resembles the room ‘above the store’ in Fire Walk With Me. The Giant gives Cooper some information: “Remember: 430. Richard and Linda. Two birds with one stone.”

-Dr. Jacoby, still chipper as ever in his red-and-blue glasses, accepts a delivery of shovels.

-And suddenly we’re in New York City at night, Manhattan glowing in a gold electric haze. A young man in a warehouse of some kind, accepting a delivery of coffee from a pretty girl named Tracy, but tells her she can’t come upstairs. (Side note: as I was typing this, Simon & Garfunkel’s “The Only Living Boy in New York” came up on shuffle. I swear I didn’t plan this.)

-Back in Twin Peaks, Benjamin Horne is still running the Great Northern, but Jerry’s gone green-- as in, weed. I love his funky knitted outfit.

-Over at the Sheriff’s office, some confusion-- a man comes in looking for ‘Sheriff Truman’, and Lucy Brennan (nee Moran) asks him ‘which one’?

-And then, driving on a dark road, pulling up to an isolated house... it’s him, but it’s not. Dale Cooper’s suit and tie have been forsaken for a leather jacket and a snake-print shirt, his neat dark hair is long, worn in a silver clasp, and his eyes, that were so kind, are utterly dead. He is finally addressed as “Mr. C”.

-NYC: Tracy and her friend take advantage of the security guard’s absence to canoodle. The glass box flickers, goes black, and then shatters as a form emerges out of the blackness toward them. Haven’t these kids ever watched a horror movie?

-Buckhorn, South Dakota: Marjorie Greene leads  police to Ruth Davenport’s apartment. Ruth’s head is on the bed inside, but the body below it is definitely not hers.

-Finally, a late-night call between two steadfast souls, Deputy Chief Tommy ‘Hawk’ Hill, and a sickly Margaret Lanterman, a.k.a. the Log Lady. The Log, via Margaret, informs Hawk: “Something is missing and you have to find it.”

Part Two:

-We start in Buckhorn: High-school principal Bill Hastings has been imprisoned on suspicion for Ruth Davenport’s murder. His wife Phyllis visits, and things are not what we thought-- they’re both (?) cheating on each other, and she’s glad to be rid of him. In the next cell but one, a Woodsman appears. Phyllis goes home, and finds Mr. C waiting for her.

-Las Vegas: a Mr. Todd summons ‘Roger’, gives him cash and says, ‘tell her she has the job.’ Roger asks, “Why do you let Him make you do these things?” Apparently Todd isn’t happy about it either.

-Buckhorn: Mr. C in the diner with Ray, Darya, and Jack, drinking coffee. Mr. C wants information from Ray-- “I don’t need anything. I want that information.”

-Twin Peaks: Hawk is in the woods, talking to Margaret. “Something is supposed to happen here tonight.” He’s at Glastonbury Grove, and the trees are glowing.

-The Black Lodge: Laura, older, the way the real Laura never got to be, tells Cooper, “You can go out now.” The One-Armed Man is also there. We witness The Evolution of the Arm-- now a...thing...protruding from sycamore branches. It tells Coop his doppelganger must come back before Coop can leave.

-Buckhorn: Mr. C catches Darya in a lie-- she and Ray have been hired to kill him. Mr. C knows he’s due back in the Black Lodge, but he mutters, “I have a plan for that.” Once Darya is dead, C logs into the FBI website and speaks with someone he calls “Philip”-- as in, Philip Jeffries. But... is it?

-The Black Lodge: Cooper attempts to leave, but “something’s wrong”. He’s sucked into a void instead. Turns out that in NYC, while the box guard and Tracy were deciding to sneak upstairs, Cooper appeared briefly in the box.

-Twin Peaks: At the Palmer home, Sarah watches a nature documentary, of lions attacking a water buffalo.

-The Roadhouse: On stage, The Chromatics, singing “Shadow”. Shelley is out with her girlfriends, looking carefree and radiant. James Hurley enters, accompanied by green-gloved Freddie Sykes. He watches Shelley and her friends for a little bit too long, and Shelley springs to his defense: “There’s nothing wrong with him! He was in a motorcycle accident; he’s just quiet now. James is cool. He’s always been cool.”

[kiss-my-freckle]

The Girl - Masha Rostova - Elizabeth Keen

Up until the point Scottie confirmed it was Alexander Kirk who hired her, all I see when I look through S3, is the Townsend Directive. One should question HOW exactly Masha was outed in the news. When you follow the dialogue, you can see it. 

“Elizabeth Keen was well hidden from the demons of her past until you went after her, until you told the world she was Masha Rostova."

"The world" makes a huge bit of difference. I’ll show you why. 

“That’s why she allegedly walked into the ocean. She wanted the world to believe she drowned.”

This includes Dembe’s scene with the woman from Paris. 

"Let’s record this for the world to see, shall we?"

This doesn’t speak to Kirk, he was coming for his daughter. 

Liz: But I don’t know anything. Red: They don’t know that. You can’t walk away, Lizzy. They won’t let you.

Even while questioning Scottie, Red had to be sure. 

Red: Who hired you? Scottie: You know exactly who hired me. Red: I’d like to be sure. Scottie: Alexander Kirk.

Not so simple if Red has to be sure. Neville Townsend is involved. The very difference between “he” and “they” that I’ve been pointing out since the start. I don’t care if 100 characters spoke of Liz being outed as Masha Rostova during the course of S3. We can agree that she was outed, but not a single character spoke to HOW she was outed. Back in S2, she was simply referred to as “the girl” at the fire. 

"I know all the stories, Red. I know where it was and I know when it disappeared. I know about the house, the fire, the girl.”

Even Walter Martin referred her that way. 

“The girl - Agent Keen - was she worth all this? Getting captured?”

No one knew her by name. Red didn’t give it to the Cabal. Constantin sure as hell wouldn’t because his life depended on her stem cells. Braxton didn’t. 

Director: Where is it? Braxton: I’ll have it to you by 9:00. Director: I thought you said you had it already. Braxton: And I do. I wanted that Fulcrum in my hands before I negotiated with you. Director: Need I remind you that the price had already been set? Braxton: That was before you volleyed missiles at me and my men. Now the price has gone up. Director: Mr. Braxton, I don’t think you fully appreciate the power of the people who have engaged your services. Braxton: Well, if they’re that powerful, then I’m sure they can afford an extra 10%. Go find the money, chief. You do that, and I’ll have what you want by 9:00. Hey, I want you to call me just as soon as you get confirmation of funds.  

An interesting parallel when compared to Red’s scene in S5. Long after Rostov came and went and they dug into the suitcase Kate unearthed.

"We know the truth, Masha. That’s your real name, isn’t it?"

The news: Elizabeth Keen vs Masha Rostova. 

Director: They are based upon information provided by Raymond Reddington, a traitor to our country and a fugitive who is helping ex-FBI Special Agent Elizabeth Keen avoid arrest. The daughter of a notorious KGB spy, Keen is a wanted terrorist. My accusers are criminals, the subject of one of the largest manhunts ever conducted. Who are you going to believe is telling the truth?

Television: And we are just now getting reports that former FBI Agent Elizabeth Keen has been shot and killed. No comment yet from the FBI, but moments ago, this photo appeared on the Washington Chronicle website. The paper, quoting anonymous sources, is saying Keen was one of several victims shot at an undisclosed location outside of New York City. Keen stands accused of committing the worst acts of terrorism on American soil in over a decade. She’s been a fugitive for the past five weeks, the subject of one of the largest manhunts in FBI history. The details are still coming in, and we are working to confirm them for you, but it appears, on day 37 …

Hitchin: But on a personal note - please. I just wanna say, when I think of the horrifying nightmare that Elizabeth Keen has endured - branded a traitor, hunted as a fugitive by the very law enforcement agency she swore an oath to serve - Well, there are no words. There is no apology I can give on behalf of the government that could ever be sufficient. I only hope that she can take some solace in the knowledge that in the end, the system worked. Thank you. 

Matias Solomon -

"Elizabeth K– Is that the one from the news?”

Grocery store man -

"Are you that woman? Elizabeth Keen?”

Liz’s double -

“I guess I’m you. Elizabeth Keen, right?”

Landlord -

"Um, soon as possible, Miss Keen. Elizabeth Keen?"

“Elizabeth, this is Barbara Menninger. Look, I wanted to apologize. When I realized who you are, I just - I overreacted. Frankly, I thought you were a pretty terrible person, and that was wrong. You’ve been exonerated. You deserve a second chance, and so I want you to know, the apartment’s yours, if you still want it.”

Cash -

“It’s that Russian bitch.”

Adoption Agency Lady -

"They hadn’t put it together that you were that Elizabeth Keen."

Benjamin Stalder -

Ressler: Mr. Stalder, do you have any connection with Elizabeth Keen? Stalder: The fugitive. Right? Uh, no, only what I hear in the news. Whatever happened to her, anyway?

Everyone saw Elizabeth in the news. Constantin saw Masha. 

“I never thought I’d ever see you again… until there you were in the news, you… and Reddington, the most wanted fugitives in the world.”

The newspaper: Elizabeth Keen vs Masha Rostova. 

Kaplan: Are you sure this is a good idea? Red: Yes. Get the photos to Sandquist at the Chronicle. I want everyone to know what happened here today.

To be clear, this newspaper is keeping up with the date and timeline of Liz’s pregnancy. Krilov still hits the mark in Tom Connolly’s episode. The woman’s dialogue also handed us an estimate of Agnes’ age.

Woman: That man is one of our agents. He’s staking out Keen’s building. Four years go, Reddington and Keen went on the run together. She was on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. Denora: It says here her name is Masha Rostova. It also says she’s the daughter of a KGB agent. Woman: A notorious KGB agent named Katarina Rostova. The agent out front He’s not looking for Reddington. He’s looking for her. As bad as he is, Rostova’s worse. Berdy: The child you’re being asked to care for is their granddaughter. They’re in Keen’s life, and if you take this job, they’ll be in yours, as well.

How interesting it'd be if S8 brought Agnes' birthday like S6 brought Red's.

“I’m worried they’ll find Masha, try and leverage her.” - Dom S7

"As soon as the name Masha Rostova hit the 24-hour news cycle, they came for her.” - Red S3

“They” being the Townsend Directive.

“Do you know what the Sikorsky Archive is? It’s a blackmail file. It has compromising information on very powerful people. I’ve been accused of stealing it.” - The woman, S7

"The secrets she took with her could compromise any number of players on that map. They’ll be coming. They’ll be coming for you." - Red, S3

The Sikorsky Archive contains secrets. 

“You put a target on her back and invited someone to take a shot. Do not try my patience, Laurel.”

Similar to the Fulcrum. 

"All this, Luther, and you don’t even know what the hell you’re looking for. It’s not what you think. It’s not a golden ticket. It’s a target on your back." - Red, S2

This is why I think Constantin Rostov will be what outs this woman an imposter. Red thought the Townsend Directive was coming. It was Kirk. Now that the Townsend Directive is here, Dom is suddenly referred to as a Rostov. 

“The Cabal is in green. Their affiliates are in red. Their competition is in blue. Since I’ve been a fugitive, the pestilence on this map has only grown. This is what we’re up against - a multi-headed hydra. You cut off one head, it grows two others. You have to cut off every head and burn the rest of it. It’s a mythic battle, and it’s not anywhere close to being over.”

The Devry map. What Liz will be facing if she screws shit up. 

"As soon as the name Masha Rostova hit the 24-hour news cycle...” - Red S3

Red: Where’s Rostova? Allond: Who? I don’t know who– Red: Nine days ago, a painting was commissioned. It was sent to this address, shipped to you - Mr. Paul Allond.

Allond: Yes. I - I’m a dealer. A private art broker. I received a call. No name was given. She said a piece had been acquired and was nearly finished. She asked that it be sent to me. Red: For pickup. Allond: Yes. But not by her. By you. I assume you’re the one she spoke of. Reddington. She said you would come.

Red: I may not have told you what you want, but I told you all you need. You’ll never find Rostova.

Woman: But when the time is right, when I have the answers, I will find you. Might be a week or a month, but I will find you. We will end this. 

“Does he know about you as a child?” (Masha Rostova)

“Does he know about the fire?” (The Girl)

Red: Her husband wasn’t who he appeared to be. She was in jeopardy. I had to intervene.

How Tom and Katarina connect back to the pilot. The Cabal, the Townsend Directive, Constantin Rostov, the Fulcrum, and the Sikorsky Archive. 

[thezestywalru]

Hidden behind a screen

Marinette cried frustrated tears into her pillows as she wondered why. Why didn’t they believe her? Why wouldn’t he help her? Why couldn’t she stand up for herself? 

“It’s not that bad, Marinette!” said Tikki, quite unhelpfully.

But Marinette ignored her, and ran down to her computer, typing out a furious email to her former best friend. She had no intentions of sending it, of course, but she couldn’t keep the emotions bottled in.

Remembering the villain that had played Paris for these last few years, she quickly decided to calm herself. Maybe talking to someone would help.

Marinette quickly logged online, surveying different chat rooms on various websites to see if one could help her. They didn’t need to know her name, but she needed advice. She needed an outsiders perspective.

Surprisingly fast, just a mere 20 minutes later, she received a DM in her inbox. It was from a kind stranger, assuring her that she had done no wrong. They offered her help, advice. All she had to do was type out a reply and talk to them.

Marinette hesitated, looking back at the sleeping red kwami. What would ladybug do in the situation? On one hand, her parents had always warned her never to talk to people online but she didn’t know. All of her social medias were private, excluding the one that she used for her designing.

With a gulp, she decided to take a leap and replied quickly. Marinette introduced herself as M. The stranger seemed nice. He introduced themselves as Jake. Though he provided no age, Marinette surmised through the different Internet lingo and slang that he used that Jake was about her age. He said he was 16, just like her. 

She checked his profile. It was fairly empty, only comments on different posts were written, offering kind words and solid advice. There are a few photos as well, each for portraying the same teenage boy with red hair and pale freckled skin. 

Though she was cautious at first, Jake quickly became Marinette’s only confidant. She told him nearly everything, often texting him during class to calm herself down as Lila squirmed her way out of tricky situations, and the class wouldn’t listen to her.

He told her all about his pet dog, TJ, who was a miniature poodle. He lived in London, just over the channel. He showed her a photo of the birthmark on his hand, which was shaped like a sleeping cat. “Just to prove that I’m real.” He joked. 

She asked him about the sites, which he willingly explained. This inspired a whole new line of her fashion, each modeled for the different monuments around the world.

He seemed perfect; almost like her dream guy, her soulmate. He wanted three kids as well and he didn’t mind hamsters. So, she told her dream guy her full name, her life and everything about her.

She wished she had someone she could talk to about Jake, someone she could gushed you about her newfound crush. The posters and schedule of Adrien were quickly removed.

So, Ladybug excitedly told Chat Noir about the new guy she was talking to. He didn’t take it very well. Flummoxed, she asked why he wasn’t happy for her. He confessed his love, once again, to which she responded that she only saw him as a friend.

Finally, two months after they had started talking, Jake finally asked her to be his girlfriend. She excitedly accepted. He promised to fly over for Valentine’s Day, so they could meet in person. She only had to wait four months. He gave her his number, which she began texting.

Soon, the questions begin. He asked her for photos, something to prove to his friends that he supposedly had a girlfriend. “They didn’t believe me,” he said. “They said you’re fake,” he said. So she sent him a photo of her that Alya had taken just months before, her in front of the Eiffel tower eating some of Audreys ice cream. It was a pretty photo, and she was quite proud of it.

“No,” he said. ”That’s not the kind of photo I want.” So, she took them. Shamefully. Because if she didn’t love him, why wouldn’t she do it? those were his words. They stung. It was her first relationship, but he assured her this was normal.

Instead of complaining or refusing because she wanted to keep her only friend, Marinette instead asked for photos of him to show to others. In reply, Jake sent the same photos from his profile, the two photos of the freckled ginger boy grinning at the camera.

“No,” She said. ”New photos.”

“These are new.” He replied. His original profile had been deleted. “By the company,” he said. She believed him, like a fool.

The questions began once more: requests for new photos, and strangely, threats. He wanted videos too.

“A video of what?” She didn’t really want to know.  His answer sickened her, but he said he wouldn’t come to Valentine’s Day in Paris if she didn’t send it. Her classmates already been doubting that she found a boyfriend, so she reluctantly sent it along. 

They continued talking, though now it was mostly requests for new photos and refusals to reciprocate. Come Valentine’s Day, when he didn’t show up to their meeting place and brushed it off with an excuse that the weather in England was bad (from her experience, the weather in England was almost always bad) she decided she had to cut him off.

The reply from her sweet Jake that she had given her heart to surprised her.

“I have your phone number, you stupid bitch. Do you think I won’t be able to find your address? You already gave it to me, including your last name. I know your parents are bakers. I know where to find you. I know where you sleep.” Scared now, she blocked his number.

She blocked him on all social media, not that he had many. She was beginning to suspect now that Jake wasn’t who he said he was. She looked up photos of miniature poodles, finding the picture that he claimed was of his dog in the first ten. The photos he had taken around London were merely grabbed off of the internet. 

She reached out to Alya, who merely scolded her about trusting Internet strangers, believing Lila that this was just an attention grabber from Marinette. After all, her boyfriend hadn’t been real, had he?

She went to Adrien after the first threatening text from an unknown number appeared, with just a photo, the photo that she had taken. He offered no advice, merrily telling her to ignore it.

So, she did. Stupidly, naïvely. The video showed up on her public fashion design’s Instagram. Shock rippled around the gossip sites. She tried to take it down, but it had already been downloaded by many people. It was quickly spread around the internet, with various people calling her out. She deleted her instagram. The source was unknown, so she couldn’t sue whoever it was. Her parents were ashamed; furious that she had trusted this boy.

The next video was merely an explicit of some guy jerking off to a photo of her. It was clearly not a teenage boy. it came from the same account. Jake.

Her future was ruined. Each time someone searched up her name, the photos would appear. She was ridiculed at school, even more so. They called her a slut, a whore. So, even though her parents couldn’t move their bakery, they offered to let her transfer schools to somewhere else in Paris when the year ended. She accepted.

The new school was fine, at first. She made a few friends. Soon the video made its appearance again, and everything was ruined. Her old classmates slandered her online, taking no mercy. They now ignored her. She wasn’t sure what she preferred. 

Who was he? Why was he doing this? She was ostracized at school for something she couldn’t control. Hawkmoth was never defeated under her time as ladybug, and she resigned from the position. She was the keeper of the miraculous now, so she sought out heroes who could defeat him. When she turned 18, Hawkmoth was revealed as Gabriel Agreste and sentenced to 12 life sentences in prison. 

Finally, after pleading with her parents, she moved to the United States for college. Fashion was a far off dream now, slowly sinking below the horizon. 

She went by Marie Dupain. She tried to remain invisible, sure that if she was noticed, she would be recognized. Marinette dyed her hair a darker black and wore baggy sweatshirts. 

Years passed and she had never achieved her dream of becoming a fashion icon. She still designed for different celebrities and high caliber clients, but she spent her days at a law firm after getting her degree in textiles and then achieving her law degree. She never returned to Paris unless it was to visit her family. 

It was just her luck that on the tenth Christmas she spent at her parents bakery, she would run into Alya, who was followed by a tall, freckled, ginger man. With a sharp inhale, she greeted her former best friend with a wan smile. 

“Girl! I haven’t seen you in ages!” Marinette shied away from the enthusiasm and attention. Alya prattled on before remembering her companion and purpose. 

“Oh, this is Shane.” She said, gesturing to her red-headed friend. “He’s a friend from university.” Marinette nodded slowly, wondering as she always did if this man was the one from the photos. 

Shane seemed agreeable enough, and Alya speedily roped Marinette into plans for them to reconnect. Marinette resolved to be on the next plane back to the US after Christmas. 

When Shane turned around, she noticed the peculiar birthmark on the back of his hand. It was shaped like a cat. A sleeping one, in fact. Marinette ran upstairs, abandoning her parents to take care of the rush. 

They never did find who posted those photos. The true identity of “Jake” was never revealed, nor did Marinette ever tell Shane that his photos were used against her. You see, happy endings don’t always come true. The bad guy isn’t always captured and killed in a grisly fire. That’s the power of being hidden behind a screen. 

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More than 500,000 predators are online everyday. Kids 12 to 15 are susceptible to being groomed and manipulated by offenders online. FBI stats show that more than 50 percent of victims of online sexual exploitation are 12-15 years old.

- According to the University of New Hampshire's Youth Internet Safety Study (YISS), reports of unwanted sexual solicitations declined 53 percent between 2000 and 2010. As of 2010 only 9 percent of kids who use the internet received an unwanted sexual solicitation.

- The YISS report also found that two specific kinds of contact -- requests for offline meetings and situations that kids found extremely upsetting -- declined between 2005 and 2010.

- When there’s a report of an online predator (like the one about Roblox in 2017), multiple news outlets jump on the story, and they often appear in many outlets over a week or two, so it may feel like it's more common than it is. Also, it makes for a popular article since it plays on parents' fears.

- The University of New Hampshire's Crimes Against Children Research Center reports that kids are more likely to pressure each other to send or post sexual content than an adult.

-According to the New England Journal of Public Policy, contact with online predators happens mostly in chat rooms, on social media, or in the chat feature of a multiplayer game (Roblox, Minecraft, Clash of Clans, World of Warcraft, and so on).

-Most games meant for kids -- like Roblox and Animal Jam -- have built-in features and settings that are designed to prevent inappropriate comments and chat. Though they’re often imperfect, they do help.

-Games that aren’t designed only for kids have fewer controls, settings, and safeguards.

-Any app or online space that allows contact with strangers without moderation or age verification can allow contact between kids and adult strangers.Teens sometimes visit adult sites, chat rooms, and dating apps out of curiosity about sex and romance

-Only 5 percent of online predators pretend they're kids. Most reveal that they're older -- which is especially appealing to 12-to-15-year-olds who are most often targeted.

-Some predators initiate sexual talk or request pictures immediately and back off if refused. They're in it for an immediate result.

-In contrast, some predators engage in "bunny hunting," which is the process of picking a potential victim for "grooming": They'll look at social media posts and public chats to learn about the kid first.

-Once they've selected someone, they may begin the grooming phase, which often involves friending the target's contacts, engaging in increasingly personal conversations to build trust, taking the conversation to other platforms (like instant messaging), requesting pictures, and finally requesting offline contact.

-Sometimes if a kid shares one compromising picture, a predator will engage in "sextortion," which involves demanding more pictures or contact under threat of exposure or harm.

Be careful. Don’t trust anyone. Read up on what to do. Look up stories of victims like Amanda Todd. This is an unfortunately common thing, and I ask that people are aware of it. Marinette was targeted because of how open and vulnerable she was. Take care!