#garcia outtakes

[llama-head]

💀Happy Halloween from the Garcia’s Pt. 2 💀

[disneyprincemuke]

outtakes: the dynamics [fast times and fast nights]

the princess and the prince -> camellia ayudisha x charles leclerc

the seeker and the unreached -> sonnet pham x mick schumacher

the hated and the endeared -> jupiter nightshade x oscar piastri

the wicked witch and charming prince -> kelly piquet x max verstappen

the bassist and the drummer -> alexis mun x atticus singh

the gifted and the burnt -> aella gutierrez x logan sargeant

the hardworker and the privileged -> natalia bunbury x carlos sainz

the shadow and the silhouette -> venus nightshade x arthur leclerc

the queen and the king -> roxxane castle x fernando alonso

the honey badger and the honey -> daniel ricciardo x heidi berger

the driver and the golfer -> lily muni he x alex albon

the chef and the feaster -> yuki tsunoda x pierre gasly

the definite and the maybe -> charlotte miller x liam lawson

the known and the unknown -> marta garcia x selene liu

the homie hopper and the best friend -> joanna matthews x frederik vesti

the demure and the spirited -> carmen mundt x george russell

the racer and the model -> lance stroll x sara pagliaroli

the hopeful and the accomplished -> shaina villegas and lewis hamilton

[noneedtoamputate]

Every Beautiful Thing New Year's Eve Outtake

A while back, I read a thread on Twitter where Burr Snith's daughter commented that her day, Tony Garcia, Pat Christenson, and Chuck Grant all got together regularly as they lived near San Francisco. I though this could be a fun set-up for New Year's. Warning: This outtake is complete fluff.

I joined Tumblr and the BoB fandom this year, and all of you made it a great one. Here's to a happy 2024!

New Year's Eve, 1951

The hotel ballroom looked festive as Chuck and Ellen were escorted to their table, the first couple of their party to arrive. The room buzzed with happy revelers and the band warming up, a “Happy New Year 1952” banner above them. 

Chuck put his arm around Ellen, enjoying how the cut of her dress exposed her shoulders and upper back for him to see and touch.

Ellen hadn’t met this group of Chuck’s friends yet, the Easy Company veterans who lived near San Francisco. Chuck met up with Pat Christenson once a month, for drinks and a laugh. Burr Smith and Tony Garcia weren't in his platoon, so he wasn't as close with them, but Ellen knew he looked forward to catching up with them tonight. 

“Are you sure we shouldn't have invited Joe and Miriam?” Ellen asked. Joe was Chuck’s best friend, and Miriam was quickly becoming one of hers. Joe knew the whole group coming out tonight; she couldn't understand why Chuck wouldn't extend an invitation.

“No,” he said, firmer than he meant, and sighed. Of course Ellen didn't understand. How could she? 

“It's just everyone who went through it deals with it in their own way. And Joe's way is to just get on with things. He doesn't want to get together with the guys.” It didn't feel like an articulate answer, but Chuck hoped Ellen would understand nonetheless.

“But he sees you,” Ellen quietly pointed out. 

And this was true. But what Ellen didn't know was that Chuck and Joe never talked about the war, the way the four of them would tonight. Joe and Chuck talked baseball, work, the weather. Sometimes they didn't talk, just smoked and enjoyed the quiet. 

Quiet after places like Normandy and Bastogne and Haguenau was a gift to be savored. 

“Can't help it that he finds me irresistible,” he replied, making a quip instead of trying to explain his best friend. Ellen rolled her eyes, Chuck's intended reaction accomplished.

Just then, Chuck saw his three friends come into view. There were handshakes and pats on the back and introductions made.

“So where are your wives, or did they finally have the good sense to run off?” Chuck asked.

“They're freshening up,” Tony answered. 

They're talking about me, Ellen thought. She knew what happened in ladies’ rooms.

The men started catching up, but Chuck interrupted Burr when he saw Pat take a sip of water.

“Anyone give you permission to drink?” 

“Fuck you, Chuck,” Pat said, and the three other men burst into laughter. 

“This is why you haven't met Pat until tonight. He doesn't know how to behave in mixed company,” Chuck explained to Ellen.

“Sorry,” Pat said, looking her direction, and she waved him off. He turned back to the others. “Can't believe you all find it so funny after all these years. And you,” Pat said, pointing at Tony, “You weren't even there.”

“I've heard the story so many times, it feels like I was,” Tony said.

Chuck recalled the tale about a long hike during basic training. Pat took unauthorized sips of water and had to march the entire route again. Tony wasn't there because he was a replacement, a paratrooper who didn't join the company until after D-Day. 

Ellen felt like a fifth wheel, forcing them to stop and explain things to her. Eventually the other women finally showed up at the table. Ellen had committed their names to memory: Jane Smith, Nancy Garcia, and Mary Jo Christenson, whose due date looked eminent.

Drinks arrived and the conversation flowed easily. The women asked Ellen questions about her job and interests and talked about their husbands, their children, the holidays, how Mary Jo was holding up. 

During supper, Ellen heard names she didn't recognize: Martin, Randleman, Heffron, Toye, and Guarnere. From what Ellen could make out, the last two had been badly injured. 

“You look a little lost,” Jane said to Ellen. “It took me a while to keep all the guys straight. It gets better …” she trailed off. She looked down, realizing she shouldn't have said what came out of her mouth. 

“Gets better?” Ellen repeated.

“Um,” started Jane, not knowing how to start. “There are company reunions every year. Maybe … “

Once again, she didn't finish her thought.

Maybe I’ll go to one, if Chuck and I get married. Ellen understood what Jane tried to say. 

Ellen gave her smile, trying to make her feel better. She knew Jane didn't mean anything malicious in her words. 

No one could flag down a waiter after the meal, so the guys went up to the bar to order drinks. A few minutes later, Ellen noticed three pairs of eyes staring at her, and Mary Jo nudging Nancy with her elbow. 

“We were just wondering if Chuck is a good …  if he’s …”

Ellen laughed to herself. These three married women, one who clearly performed the act in question nine months ago, couldn't find the words to ask if Chuck was good in bed. 

This wasn't the type or conversation she would normally have with women she just met, but she felt like it was an invitation of sorts, like climbing up that mountain Chuck and his friends had talked about earlier. She put her elbows on the table and looked each woman in the eyes conspiratorially. 

“You have no idea.”

Nancy grinned, Jane blushed, and Mary Jo howled with laughter. “I knew it!” she cried out. 

When the foursome returned, drinks in hand, the giggling started up again. 

“Do I even want to know?” asked Chuck. 

“Probably not,” admitted Ellen. “But if those three didn't love you before, they love you now. And you have me to thank.”

“And just how should I thank you?” Chuck spoke softly into her ear.

“Oh, I know you'll think of something,” she replied. Chuck raised his eyebrows and smirked. 

Ellen looked cross the table and saw Mary Jo watching them, and she raised a glass in Ellen’s direction, Ellen returned the gesture in kind.

Couples started to crowd the dance floor. Tony and Nancy were already out there, and Burr and Mary Jo stood up to make their way over. Chuck saw Ellen’s door tapping in time with the music. 

“Pat, you mind taking Ellen out for a spin?” 

“Sure!” 

Ellen looked over to his wife for confirmation.

Mary Jo rested her hands on her belly. “There’s no way I'm dancing tonight. Go. Have fun.” 

Pat led the way through the maze of tables and chairs. 

“You're a good dancer,” Ellen said, after a few minutes. 

“I'm okay,” Pat conceded. “Chuck was a great dancer. Best jitterbug in the company.”

Ellen imagined Chuck in an English pub, winning over all the girls. Tall, with his blond hair and blue eyes. Those English soldiers didn't stand a chance when he was around.

“Chuck seems really happy when we get together,” Pat said.

“Good,” Ellen replied.

“You look really happy, too,” Pat continued.

Ellen’s brows furrowed, and she felt her body tighten. “Thank you,” she replied. “But you don't know me. You didn't even meet me until a few hours ago.”

Pat smiled. “I like to draw. I'm always working on something in my sketchpad. You learn to read people's faces, even the ones you don't know so well. And it's a good thing, being happy. After all we've been through, I wished everyone could feel happy.”

Ellen felt her shoulders relax. Pat was right. It was okay to be happy. Why had she felt so defensive when he pointed that out? She laughed as he twirled her one way and then the other.

The band played a slow song next.

“Mind if I cut in?” Chuck asked Pat, who graciously stepped aside.

She leaned in close, her arms around his shoulders. She felt his hand grab her hip, his breath on her neck.

Pat was right. Chuck was the better dancer.

And then the countdown started. “Three. Two. One. Happy New Year!” Balloons dropped from the ceiling and the happily buzzed party goers sang “Auld Lang Syne” in between kisses. 

“Do you have any New Year’s resolutions?” she asked.

He thought of the ring in a box, waiting in his nightstand back at the apartment. He didn't know where or how he would ask her, only that it would be soon. 

“Yes,” he said. “One. It's a surprise.”

“Being happy isn't really a resolution, is it?” she asked him. “It's just that I’ve been happy lately, and well, I like it.”

“I think that's a great one. I’ll add that to my list,” he replied, and pulled her in for another kiss. 

Five minutes into 1952, and neither one of them had broken their resolution.

[krispyweiss]

Album Review: Grateful Dead - Wake of the Flood: The Angel’s Share

Given all the difficulty Phil Lesh had when trying to teach “Unbroken Chain” to his bandmates, it’s no surprise the Grateful Dead ignored the song for more than two decades before finally playing it live in 1995.

Fans were ecstatic when the song finally made it to the stage. But, truth be told, the Dead had as hard a time with the “Unbroken Chain” in ’95 as they did in 1973.

The group began working on what was known as “Phil’s Song” during sessions for Wake of the Flood. As outtakes released on the digital-only Angel’s Share edition of that LP make clear, Lesh stumped his comrades with the song’s complexity, causing Jerry Garcia to complain he wasn’t having a good time.

“It’s not supposed to be fun, it’s supposed to be right,” an exasperated Lesh tells the guitarist.

“It turns around,” Lesh had said to the band earlier. “I’m telling you, it turns around so that what was the offbeat is now the one.”

Surrounded by multiple takes of the songs that would make up Wake of the Flood - “Unbroken Chain” was held for From the Mars Hotel - “Phil’s Song” is a highlight. Other insightful gems include the band, with sax player Martin Fierro in tow, poring over the sonic blueprints to construct Keith Godchaux’s “Let Me Sing Your Blues Away” from scratch and the stunningly delicate and intricate ensemble playing across four stabs at “Weather Report Suite” and three earlier takes dubbed “I Am the Rain.”

As with the previously released Angel’s Share editions of Workingman’s Dead and American Beauty, the consecutive iterations of album tracks including ‘Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo,” “Stella Blue,” “Eyes of the World” and “Pistol Shot (China Doll)” can grow tedious; mercifully, “Row Jimmy” appears but once.

Donna Jean Godchaux must’ve added her parts toward the end of the recording process as she is a non-factor on this bonus LP, which previews the 50th-anniversary edition of Wake, slated for Sept. 29. Instead, listeners are treated to tentative vocal performances as the band works out the music, paired with chatter, false starts, aborted takes and related ephemera. This makes Wake of the Flood: The Angel’s Share a fascinating one- or two-time listen to the Grateful Dead in raw form. But it’s not something for regular spinning.

Grade card: Grateful Dead - Wake of the Flood: The Angel’s Share - B

9/5/23

[airshipvalentine]

i have (fortunately? unfortunately?) been getting into dndads recently. it's a fun time and ive been a fan of the story break/rocketjump ppl for a couple years now so as expected i am enjoying myself

here's my thoughts

anthony burch is a fucking legend. i want to shake his hand

by far the best recap segments of, like, any podcast i've listened to. i love a good public radio parody/song/documentary bit. reminds me of the unexplored places' microfiction bits they put in their episode descriptions which i ALSO adore

fun facts about the characters at the top of every episode? genius. helps put a name to a voice, helps characterize the pcs, very funny. no notes

outtake at the end of the credits is also good

i have real human emotions about grant wilson and the oak-garcia twins. i am predictable

i can feel my sense of humor degrading with every episode i listen to. dear god help me i need to watch something clever and well-thought out

[junomata]

Reimagined an outtake from our concept shoot with Ms. Francine Garcia into a captivating visual narrative

Glam and Photo by Juno Mata

Hair by Tony Mananquil

[theloniousbach]

GRATEFUL DEAD: MEET UP AT THE MOVIES 2022: Tivoli Theater, Copenhagen, 17 April 1972, aired 1 November 2022

This excerpt of an iconic Grateful Dead moment, right in the middle of my favorite period where they were at the height of their powers, is so familiar and yet was rendered absolutely fresh.

They’re cramped on the stage all around the same level and they are having fun (yes there are the Bolos/Bozos clown masks) and are so young (well, Pigpen—so few times to see him perform certainly at this length—is haunted) and the songs are fresh (He’s Gone is at a quick pace, Jack Straw has only Weir singing both parts of the story).

This is the band I fell for and we are within two weeks of the 50th anniversary of those Memorial Hall shows where the bus came by for me to get on. This is all the stuff of legend and, again, the time machine almost stripped away the distortions of myth. I am simultaneously listening to the Revolver box set and the outtakes from those mythic performances. They are OUTtakes and the recordings are iconic and fixed. But for a moment they’re just songs that are growing. Dead tunes never stopped growing/decaying.

Europe 72 are a pinnacle and yet, as important a period as it is, that past is slippery in large part because they never were fixed.

Yes the best moments are the jams, Truckin’ and the China>Rider transition, but there’s an excitement and fun in their discovery. Garcia is amused and excited, also thin and energetic; I suppose I still resent that he started slipping away well before he actually died. But here he established lots of social capital.

Lesh is far from the grand man that he has become after 1995 as he stepped up to maintain precisely this legacy. But in those moments, he’s a nerdy goof, only occasionally turning on the magic. Still the juju is irrepresibly there. I am struck how often he’s the high harmony singer (Jack Straw, Ramble On Rose).

Pig too is a revelation. There isn’t a Good Lovin’/Midnight Hour/Lovelight rave nor Caution; he seems too fragile for that. But he sings It Hurts Me Too, Chinatown Shuffle, and Next Time You See Me poignantly with some nice harp work. But he played lots of organ too—and it matters on the songs (Ramble On Rose, He’s Gone) and jams (Truckin’). Similarly, it takes seeing to remember what Keith Godchaux added. He’s often down in the mix but he really contributes (El Paso, Chinatown Shuffle) with actual solos as part of the electric Dixieland that is the Dead

At this point Weir really is just the kid, coming into his own with songs like Jack Straw. Like Lesh not being quite the constant Scott LaFaro soloist he is now, he isn’t the full blown C-A-G-E-D chord fragment master of the fretboard (though it’s there). Both are even conventional, even though they are collectively blowing the paint off the walls in this period. And then Garcia is both enjoying being the charismatic leader which too quickly became a burden to hide from in a haze of Persian and just a member of the band. The range and energy of his playing is breathtaking, but he’s also not just soloing all the time. I haven’t mentioned Billy Kreutzmann but I also preferred him as the only drummer and there’s power and swing throughout.

Good old Grateful Dead but somehow new, like I was when this was coming down.

[priceof-freedom]

Fanfic: In khaki and nothing more (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x F!Reader (Top Gun: Maverick)

Summary:  An outtake based on the bonus scene from “Of gym buddies and overlapping schedules”. In front of everyone else, Bob tends to be quiet and easily flustered. Behind closed doors, he’s anything but… especially when he sees you wearing his clothes.

A/N: I always had a head canon that Bob could be the opposite of shy in bed, given the right circumstances. Thus, this little thing was born. 

This is legitimately my first attempt at smut, so releasing this to the world is making me extremely extremely anxious.

Warnings: Smut, 18+ only, MINORS DNI

Word Count: 2.0k

TOP GUN: MAVERICK MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

From “Of gym buddies and overlapping schedules” (Best to read that first!)

You handed him his khaki uniform button-up, neatly folded, making sure everyone else knew exactly what it was. “You left in quite a rush this morning, and you forgot this.”

Bob’s cheeks instantly turned pink, and you were certain he was recalling the exact reason why he hadn’t taken his uniform with him in the morning. You had woken up in the middle of the night and, not wanting to go nude into the bathroom, you grabbed the first article of clothing within reach. It just so happened to be his uniform. He must have woken up as well while you were in the bathroom: when he caught sight of you in nothing but his uniform button-up, an intense, almost hungry, look graced his features. Suffice it to say, the two of you lost about another hour or so of rest, and you had fallen asleep after that in blissful exhaustion while still wearing it.

Everyone in the vicinity were shell-shocked, even the others like Lts. Fitch, Garcia, and Machado who joined in on the commotion. Except perhaps for Rooster, as he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying what he was witnessing. Bob himself was quite stunned to silence, and you marveled in how flustered he is now when he was anything but that last night.

Upon returning from the bathroom, it was only then that you noticed how truly messy the state of your room was: clothing and underwear littered across the space, shoes frantically kicked off, and a chair near the door even fell to the floor. As quietly as possible, you picked up everything one by one, neatly folding and organizing them by the foot of the bed.

“Hey,” came a groggy voice.

You whipped around in surprise and found Bob smiling sleepily at you. The sheets were until his chest and his normally immaculate hair was mussed from sleep and the previous night’s activities.

“Oh no!” you whispered apologetically. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s okay,” he said, reaching over to the nightstand for his glasses. “What are you doing up?”

“I was just fixing up. Can you believe that we even toppled over that chair?”

He began to chuckle, but as his vision cleared up with his glasses, the laughter died in his throat. He regarded you with an intense look, eyes traveling from head to toe. He called your name gruffly.

“Bob?”

“What are you wearing?”

You looked down and realized that you had Bob’s khaki uniform on. You had grabbed the first article of clothing you found on the way to the bathroom earlier, and didn’t even bother buttoning it up. And that was all that you were wearing.

“Shit. I’m sorry! I just picked up whatever was closest. I didn’t mean to wrinkle it or anything—”

“Y/N…”

“I’ll iron it and it can be good as new by the morning—”

“Y/N—”

“I’m pretty sure it’s still clean and unstained. Gosh, I’m so—”

“Y/N!”

You stopped and looked at him apologetically, wringing your hands with uncertainty. Whatever it is you and Bob started was still pretty new and you did not want to risk ruining it over something small like this. You weren’t sure if he was particular about his clothing and appearance, but since you rarely saw a hair out of place with him, you could only assume so. Gosh, you’re such an idiot, you reprimanded yourself.

“Come here.”

His tone was… different, to say the least. Your brain couldn’t really process the change in his voice, but your body recognized it for what it was: a command. Bob was now seated with his back against the headboard, the sheet now covering only until his waist, his chest bared. The same look was still on his boyish features: if you were to find one word to describe it, it might just be… hungry. It sent a shiver down your spine.

Once you crossed over to his side of the bed, he reached out his hand. Your brain was still trying to keep up with what was happening, yet everything else seemed to just respond naturally to what he was doing. He guided you to straddle him and your arms fell onto his shoulders. You could feel him, soft and solid beneath you, only a sheet acting as a barrier.

His hands traveled from your thighs, tickling at your sides into the skin beneath the open uniform. He laid his palms flat against your back and pulled you flush against him.

An involuntary whine escaped your lips. “Bob…”

He nuzzled at your neck and nipped at the skin above the collar. “You look good in my uniform, baby.”

This was a version of a Bob you haven’t seen. You were having difficulty reconciling what you’re experiencing now to how you’ve gotten to know the quiet pilot, and even to how he was during your first time together a couple of hours ago. Then, he was absolutely attentive and eager to please. That Bob was loving and giving.

This Bob… If the wetness gathering at your core was any indication of how you felt, you weren’t sure what was.

Your body really was acting on its own accord and a part of you felt like you should be embarrassed. But you were just too focused on what Bob was doing and how he was making you feel. His lips traveled up the column of your neck, ending with a soft bite to your earlobe. In no time, he had you moaning and grinding against him.

Rough palms slid from your back and down to your thighs, but he stopped just shy of the apex. You let out another noise, almost pained and complaining. Bob pulled away slightly and he looked at you questioningly. Brow raised and a smirk on his face. It was a look you haven’t seen on him; it radiated confidence and boldness. You’re quite sure it caused you to gush a little more.

“Tell me what you want.”

Words were failing you and you could only whimper his name. “Bob, please…”

“Please, what, baby?”

“Touch me.” 

You were rewarded with a bruising kiss, making you gasp against his lips. It was nothing like the kisses you were accustomed to sharing with him: it was urgent and raw. It was like his lips were chasing something that only you could provide. The grip he had on your thigh tightened briefly, then his hand made its ascent, slowly heading to the point you craved. The brief contact of his fingers against your folds was enough to make your breath hitch.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he breathed. He slid his fingers up and down your slit, coating it in your slick. You could practically hear how wet you were, as he went back up to your sensitive bundle of nerves. For every slow and deliberate circle he made to your clit, a gasp escaped you. “And I thought I had it bad seeing you in my uniform.”

The evidence was begging for it to be seen, rigid and erect beneath the sheets. It felt deliciously hard underneath you, and it made you rub yourself against him. It was Bob’s turn to groan. He gripped your hips in an attempt to stop you, but you were having none of it. “If you keep this up, this isn’t going to last very long.”

You giggled and did it again, eliciting another groan from him. Getting on your knees, you tugged the sheet down and he sprang free. It was thick and pulsing and it made your mouth water. Just as you were about to wrap your hands around his shaft, his wrist stopped yours. In one swift motion, he flipped you both and had you pinned to the bed. His face was inches from yours and the cold metal of his dog tags were brushing the valley between your breasts. He smiled wickedly at you, then captured your lips again in his own.

What this man was doing to you was absolutely mind-blowing. When you went on your first date, you had no idea that this was hiding beneath that kind bespectacled face. Now that you’ve had a taste of it, you were sure that it will be a craving that you will forever have. A craving that only he can satisfy.

Your back arched, pressing your chest against his, as the kiss deepened. Bob slowly dragged one hand along your side and down to the crook of your knee, hiking it up to his hip. At this point, the space between you was almost non-existent. You could feel the warm tip of his cock brushing against your warm center, making you moan into the kiss.

He released your lips, but his own never left your heated skin, traveling from your jaw to your neck. “Let’s make sure you’re ready for me,” he murmured into your skin.

His hand found its way back to your core, rubbing your lips with the wetness gathered there. Slowly and methodically, he plunged his digits into you; one first, testing the waters, then a second one, stretching you more. You were nothing but a whimpering mess already.

“Bob, please…”

At the sound of that, he removed his fingers, just as the tension was reaching the peak. You groaned in frustration, throwing your head back into the pillow. Then, the man had the audacity to laugh at you.

“Just a little patience, baby,” he said, with a smirk that you’re coming to love on his boyish features.

“Bob, I swear to god—” But he silenced you with a kiss. He made quick work of the condom and he was positioned above you in no time.

“Ready?” Teasingly, he lined himself up to your slit, only barely entering, but not completely. He absolutely knew what he’s doing to you, and the look on his face was telling you that he was enjoying it.

“Please,” was all you could get out.

Slowly, he pushed into, inch by inch. The stretch is deliciously incredible, making you involuntarily clench around him. The sound that escaped your lips was a mix of a gasp and a moan. He grabbed your leg again, hitching it against his hip, and filled you to the hilt in one thrust. The position of one of your legs wrapped around him made his cock reach a different angle, making you feel thoroughly full with nothing but him.

For a moment, both of you stayed this way, breathing heavily like you had run a marathon. His forehead was resting against yours, eyes closed shut. You could feel him throb inside you and it was so so good.

Your hands traveled from his shoulders, where you had previously been grasping onto him for dear life, to either side of his face. “Bob,” you whispered. His eyes flew open, pupils dilated with lust. “Fuck me.”

It was like a switch. Bob moved immediately, drawing back until only his tip was inside, then roughly sinking back in one strong fluid thrust. Both your legs were now around his waist, giving him more leverage for his thrusts. He was relentless in his movements. He kept his face buried in your neck and he was chanting your name into your heated skin.

The sound of your skin slapping against his spurred you further towards your release. He probably could feel it too, with his increased pace. You could no longer control the noise coming out of your lips: he had you crying out with every hard thrust.

“I can feel you’re close, baby.” His hand moved towards where the two of you were joined. His fingers found your clit again, flicking it and aiding your release. “Just a little more.”

It was unbearable, in the best way possible. With another push into you, you fall apart.

He followed not too far behind. Bob picked up the pace, chasing his own release. You met his every thrust, clenching around him as you could feel him solid and pulsing inside you. It was your turn to murmur into his ear, praising him and urging him to keep going.

In one final jerk of his hips, he shuddered and let out a grunt as he came apart. 

He collapsed, most of his weight on you. Beyond carefully sliding out of you, he made no move to get up. Both of you were gasping for air. Silence enveloped you, and only the sound of your labored breathing filled the room. You felt utterly satiated, and honestly still surprised about what just happened. This was not something you had on the cards when you started dating him.

As if sensing your thoughts, Bob swiftly gets up on his elbows, a look of worry and concern on his face. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Oh, god—”

“Bob?”

He softly holds your cheeks. “W-was that too much?”

The absurdity of his question and timing made you choke out a laugh. Now, this was the Bob you had gotten to know over the last few weeks. At the sound of your laughter, his brow furrowed even further. You tried, really you did, to stop laughing. But he looked so extremely adorably worried for something you clearly enjoyed.

“You just gave me a mind-blowing orgasm and you ask if it was too much?”

The concerned look was replaced with his signature sheepish one. “Well…”

“Bob,” you said emphatically, you own hands now on his cheeks too. “If wearing your uniform gets me that reaction from you, then I will definitely do it more often.”

He let out a relieved laugh and kissed you again.

(From the previous fic)

“I—y-yeah,” stammered Bob. “T-thanks, Y/N.”

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” you said, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. You didn’t wait for him to answer and simply walked out, your goal having been accomplished already. You heard some laughter from the group and hushed whispers, like a bunch of gossiping teenagers. 

“Always good to see ya, Doc!” called Rooster to your retreating back, the mirth apparent in his voice. While exiting, you saw in the mirrors that he had happily clapped Bob on the shoulder in support, and the latter was sporting a small confident smile. You also caught sight of a still gaping Hangman.

You smiled in satisfaction. You couldn’t wait until you saw Bob again tonight.

A/N: Aaaand that’s it for my first ever smut. I hope everyone likes it! *nervous laughter* Please do leave a comment and reblog! 💖

Check out the other  stories in this universe:

A fluffy drabble on Bob and Reader’s date

A smutty drabble on Bob being called “lieutenant”

A one-shot featuring Rooster and Penny’s niece

A drabble set right before Rooster and Niece!Reader have their date

Currently, I do not run taglists. I might in the future. :)

[nagdabbit]

fic masterlist

stranger things (it’s all harringrove)

ao3

Lit up like a match - 4k words - soulmate au - steve and trans billy meet again in a chicago bar, years after highschool

Keep me in your glow - 1.7k words - sequel to lit up like a match, self-reflection and soft™ vibes

Sugar, Butter, Flour - 2.8k words - baker billy & taxman steve. it’s stranger than fiction, but shorter and no one gets terrorized by a narrator

Some are born and some are dyin’ - 1.5k words - murder boyfriends. there’s handcuffs, there’s knives, there’s dark vibes

Took it all and took the dirt road home - 1.5k words - summer night skinning dipping. no dialogue, just vibes

lamp-bright rind - 97.7k words - neighbors to lovers restaurant au slowburn

to carry within us an orchard - 7.4k words - prequel to lamp-bright rind, what if billy and robin were disaster queer friends back in culinary school

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ace prompt 1 - 1.6k words, - prompt “You know I’d go anywhere you were, right?” - asexual steve

ace prompt 2 - 1.1k words - prompt(s) 66. "I said I liked PEANUTS, not penis."  + "You're so dumb I bet your mom used cactuses as dildos." -  extremely drunk ace steve

wrestling

ao3

Come through callin’ - 33.1k words - mox/eddie/renee - what if mox got stuck in a time loop pre-revolution 2021? but it was kinda sad?

Choked Out series - roman/seth/elias circa 2019 post-romans return pre-draft, with a healthy dose of kink

a song that will dig into my bones - mox/bryan danielson, bookshop au. Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen

un-beef-lievable - 2.1k words - mox/hangman - wrestleprompts week one: "Two people reach for the last bottle of the same drink in a gas station fridge package of burger in the grocery store."

built to last - 1.4k words - mox/bryan danielson - bryan buys a houseboat. mox is afraid of water. 

snow white trash - 926 words - bryan/mox - bryan is a long-suffering vet, mox is kinda like snow white

black and blue - 7.5k words - bryan/yuta - standalone scene from a bcc-dsm club au that lives in my drafts and will never be finished

bang for the buck - 927 words - bcc/matt jackson - remember that moment during don 2023 when mox lovingly fed tacs into matt’s mouth?

late shift - 1.5k words - eddie/claudio - exes who have to get back together for the sake of their cat

passing notes - 1.3k words - nigel/bryan - competing highschool teachers

raised by wolves - 1.4 words - mox/yuta - werewolf got stuck as a wolf and adopted from the shelter

we collide with shoulder and steel - dark bcc & garcia beauty and the beast au

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Throw away the work to be done - 761 words - effy/orange cassidy - set after their gcw: lights out match

bookshop au tag  - mox isn’t a wrestler anymore, he has a bookshop and still managed to adopt big yoots - chappy 1 snippet 1.3k words - chappy 2 snippet 2k words - chappy 3 snippet 1k words - chappy 4 pt 1 990 words - chappy 4 pt 2 1.8k words - chappy 6 snippet 500 words

bookshop outtake one

[secret-rendezvous1d]

“you’re so beautiful.”

hello, hi.

here’s some long-awaited spencer fluff that got requested to me. it’s loosely based on this idea that someone sent in to me; you should write something fluffy about spence or the reader being sick or having an off day (something along those lines), and the other just being very attentive to them. like checking in on them before the roundtable meetings or in between briefings and maybe they go out to catch an unsub and they're holding hands in the car and just being super sweet and caring :'))))) brb gonna go explode with feels.

explode with feels is how i hope you’ll feel after reading this. it did make me go all mushy inside because having spencer take care of me whilst i’m sick would be a dream come true- but it won’t because he’s a fictional character and that sucks.

this could the last story that gets posted for a while; some things are happening and i just want to take a bit of a break from posting stories on here until i’m feeling comfortable again. i’m still going to be writing behind the scenes so don’t think i won’t be; there’s so much spencer stuff to work from that plenty of stories will be coming. i just want to say that i am incredibly thankful to each and every one of you who has supported this new venture of writing and has enjoyed it so far. 

like, reblog and send in some feedback, please. it’s greatly appreciated and it helps me work out what you want to see and what you are after. if you want something specific then do let me know! i’d love to try and write something for you.

thank you. enjoy.

-

“you’re so beautiful” spencer reid x female reader (reader insert imagine) word count; 4.6k.

* TRIGGER WARNING; very brief mentions of rape, abduction, torture. if you are uncomfortable with that, i advise not to read or read with caution. *

summary; yn falls sick and spencer likes to take good care of her when they’re working on a case.

-

YN woke up feeling like shit.

There was no need for her to beat around the bush and deny herself the truth on how her body was making her feel. Her head ached whenever she moved her vision from side to side and her temples throbbed close to her ears and she could feel her heartbeat from behind her eyes, pumping more vigorously, almost like it could have been heard throughout the entire building. Like the heartbeat effect in a movie when things got tense. Her breathing was shallow, her throat felt constantly dry and in need of hydration and her nasal passages felt like wet cotton-wool had been shoved up each nostril and had been strictly put there to restrict a clear intake and outtake of breath when she needed one. Her chest felt heavy, like she was drowning and had no way of coming back to the surface, and her eyes felt sensitive to the bright light of the pure sunshine streaming through the open curtains, which she assumed Spencer had opened when he woke up.

Despite feeling poorly and her head feeling like it wanted to involuntarily dip downward toward her chest, her eyes begging to have a few more minutes of sleep, she felt physically fine and there was no aching in her joints and no soreness around her neck and her legs felt strong enough to hold her weight and so she felt she could live the natural working day like normal. She could still hear so she could attend the briefing that morning, she could still see clearly so she could see the images of what they were dealing with when Garcia showed them on the screen in the roundtable room, she could still manoeuvre herself around and walk without getting dizzy or wandering from a straight line so she could easily be used in a chase to catch an unsub. She was fine to work and nothing but a couple of cold and flu capsules taken with her breakfast and some regular four-hour intakes of paracetamol through the day would keep her strong and feeling better throughout the day.

She left their bedroom freshly showered and spritzed with perfume and deodorant and dressed in an outfit that seemed like it was fitting attire to how she was feeling; a baggy sweatshirt, that hung loose down her upper body and covered her hands, and a pair of worn-out and black-denim skinny jeans that she kept in the back of her closet for days when work trousers just didn’t cut it for her. When she wanted something a little more comfortable and fitting. The material at the kneecaps almost worn out and torn from the non-stop crawling on her knees during cases that had them in tight spaces, the hems cut up from walking through thorns and shrubbery when cases took them into the wilderness, dried out stains of god-knows what sunk deep into the material which she struggled to get rid of when laundry day came around, and the denim around the inner thigh was wearing thin from the constant running around they had to do and with the amount of time she paced interrogation rooms and paced negotiation rooms when she felt on edge about something in particular. The jumper, she hoped, would keep her warm enough to not get worse symptoms over the next few days that passed so she wasn’t sent home for being ill - Hotch being more careful than strict because he couldn’t have her working excessively when her body couldn’t take the pressure.

What she expected to see, after closing the bedroom door behind her exit, was an empty living room that was void of anything related to Spencer. His house keys taken from the hooks by the front door, his tattered Converse trainers gone from the space beside her chunky black boots, his shoulder bag picked up from the floor by the coat-rack that was also missing his coat. Except, when she looked around and took a note of anything that had gone, everything seemed to have been left in the same place as where they had been left the previous evening when they arrived home; her boots were to the left of his trainers, his bag was hung up instead of left of the floor and his coat was taking up a hook on the rack beside her patterned macintosh. 

He was still home and it took her a moment to realise.

There was a delicious smell of bacon and fried eggs filling the entire apartment, the delectable sound of something sizzling in a pan taking her from the entryway and into the kitchenette, where she found Spencer stood amongst the smells and the sounds and the spitting oil and the steam coming from the cooker. Stood with his back facing her and dressed in the typical waistcoat and patterned shirt, one hand holding a ceramic bowl in a tight grip and the other using a fork to mash two halves of an avocado up, head darting from the pan frying the eggs to the bacon cooking in the grill to make sure there was no burning of any of the breakfast foods he was prepping for a masterpiece. 

“What’s going on here this morning? Are you burning food for an experiment or something?” She questioned, startling him in his spot, a tinkle of metal cutlery colliding with ceramic as he dropped the fork upon your sudden arrival. His body turned so gracefully in his place, the bowl of avocado being left behind on the counter, taking in the standing stature of his girlfriend as she stood in the archway of the kitchen entryway. Her hair damp from the shower but dried enough not to leave wet patches on her clothes, fresh-faced and make-up free, looking so small as she stood with a grin on her face- god, he really loved her., “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Good morning to you,” he smiled warmly, stepping across the expanse between them and reaching for her hands, curling his fingertips into hers and holding them gently in his sweetened hold. He smelt like his musky and sandalwood-scented aftershave, something that always lingered in whatever room he entered, and she loved that it made her feel so safe and secure. The smell of home when they/he were away from home. “You were tossing and turning in bed all night and I heard you sniffling this morning so I knew you were going to wake up a little ill so I thought I’d make you breakfast to cheer you up. Egg and mashed avocado on toast with some bacon to get you going since it’s your favourite at the moment.”

She smiled appreciatively. He was attentive, no matter what the subject was, and his eidetic memory came in hand sometimes when she found a new obsession or found something that she enjoyed because he always seemed to remember and never let it slip his mind. Egg and avocado on toast just so happened to be her favourite meal for the first meal of the day, which she knew would change by next week, and to see him cooking it made her heart race for him a little more than normal. She laced her fingers through his, bringing one of his hands to her lips and pressing a kiss to his skin because there was no way she was going to kiss him on the lips because she knew whatever she had could pass as quickly as it could spread. Much to her dismay, of course, because she liked to sneak the occasional and sneaky kiss whenever they could in between meetings or briefings or orders being thrown about from Hotch. 

“A little ill?” She frowned, head dipping down to her chest before looking back up at him, his eyes full of concern and worry, “I feel fine. Just a little bunged up. A head cold, I would say, Spence.”

He left the space in front of her to tend to the sizzling in the pan that was becoming a little more vicious as it held the cooking eggs, spitting oil as an indication that they were ready to be taken out and placed on a plate and ready to sit upon a bed of toasted bloomer bread that had a spread of avocado along the toasted top. Turning off the hob and sliding to the toaster, slipping two slices of bread into their toaster and allowing it to toast whilst the bacon finished grilling under the heat. And, by this point, YN took it upon herself to sit at the dining table and pour herself a cup of coffee from the cafetiere perched in the middle of the table, steaming with black coffee that had been freshly made before she left the bedroom.

“You look beautiful today, by the way,” Spencer broke the silence of the quiet apartment with a huff and a puff surrounding his words, setting a plate down in front of her and swiping his brow with the back of his hand, “you’re so beautiful.”

“I don’t feel beautiful right now, Spence,” she informed him, eyes focused on the bright yellow yolk of her egg, as he went back to grab his plate and walked back to the table to sit opposite her. She was impressed with his attempt. She liked her eggs cooked in a very specific way when it came to frying them, sunny-side up and with a runny yolk that covered everything when it broke, and he managed to get it perfectly to her expectations. “I’m all bunged up and snotting and leaking from every hole today. I don’t feel so pretty.”

“Every hole?” 

“Every facial hole, you pervert,” she scoffed and rolled her eyes, trying to hide the smirk that would have shown if she wasn’t trying to be a tiny bit serious. However, deep down, she was a little surprised that the innocent face that had sat opposite her at the dining table could even think of euphemisms so youthful and degenerative so quickly and so on subject when sex wasn’t exactly something he was confident in, “get your dirty mind out of the gutter.”

“I still think you look beautiful. Snot all around your nostrils or not,” he said, “absolutely gorgeous.”

“Shut up, don’t flatter me,” she kicked his shin underneath the table and grinned at the contact she felt with her toes, a wince leaving his mouth and a dribble of yolk trickling down his chin, the impact jerking his body and therefore jolting his arm and smearing avocado across his cheek, much to her amusement.  “serves you right, genius.”

“Hurry up and eat, we’re needed in the roundtable room in half an hour,” he shovelled a forkful of toast into his mouth, the crust catching his mouth and swiping a mix of avocado and egg whites across his upper lip.“Try not to sniffle and cough so much otherwise Hotch won’t allow you on the jet.”

“Don’t sabotage my job, Spencer. The team needs me just as much as they need you.” 

“I want you as close to me as possible so I can keep an eye on you. I’m a doctor, after all. I can look after you, carry any meds you need, be your something warm on the jet,” his sentence was halted by the ringing from the phone in his trouser pocket, the fork in his hand being placed on the plate so he could dig around and pull it out, no hesitation in his thumb to answer until he heard YN sniffle and he caught himself before he pressed the green call button. “You’re still alert to everything, yeah? Still good to come into work?”

“Do you mean, am I alert that Hotch is ringing your phone right now to get confirmation that we’ll be in on time?” She wondered, a hint of a smirk on her face when he looked up from his screen and nodded, “then yeah, I’m still good to go to work and treat the any like any normal day, Spence.”

+

“Are you feeling okay?” 

Spencer’s question was full of concern, and she worried that those overhearing their conversation because of the silence inside the confinement of the plane had their ears pricking up at any noise made by any one of the team, his long legs striding across the alley of the plane and crouching down beside the chair YN had made herself comfortable in for the duration of the flight to Texas. Away from everyone else, away from where chat would have been occupied because her head couldn’t take the jokes and the laughter that came from the gentle banter shared, away from being seated next to anyone in close proximity because she feared that she would definitely give something to someone in the tight space they were spending the next few hours. Although, when she looked around the plane for any eyes on her or anyone who had stopped mid-task to focus on what she and Spencer were talking about, she saw everyone off in their own worlds and in their own quiet conversations as the plane coursed its path. 

“I’m a bit tired but I’m okay. The pills before the flight are kicking in,” she smiled and tilted her head to the side and looked at him through red-rimmed eyes and hooded eyelids hanging above her coloured orbs, his arms folded on the arm of the chair she was curled up in. Her legs felt a little achy, in the bent up position they were in, and she remembered to move them and stretch them for a little to make sure her circulation was still running well. “I think I might take a nap right now. How long till we land?”

“Another couple of hours,” Spencer looked at his watch and then looked back to YN, his hand resting upon hers reassuringly, “I’ll brief you on everything when we land, if you want. To refresh your memory. I’ll get Hotch to get me and you to check the abduction site.”

“That’ll be good.”

“YN, get as much rest as you need,” Rossi said, standing behind Spencer and placing a soothing hand on his shoulder, squeezing it to tell him he was there and to not stand bolt upright in surprise. Partly to silently reassure him that she’d be fine if he left her to sleep through the flight to pass the time and partly to keep him stable as the plane hit a bout of soft turbulence from the gusts of high winds. “We’re thankful you chose to come with us but don’t forget to put yourself first sometimes. If you’re feeling rough then tell us. We can work around that.”

She really adored David.

He was like the father of the team; much more to YN because she had joined the team a short amount of time before he had taken over from Gideon. Even though he had common ground with almost every one of the agents in the unit, the two of them still kept a lookout for one another and checked in during intense cases because Rossi knew some of the information was enough to have someone second guess their career paths. He was the one who always pulled them aside when a situation got a little hated, he was the one who always pulled together team functions outside of work, he cooked for them and taught them Italian and he always knew how to shock and surprise them to a point where they weren’t surprised that Rossi had such an emotional and bumpy road in life.

He was the good cop to Hotch's bad cop - but that usually switched from time to time.

“Rossi, I’m fine. Honestly. I feel fine, just a little bunged up in the chest and the nose area. I struggled to sleep last night so I’m just going to try and grab an hour's shuteye,” YN spoke softly, wiping a tissue underneath her nose and balling it up in her fist, “I’ll be fine after a sleep, I’m sure. My grandma always told me that sleep was the best medicine.”

“If you’re sure,” he hummed, taking a step to the left and hiding in the alcove to make himself a cup of coffee, “absolutely sure?”

“This may not be my grandma’s couch but,” she grinned tiredly and nodded, “I’m absolutely sure.”

He smiled and held his coffee cup tightly in his hands, walking back to where he had been situated opposite JJ and Hotch, taking a glance at Morgan who had found himself comfortable on the sofa of the plane, the case file spread out on either side of him as he prepped to take control of the quick brief they always made so they were ready for when they touched down at their destination and split off into pairs to gain better understanding of who they were dealing with this time around.

“Warm enough?” Before his question was over, he was already shrugging off his jacket and opening it up, “here, some extra warmth,” he draped the material over her body and watched as she snuggled deeply beneath the garment. It smelt like him, it felt like him but it wasn’t him and she wished she could be snuggled on his lap and sleeping under his arm because that's where she slept the best- “better?”

“I was fine before,” she rolled her eyes and tilted her head to the touch of his lips, a kiss being placed against her forehead “but this feels nice.”

“Get comfy, I’ll go grab you some water.”

“You don’t need to baby me, Spencer. I’m honestly fine,” she grabbed his arm and stopped him from standing up and moving into the alcove behind her, not that he was going far but she just wanted to enjoy the moment they had going right now. They rarely got the chance to have their own conversation, in their own world, without any interruption from someone who wanted to tease them for something silly, “just stay here. I don’t need any water, not thirsty.”

“You can’t finish a sentence with the letter ‘d’ finding its way to the end of a word,” he said teasingly, a grin on his face because when she rolled her eyes, her head went the movement, like she went to ignore him because he couldn’t say anything seriously when she wanted him to be serious. Except, she wasn’t doing it to ignore him and to silently tell him that she was displeased with what he had said- she was doing it because if he let her eyes move on their own, her head would have been aching for moments afterwards, “let me grab you some water.”

“Spencer, stop,” she whined, “if I want water then I can get it myself. I’m not an invalid.”

“Never said you were but let me take care of you this time,” he was practically begging. She was independent when it came to being sick and she never liked to show a vulnerable side in front of Spencer, even when he tried his best to wear her down to the point where she gave in to his relentlessness, “please?”

She sighed heavily and pulled his jacket further up her body, tucking it beneath her chin and cosying a little deeper into the seat; she supposed she could use him and his willingness to obey orders to her advantage.

“Okay, fine.”

+

Two days had passed since they had landed in Texas, the longest amount of time that they’d ever spent on a case across the borders, and they were closer to the arrest of the predator who had abducted, raped and killed multiple women over the course of thirteen months than they were when they first arrived. Just a few more hours until they solved the case, had it come to an end with an arrest, so they could be on the jet and back in Virginia come nightfall.

She was ill, granted, and that was one reason as to why she couldn’t wait to get home. In the last forty-eight hours since they’d been there, YN’s head cold had turned into a full body cold and she had taken a turn for the worst but refused to work from the hotel room she shared with Spencer and kept her symptoms more secret. Partly because she was selfish - she knew Hotch would want her working away from the case because the chances of her zoning out where pretty high and she wanted in on the arrest of this unsub, she wanted to be the one who got him in cuffs and put him away for the murders of so many innocent women. 

She wanted her own bed and she wanted to cuddle with Spencer and she wanted to sleep beneath her own covers and sleep in a mattress that Spencer wouldn’t check and inform her on all the facts about bed-bugs and larva that could linger within the spring beneath them, in a bed that wasn’t a tiny hotel bed that was put to shame by their comfortable bed at home. she wanted a decent shower to freshen up in because she always woke up feeling gross and no matter how many showers she took, she still couldn’t rid herself of the sweaty feeling that covered her skin. and she wanted 

But she couldn’t wait to get home and try to rid herself of the information and the images she had been looking at and reciting and listening to over the last 48 hours or so. The stab wounds and the lacerations and the markings on the body of a woman who couldn’t defend herself, the brutal depiction of the well-thought out scenario that made YN shudder in her boots, the toture equipment that had been used on them when they were bound and tied up and screaming for their lives, the pictures showing the faces of the women who no longer had a life to live due to someone’s sadistic behaviour. That was the biggest reason as to why she couldn’t wait to go home.

And it was her arrest.

And she felt proud, a sense of accomplishment, that she was the one to handcuff him and walk him out from his tomb in the basement, beneath the house he had stayed in all his life, and pass him off to a police official who sat him in a police car waiting to take him to the station to be put away for the rest of his sorry life. Of course, they prevented any more attacks that this man would have prepared for but it never brought her a full sense of happiness- how could it when they couldn’t save the girls he had tortured?

“Even when you’re ill, you’re still a badass,” JJ claimed, squeezing YN’s hand and feeling the adrenaline shaking through her body. Something that they had all been through and always experienced no matter how many times they brought a criminal to justice for the horrific things they had done. “You did good, YN.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m a badass just-” she coughed into her free hand and Spencer was close by with a tissue from his jacket pocket, passing it to her so she could blow her nose and wipe the residue from her hand that came from clearing her throat, “just trying to be good at my job and trying to do it well to get these sons of bitches behind bars.”

JJ smiled at the two of them and jogged down the steps of the house, running toward Hotch as she filled him in and told him what had happened in the house and who made the arrest and who was their support and back-up in case things went wrong so he could write the report as best and as true to the story as he could. His eyes darted to YN and then back to JJ a few times as she explained in detail, a small smile on his face that was full of appreciation when he looked at YN and made eye contact which enticed a smile back in his direction, deep in conversation before clambering into the drivers side of the car. 

“I’d agree with JJ,” Spencer smiled, laying his arm over her shoulder and pulling YN into his side, pressing a kiss to her hairline, “full of a cold and you still put the job first. That’s badass behaviour to me.”

“Badass,” YN scoffed and rolled her eyes, looking up at him and squinting from the sunlight that seemed to be beaming directly down upon them, “I don’t think so, Spence.” 

They descended the steps outside the front of the house, his arm still holding her close, the soft feeling of grass and soil from the front lawn making a difference to the concrete they had walked upon as they exited the house. YN could feel the heat radiating all around, making her feel a little hotter than usual and she had the  big jumper covering her upper body to thank for that, and she couldn't wait to be back in Virginia in the air-conditioned office that stayed at a calm and cooling temperature, no matter the weather.

“For a genius, I’d take his word for it,” Rossi said from behind them, overtaking them in a haste to grab the passenger seat in the car with Hotch, “he knows what he’s talking about, YN.”

She didn’t need to see his face to see and hear the smirk in his voice, her arm sneaking around Spencer’s waist, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment as she received a well-done from the rest of the team who had watched from behind the scenes.

“Come on,” he leant away from her and looked down at her, “you did so good today. I’m proud of you.”

“I just want to go home now. Although, I’m not looking forward to the flight with these ears. They ache like mad,” she admitted. Her earshad only just started aching that morning, something she thought would pass if she kept clearing out her nasal passages and 

“We could drive home,” “I can make Morgan take us back. He won’t mind.”

“I will mind. It’s three hours by jet, five by car,” Morgan teased, elbowing Spencer in the arm with hopes he took it as a piece of banter and nothing more than that, “no, I can do. Of course. We can grab a bite to eat on the way home, too.”

“No, flying is much quicker and I want to be home and in bed by nightfall,” YN assured, climbing into the car and scooting over to the far seat behind the front passenger chair, situating herself comfortably and clipping her seatbelt around her upper body, “I’ll just take some meds in a second and sleep it off as soon as we get on the jet.”

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent, Spence,” she nodded and gave the seat beside her a pat with her finger tips, “let’s get home.”

[winterscaptain]

faith.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: we start to heal, kids! if there’s interest, i’ll write up the outtakes (wink wink) from this and post it sometime soon. your feedback keeps me going - please tell me what you think! also, if you haven’t already check out the inspo blog for ajf! (here’s the nsfw one, too - but it's definitely 18+ only!)

reality check (part one) | unimaginable (part two)

words: 3.5k warnings: implied sex, language, miscarriage/pregnancy mention

summary: healing is bittersweet.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Everything looks fine down here. Since it’s been about four days, your preliminary recovery is finished. The key now is to let your body rest and reset.” Brienne removes her gloves and tosses them in the trash. “You can try again in six weeks, if you want, but no penetrative sex for two full weeks.” She washes her hands and points at you, then Aaron, with wet hands. “I mean it.” 

You share a look with Aaron while Brienne turns around for paper towels. His lips quirk into a wry, almost sheepish, smile.

Turning back to her, you ask, “Is there anything I should look out for or do differently or anything?”

Please tell me there’s something I can control. 

She shakes her head. “You’re doing everything perfectly. Keep an eye out for any heavy bleeding or anything that doesn't feel quite right in the next couple of weeks.” A warm hand lands on your shoulder and another reaches across you for Aaron, who stands and meets her in the middle, capturing her fingers in his palm. “I have faith in you both. I know this one was a little unexpected on all fronts, but if you want to do this for real, I will make sure I’m doing everything in my power to give you all the support and resources I can.” 

Aaron’s brown eyes are soft and grateful under his knit brow. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it.” 

She snorts and squeezes his hand before letting him go. “Oh, Aaron. I have a feeling you and I will know each other for a long time - Brienne is just fine.”

+++

Aaron slides into bed beside you and wraps you up in his arms. “Hey.” 

“Hi.” You lace your fingers between his where his hand rests across your abdomen. “How’re you doin’?”

“I should ask you the same thing.” 

You turn in his arms, and he gathers you to his chest while you throw one leg over his hip and wiggle the other between his thighs. You just want to be as close as possible to soothe the ache in your chest - it’s working. “I’m okay. My bits have stopped screaming at me, so that’s an improvement.” For now, you ignore the fact that he’s avoided your question. Sometimes it's easier to let Aaron think he’s won - for a while, at least. 

“Indeed, it is,” he says through a laugh. “I more so meant the other thing.” 

“What, like my emotional state?”

He shrugs around you. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“I feel like there should be...something to look forward to. There’s still a part of me that’s really excited, but there’s nothing to be excited about.” You shake your head, burrowing further into his chest. “It’s hard to explain.” 

His hand rubs up and down your spine, firm and slow. “Makes perfect sense. I think I’m right there with you.” 

It’s quiet for a moment. 

“I’m so sorry, Aaron.” 

You can feel him shake his head and he scoots impossibly closer to you. There can’t be a single inch of skin he isn't touching, or at least that’s what it feels like. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for. Nothing to be sorry for. Sometimes, things just happen.” 

Your eyes close, exhausted, and you push back the thoughts that have been swirling around in your head for the last three days. 

Yeah, sometimes things just happen. Getting stabbed nine times in your home by a career serial killer? Just happens. Your wife getting murdered by that same serial killer, perhaps? Yeah, that just happens. Or maybe your best friend ‘dying’ and then coming back to life? Sure. 

Maybe a couple massive losses in a couple horrible years just aren’t enough. 

What’s next? 

I��ll take ‘Losing a Kid for 1600, Alex.’

“Hey.” He taps the middle of your back with his hand to get your attention. “I can hear you thinking.” 

You grumble, “Sorry,” and turn over, your back pressed firmly to his chest. 

“We’re okay, sweetheart. We’re fine. Jack is healthy, you’re healthy, I’m healthy. We’re getting married.” You snort, and he laughs. “Alright. We’re getting married...eventually.” That gets a giggle out of you, and he continues. “We’re looking for a house we can actually afford because of our fulfilling and important jobs. We have one fantastic son already.” He kisses your shoulder. “We’re in good shape.”

Well, when he puts it that way…

He pulls you close, nuzzling into your neck and running fingers up your ticklish sides. You squirm and a little peal of laughter leaves you. “I’ve got you on all of those, don’t I?”

You roll your eyes, and you know he saw it in the mirrored closet doors on the wall across from you. “If you think I’m going to argue with the youngest AUSA in District history, you’re nuts.” 

A satisfied hum leaves him, and he slips his hand under your shirt, tracing over your skin. “That’s probably a good idea.” Kisses find their way across your shoulders as his hands hike your shirt farther up your body. 

“Aaron,” you whine. “Brienne said no sex.” 

You watch him deliberate in the mirror, making play at deep thought. “...No. She said no penetrative sex, if my memory serves.” His hands wander down to the edge of your underwear and you squirm against him despite yourself. He drops his lips to the sensitive skin behind your ear, making you shiver when he whispers, “And my memory always serves.”

“Damn you.” 

He grins and ducks under the covers, throwing your leg over his shoulder as he settles between your thighs.

+++

The following Monday is your first day back at work, and it’s more than a little difficult to be normal. Aaron had only taken the day after to make sure he was available to drive you to and from Brienne’s office for your procedure, but you’d taken the rest of the week. You’re not sure what Aaron told them - maybe a flu or a stomach bug or maybe you “just needed some personal time” - but you imagined everyone would ask you about it anyways. 

Aaron presses a kiss to your cheek before the elevator opens. You make sure you’re watching when he falls into Hotch Mode as the doors part before you. It’s difficult to hold back your fond smile, but you manage. 

You set your things down at your desk, noting the small purple orchid and note sitting by your desktop. JJ turns in her chair to face you. “Hey! How was your visit with Dean?” 

Oh. That works. Good one, Aaron.

Dean had moved to New York to start with a new brokerage house at the beginning of last summer, and you’d been meaning to get up there to see him. It’s a highly plausible lie. It also helps that Aaron could sell water to a fish. 

Well, he is a lawyer. 

“It was great. Nice to take some time, you know?” You smile at her and you’re sure it doesn’t look quite right when her eyes narrow just a touch. Settling at your desk, you pick up the note addressed to you and open it. 

A flower for my flower :) I know. I’m gross. Sue me. 

(Or don’t...I’ll use my J.D. if you do.)

I love you. - AH

p.s. Don’t worry - I’ll water it when you're away. 

“Conference room in five minutes - Garcia’s got something for us.” Emily strides past you all on the bridge and you grab your tablet. 

Derek offers you a hand and you take it, tucking yourself under his arm as you walk. “What’s the orchid for?”

You shrug, covering how touched you really are by the gesture. “I dunno. I guess we just have a very thoughtful section chief.” 

+++

Inspired by Aaron’s cover story, you give Dean a call when you make it back to the hotel that night after an exhausting day scouting crime scenes that have every indication of a serial killer running rampant through the tiny Maine township.

“Hey babes! How are ya?” His chirp comes singing through the phone, and you find yourself smiling. 

“I’m alright.” 

You can almost hear his eyebrows raise. “Nope. Bullshit. What’s wrong with you?”

“Well, if anyone asks, I just got home from visiting with you for the week.” You start to unpack your go bag, hanging up a couple of your nicer work sets and setting up the bathroom the way you like it. 

“What’s Aaron lying about this time?” 

You laugh, but it tapers off quickly. “Well, as it happens, we had a really shit week last week and I had to take some time off.” 

He’s far more solemn when he speaks again, “That sounds like a little more than a ‘I got a flat tire on my way to work and my coffee was cold’ kind of shit week if you actually took time off.” He pauses. “Oh please don’t tell me you broke off the engagement.” 

“Not at all, not at all. Aaron and I are fine, but…” Going back and forth for a moment, you ultimately decide to tell him. Maybe it will get easier if you say it out loud. “I, um. I miscarried last week.” You’re proud of yourself for spitting it out with only a little stumbling, and Dean’s immediate concern brings tears to your eyes. 

“Oh God, honey. I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it at all?”

“I mean -” you take a deep breath. “No? I don’t know. I feel really shitty about it and we talked to Aaron’s mom and I know it isn’t my fault, but -” You huff, getting a little frustrated. “It was a girl, Dean. Aaron was so excited.” 

Something creaks in the background, and you know he’s just settled into the ancient armchair in the corner of his studio. “Don’t forget babe, you were excited, too. This isn’t just disappointing for Aaron, as much as you’d like to make everything about him.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek. He’s right. “I know, but -”

“No! No buts. This is a loss for both of you, and it's huge. Like, I dunno why people don’t talk about it more. Your kid is your kid is your kid if you wanted them and they didn’t make it. It doesn’t matter if you met her or not - you knew her and she was yours.” 

So, maybe the tears weren’t finished. Dean stops talking for a minute, and you know he can hear you sniffling. 

“Are you going to try again?”

And isn’t that the question of the hour?

“Well, we didn’t really try for this one, but I think we’ve caught the bug. I was planning on talking to Aaron about it a little more when I get home -”

“What’s the case?”

“Maine, probably a serial killer,” you answer promptly, getting right back on track. You’re used to Dean’s quick interruptions. Context is important to him and you’re always happy to provide it. “I don’t think we’re going to try, per se, but I don’t think we’ll be too concerned about being careful either. That way it’s a pleasant surprise instead of something stressful or disappointing, you know?”

“Ah,” he says. “A ‘fuck it and forget it’ approach. I dig it. And we all know Aaron can ‘fuck it’ with the best of them - you’ll have to tell me how the ‘forgetting it’ part goes.”

You laugh despite yourself, wiping at your cheeks. “How do you always manage to make me laugh?”

His laugh sounds from the other side of the phone, and it warms you from your fingers to your toes. You can almost forget its nearly five below zero outside. “What can I say? Laughter is the virtue of the gays.”

Your phone beeps at you, and it’s Aaron. “Hey Beanie, I gotta let you go. Aaron’s beeping in on me.” 

“Go get your tub’a humbus, babe. I’ll talk to you later.”

You switch calls, and raise the phone back to your ear. “Hey, love. What’s goin’ on?”

“I just missed you.” You can hear the sink in the background and you check the clock. 

Ah yes, dishes before bed because someone can’t sleep if there are dishes in the sink. 

“Hi!” Jack shouts from across the kitchen, and it makes you smile. “I miss you!”

“I miss you too, my loves! Though, Aaron, I must say -” you stop yourself. “Am I on speaker?” 

There’s a shuffle, and his voice sounds a lot closer when he replies. “Not anymore.” You know he’s smiling. 

You laugh. “I was going to say, it’s a lot easier to abide by our no-contact order when I’m five states away.”

“Don’t remind me.” You can’t see him, but he sounds at least a little pained. “We’ll be almost done with that by the time you get home, which is nice.” 

“Very nice, indeed.” Settling into bed, you pull the covers up to your chin. “I wish you were here with me.” 

You can hear him walk through the house, getting some distance from Jack. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm. As nice as your new digs are, Chief Hotchner, sleeping without you when I’m on cases is really rough.” A light laugh leaves you. “I still haven’t gotten used to it.” 

He hums. “Well, I’ll make it worth your while when you get home, how’s that?”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you say with a smile. “Goodnight. I love you.” 

“Get some rest. I love you more.” 

+++

Your first hunch was right - serial killer with a preference for blonde women in their forties. Luckily, those factors alone made for a nice, neat, narrow profile, and you were down to a small pool of suspects within days. 

It’s safe to say your heart isn’t in it. You’re almost relieved when JJ calls you out on the way to the medical examiner’s office.

“What’s going on with you and Aaron?” Her bright blue eyes stay on the road as she speaks, but you know she’s completely tuned into you. “You guys seem...off.” 

“We’re fine - the two of us, I mean.” You’re not sure how much to want to tell her. She isn’t Dean. You have to work with her every day, and as much as she’s your friend, it’s hard to talk about this when she already has a son of her own and another on the way. “There’s just, um, some stuff going on at home.”

She reaches across the console and takes your hand. “Whatever it is,” and she sounds like she knows. “You’re not alone.” 

You look over at her and squeeze her hand. There’s something mournful and heartbreaking about the set of her mouth, and something cold and sympathetic washes over you. “Really?”

She nods. “Ours was a girl.” Her confession is quiet and her eyes never once flicker from the road. 

Your voice is just as quiet, almost a secret. “Ours, too.” 

+++

Aaron’s waiting for you in the bullpen when you land in the afternoon two days later. Without shame, you sail through the glass doors and into his arms. It’s a treat - you never feel like you’re truly home until he’s holding you, and you usually have to wait until you get home. 

Derek teases you both on his way back to his desk, and you flip him off. Everyone’s in high spirits and you’re surprised their good moods have rubbed off on you, as well. 

Emily releases you all early with the promise you’ll have your after action reports into her by tomorrow afternoon. On the way home, you tell Aaron about your conversation with JJ, and he’s so moved by it, you’re almost brought to tears again. 

+++

The next morning, Aaron leaves early for a meeting at headquarters in DC. He kisses you goodbye, and in your half-asleep state you grab his tie and make an attempt to keep him right where he is. 

It doesn’t work, but you’re rewarded with a couple extra seconds of adoration, even with your morning breath. He chuckles against your mouth. 

“I gotta go, baby.” 

You whine incoherently at him, but he dodges your reaching hands and  whispers close to your ear as he brings the covers up over your shoulder. “You have another hour before you need to be up. Sleep. I love you.” Another kiss presses into your temple, and you hear the bedroom door close softly behind him. 

When another hour lapses (during which you dozed, quite thankful he told you to get some more sleep), you rise and get ready to head into the office. Jack’s up and getting dressed in his room while you get started in the kitchen. 

But, of course, there’s no need. Aaron has a breakfast spread ready and covered on the counter, with coffee just finished in the percolator. 

A god among men…

You pull your favorites from the pile, and set aside a few things for Jack. This cut your prep time in half at least, so you’ll have a little more time to eat and get settled before you have to be out the door. 

Assembling breakfast is easy, and you and Jack share space in relative silence. He looks up at you over his eggs and grins. Oh, how you love that boy. 

+++

When you get into the office, JJ’s reading a note, a little white envelope tucked behind it. You’re the first two in the office - a shocker, considering the two children between you, both under the age of ten. 

“What have you got there?”

She looks up and you can tell her eyes are a little misty. “Just a really sweet note someone left on my desk.” Waving it in the air, she asks, “Want to read it?”

You smile, setting your things down. “Only if you want me to.” 

She hands it over, and you take it, immediately recognizing Aaron’s handwriting. 

JJ- 

I wish we didn’t know the same loss, but I’m selfishly glad it’s you. Thank you for taking care of us so well. 

As always, anything for you. Just say the word. 

  AH

 “You know,” JJ says as you hand the note back to her. “He wasn’t like this before you.” 

You snort. “Don’t I know it.” 

“No, I’m serious. Even before you guys got together, you made him better. This -” she holds the note up and flicks it, “never would have happened eight years ago.” 

+++

By the time the next case is solved and everyone comes home, Brienne’s orders have expired. Jack is long asleep and you find Aaron in his office. His head is propped up on his hand, elbow on his desk, as he reads over some esoteric legal decision he’s decided to research as a hobby. 

Like he’s not busy enough. 

In fairness, he did defend his newest activity over dinner a few weeks ago. 

“What else am I supposed to do after Jack’s asleep and you’re out on a case? Watch TV? Go to bed early? No, I’m going to review legal decisions and take notes so I don’t bore you to death when you get home.”

“Aaron, you could never bore me to death.” 

“I wouldn’t take that bet.” 

He looks over his reading glasses, and his eyes light up. “Welcome home.” 

You offer him a warm smile as you cross his office and round his desk. “Hi.” 

Aaron drops his pen and pulls you close by your hips, and you lean on the side of his chair. “How was the case?”

“I would hate to spoil Emily’s report that will inevitably be about three hours late getting to your desk on Tuesday.” 

He raises his eyebrows. “I see.” His hand drops down to the outside of your thigh, and you swing a leg over his chair to straddle him, getting situated on his lap. “You know, I still have work to do.” 

“What? Is this Supreme Court decision more interesting than me?”

He shrugs, leaning forward again and picking up his file. His chin hooks over your shoulder, and you settle against his chest as he continues to read. With a sigh, he says, “You’re wearing an awful lot of clothes for someone who wants something specific.” 

You huff. “Oh, c’mon. It’s not like I’m getting any in here.” 

“You don’t know that.” His voice is even, almost distracted, but when you shift over him you can tell he’s affected. “Something might surprise you.” 

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

He takes another breath and, just like he’s done so many times before, says, “Sweetheart, I’m not suggesting anything.” 

+++

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[noneedtoamputate]

Happy happy birthday Jess! 🎂 For questions.... if there's an upcoming scene you're looking forward to writing in your fic, or anything that got cut from a past chapter that you feel like talking about? Anything you'd like to talk about, basically!:) — @shoshiwrites

Thanks, Sho!

I have the next few chapters outlined, and there is definitely going to be joy along with some angst. Ellen and Chuck spend Thanksgiving with the Liebgott family, Chuck meets one of Ellen's students, and a big announcement might be coming sooner than later.

I tried to include Ellen's backstory about her wartime boyfriend in one of the early chapters, but it just didn't seem to fit anywhere. I wrote it as an outtake, if anyone wants to read it.

I might also try to write an outtake this week of Chuck and Ellen going out with some of the Northern California Easy gang for New Year's Eve. On Twitter (it will always be Twitter to me), I found a post by Burr Smith's daughter that her parents, the Garcias, the Christensons, and the Grants used to get together. I think that could be a fun scene to write.

Birthday Ask Me Anything

[krispyweiss]

Album Review: Grateful Dead - Wake of the Flood (50th Anniversary Deluxe Edition)

A remaster, two demos and six live cuts comprise the Grateful Dead’s 50th-anniversary deluxe reissue of Wake of the Flood.

Containing some of what would become the Dead’s most-played on-stage numbers - “Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo,” “Row Jimmy,” “Stella Blue,” “Eyes of the World” and “Let it Grow” (as part of “Weather Report Suite”) among them - the 1973 LP is notable for other reasons as well.

It’s the band’s first studio album without founding member Pigpen; the first since its 1967 eponymous debut without second drummer Mickey Hart; and the first to feature singer Donna Jean Godchaux and her pianist husband, Keith, whose only co-write/lead vocal, “Let Me Sing You Blues Away,” sits in the second slot.

It’s all remastered here for the audiophiles. But we mortals come for the extra goodies. And in this case, they’re underwhelming.

Jerry Garcia’s solo demos of “Eyes of the World” and “Here Comes Sunshine” are illuminating, as they show the guitarist to be proficient on many instruments and find him setting Robert Hunter’s lyrics into the musical molds that would define them. They’re also skeletal and were never meant for release; ultimately, curiosities worth of a couple of listens and turning on like-minded pals.

Which leads us to 70 minutes of music recorded Nov. 1, 1973, at Northwestern University and featuring “Weather Report” and “Half-Step” from the album, plus “Morning Dew” and “Uncle John’s Band” sandwiched inside “Playing in the Band.” Its mediocre sound quality and rough vocals render it unnecessary in this age of full-show soundboard-recorded official releases.

In that spirit, and to get a bigger and more-insightful listen to the Dead at work in ’73, be sure to check out the streaming-only Angel’s Share, overflowing with 2.5 hours of Wake of the Flood session outtakes. Sound Bites reviews it here.

Grade card: Grateful Dead - Wake of the Flood (50th Anniversary Deluxe Edition) - C+

10/31/23

[tgpgifs]

Outtakes of Jameela Jamil by Tommy Garcia for Bustle (2018)

[matt0044]

“Morphin’ 101″ with Zayto

Actually, him becoming a YouTuber would a really fun episode.

Really though, the opening scene was delightfully self-aware with the Red Ranger actually coaching Amelia and Ollie through the Morphing pose. Apparently, they really DO have to practice it before engaging in battle. The way Amelia swung her arms too hard while Ollie let his key slip was just deliciously meta. I feel like those were ad-libbed outtakes that they just kept in.

Zayto also introduces the Boost Keys which can grant them new powers temporarily much like the Dino Chargers. They even have the base protected by a force-field so they won’t have Void Knight on that little goose chase and even teleportation that they ACTUALLY USE. Yeah, what a concept. Solon has even found Void Knight’s Energy Tracer that he had used to localize the Sporix.

Ollie suggests combining it with his mother’s drone in order to sweep the city for any Sporixs still unhatched. However, Zayto is concerned of how alien tech will interface with what humans currently have and the attention it might draw. It’s not like Doctor Akana’s working for Grid Battleforce. Well... not yet at least.

The Rangers teleport into Pine Ridge where Zayto’s taken aback by the Earth’s advancement and lack of dinosaurs. Somebody clearly arrived in the wrong dimension. They head to Warden Garcia who blows off their report of Void Knight unleashing the Sporix. I’ll grant him that all that crazy, “You had to be there,” stuff would be hard to believe without seeing it himself. Cops’ll be cops.

Doctor Akana is thankfully more open to the story as Ollie explains his idea. Amelia takes Zayto to Buzzblast to get his message out only for Jane to unveil her android assistant fresh from... Hartford Robotics?! I guess that explains Andrew’s fortune as well as how Mack was perfected. Plus, it is nice to see them acknowledge past seasons however maligned they might have become.

J-Borg is revealed and put to work signing off on paperwork. Instead of a comic relief duo, it seems we get Mack’s younger sister instead. I suppose hyper-competency would be amusing more than hyper-incompetency. I’ll allow it. Amelia’s about to warn Jane about the Sporix Beasts when a video is uploaded displaying one becoming a Mushroom monster. Anyone know a good plumber?

Ollie is making headway with his mother on the drone when he gets the call to action and needs to teleport away, unaware that Void Knight and Shockhorn have been still staking out Dinohenge. At a hydro-electric dam, the Rangers confront Mucus and even do their pose right this time. Their morph’s so good that the monster gives them a round of applause. Like I say, delightfully meta.

The Rangers and Mucus have a cool battle in original footage before Shockhorn arrives, leading into Ryusoulger footage complete with power lines. Zayto engages his Boost Key to activate an armament on his right arm and produces a stink attack, marking our first fart joke of the season. Well, no one can say that Super Sentai was highbrow to begin with either. What can you do?

Shockhorn brings in the Hengemen to gain some distance and brings Mucus back to Void Knight. The Rangers give chase back to Dinohenge where Doctor Akana is under threat to hand the drone over. However, she manages to pilot it away and rams it right into Shockhorn. That’s cool for a bystander but then it EXPLODES and sends him flying Team Rocket style. What was in that scanner?

This cues our first giant monster battle since Ninja Steel where Amelia and Ollie actually manage to hold their own until Zayto comes along with his T-Rex Champion Zord. Seriously, Amelia uses a Gravity Boost Key to weigh down Shockhorn while Ollie jumps off a building with a powered up slash. I don’t think we ever got something like this since Turbo where they just forgot their Zords. :/

Zayto busts out his Zord and engages its Battle Mode much like with Devon’s Racer Zord. I know that it’s largely CGI mixed with practical effects but I love how agile it is and how Zayto’s movements are show to influence the Zord’s. Naturally we get a new American-only Weapon for the American-only cockpit.

Shockthorn revert to a Sporix egg that has far more power than before. Void Knight strikes while the iron is hot in order to nab it for himself. I love that this adds a bit of tension for the rest of the season since unlike the Energems or Ninja Stars, we don’t know if the Rangers can get the egg in time or not. Even in victory, they can lose. Think Evox’s Morph-X thefts but with tangible results.

Ollie agrees to help put the city on red alert with Buzzblast actually creating a video of Zayto explaining that the Rangers has a legit hotline like they’re the Powerpuff Girls. Here’s hoping Amelia got a major raise for that one. All the while, Void Knight brings Mucus to an abandoned research facility called Area 62 where he intends to harness the Sporix’s power for his own mysterious end.