#i just feel like the cultural pressures on her are a little different if she were latina vs south asian

[semiconducting]

my 2 cents that no one asked for but sometimes i see ethnicity hcs for the td characters and i notice that a lot of ppl hc courtney as mixed latina and asian of some variety (usually south asian, somehow specifically bengali which piqued my interest...as a bengali) but i remember that it was around tdas or something that fresh posted these like. bios or some shit and they like Forgot that courtney was previously stated to be latina n listed her as asian. or maybe it was a tweet from tom mcgillis or smth i don't remember exactly but! i get now these days ppl are like oh just make her Mixed. All Canon! and if i were to have gotten into total drama post-tdas i probably would say the same HOWEVER. AS A SOUTH ASIAN i dont like south asian courtney she's fully latina to me and that's how i've always seen her i can't change it

[januaryembrs]

TROUBLE ALMOST ALL MY LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader

Description: The ONE time the BAU needs you + the FOUR times you need them.

word count: 24k (what on earth was I thinking)

trigger warnings: mentions of spencers addictions + use + side affects. MOMMY ISSUES thankyou ambassador Prentiss. hostage scene + injuries. mentions of forced/pressured marriage. fem!reader. reader and Emily struggle to bond.

authors note: We never meet Emily's dad nor do we see a picture so while reader is given a nickname of Bugsy, she still keeps her real name (no use of y/n) and is given ZERO physical descriptors. ALL of my fem!readers should feel included here, let me know if this is not the case! also I don't speak any language besides English however she does speak many because of her mom, so I really tried to get it right, message me if I'm being stupid!!

series masterlist | next chapter

[this] means its spoken in another language.

—

‘trouble on my left, trouble on my right,

I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life’

1. the one where you become a translator.

“I’ll make some calls, I may still have some friends in the Eastern countries,” Ambassador Prentiss announced to the room, standing from her place on the plush sofa. 

A case had landed quite literally in Emily’s lap when her mother had come by that morning asking for Hotch, a Russian migrant looking for her father with a ransom note and a sliced off finger shoved through her mailbox, wedding ring still attached. 

It wasn’t every day Emily wished she’d brushed up on her Russian, but today of all days she was struggling to keep up. 

“We don’t have much time, we need a division of labour,” Hotch’s serious face settled, the time constraints making him just that bit more dictatorial, “Morgan, someone needs to go to the Chernus’s house in Baltimore in case they are contacted again,” 

“What about the language barrier?” Derek raised, smoothing a hand over the short scruff of his beard, “We can’t have the unsub speaking with the family directly. He could say anything to them without us knowing,” 

Bugsy would hate to admit she fit the criteria for youngest daughter of a workaholic mother and distant father to a tea, but Emily would say different. 

Elizabeth Prentiss had never been a warm woman; Emily used to tell her the scowl was a side effect of the overplucking of her eyebrows, not the serious nature of her job. Her youngest girl once said her mother’s lips looked like she’d sucked a lemon. Of course they admired her work, but world peace meant jack shit to a little girl wanting nothing more than a mother’s hug. 

Despite the fact she’d pushed away her husband and both her daughters in favour of her career, the one useful thing about being the Ambassador’s daughter wasn’t just the money, but the widespread culture the girls had been crammed full of since they could so much as beg for a sippy cup. 

“Baltimore, you say?” Emily asked Hotch with a somewhat doubtful wince, “I mean you could always-”

“Absolutely not,” Her mother cut her off, rubbing the stress lines already creasing her forehead at the very notion of her other daughter, despite the fact Emily hadn’t even finished her thought.

Emily’s sigh was a reflex, the years of her mother cutting her off sparking the frustration on instinct. 

“She lives right in the city, Mother, it can’t hurt to have her just talk for them-” Emily tried to bargain, only for the sharp mouthed Ambassador shoot her a frown. 

“End of discussion, Emily,” Elizabeth snipped, her manicured fingernails twitching with annoyance, “Your sister is much too young for an assignment so serious,”

Emily rolled her eyes with a scoff, as if the two had slipped back into the role of rebellious teenager and scathing mother without much thought. 

“She's twenty-two, mom. She’s getting her masters degree for Christ sakes, she’s not ‘too young’,” The dark headed woman fought back, clicking her pen a few times as if the spring loaded ink would take away some of the temper Elizabeth seemed to flare up. 

Her mother’s lips pursed, in the way Bugsy hated, in the way that meant she was going to be mean.

“Immature may have been a better word, then,” She replied, and Emily seemed to pause. She couldn’t argue with that. “Or perhaps lazy, or puerile; callow, wild, irresponsible. Would you like me to name more?” 

“Asinine would be a good term; deriving from the Latin asinus it not only means foolish, but to be stubborn and lazy like an ass,” Spencer input helpfully to the Ambassador, only for his bright smile to fade when he saw the daggers Emily stared at him with, “Sorry, I love word games,” He muttered into his lap. 

“Asinine. Perfect, Dr Reid,” Elizabeth said, and Emily could only roll her eyes harder.

Hotch huffed, the victim’s daughter watching between the two women’s quarrel with wet eyes, the ice box with her father’s finger clenched tightly in her lap, the cold of the limb bleeding into his own gaze.

“Unfortunately, Ambassador Prentiss, despite just how asinine your daughter might be, Morgan is right. Having the Unsub possibly speaking with the family without us understanding what he’s saying could prove fatal,” He explained, ignoring the way the older woman’s mouth scrunched in bitterness. They didn’t need to be profilers to see that despite how tempered the relationship between Emily and her mother was, a tension seemed to fall between the women the moment the younger Prentiss was mentioned. 

Spencer was sure he was the only person who even knew Emily had a little sister. 

“Very well, but don’t be surprised when you find your hands full of the girl,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head as she led the victims, a mother and daughter that seemed to cling to one another for comfort as if to rub salt in her matriarchal wound, into the break room to get away from the frosty atmosphere that now lingered around the table.

Emily sighed, picking around her fingernails the way she did when she was bothered. 

“I’m going to hate these next words that are gonna come out of my mouth,” She started with a long exhale, “But my mother’s right. Bugsy is a handful. Just try not to get her wound up, that girl smells fear,” She looked to Reid who seemed none the wiser, “I’m talking to you, wonder boy. She’ll eat you up and spit you right back out,” 

Spencer gulped quietly. 

Derek only chuckled, slapping a hand down onto Emily’s shoulder, “Relax, Prentiss. Your mom’s just got you all worried. Need I remind you I grew up with two sisters? This will be a piece of cake,”

–

Those were the famous last words of Derek Morgan. 

Loud, heavy metal music jumped through the wooden door, so loud Morgan worried his three polite knocks would go unheard as the two of them waited outside her dorm for her to answer. Morgan was about to knock again, figuring the music had drowned out the first lot, when the door swung open and a frown the spitting image of Emily’s stressed expression met their gaze. 

She looked so different to their Prentiss, but the way she seemed already scorned by the two of them told them they had the right woman. 

“Miss Prentiss?” Morgan asked formally, though he felt the warmth grow when he caught sight of a beat up friendship bracelet around her wrist amongst newer gold chains, five white blocks spelling out her sister’s name pulling tight on her skin, as if she’d quickly outgrown the thing but hadn’t the heart to remove it. 

It was then that he and Reid seemed to both reel back slightly at the fact she was standing in a large shirt, ratty around the edges, and what seemed to be a pair of men's boxers covering her bottom half, clearly not suspecting particularly important visitors. 

She looked him head to toe with a frown, a dozen piercings in her ears, her hair highlighted with streaks of cardinal red, as if he was the one confronting her in his underwear, before she moved onto Spencer, who’s face seemed to be getting hotter by the second as he forced his eyes away from her bare legs. 

“Are you guys strippers? Did someone send strippers to my door?” She asked, strawberry gum smacking between her lips as her gaze seemed to finish mulling over Spencer’s tall form and returned to Morgan.

“Emily sent us.” Reid said shortly, the music blaring in his ears making it difficult to focus on what it was she was saying, “As co-workers, no-not strippers. We’re with the FBI,” 

He hated loud noises anyway, cringed at the sound of particularly cutting rock songs, but since he’d developed his … problem, the dilaudid had him feeling like someone was clawing at his skull, tugging his brain through his ears.

“Emily sent you here?” She asked with a scoff, looking the two up and down again. They both easily caught the way her face hardened, “Are pigs flying today or something?” 

“We’re here to ask for your help on a case,” Spencer rushed through a sweaty brow, “Emily said you’d be able to act as a translator for us and some Russian citizens who are being targeted,” 

She sighed sceptically, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame, “Any strippers or non-strippers can fraud an ID. Emily’s name was in the paper just the other week. I’m gonna need a little more than that,”

She keeps track of her sister despite the supposed distance between them. Spencer was quick to profile, his mind whirring at all the ways she reminded him of her sister down to the way she raised her eyebrows expectantly at them. 

“Emily was born October twelfth, 1970 at 7:12am, graduated from Garfield High School in 1989,” Spencer said as if reporting the weather, her eyes narrowing in on him all the more coldly, “She attended Chesapeake Bay University and speaks six languages, as I expect you do from moving so often with your mother. She coined your nickname Bugsy from your childhood love of ladybugs, which she said you grew out of by the time you turned eleven yet the name stuck, though you still like counting the spots to identify their species. Your parents split when you were five and your father moved in with his now wife, born September ninth-”

“Alright- alright. What are you, living in her walls?” She interrupted incredulously, before turning her attention to Derek who seemed to hide a chuckle with a cough. “Either you really are a stripper or you’re a terrible friend,”

“She loves Kurt Vonnegut,” Derek held his finger as if to prove her entirely wrong, although not much else came to him. Maybe he was a bad friend, he thought guiltily, or maybe he simply lacked an eidetic memory like the wonder boy next to him, who had been about to tell her how old she was when Emily’s pet betta fish died, “Slaughterhouse 5?”

Rolling her eyes, she grunted at them, kicking her door open for them to enter. 

“Everyone loves Vonnegut; only losers under a rock dislike Vonnegut,” She drawled, edging back into her room, the heavy bass rock growing in volume as they followed her in, “I’ll be ready in a second- Emily’s always bugging me about wearing pants,” She said vaguely, scanning around the dirty dorm, until she found one particular pair of jeans laying half under her bed, quickly yanking them up her legs. “Come in, come in.” 

She flicked the speakers way down to which Spencer took a breath of relief. His eyes fell to the laptop that had been set up on her desk, the five different textbooks littered around the spare space, energy drinks and empty mugs filling the cracks where he could barely see the generic white of the table top, his nose crinkling. About as gross as he’d expect from a college student. 

“Emily said your Russian was pretty good,” Derek made conversation, his eyes wandering over the various posters plastered over her walls, some fraying round the edges from where she had likely been moved from bedroom to bedroom when the Prentiss’s inevitably had to move country again. 

“Yeah,” She snarked, pulling a nicer top over her head, “Kinda tends to happen when you live in Russia,”

Morgan raised his eyebrows to Spencer who seemed to give him the same look back, though the latter was biting back a snicker at her words. 

How in the hell was she the Ambassador’s daughter?

–

“This all involves Russian Mafia, it’s really beefed up here the last ten years or so,” Agent Cramer, a tall, slim man who looked entirely overwhelmed by the workload on his shoulders reported, as she listened intently. 

She had been somewhat de-briefed in the car, Emily messaging her for the first time since Christmas, the message a simple: “Have you met with Morgan and Reid yet? Make sure to put on pants,” to which she sent her a thumbs up emoji. She didn’t have much to say to her at the moment, barely even knew her sister anymore. 

“It started off mainly in New York and LA but they send lieutenants from the old country,” Cramer went on, and she caught Reid scratching his arm beneath his shirt. She knew it was mozzy weather, and he was already under the blaring sun in a little sweater, it wouldn’t surprise her if he felt a bit prickly. 

“Pahkans,” She interrupted, the man named Gideon shooting her a glance as she dug through her purse. 

“Your Mom do much work about the Mafia?” He asked, as she produced a clear nail varnish. 

“Here and there, I had to sit with her in her office for a whole Summer once when I got caught sneaking out. Picked up a few things, though,” She said, holding the polish out to Spencer, nodding to his arm, “Here. Supposed to help bug bites,”

He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, perhaps question her sources for such an old wives tale, but he stopped himself quickly, taking the varnish out of her hand with a dejected nod. 

“Thankyou,” He muttered, shoving it in his pocket. 

Three months he’d been in this rabbit hole. She had noticed it in a matter of hours. 

“They open up branch offices in other cities. Baltimore, Saint Louis, Chicago, Dallas, the list goes on,” Cramer added, nodding at her words, “They’re mainly offshoots of the Odessa Mafia and they’re especially tough to crack from a law enforcement standpoint. I mean beside being well organised with sophisticated technical equipment, there’s Vory v Zakone to contend with,” 

“The thieves code, eighteen principles they live by,” Reid jumped in before she could, to which she nodded as Gideon looked to her for more. 

“It means ‘thief in law’, or ‘thief with code’. It's a system of repeatedly jailed convicts that have been crowned or ‘made’ with a strict list of ideals, breaking them usually means death,” She explained, kicking a stone between her feet. 

“It’s like bible to these guys. We’re not gonna be turning any of them informer anytime soon,” Cramer said. Gideon seemed to tune the three of them out however, his gaze locking on the house across the street, where a curtain twitched, and a man’s face appeared in the window, watching the crime scene with guilt. 

“Then we’ll need a witness who will talk,” Gideon replied, heading straight towards the neighbour who seemed just a little too invested in what was happening, much more than a concerned third party should be. Though, she had barely noticed, digging through her purse once more for chapstick. 

“So, you study Russian or something?” Cramer asked as she applied it gently, Spencer swore he could smell the cherry flavour from where he stood beside her. 

“I lived in Moscow until I was six, moved back to France, then back to Italy, then Algeria for a bit. Bounced around Europe for a bit longer, but I still speak better Russian than anything else,” She clarified, and she saw Cramer’s eyebrows shoot up, “Military brat except I don’t get the cool discount at the store,” 

“You must have had a lot of friends though, going to so many schools,” Spencer added, and though there was nothing teasing about his tone, she laughed sharply anyway. 

“You’re funny,” She snarked, but smiled at him anyway.

Spencer had never been called funny in his life. ‘Funny looking’, ‘funny sounding’ maybe, but never funny. 

In fact he was so confused by what she had meant, whether it had been a taunt or genuine that he almost missed the sound of the whole street locking their front doors, dead bolting their lives away when a black prius, an expensive one at that, pulled through the street and swerved into park next to them. 

“Guess who,” Cramer bit, her eyes ripping away from where Gideon had the door slammed in his face. 

Detective Cramer aged by about five years when two tall men got out of the luxury car, opening the door for a shorter man in the back seat, their faces thunder. 

“You familiar with them?” She asked, shoulder brushing against Spencer as she turned to watch the men approach, entirely aware of the .9mm on each of their hips. 

“Arseny Lysowsky,” The detective identified, his voice cold, eyeing the two men who flanked the leader, towering over them. 

“Agent Cramer, how are you?” Lysowsky smiled at him, which oddly enough seemed somewhat real, as he also took stock of the three other people around him. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, noting her lack of gun and badge, trying to decipher if she was local or just a very unprepared fed. 

“Lysowsky, what brings you out?” Cramer asked, a tightness to his tone, his hand all too eager to grab his own pistol. 

“I heard Chernuses had problems,” He kept it vague, didn’t reveal too much, and looked back at the victim’s house with a scorned frown. 

“How did you hear that?” Gideon challenged, stance unwavering as the mob leader turned to meet his cold gaze. 

“And you are?” He asked, a sinister smile on his face that flipped her stomach. She didn’t like the tension that had overcome the little patch of sidewalk they took up, and she was quick to notice how Spencer moved towards her. 

He, by far, wasn’t the best shot on the team, but he was sure Hotch and Prentiss would have his and Morgan’s heads if any harm came to her. 

“Churneses said they hadn’t told anyone,” Agent Gideon ignored his question, hands firmly planted on his hips. If he was unnerved by the criminal in front of him, he never showed it, not even when Lysowsky’s grin widened horribly. 

“It is a small community. Word gets out,” He said simply, looking past him to the neighbours house that had kicked Gideon to the curb, “Are you a friend of Gorban’s?”

A second of silence passed between them, neither of them backing down from the moral standoff they’d engaged in. 

“Mr Gorban wouldn’t talk to me,” Gideon admitted, and Arseny only smiled again, flicking a look at the house behind him, as if hearing his dog had obeyed without command. 

“Would you like me to talk to him for you?” The threat was there clear as day, clear enough to have Gideon’s eyes narrow, “I can’t promise something will come of it,” 

“You!” In a second, Natalya, the victim she’d briefly met when Morgan had pulled up around an hour before, had stormed out of her house, her black kitten heels clicking against the concrete, “Where’s my father? He has my father!” 

“Wait a minute,” Derek called, restraining her where she stood, trying to pull his muscled arm from her shoulder, “Do you know he has your father?” 

“He’s responsible for all of this,” She spat, her eyes cold as she glared at the three men with vitriol hate, “Why everyone’s afraid, him and his animals,” She threw a hand up to his bodyguards that seemed barely contained by Cramer’s silencing hand. 

“I am only here to help,” Lysowsky replied, confident and calm in his words, though not as taunting as the agents would have thought, as if he truly cared for her.

A vast difference to the sadistic mob boss Cramer’s team had painted him to be. 

“Help?” She laughed woefully, tears in her eyes, “You’re a dog,” 

“Natalya,” Arseny said in a warning, the way a teacher would to a student, as her breath rattled in her chest through a weep. 

“How exactly can you help them?” Bugsy braved to speak, Gideon and Reid both flashing her a look. She’d always had trouble holding her tongue. 

Lysowsky turned his attention to her then, his eyes running down her figure, still deciphering whether she was armed; she looked much too young to be an agent. 

“In any way that they’d like me to, darling,” He replied, the disdain in her frown clearly not deterring him in the slightest, though again the act of concern held up in his own grimace, “As I said this is a small community. If one is in pain, we’re all in pain.”

Natalya weeped behind Morgan, sniffling as the boss made his way over to her, “Natalya, [you didn’t have to bring in outsiders],” 

The younger woman’s ears pricked up as he spoke in his native language, Spencer’s eyes flicking to her from behind his sunglasses. 

“[Let me help you],” He continued, taking a step towards Natalya, unthreatening yet she saw Morgan tense, his fingers twitching towards his gun. 

“[My family will never come to you for help],” Natalya hissed back, also in Russian, her face contorted in disgust, “[Get away from my house],” 

“[You are not right, Natalya],” He replied, yet again the concern in his eyes was either genuine or very well faked, “[You have made the wrong decision],” 

Taking a step away from the victim that wept with a scorned sneer, he looked back to the agents, noting the way the youngest of them glared at him hotly, before retreating to his car. 

“What did he say? Did he threaten you, Natalya?” Morgan asked, the woman watching the group of men drive away, as if Mr Chernus wasn’t still missing and they hadn’t just bumped themselves up to number one of the suspects list. “Talk to us and we can do something about it,”

“He said I made the wrong decision,” She said wetly, frustration turning on Derek as he pushed her for an answer, “I hope I didn’t,” 

With that she stormed off back into her house, the same stomping of her kitten heels in her wake, leaving the agents to all look between one another before they simultaneously turned to look at Bugsy, questions hovering on all of their lips. 

“What did he say exactly?” Gideon asked without frills, a hand rubbing his brow. Relaying the information, the men’s faces all drew into frowns as they heard Lysowsky’s parting statement. Gideon huffed, turning to Morgan and gesturing for him to follow Natalya inside. 

“Morgan, keep an eye on her, Reid and I are going to Cramer’s office to look over the files,” He looked at her then, worry lines littering his otherwise friendly face, damn near scowling as she looked over at him, “You are here to interpret, you understand? You do not speak to the suspects, that’s our job.” He growled, watching her with disappointment, the same tone a father used when scolding a petulant child, “Do you have any idea how much danger you could put yourself in? These guys won’t hesitate to take you out the second we’re not around, kid,” 

“But-” She started with a bite, though her whole fight left her when he silenced her with a raised hand. 

“Buts are for cigarettes, kiddo,” He interrupted, and Spencer winced slightly, knowing he’d heard that one a few hundred times when he’d first started under Gideon and had yet to mature entirely. Reid watched something rebellious flare in her eyes, and he worried for a moment she might just slap his boss for the patronising tone he took, “Just keep your mouth shut, you’re doing great so far,” 

She opened her mouth to protest, only to then register his words entirely and stay silent once more, appreciating his praise with a guilty smile. For once, she listened. 

–

The grandfather clock chimed to tell them it was merely 11am; two hours until the unsub would start cutting more if they didn’t get the ransom fee, two hours to figure out who wanted Natalya’s family to suffer. 

Said woman paced her living room at the sound of the hour, as Bugsy picked over the knick knacks on her fireplace, a small smile teasing her lips when she saw a picture of three small children grinning toothily at the camera. 

She had never gotten any photo’s similar, Emily being fourteen years older. The majority of their childhood photos consisted of a very grumpy teenager holding her baby sister that seemed to squirm in the tight, formal dresses Elizabeth Prentiss had forced them into, identical scowls on their faces as they were made to sit for the picture. 

There were some good memories, ones where Emily let herself be a sister and not a mom, where she would put makeup on her for fun and do her hair, let her have all the clothes out her wardrobe she thought looked nice, reading to her before bed, even letting her sister keep her pet corn snake when she left home for good. 

But now, it seemed like she was too caught up in her super serious grown up job to give a shit that her sister lived just an hour away. Still messaged each other for holidays, but the last few times she’d braved a call to the eldest Prentiss, it had gone unanswered. They argued the majority of the time they spoke, or there was an awkward long silence in between words, whichever was worse, but they each knew the other would come running if they were to ever need them so desperately. 

“Are you hungry? I could make something?” Natalya offered kindly, Derek having a poke through her collection of books that sat on the end table, though he’d have a tough job reading them as she’d already caught most of them were in her home language. 

“Oh, no thanks. I’m fine,” He replied with a small smile, putting down the books to calm the clearly on edge woman that looked to the twenty-something year old hopefully. 

She shook her head, “I’m good, thanks,” which seemed to deflate her entirely as she sat next to Derek with a sigh.

“I guess I’m like my mother. When she’s upset, she cooks,” Natalya said with a sad huff of a laugh, running a hand through her short, dark hair. 

“Yeah, mine does too. I think that’s just a mom thing,” He replied, and Bugsy felt the two of them look at her as her finger traced the old brass ornaments gently, “How about you, baby Prentiss?” 

She snorted, “You’re kidding, right?” smiling bitterly, “My mom never cooked for us, she said we needed to figure it out for ourselves rather than relying on the staff. Didn’t stop her from trying to end world hunger though,” 

It wasn’t lost to Morgan the way her eyes trained on the picture of Natalya and her mother, cuddled together with genuine love in their embrace, the snarky humour as she spoke, the same longing Emily seemed almost too good at hiding from them. 

“Your mother is a great woman,” Natalya complimented, though she missed the way the girl’s face steeled over, chewing her bottom lip as if to stop herself from snapping at the woman who meant well. She said nothing. “Where is your mother?” She turned her attention back to Derek who seemed the more talkative of the two of them. 

“Chicago. That’s where I’m from,” He replied, watching Bugsy turn away from the two of them to inspect more of the Chernus’s trinkets on their walls. 

“I’m from Dolgoprudny. Just North of Moscow.” Natalya replied. Opening her mouth to add something else, she was cut off by a knock at the door and the three of them froze in their place. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Morgan asked Natalya in a hushed tone, reaching for his gun and heading for the door. 

She shook her head, “No,” She whispered back. Morgan pulled the curtain back the smallest inch to see a small blonde boy staring back, a box in his hands and a bored look on his face. 

It all happened too fast from there, Natalya opening the door for the neighbourhood kid, opening the box to see a decapitated ear, the blood fresh and pooling in the bottom of the box. It couldn’t have been taken longer than an hour or so ago, unless they were keeping the parts on ice. 

Bugsy’s hand slapped over her mouth, Natalya’s scream piercing through her as she shoved the box into Derek’s hands, fleeing to the toilet, and she heard the woman retching. Part of her felt the same nausea settle in her stomach, looking away from the body part with a wince as Derek got straight on the phone to Gideon. 

“They didn’t wait, man. They sent a box with-” He swallowed thickly, “With Mr Chernus’s ear inside.”

Gideon replied, and whatever it was, it had Derek looking back to her. He agreed, hanging up the phone and rooting through his pockets, producing a set of rattling keys, holding them out for you between the tips of his fingers. 

“Gideon wants you, kid. He said they’re at the Little Kiev restaurant, they’re going to talk to Lysowsky,” Morgan said, grimacing as he held the ear away from her, “You sure you’ll be okay to drive?” 

“I’d rather be on the road than look at what’s in that box,” She said in disgust, taking the keys and heading out to the car.

She thought it best for everyone she didn’t tell him she hadn’t yet got her licence as she made her way over to the restaurant. 

-

“Reid and I will do the talking, just see if anything he’s saying connects with Vory v zakone, think you got that?” Gideon instructed her the second she got out of the car, taking the keys and handing them back to Reid who gave her a small nod. 

“We think the reason it was Mr Chernus who was targeted has something to do with the code,” Reid explained, his hands in his pockets as the three of them approached the restaurant, “You said earlier you understood the tenants,” 

“Why me, though? I thought I was just translating?” She repeated Gideon’s earlier words, almost cocky that they needed her.

“Lysowsky would feel the need to show face in front of men like Morgan and Cramer, even in front of Natalya since she lives locally. Between the three of us, he had less reputation to uphold, less so with a young woman like yourself,” Reid added, holding the door open for her to go in front. 

And so there she was, trailing behind Gideon and Reid over to where Lysowsky sipped a spoonful of borscht, as she tried not to marvel at the grandeur of the establishment inside. Clearly, Arsney had money to build a place like this, and wasn’t afraid to be flashy about it either, that much was apparent from the other clientele that tended to their beers around their own tables, Rolex watches and designer shoes adorning nearly every one of them. She hated to think of how many ears or fingers those suits had cost. 

“Would you like something to eat?” He asked, a chunk of bread in his hand dipping into the thick sauce, seemingly unbothered that they were there, “This borscht is exquisite, it’s my mother’s old country recipe,” 

“Didn’t you forsake all your relatives when you swore the thieves code?” Reid asked, which she guessed was hit foot in to get Lysowsky to talk. 

“I didn’t forsake her recipes,” Lysowsky replied with a shrug, looking to her where she seemed to be staring at his plate, “Borscht?” 

She shook her head, her nose wrinkling, “Much preferred stroganoff, mom used to force me to have borscht to make sure I ate my veggies,”  

His eyebrows raised, surprise written over his face, before he gave a short laugh. 

“[Where are you from]?” He asked in his mother tongue, gesturing for the three of them to sit down, though his eyes lit up as he watched her carefully. 

“[I was born in DC, but my mother worked in Moscow for a few years],” She answered shortly, and he seemed to find it even funnier that the near child they’d brought along on their case spoke as fluently as he did. 

Laughing with a heavy hand smacking on the table, he gestured to a nearby waiting staff to come over. 

“What are you having then, borscht for the gentle man?” He looked at Reid and Gideon, the former shaking his head while Gideon nodded with an awkward smile. 

“I’d love a taste,” He said, though any enthusiasm seemed to have drained out of his voice. 

“And what is the little lady having?” Lysowsky asked, his eyes falling back to her, as she straightened in her seat. 

She chanced a quick glance to Gideon, who nodded at her to play his game. She had not expected to be so deep in criminal territory when they’d said they needed a translator, and truly they hadn’t planned on getting her in the field until they realised she would know much more about this than they would.

“Do you have sharlotka?” She asked, returning his smile wearily as he clicked at the waiter who all but bolted to the kitchen. 

“A sweet tooth. I like it,” Arseny replied, shovelling a heap of beets into his mouth, “Our favourite was always Leningradsky,”

“Ours?” She prompted, giving a polite thanks to the waiter who returned too quickly with a slice of cake. She caught Spencer glancing at the bowl with intrigue, the hunger clear on the quiet man’s face. Gently pushing the bowl and clean spoon towards him, he flicked a look up at her, “Apple cake,” She whispered, sending him a small smile, “Really yummy with the sugar on top,” 

“Mine and my mother’s,” Arseny replied, though Gideon and Reid both caught how he paused before he replied, as if he had to think about the answer he was giving; the oldest tell that it wasn’t entirely true, “We didn’t have much when I was a boy, but that was always our dessert of choice,” 

She stopped for a mere second, missing the moment when Spencer spooned the tiniest bite of the cake into his mouth, trying to ignore the way his tongue exploded in the sweet, fruit taste. He hadn’t eaten anything properly in days, and maybe that was why it tasted so good, but more likely it was just the fact that everything sweet tasted even better when he was on his come downs. 

“We need to talk, Arseny,” Gideon interrupted, ignoring the way Spencer pined to go back in for a second mouthful, but chose to hand the bowl back to her with a small smile. 

“We are on first name basis?” Lysowsky asked, shaking his head, and she took a small bite of the sweet cake for herself, “I still don’t even know who you are,” 

“I think I understand something about this,” Gideon replied, his thumbs tapping together, the waiter returning with his borscht, “You have a problem,” 

“I do?” The pahkan titled his head at the agent, the annoyance clear on his face. 

“That’s why you came to the Chernus’ house this morning,” Gideon answered, unbothered as he began to scoop the borscht onto the spoon, the apple cake in her own mouth going down a treat. 

She kept her head down, took tiny bites of the dessert that certainly tasted like a fresh baked sharlotka. But her thoughts lingered on what Lysowsky had said, about his own favourite pudding. 

It made no sense that he would have ever tasted Leningradsky shortbread, not for the time that he was born, nor with the amount of money he claimed his family lacked. Infact, the way he fully pronounced his vowels, the akanye, the stress he put on certain parts of his words, all pointed to the same dialect you’d heard back in Moscow, more central than anything else. 

So how on earth would he have eaten the so-called ‘Royal Cake’ that had only been made eight hours from there, in the town it grew its name from. 

There was something glaringly obvious about his story missing. 

“A man like me?” She tuned back into the conversation, swallowing another mouthful down as Gideon took another bite himself, though it seemed the topic had turned sour as Arseny wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin. 

“Four watchtowers and a convict signifies a stay in prison,” Spencer cut in, nodding towards the tattoos branded across his knuckles, “Each one of those crosses symbolises an individual sentence,” 

“Twenty three years in prison in the Ural mountains,” 

But she was still stuck on what it was she was missing. It had been such an odd thing to lie about, particularly when he’d even admitted himself that they hadn’t had much money, so he clearly hadn’t been lying to fake a reputation. 

So why lie?

She was ripped out of her stumped silence when Natalya entered the restaurant, her voice grabbing the men’s attention immediately. 

“Mr Lysowsky. You said you could help me,” She said, her purse over her shoulder and her own car keys gripped tightly in her hand as if she’d all but thrown herself out the vehicle to get there faster. 

“Don’t you already have help,” Lysowsky snapped, clearly Gideon had dug under his skin enough to garner a reaction. 

“I made a mistake,” Natalya replied, barely meeting Bugsy’s gaze as she stared at her from her seat at the table. “I talked to my father on the phone,” 

The girl frowned at her, “That’s a lie,” It came out before she could hold herself, brows furrowed at whatever it was she was trying to pull. Gideon said her name in a reprimand, though he too was looking at the woman as if she’d grown a second head. 

“Thankyou for coming, but I don’t need your help,” The woman met her confused look with a saddened expression, nodding to her solemnly. 

Leave it alone, she seemed to be saying, there’s nothing more I want you to do. 

And with that, the two of them left the restaurant, Natalya walking by his side obediently, her purse tucked in close under her arm, as Morgan and Cramer filed in from the parking lot, watching their only leads drive away without a fight. 

–

The team were quick to head back to Natalya’s home, only to find the ear missing and the finger gone too, the only evidence left of any crime being committed leaving with the victim’s daughter herself. 

“She’s not here, and the garbage was never taken out,” Morgan said with a grimace as he walked down the front steps to meet the four of them on the sidewalk. 

“Her dad just went missing, surely we can cut the girl some slack-” Bugsy words were hidden in a huff, rolling your eyes at the man who cut a glance to her. 

“No, no. When Hotch first talked to us, he said she noticed her father’s car in the driveway when she took the garbage out,” Morgan explained, his shades blocking the way the cogs turned behind his dark eyes. 

“Right?” Reid asked, his own sunglasses now covering his eyes that winced at the brightness, surrounding them.

“Garbage can in the kitchen is completely full, she never took it out.” 

“She lied,” Gideon said with finality, the penny beginning to drop for him too. 

“She could be half way back to Dolgo-whatever by now,” Morgan scoffed, his arms smacking against his side as the lightbulb went off over her head, the final puzzle piece falling into place. 

“Dolgoprudny?” Spencer asked, exchanging a glance with Cramer, “Isn’t that where Lysowsky’s from-”

“Yes, YES, of course!” She exclaimed, grabbing onto Spencer’s arm as he spoke. 

He looked at her with wide eyes, not that she could see since his shades blocked the way, only to feel her shake him harder in the midst of her enthusiasm. Part of him wanted to rip his arm out of her grip, waiting for the sickness to crawl up his throat at a strangers germs touching him, but the oddest part of him reasoned she had the same germs as Emily did, that the fifty percent DNA the women shared negated the fact she was a stranger, just as it did when he met Jack. Jack had Hotch germs. Bugsy had Emily’s. He didn’t feel so sick thinking of it like that. 

“I knew I was missing something,” She said, turning to Gideon, “He was lying before, about his favourite dessert. There was no way he could have had Leningradsky with his mother. Given his age, at that time in Soviet Russia, shortbread was incredibly expensive, only extremely wealthy families could have eaten it. That, and given the Central dialect he speaks in, I’d pinpointed he lives somewhere near or around Moscow, which means there was no way he was eating that cake considering it was only ever baked in one shop at first, one way up in Leningrad, where St Petersburg is now, like nine hours away from Moscow-” 

“What’s your point?” Cramer asked, tired of the somewhat slew of thoughts she’d been saving until she knew for sure what she meant. 

“Before when he said it was ‘our favourite’, I don’t think he was talking about him and his mother,” She explained, looking to see if Spencer at least understood what she was getting at. 

“It was him and his own child…” Spencer finished, as Morgan’s phone began ringing.

“Yeah, what?” He asked, the frustration clear in his tone that they were all still without the evidence needed to pin it on Lysowsky, “You’re sure? Uh-huh. Okay, thanks doll,” 

The four of them looked at him expectantly as he nodded to her, “Garcia just got into the bank’s system, somebody wired 500 thousand dollars into the account ten minutes ago,”

“Who wired it?” Spencer asked, though he was still reeling from the way she’d touched him, the way her voice went up about five octaves and a dozen decibels.

“She didn’t say, but the name on the account is Lyov Fulenko. She says that’s Lysowsky’s wife’s maiden name. Fulenko.” Morgan replied, and her brows furrowed. 

“Why did she bring us into this?” Gideon asked, though the solemn look on his face said he already knew, “Because she needed to put pressure on the other victim,” 

Gideon headed towards Mr Gorban’s house once more, though it was clear he had already sketched out in his head who was their unsub and Natalya’s involvement, he simply needed the confirmation. 

Morgan clapped a hand on her back, “Nice job, baby Prentiss. Those were some mean profiling skills out there,”

She frowned at him, scoffing,  “I’m not a profiler, that’s Emily’s job. It was just basic linguistics really; more a display of how I need to lay off cake for a while.”

The man kissed his teeth with a grin, “Don’t put yourself down. What’s your degree even in?”

She shrugged, picking under her nails for something to do, “Individualised genomics and health.” She said as if it were child’s play, though Spencer’s head shot to her. 

“Biotechnology?” He asked, and she glanced at him with a nod, “What’s your thesis on?” 

Gideon had returned by the time he’s asked, and began corralling the two of them back to the car, “We’re heading back to the restaurant. We need to speak with Lysowsky again,” 

But it had fallen on deaf ears as Spencer looked at her expectantly. 

“Just some new research into prenatal screening, nothing too fun,” She simpered, climbing into the back seat as he nodded with her. 

“I read a fascinating paper on the uses of hCG in a woman’s body-” 

“Reid,” Gideon cut him off with a short glance from the front seat, “Continue this conversation once we’ve found Mr Chernus alive,” 

Spencer blushed, feeling like a kid caught in the cookie jar, “Sorry, sir,” He looked over at her, only to see her hiding a smile to herself. 

He thinks it was then he’d decided Emily had been wrong about her.

-

“You paid the ransom already,” Gideon said plainly, the four of them trailing behind him as he followed Lysowsky to a small seating area in the front of the restaurant. She could tell the whole way Spencer had been itching to ask her more questions about her paper, barely contained as his fingers had twitched in his lap, but he seemed to straighten himself out once she’d reached the restaurant, “You paid all the ransoms,”

“Sit,” The boss ordered, barely glancing at them as he held his strong whiskey up.

“Are they going to kill Mr Chernus?” Morgan asked, cutting to the chase as Lysowsky spared him a bored glance.

“No,” He replied shortly, the look on his face about as grumpy as when they’d left. 

“The account is in the name of Lyov Fulenko. Lyov is a man’s name.” Spencer input, crossing his arms as the boss glared at him, “A son’s name. Vory v Zakone. Never have a family of your own. No wife. No children.”

“Lyov,” He looked at her then, gesturing to her with the glass of strong liquor, “You know what it means?”

“The Lion,” She replied gravely, steeling herself against his dark eyes. 

“No one else would be so stupid,” Lysowsky ran a hand over his weathered face, swigging his drink as if it was the only thing keeping him talking. “At first it didn’t mean much. It was a way of letting him earn his own money. I could afford it, it came from the fund. And no one questions the use of the fund-”

“Where is he?” Gideon asked, his elbows on his knees as he leaned in.

“What else could I do?” He was ignored, “I couldn’t admit I wasn’t blessing the kidnappings, I couldn’t even admit my son existed.” He huffed when he saw Gideon’s face unmoving from the glower, his question still unanswered, “Chernus will be home in a few minutes. You should be there, he will need medical attention,” He shooed them away, with his final words, drink sloshing in his hand. His face darkened, impossibly so, and the five of them looked at him, something sad and remorseful shining back. 

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer. 

“Vory v Zakone.” He said heavily, nodding to her, “We take care of our own troubles.”

It was a silent journey back to the Chernus’ house. 

-

Morgan and Reid pulled up to the campus, the younger girl in the back seat almost dozing off with the rhythmic hum of the engine, the evening sun much nicer on Spencer’s sensitive eyes. 

“This is you, baby Prentiss,” Derek’s voice jolted her out of the half sleep she was in, straightening herself from where she had her head pressed against the window. 

“Thanks,” She muttered, rubbing her eyes and unbuckling herself as they did the same, assuming they wanted to walk her back to her dorm since it had gotten dark, “I’ll be okay on my own, campus security should be out by now,”

“You sure?” Reid asked, flicking his watch up to his eyes to see the meagre 6:13pm staring back at him, “I thought they started at 7,”

She blinked at him, her eyebrows quirking for a moment, “How do you know that?”

“Johns Hopkins was my backup option- well actually it was my third, I much preferred Caltech’s curriculum, Yale was my second-” He started, flicking a glance to her where she waited for him to finish, “Not that Johns was bad, there were just better- alternative options out there-” 

“Don’t shit your pants, I’m hardly the dean of the university,” She chuckled indignantly patting them both on the shoulder before sliding over to open the door, “Nice meeting you both, I’ll just get back to my mediocre college with my poor curriculum, nothing like the solid gold bathrooms at Caltech-”

“I never said that!” She laughed again, with her whole chest, at his defensive tone as she stepped out the car, hand on the door to shut it behind her. 

Leaning down to give them both a wave goodbye, Derek’s voice stopped her again, “Baby Prentiss, do us all a favour and enrol yourself into forensics, we need more people on our team,”

Smirking at him, she shook her head, “Very funny. Never gonna happen. I like my little slides and samples, thankyou,” 

Slamming the door on the two of them she headed for the front gates, swinging her purse over her shoulder. She was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, and she quickly realised she’d been too tired to even realise a set of footsteps jogging after her. 

Maybe she should have taken that walk home after all. 

Whirling around, her eyes widened as Spencer had clearly not been leader of the track team as he was half out of breath just from the few feet he’d covered, though she reckoned she could have guessed that seeing his lean ribs beneath his shirt.

He shoved a business card in her face as he caught his breath, though it was more just his name and credentials followed by a phone number. 

“I-I don’t have email otherwise I would-” He huffed, scratching his forehead as she frowned and looked at him.

“I’ve never been hit on via business card before,” She bit her lip with a smile, reading over the card again as he choked on his words even more than before.

“N-no, I-” He spluttered, ignoring the way Morgan beeped the horn for him, seemingly in a debate with a ticket metre that had caught him parked on yellow, “If you needed us for anything, or if you needed a second pair of eyes for your thesis, I’m happy to help,”

“You don’t have faith in the dummy that got into Johns?” She asked, and his head couldn’t shake fast enough, though he seemed to catch her teasing and shared her smile, “Thanks, Dr Reid,” 

“Spencer’s just fine,” He said, giving her a small nod and a wave as Morgan’s palm bounced on the horn a dozen times. She flashed him one more smile, pocketing his number and heading back to her dorm, wondering what the doctor would think about the paper due in tomorrow she’d yet to get started on.

+1. The one where you get arrested.

The case had been heavy. They’d felt it in the car on the way back to headquarters. A little girl, molested and groomed by her own uncle, his own wife covering for him. 

His mother always told him love makes you do crazy things, but Spencer hoped that whatever part of him worth loving would at least stay sane by the time he found the one. He was loyal to his team, to his mother, but that was where he drew the line. He was loyal to his family, undoubtedly so. 

Yet so was Emily. 

The call came to the second SUV, her phone set up to hands free mode, quickly flicking to answer the call on speaker, the other half of the team ahead of them on the freeway. 

“Prentiss, speaking. Who is this?” She spoke clearly to the unknown number, her knuckles going white at the wheel when she heard a nervous laugh.

“It’s me,” Her sister mumbled through the speaker, “You wouldn’t by any chance be near DC would you?” 

She huffed, cursing the knack Prentiss women had for showing up at the worst times. 

“Can’t this wait, I’m on the clock,” Emily hissed, her finger edging towards the ‘End Call’ button, “I’ll call you after,”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up!” As if sensing her movements, she all but screeched, “This was my one phone call, they won’t let me have another,” 

The car went silent for a moment, Spencer’s eyes narrowing on the dash from his place in the passenger seat, JJ also leaning forward from the back with a frown. 

Emily grit her teeth, her upper lip twitching the way it did when she was mad. 

“What do you mean by one phone call? Where are you?” She bit in a cautious tone, though knowing how reckless Bugsy tended to be, she had a pretty good idea. 

The hesitation on the other end of the line was palpable, as was the way she awkwardly cleared her throat. 

“Fairfax County Jail,” She murmured sheepishly, “But it wasn’t my fault, these assholes don’t know what they’re talking about, I swear-”

“Stay there and keep your mouth shut,” Emily ordered, her expression furrowing into a sneer, “And for the love of god don’t antagonise the officers,” 

The agent didn’t even wait for a response, knowing it would probably be something snarky, her mind already racing at what the hell her sister could have done this time, every worst possible explanation jumping to the forefront. 

“I’ll call Hotch and tell him to turn around,” JJ offered, her fingers already searching her contacts for their boss, as Emily sighed through her nose. 

“Tell him not to worry, I’ll drop you guys back to headquarters, make my way there myself,” She said, picking the skin of her nail softly with her thumb. 

“By the time we’ve reached Quantico, visiting times will be over and she’ll have to stay the night,” Spencer pointed out, his own surprise evident. Sure, she had certainly been a personality when they had met, but a criminal seemed a stretch. 

“Maybe it would teach her a lesson,” Emily mused, shaking her head to herself, “Who am I kidding, that psycho would Shawshank her way out of there by dawn,”

“You don’t actually think she would hurt anyone do you?” JJ said, the dial tone ringing out from the phone she held to her ear. 

“Wouldn’t put it past her. She once cut a girl's pigtail off for wearing the same dress as her on her birthday,” Emily winced as Spencer’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. 

“I thought getting swirlied was bad,” He muttered, watching out the window as Emily made a U-turn at the traffic lights. He and the now twenty three year old had been bouncing research papers back and forth for a few months, the odd one every week, Bugsy even once joking it was much more interesting and riveting than foreplay, which had his face red hot at his desk.

She was like that, he’d quickly realised, had a vulgar sort of humour about her, yet he couldn’t help the snigger that came out whenever he’d receive one of his papers back through the mail with pink writing scrawled all over his ideas. The little hearts that dotted her exclamations whenever she wrote “AMAZING!”, the odd time she’d written “sexy ideas, doctor Reid” which he’d come to understand meant it was really good. He’d even gotten back the drawing at the end of the paper of a stickman of the two of them, his hair a curly scribble and a purple tie which told him immediately who was who, her line of a hand pointing at his caricature with the speech bubble, “everyone point and wave at the smart man,” which had made him laugh. 

She was odd, toeing the line between childish and witty, nothing like the scholars he usually worked with, and the writing he usually sent back on her papers were all in standard black ink, his own pharmacist handwriting staring back at him as he crammed in his every thought of her research into the margins. If she couldn’t read it, she hadn’t said, but he liked to think she took notice of it all, even if it wasn’t strewn with stars and doodles and the occasional flirt he knew meant nothing. He knew her from her writing, knew her from her ideas that sometimes kept him up at night thinking more about them, but the two of them hadn’t spoken directly, most certainty hadn’t seen one another since that day with the Chernus’.

Emily hummed, fingers drumming on the wheel, entirely unaware of the thoughts rattling around in Spencer’s head, then again that’s how it always was, “I just pray to god she’s listened to me for once in her damn life and keeps quiet,”

-

“Fucking bitch. The nuns in Moscow hit harder than you,” She spat, blood dribbling from her split lip. She wasn’t entirely lying, but god did her mouth sing with pain as she tried to muffle a moan. 

“You got jokes, pig lover?” The other woman asked, a tattoo covering half her cheek, her nose crooked from the shiner the Prentiss girl had already given her. “Won’t be fucking laughing when I’m done, bitch,” The woman was quick to tackle the girl around her stomach, slamming her into the hard concrete of the holding cell. Bugsy felt her skull rattle, the wind whooshing from her chest as rough hands grab her shirt and pin her down harder. 

The younger girl reached the nerve under her opponent's armpit, the soft of her ribs, twisting until the woman gave a bark of shock, and she took the opportunity to shove her off, climbing on top of her as they both scrambled for some sort of control.

“I got one for you. What’s got a broken nose, a black eye and doesn’t know what’s good for her?” She swung twice as hard, the other women in the cell rattling against the bars as if watching a matador taunt a bull, the air thick with excitement as the two of them cursed eachother out.

Emily’s sigh was audible across the room as the wardens separated the cat fight, the largest of the officers all but grabbing her sister by the scruff of the neck like a feral beast, dragging her over with stubborn feet to where the BAU stood in the lobby, eyes widened at the state of her. 

“You better start acting your age, little girl. Mommy’s not gonna be around forever to save you,” The officer hissed in her ear, manhandling her over to where Emily glared daggers into the side of her head. She knew that look, it was eerily similar to mom’s that time she’d been caught sneaking out of the house, something in the warm brown of Emily’s eyes frosting over into a cold blackness. Fury. 

She chewed her words for a moment, waiting until the man had turned around with a grunt of acknowledgement to the badge Emily had flashed to get his attention, before she spoke. 

“She’s not my mom, she's my sister, dumbass-” Emily slapped a hand over her mouth, gripping her shoulder with the bear-like strength her jagged nails possessed when she was mad, the scoff of disgrace leaving her mouth as her team trailed behind the two of them. 

“What the hell happened, baby Prentiss?” Morgan asked, ignoring the way Emily’s heated gaze turned on him, “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Don’t entertain her, Morgan,” Emily seethed, all but shoving her into the back of the SUV. She looked up at her sister with an open mouth, the guilt flashing in her eyes as she wavered under the pointing finger Emily jabbed in her face, “Don't you even dare,” 

“But-” She stammered, cut off when she saw the glare intensified, if that had even been possible. 

“I don’t want to hear another word from you for the rest of the day unless you’re prepared to give me a good explanation why I’ve dragged my team out here to save your sorry ass,” Emily hissed, and the girl’s mouth bobbed a few times, feeling the rest of the team watching as she got thoroughly chewed out. 

“Wait-” Emily’s hand lingered at the car door, ready to slam it in her face as she rubbed her cuff over her chin, mopping up the damage. Her head tilted for a moment, hoping her sister had something good to say, only for it to be; “He just called you old, I hope you realise that,”

Emily’s gaze darkened, slamming the door shut with an anger she imagined her mother had kept warm for the past twenty three years, whirling around heatedly when she heard a snigger from one Derek Morgan. 

“Damn, mama, hear the girl out.” He said, slapping a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he passed, heading back to their own SUV, “Maybe she’ll surprise you,” 

If Emily was going to bite anything back, she didn’t. Instead she ran a hand over her brow, the group disbanding to their cars now the problem child had been picked up from daycare, except for Hotch who watched the older Prentiss with a scowl, despite the worry in his eyes. 

“Hotch, I’m so sorry, just take it off my timecard, I’ll cover all the costs,” She said shakily, her own frown adorning her face as she felt herself blush from embarrassment under her boss’s gaze. 

“I understand she’s your sister, but this was a gross misuse of agent time and resources, Prentiss,” He said, his gaze drifting to where Spencer sat next to the girl, pulling a packet of tissues and hand sanitizer out of his satchel while JJ rooted through her own purse for a plaster, “Don’t let it happen again,” 

Emily nodded vehemently, flushed with anger, her palms sticky as she wiped them on her jeans. 

“Absolutely sir. Believe me, this ever happens again, she’s on her own,” She replied, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. Emily would never. 

He nodded stonily, deciding quickly that it was punishment enough that she felt so ashamed, he knew from his years of arguments with Sean what it was like to have a sibling stray so far. 

“We can fill out reports in the morning, just get Reid and JJ home,” Hotch said, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder as he passed her to head towards his own vehicle, “And try not to kill each other in the company car. It doesn’t look good on paperwork,” 

She beat off the smile on her lips as she got back into the driver's seat, the air that engulfed the four of them foul as she glared over her shoulder and into the back. Spencer twitched in his seat uncomfortably, his hand still passing over tissues to the bloodied girl. 

“So, you gonna tell me what that was about?” Emily asked, her tone brittle and warning, not in the mood for any snarky response she could give, “Or is this old lady going to have to lay into you some more,” 

The smell of strong ethanol engulfed her nose as she held the soaked tissue to her face, frowning into her lap silently and avoiding the burning stare as Emily stuck the keys in the ignition and started the car.

“Let’s start with why you were there,” JJ input, the same tone of voice she used as when talking to victims, calm and motherly, unlike the pissed off snarl Emily gave, “You wanna tell us why you were arrested?”

“You two really gonna pull the good cop, bad cop on me?” She snapped, her lip swelling around the wound, tongue grazing it softly despite the heavy taste of the sanitizer.

Emily said her name in a warning, her last warning, and she knew better than to push her luck even more, the SUV pulling out of the station and onto the road. 

“I was just shopping for groceries,” She started, fiddling with the bloodied tissue, wincing under her tongue stroke, “Store clerk made a pass at me, I told him I wasn’t interested. So he put a pack of smokes in my handbag while I wasn’t looking; the alarms went off. I didn’t even know what was happening until security grabbed me at the door,” 

JJ flashed a glance at Emily, like two parents deciding an appropriate punishment, the brunette’s lips straightening out into a line. 

“You’re telling the truth?” She asked cautiously, glancing in the rear view mirror to see how her sister balled the mess of paper between her palms. 

Rolling her eyes, she gladly accepted the other packet of tissues Spencer slid over the leather seat between them. 

“I went out for milk and oranges, I was not looking to get picked up, Em,” She bit back, groaning when she felt it jostle the cut, “And certainly not for cigarettes, you know I only smoke on New Years,” 

Spencer looked at her with a frown, and she caught his confusion quickly, pulling another leaf of paper from the packet. 

“Emily and I had a rule after she caught me smoking when I was like fourteen, that we could have one cigarette between the two of us on New Years eve,” She explained, JJ also perking up to hear it, “So that by the time morning came around, it would be last year’s mistake, and it would be like it never happened,” 

JJ smiled to herself, remembering the time she caught Roz sneaking one of her dad’s cigarettes on the back porch back when she was just ten. She remembered the little secrets the two of them kept back then, held them even all these years later. 

“So how did that lead to, well,” JJ gestured to her lip, “That,” 

“Yeah, didn’t I specifically tell you to not antagonise anyone?” Emily chimed in, signalling she was changing lanes as they headed down the freeway for a second time that day.

“Technically you said not to antagonise the officers,” She pointed out, before Spencer had the chance to, shutting his mouth as he caught the glare Emily shot through the mirror.

“Keep talking,” The older Prentiss ordered, as Bugsy sighed and blotted her lip some more. 

“That woman, Mira I think her name was, anyway, she recognised me from that picture mom had us take on Independence Day, the one they put in The Hill, and she asked me if it was true my sister was a fed,” 

Emily’s fingers twitched at the wheel, knowing the status agents and even people associated with agents held in prisons; knowing just being a Prentiss in a jail cell held a big, dazzling price over her head that said ‘kill me, kill me!”

The air sucked out of the car, a look passing between JJ and Reid as they thought the same thing, waiting for her to go on. 

“So then you hit her?” Emily guessed, the bitterness slowly ebbing as she understood maybe her sister wasn’t as unruly as she thought. 

“No, I told her to leave me the fuck alone, but she said you guys sent her brother down for something a while back, and she asked again if my family were all Pigs,” She picked her nails, the blood stain on her sleeve staring back at her, “I told her if she didn’t stop calling you a Pig, I’d make her squeal like one. And then I hit her,” 

Emily tried to pretend she didn’t smile hearing that, her cheeks tightening, lips pulling down as she fended it off. 

“Is that good enough, officers, or will you be needing fingerprints?” The girl chimed after a moment, a weight seemingly lifted from the car as Emily quickly realised she had, for once, not been entirely at fault. 

“I want a handwritten apology to my boss for wasting his time,” Emily demanded, her unforgiving gaze softening when she saw her smile, “And you owe my team coffee,”

“I can do coffee, coffee coming right up,” She agreed, shoving the used tissues into her purse with a crooked smile, “It’s a date,”

Spencers ears turned red, looking over the seat at where she dabbed at her lip gently. She didn’t look much older for six months, but she had gotten her nose pierced since the last time he’d seen her, unless he just hadn’t noticed it before, and the streaks of red were slowly fading out into a blush pink that said it was old, and he wondered if she’d done it herself in that tiny little cubicle bathroom of hers she shared with the four other girls in her block. 

“You finished your stats papers yet?” He made polite conversation, though part of him was dying to know out of curiosity if she could crunch numbers and equations as well as she could in her own labs. 

“Got two more this week, they’re kicking my ass man,” She replied with a huff, and he didn’t think he’d ever been called ‘man’ by a woman before. He knew if he’d known her in college, ignoring the fact he would have been twelve, he would have thought she may just be the coolest person alive, “I miss my labs with my microscopes and watching all the little baby cells move around in the ethanol. Stats are like, just not sexy,” 

He smiled at her as she stared out the window, unaware of the way she’d managed to make DNA sound like a play pen full of kittens. He held off from telling her he found stats really quite sexy, knowing it would never sound the same coming from his mouth.

He pulled a leaf of the tissues from the packet, producing his own pen from his pocket and began doodling carefully so as not to rip the delicate canvas. 

Sliding it over to her after five minutes as Emily and JJ made conversation in the front seat, she didn’t care that the grin tugged on her split lip, the reaction was instant, she couldn’t stop it if she tried. 

Two stick men stared back at her, her hair a close match in texture and a childish triangle drawn as means of a dress, a very tall stick figure next to her patting her metaphorical head, a speech bubble coming from his mouth. 

“Maths is fun!” It said, and she flicked a glance at him, her smile the most genuine he’d seen yet. He just smiled back. 

+2. The one where you graduate

Emily felt the looks on her the moment JJ had mentioned Maryland. The case was a little under their pay grade, nothing more than a stalker, no bodies or bloodshed, but one very rattled woman that had turned to the communications liaison with fear for her life. 

With Hotch and Rossi in Boston helping a case of their own, the rest of the BAU had been twiddling their thumbs waiting for something to come across their desk. 

“This case is in my hands now, and if we do nothing and something happens to her,” JJ took a heavy breath, her eyes lingering on the three names Keri had given her in case of her untimely death, “I’ll be the one notifying her family,”

Derek, despite his own hesitations about using their time for a case like this, caved the moment he saw the guilt on the blonde’s face. 

“Okay,” He shuffled the papers into a pile, Emily and Spencer gathering their own resources on the case and standing from the round table. 

Luckily, one government SUV was more than enough to carry the four of them for the hour drive North, all of them well aware Hotch would flip if they used more funds than necessary.

JJ piled into the front beside where Morgan climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving Emily next to a particularly fidgety Reid. It took all of fifteen minutes of the man flicking a glance at her, his mouth quirking as if he were about to use it, before he thought better and looked out the window, and the whole thing would start again. 

Derek, the less shy about his thoughts of the two men, even glanced at her through the rear view mirror, before he too returned his gaze out the window silently. JJ shifted in her seat, knowing she had to tread carefully around mentioning Bugsy to Emily, particularly after the last time they’d seen her. Emily had said they’d grabbed coffee once or twice since then, but that was all she spoke about it, which left her team walking cracked eggshells at the thought of bringing her up. 

It seemed the three of them were bursting at the seams with the same thought, and it wasn’t until Reid cleared his voice, his puppy eyes stuck in his loop, that she had had enough. 

“Does anyone here have something to say?” Emily huffed, Derek immediately reaching to turn the radio up the same time that JJ flicked the AC on for something to do. Realising they weren’t easily broken, she turned to Spencer who already looked slightly guilty, thumbing at his sweater, “Reid?”

“Did you want to see your sister?” He asked without hesitation, as if the words had fallen out of him, “You know, since we’re so close on this case. It would be a good excuse to-”

“You did say she owed us a coffee,” JJ pointed out, spurred on by Spencer’s nerves, “Wouldn’t mind cashing in if we’re coming all this way.”

“Morgan, do you have anything to add?” Emily asked with raised brows, though she already knew what was coming.

Derek chewed over his thoughts a second, “I’m just saying, you only get to see your baby sisters grow up once- you know, and it couldn’t hurt to see her even if she runs rings around you with that smart mouth-”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on the case?” Emily cut him off incredulously, but received three knowing looks back. She met JJ’s gaze where the woman had swivelled in her seat to talk to her, and Prentiss was fast to catch the buried grief in her best friend’s eyes. She knew it pained her to even bring up sisterhood, let alone watch Emily throw hers away for the sake of a decade and a half between them. It was the desperation in JJ’s face that did it, knowing she would give anything to spend just an hour with Roz one more time, that had her drawing her cell out her pocket and calling the contact with the little ladybug next to it, “Fine,”

As a profiler she would have been tempted to ignore the way Spencer smiled into his lap; as a sister, her eyes narrowed at him.

The phone rang surprisingly only once before she answered, and she heard an unnaturally tame version of her sister answer.

“Emily?” She asked, her voice hushed, worried almost, “You okay?”

Her brows furrowed, “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” She got no more than a hum in return, somewhat agreeing though Emily could tell clear as day she was holding something back. “Look, we’re gonna be in Silver Spring, I was thinking tomorrow we could grab lunch-” 

“Can’t, I’m busy, it’s an all day thing,” Her sister cut her off, yet it wasn’t rude or demeaning like usual. Nervous almost, sad, “Sorry,”

“What’s an all day thing?” Emily asked, the concern matching her words. 

Her sister swallowed on the other end of the phone, before she found her words, or maybe even the balls to actually speak, “I’m graduating tomorrow,”

Emily’s face lit up, the smile spreading fast on her face, ignoring the way Morgan’s words seemed to ring true in her ears; she was growing up too fast. 

“Graduating, why didn’t you say!” She asked, the joy in her tone unmissable, “How’d your papers go?”

Spencer held himself off from correcting her that she’d only done five papers, that the rest of her results had come from theory and labs, thinking better than to interrupt the one conversation they’d had where there was no underlying argument brewing. 

“Full honours, obviously.” Bugsy drawled with a snicker, and Emily shook her head, the smile never dimming. 

“Look at you, y’little superstar,” Emily bit her lip, ignoring the guilt that tore at her when she realised she barely knew what Bug spent her days doing, “Did Mom and Dad get good seats? Oh god, dad’s not bringing Stephanie is he?”

The silence on the other end had her halting, the light in the conversation wavering for a second, before she understood the nerves, the quick defence her sister had been on the moment the call had been answered. 

“Bug-”

“They’re not coming,” Her heart ached in her chest hearing it, “I sent Mom the details, she said she’s in Ukraine this week settling some papers. Didn’t even get a chance to ask Dad before he and Stephanie were off on their fifth honeymoon in the Bahamas until October,” A painful laugh echoed down the line, as if she were holding back the gravity of the situation. 

“Bug,” Emily tried again, picking her thumb viciously, punishingly, hating herself for being so blind to her sister’s troubles, “Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I figured you’d be busy,” Came the reply, sad and tender, the most honest she’d heard in a while, “You’re always busy,” 

“Never too busy for you,” Emily’s guilt tripled when her sister didn’t answer, knowing if she were to counter the statement with hard evidence it would only hurt both of them, “Look, I have some time today, probably,” She didn’t, not even a few minutes, “Why don’t we get that coffee, you don’t even have to pay,”

Bugsy gave a sad laugh, “Sorry, Em, I gotta get my dress fitted today, and some of the lab techs invited me to a party later. Maybe some other time,”

“A party with biology nerds?” Emily asked with false excitement, the air turned stagnant between them now, “Well, rock on, science freak. Don’t leave your drinks with strangers, and don’t walk home alone, and for god sake use protection-”

“Bye, Emily,” She said with a chuckle, the older of the two gracing her with the same, as they put the phone down. 

The car was quiet, waiting for Prentiss to speak, none of them missing the way her lip pulled between her teeth, a bitterness on her face that told them she was holding in something close to sadness. You’re always busy. It echoed around her head, stabbing at her chest to think her sister was graduating alone, no one to congratulate her, no one to pat her on the back and tell her how clever she is despite the fact Bugsy would happily tell anyone just how smart she was on her own. Never too busy for you. 

“She’s graduating tomorrow,” She said to the three people waiting for an update, Spencer’s brows shooting to his hairline. He hadn’t heard from her since her last paper got sent off, and why would he? They had exchanged a few little anecdotes and doodles, sent each other research papers to be graded like teachers exchanging lecture notes, “She didn’t even tell me. She’s gonna be alone,” 

JJ grimaced, “What? What about your mom- or, or your dad, an uncle, someone-” 

“Mom and dad are out of the country, Mom’s brother lives in Mexico with his seven kids, he can barely get a night’s sleep let alone a day off to travel up to Maryland. Dad’s sisters passed away when I was a kid,” Emily explained, running a hand over her face, “I can’t let her go up there alone,”

“So we don’t,” Spencer said, as if he’d never been more sure of anything in his life, “We don’t let her do it alone,”

-

“Graduating with Masters in Biotechnology; Jasper Adams, Tom Adamson, Kristen Afkins, Gavin Agriths-” 

The dean read off the names of the students as she fiddled with the hem of her dress. 

The dress fit beautifully, her make up done to near perfection, her hair styled neatly, she was graduating with full honours for christ sakes. Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had? Why had she got to be so spoiled? 

Lots of peoples parents missed their graduation, lots of people her age didn’t even have parents anymore, she ought to be grateful her mother was increasing famine aid in foreign countries, all the lives she would save, or even be happy her father had found a pretty, rich new wife to tour every known vacation destination with. Or even that her sister had called her just yesterday and told her in a few words she was proud of her. 

But none of them quelled the feeling of loneliness that blossomed inside Bugsy. The kind that had always been there, the kind that just wanted someone in her corner, telling her she was doing pretty good for a kid who raised herself in all those big houses they’d moved to, who saw the au pair more often than her own mother. 

All those rooms were so empty, the houses so quiet besides for her. It was like living in a cemetery. 

“Robert Lewsinsky. Marcus Linford. Tara Lorence. Katie Macauley.” 

P would be up soon. Each name of her classmates drew an applause, some whoops and screams, one family she swore there must have been ten of them in the back row cawing and howling like monkeys at a zoo, proud of their son for making it. 

She willed a smile on her face, hearing Orla Parkins get called up, and she knew just by the steward that directed her where to stand in line she was close. 

“Kenneth Patterson. Joshua Perriman. Harriet Pimms. Lauren Pintons.”

She held a rattled breath as Renly Prackett walked ahead of her, strolling over the stage to collect his degree, flashing the crowd a wide smile and a fist pump. She had always liked Renly, having been his experiment partner for a year, despite the fact he never washed up after himself in the lab. 

Then it was, her name was called. The one no one but her mother and Stephanie ever called her, she solely went by Bugsy courtesy of Emily. It was a family name, a nice one at that. Maybe it had been the fact she had been eight and her cool big sister crowned her the new name, or maybe it just rolled off the tongue better, made her feel less like a Prentiss, that she chose to go by her monika. 

She tried not to think about where or what Emily was doing, only hoping she was safe, as she began walking over the stage, her heels clicking loudly with her hesitant steps. 

To her utmost surprise she heard a loud whistle echo through the auditorium, a group of jeers and screams of her name, even an air horn signing off that had her almost tripping over her own feet turning to see who it was. 

Surely it was a joke, a cruel prank, she barely had any friends in her class. Acquaintances sure, but no one so bold as to make such a fuss over her. 

Squinting down at the audience, her cap nearly slipping off her head as her head turned to the source, she felt her chest burst when she saw the dark hair and bangs, her sisters butchered fingertips in her mouth with a loud cattle whistle, screaming like a firework right to the stage where she graciously accepted her award, despite the fact she barely paid any attention to the dean anymore, more to her sister who smiled at her widely as she clapped. Behind her, her team she’d met on the off chance, the pretty blonde, JJ, who pressed the air horn a few more times, cheering just as loud for her. Morgan, the handsome one who had stood himself on top of his chair, cupping a hand over his mouth to scream “Kicking ass, baby Prentiss!” at her, ignoring the way other people stared wide eyed at them. 

And Spencer, tall enough to be seen over the crowd even without the help of a chair, who smiled at her, clapping those big hands of his loud enough to reach her, his own whoops never ceasing even as she stepped off the stage to head back to her seat. 

The rest of the ceremony dragged, a speech from one of the alumni and the exit music playing, but she simply grinned into her hand, where her degree smiled back at her, counting down the moments she would be allowed to stand. 

And then she was fast walking down the stairs, amongst the bustle of students, the black gowns flurrying around her as she burst out into the square where parents, fiancees, brothers, sisters, cheered their loved ones, pulling them into tight hugs. 

Her eyes scanned the wave of black hats, landing on two dark eyes, the thick sable hair framing the dazzling smile that awaited her with open palms. All but shoving her way through the crowd, she stopped in front of her sister, the urge to jump at her with a hug shying the moment she got close. 

“Told you. Never too busy for you, Bug,” Emily said, pulling her in by her shoulders for a tight hug. She knew her sister wasn’t one to beg for affection, wasn’t one to let her guard drop so soon, but she also knew she’d needed it by the way she melted against her, the way she chuckled into her hair, pulled her closer. 

“Do I owe your boss another letter of apology for this or do I get you guys for free?” The girl asked, as her sister pulled away, keeping an arm around her shoulder as they turned to the rest of the team. 

“No, this one is entirely on us, promise,” JJ said with a smile as she saw Emily beaming maternally over at the girl, the flat of the cap knocking against her cheek as she squeezed her in once more, “We’re very proud of you,” 

She heated under the woman’s words, wriggling in her shoes as bad as Emily did when she felt awkward, Derek chuckling and taking the degree out of her hand. 

“Alright, lets see the creds, Prentiss,” He held it up next to her face as she shrugged, the ‘4.0’ clear as day next to her name, “Good looking, and smart. Those boys in the lab ought to watch out,”

She grinned under his teasing, “What can I say, I got the deep end of the gene pool,” She teased, feeling Emily swat her ear, her eyes falling to where Spencer held a plant pot with a poorly wrapped bow of twine around it, the soil a little displaced from the journey.

“This is for you,” He said, handing her the small green sproutling, his cheeks blushing as her face lit up, reading the small inscription on the front, “It’s-”

“Dionaea muscipula,” She said, biting her lip as she smiled at him, “This is so cool! Where on earth did- I had a paper last semester on the ways to study their electrophysiology you just have to read- oh thank you!”

“English, please?” Emily asked, though the warmth flooded her chest when her sister threw her arms around a very rigid Spencer. 

Thinking she should grab her and warn her the man disliked touch almost as much as she does, she was surprised to see him give her a small embrace back, smiling proudly the way he did when he’d made someone happy. 

“Piège à mouches Vénus,” Her sister responded cockily, tugging herself away from the tall man, to inspect her new plant, well aware that Emily rolled her eyes at her use of French, “Venus Fly Trap. I’ve never seen one so young, still I should be able to pull some slides on the Rhizomes in the soil-”

Emily put a hand to her temple, JJ smiling widely as she saw for once Spencer be the one on the receiving end of an earful, chuckling to himself when she began dishing out name ideas for the sapling. 

“Holy shit, there’s two of them,” Morgan grumbled, nudging his shoulder into Emily who simply sighed, her migraine already starting as Reid began jumping in with his own thoughts, which didn’t take much effort.

“Don’t even,” 

+3. The one where you’re taken hostage

“Tell us about the 911 call,” Spencer requests, flicking through the file himself beside her in the back seat. She had her own set of paperwork in front of her, her pen attached to a clipboard the lanyard around her neck reading her real, honest credentials, unlike the fake ones Emily and Reid were given. She’d been to one of these sects before, invited kindly as part of her research on the effect isolation has on cultivation of crops, knew one of the mother’s well from her last research paper, and had managed to get the group a foot in the door to entering the Separtarian Sect with little fuss. 

Hotch, usually hesitant to allow outsiders in on the job, especially as young and spirited as Bugsy, had to admit it would calm any potential unsubs and make them see the team as unthreatening if they had a friendly face there. He’d signed the papers with a frown that morning, and they were on their way to the little apartment the girl occupied just outside Baltimore, sample tubes stuffed into her pack ready. 

“I believe the he that they refer to is the church’s leader, Benjamin Cyrus,” Nancy, a woman from child protective services, replied from the driver's seat, Emily thumbing through her papers as they neared the compound. 

“Benjamin Cyrus, no criminal record; no record of him at all actually,” Reid replied, watching Bugsy scribbling notes into her lab book, perfecting her report before she had even begun, “What else do you know about him?” 

“The sect I spoke to before, the one in Utah, said he was rumoured to be practising polygamy and forced marriages,” The younger woman said, looking back at him with a frown, “They were much more modern in their beliefs than these guys. Last time I spoke to Marina she was happy there, I can’t see why she would want to move here,” 

Spencer looked as if he were about to answer, perhaps to tell her he was sure her contact would be just fine, when Emily shrugged and turned to Nancy. 

“Do we know who the caller is?” She asked, sipping her now lukewarm coffee out of the disposable cup. 

Nancy’s head tilted in a so-so motion, “Uh, Jessica Evansen is the one who the age fits, but we can’t be sure.”

“Well given their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn’t identify us as FBI.” Emily instructed, handing Reid his new, fake credentials and his gun she’d kept in her bag through customs. “Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.” Nancy nodded, the compound coming into view, the dust flurrying under the car wheels as the road turned into nothing more than a sandy path. 

A guard seemed to be expecting their arrival as he stood, unarmed at the main gate, unlatching the bolt in the middle and opening it wide for their vehicle to pass through. She nodded in thanks, her eyes flicking out the dirty window to see a collection of mobile homes surrounding a large church, a few smaller outbuildings dotted around the compound. It was quiet, not full of laughter like the last group she had been to, the children nowhere to be seen, only a few of the handier members of the flock that were either fixing up walls, trimming trees besides a man sprawled too casually on the steps of the chapel, a bible in his hands he seemed to be catching up on. 

The car pulled to a stop in front of the man that barely batted an eye at their arrival, the safety locks flicking off each of the doors, Nancy collecting her briefcase and exiting the car first. 

She had all but reached for the handle when Emily stopped her, swivelling in her seat to look her dead in the eye. 

“Your job is mediator, you got that?” Her sister had never looked more serious, but then again she did know her almost too well, “You and your field research are a… buffer between our investigation and the unsub. Just try to take the focus off what we’re doing, but do not provoke anyone,”

She raised her hands in innocence, “Got it, jeez, what could I possibly do that could ruin this investigation?” 

Emily stared back at her blankly, unnamused, as if they both knew there was a lot she could, and would, do that would blow the whole thing. 

“You look like mom when you give me that look,” She bit back, leaving the car, as Nancy spoke to the man laying on the steps, “It’s terrible,” 

“I’m looking for Mr Benjamin Cyrus?” Nancy reported, her tight, knee length skirt and blouse entirely out of place amongst the dirt track. 

“You found him,” The man replied, still not so much as granting them a glance of interest as he flicked through his passages. 

“I’m Nancy Lunde, we spoke on the phone regarding the allegation,” She replied, which was the only thing that garnered his attention as he looked up at them behind slightly bent reading glasses. 

“Savages they call us; because our manners differ from theirs,” He said, though it was clear it wasn’t entirely his own words, more likely a segment of his preach he’d repeated a handful of times. Bugsy tried to hide her disgust behind her hand tightening around her lab books she kept tightly to her chest. 

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr Cyrus,” Nancy snipped as he approached the group, pocketing the glasses though he kept hold of the bible in hand as if it was part of his own arm. 

“Actually it’s Benjamin Franklin,” Spencer murmured to the woman, which had Cyrus’ cold brown eyes narrowing at the tall man, assessing for a motive.

“Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid. They’re child victim interview experts,” Nancy introduced them quickly, the two of them flashing their badges, the unofficial ones at least. Gesturing to the youngest woman, she introduced her with her real name, his gaze flicking to her as he seemed to recognise it.

“Marina’s friend? The plant lady?” He asked, face half amused as she fought her lip from twitching into a sneer. Instead she smiled, holding out her hand. 

“That’s what they call me,” She said, shaking his hand, ignoring the way he flashed her a cheshire cat smile, “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by, Marina said I could take some samples for my research,”

He laughed, shaking his head, looking at Spencer, “Women and their flowers, right?” Spencer swallowed back a retort, shrugging his shoulders, though Bugsy’s eye twitched. Benjamin patted her on her shoulder, “Of course you can honey, I’ll find Jared, our head gardner, and you can run along for your research,” 

He said it as if she were lying, that her degree and endless hours of work would only ever chalk up to a few doodles in a notebook, or a garden full of hydrangeas, or tulips, or roses, because she couldn’t possibly care about anything else but pretty flowers. 

Nodding her head graciously, choking back the hateful response she wished to spit in his face, she gave him a polite thankyou, feeling Spencer’s eyes burning into the side of her head. 

“The children are in the school as I indicated,” Cyrus said, turning back to the other three, Emily and Nancy taking off in the direction he pointed, the former knowing her sister was at risk of blowing a fuse if they were here for long. 

Spencer hung back, partially because he had a plan of distraction in mind to allow the women a chance to speak with the children whilst Cyrus wasn’t around, partially because he didn’t want to leave Bugsy anywhere on her own. Sure, Emily had said they were both trained in self defence when they were kids, but with no weapon of her own, he was reluctant. 

“You're using solar power?” He prompted, gesturing towards where the eight blue panels warmed under the Colorado sun.

“We’re completely self-sufficient,” Benjamin nodded along, catching the impressed look on both their faces, “Electricity, food, water. Ben Franklin said ‘God helps those that help themselves,’ you look surprised,” 

“No, impressed actually,” Spencer replied, and he wasn’t entirely lying. The system was incredibly complex, particularly if they received no help from outsiders, for as many people as there were in the compound. 

“Thankyou; for admitting that,” Cyrus said earnestly, flicking his gaze back to Bugsy who studied the solar panels, “I’ll go find Jared, he can take you to the greenhouses,”

Thanking him again, he led the way towards the school where Nancy and Emily had headed, as the two of them exchanged a look, Spencer smiling half piteously, wishing he could shake her and tell her just how smart she was and that Cyrus knew absolutely nothing. 

He didn’t miss the way she walked closer to him, or how she thumbed the corner of her notebook, or how she looked back at him, biting the inside of her cheek. He thinks he might get slapped if he pointed it out, but Emily had the exact same tell when she was nervous, which is why he bumps their shoulders together in means of reassuring her he was still there. 

It was only then she gave him any sort of smile back. 

-

Jared, as expected, had been just as condescending and patronising as Benjamin whilst she slipped on her latex gloves, scooping no more than a handful of homemade fertiliser into one of her test tubes. It had been a partial cover, their story, but she had been telling the truth when she’d contacted Marina and asked if she could drop by. She’d been meaning to expand her field research in hopes of stumbling on a job opportunity since she spent most of her postgraduate days reading while her cat pawed at her leg for more treats than he deserved, the odd phone call with her sister much more common than it had been before. 

She didn’t miss the way Jared’s hand fell into the small of her back as he led her back towards the school, after having noted down a few more readings, fussing over the state of the carrots that seemed to grow entirely naturally thanks to the systems they’d been smart enough to set up. He seemed rather bored by the whole thing, for a head gardener, more interested in staring at her legs as she leaned down to identify the fat black beetle that crawled along the rockery. 

It wasn’t until they were halfway to the school that the sound of tyres on a dirt path met her ears, and she saw five armoured SUVs out the corner of her eye. 

She hadn’t even the time to question what was going on, before Jared’s face dropped, the hand gently holding the soft of her back grabbing on her forearm hard enough to leave bruises, as he was dragging her to the chapel they had seen when they had pulled up.

 Emily had said the rest of the team stayed in Quantico, if it wasn’t them, who was it. 

“Whats going on- who is that?” She asked him lamely, her feet stumbling as she half fought his heavy hand off. 

That was when the shooting started. 

She thinks it came from the compound first, she’d seen two men stationed on top of one of the outbuildings, thinking nothing much of it, until she saw clearly now the assault rifles they bore, pointing it straight at the vehicles that drew closer. The whistle of bullets, bangs of the chambers emptying their artillery, and it wasn’t until she heard the doors to the SUVs start opening, more gunfire began hitting the wall ahead of them that she started running. Running fast, for the cover the church provided until she figured out just what the fuck was happening. 

Jared all but threw her past the chapel door, where Cyrus and four other men were waiting, a heavy barricade in their hands, her chest pounding with adrenaline, she couldn’t help the yelp that left her as Cyrus whirled on her, grabbing her shoulders firmly and looking her dead in the eye. 

“Did you know anything about this?” He asked, his calm demeanour cracking when she scrambled for a response, “ANSWER ME,”

“No-no not at all.” She shook her head, voice weaker than she’d like, but the sight of more guns in the men’s hands twisted any resolve she had, “Where are the others- the- the experts-”

“Take her into the tunnels,” Cyrus ignored her question, nodding at one of his men to grab her as Jared armed himself. She felt another callused hand yank on her upper arm, and part of her wondered if that was how men handled all women here, as if they were herding cattle, as she was dragged down into the catacombs below the church. 

They’d made plans for a day like this to come, she realised. 

Her heart constricted at the sound of bullets rattling above them, she hadn't been able to tell in that last moment whether Cyrus believed her or not as, nor whether she was being taken to the tunnels for her own safety or to be questioned harder about the gunmen. 

She could only hope Emily was safe. 

She felt her tongue too big for her mouth as the man all but shoved her into the bunker, the nervous chatter of women and children, some of the more elderly men, as they clung to one another for safety, the scathing remark she would have usually made about his heavy hands failing her as she scanned the room for her sister. 

Emily was faster however, and she nearly yelped again as two bony arms yanked her into a hug, a rare one, and she knew by the blazer and the sigh of relief in her ear it was Em.

Usually she would bat her off, tell her to stop fussing like a mother hen, but today she embraced her right back, trying to note if her sister had any bullet holes in her before she allowed herself the same relief. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Emily asked, the whole thing coming out in a slew of worry, and she nodded, pulling away as if she needed to see the proof in person. 

Bugsy’s eyes were wild, as if she were a doe in a meadow hearing a rifle cocking near. No scratch that, she was a doe being chased and shot at and hunted, narrowly escaping being mounted on a wall. 

“They were all shit shots,” Bugsy said, through a laugh she didn’t quite mean, “You would have done much better.” 

Patting her sister on the shoulder, Emily finally released her when she realised the humour meant she at least had her head on her shoulders. Spencer watched her with meticulous eyes, knowing the shock that registered on her face, knowing it was the same one he wore when he first had shots fired at him. He saw her own eyes quickly check him over, satisfied with a breath of relief when she saw they were both fine. 

“Where’s Lunde?” Emily asked, and she realised then Cyrus had followed her down into the shelter, two of his men grabbing handfuls of guns she had never seen before, likely imported out of country, and returning to the ground level, preparing for more shooting. 

“It wasn’t us,” Cyrus replied, as if that negated the fact their recklessness had gotten the agent killed. 

“What? You can’t shoot it out with the cops, you have children in here,” Emily seethed, her voice harsh and incredulous.

“I didn’t start this,” Cyrus bit back, looking towards his men as they grabbed boxes on boxes of ammunition, “I’ll take the front, you take the roof,” 

And with that they stormed their way back through the tunnels, leaving the three of them to look between each other, knowing this could only end badly. Knowing the only people that could figure out how to get them out of this mess was the BAU, all 1,700 miles away. 

–

They’d been in the bunker for fourteen hours when there was finally movement. The shooting seemed to have quietened down, in which Spencer whispered it was around 11pm and it was likely neither party had a clear shot. She’d managed to fall asleep leaning against the wall, Emily’s blazer draped over her legs. She’d regretted wearing cropped pants, despite how the shade of green complimented her eyes nicely, and she’d been shivering by the time she fell asleep, Emily’s hands stroking her hair gently as if she knew she was struggling to relax. 

She hadn’t realised she was staring at her little sister, frowning even as she slept, which made part of her want to laugh, until she caught Spencer’s tired eyes looking between them, something knowing and warm in his gaze. 

“You know, she’s always scowled in her sleep, ever since she was born,” Emily said, quiet enough it didn’t interrupt the hum of small snores, the odd baby cry that filled the bunker, but loud enough for him to smile at her, “She used to sleep walk terrible too. I’d find her in the kitchen trying to make pancakes with a cheese grater. It’s like that big brain of hers doesn’t know how to shut off,” Emily shook her head with a fatigue, rubbing her eyes. 

“Was it weird? Being fourteen years older?” Spencer asked, his own hands shoved into his sleeves to try defend from the draught. Emily thought for a moment, her hand slowing for a second on her sister's hair, before she answered. 

“I felt guilty leaving her in that house with my mom when I went to college,” Emily answered, Bugsy unconsciously tucking her face closer into the jacket, “I think part of her kind of hated me for it for a while.” She went quiet, the shame in her voice thick as the silence that encompassed them, “She’s never been very affectionate you know? Before her graduation I don’t think I’d hugged her in twelve years,”

Spencer held himself back from pointing out that she had been just as touchy with him since they’d met, and that maybe it was Emily’s own regret that seemed to shut the both of them down. He wasn’t one to rub salt in the wound, not since he’d gotten this job and learned to watch what he said. 

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to give her advice, knowing the whole subject of their slowly repairing relationship was a sore one. He had no siblings of his own, had a mother who loved him despite how much she grappled with her own mind, and he had only known the girl briefly enough to consider her a friend at a push. 

“I always thought the two of you were similar,” Emily chose to continue, offering him a small smile. He returned it, his face blushing at the fact that was a huge compliment to him, “Granted, you roll your eyes at me less and don’t act like I’m dumb, but you remind me of her,” 

“Thankyou, I wish that were true,” He replied, eyes flicking to her sleeping form, the way her eyebrows were indeed scrunched in a permanent frown. He wondered if she was actually angry, or if she was just thinking hard, perhaps her dreams were full of equations or labs she needed to sort through. Either way, he wanted to know. “She’s much cooler than I’ll ever be,” 

Emily snorted, shuffling against the wall to cosy herself, “That’s one way to put it,” She said, smiling over at him as he did the same, his head resting against the wall, Bugsy’s legs stretching out to knock against his feet, and he didn’t mind that she scuffed the bottom of his already dirty trousers. “Get some sleep,”

And so they did. 

–

Cyrus had corralled the whole flock into the church, where the shooting had stopped and the bodies had been removed, stating at the break of dawn that there was a hostage negotiator coming in to make sure everyone was safe before they made any deals. 

She sat next to Spencer, the three of them stiff from their sleeping arrangements, and her stomach churned with hunger. It had been over 24 hours since they’d gotten here, and besides the small bit of bread and water Cyrus gave everyone for breakfast, she was starving. 

“Remind me to never leave the house, ever again,” She grumbled, as everyone waited in the pews for the negotiator to arrive, “My cat is gonna be pissed I’ve not fed him,” 

“Since when did you get a cat?” Emily inputted from the other side of Reid, keeping one eye on the door in case any agents start shooting again. 

The girl shrugged, “I got lonely, there’s not much to do now I’m not studying anymore,” 

Reid watched how she clutched her stomach, feeling his own complaining at the lack of nutrition, “Morgan wasn’t lying when he said you should sign up for the academy. We could always use the help, we wouldn’t have solved that case in Baltimore without you,” 

She snickered, nudging his foot with her boot, “You’re being modest, you would have done it just fine,”

He was a little, wasn’t surprised she called his bluff either. “Okay, so probably yes- but it would have taken us a whole lot longer. Mr Chernus likely would have died,” 

She shook her head, glancing at Emily who watched her carefully, “That was all you guys. I just translated.”

Emily and Spencer exchanged a glance, leaning back in their uncomfortable seats calmly. 

“You’re probably right,” Spencer said, dusting the dirt off his trousers, “Probably couldn’t handle it, high intensity mind games and such,”

She blanched, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, not knowing him to be so brutally honest, realistic yes, but not bordering on rude. 

“And it’s a lot of work,” Emily jumped in, her mouth a straight line, “I don’t know if you’d be dedicated enough,”

Bugsy scoffed, indifferently. “I have a masters degree, I was offered a scholarship to do a PHD, asked to be an assistant professor at Yale, I can work hard, Emily,” She snipped, and perhaps she was particularly just hangry or they had struck a nerve with their doubt, “and I could do it if I wanted to, I’d have the best shot they’d ever seen, guaranteed- mom made me take lessons when you left- trust me I could do it-”

She shut up when she saw their small smile exchanged, as if she’d told them a joke, or moreso they’d had the same identical thought and that alone was hilarious. 

Scowling at them, she looked from where Spencer looked almost, almost, guilty at making her the butt of the joke, to where Emily had a ‘told you so’ smirk, and she kissed her teeth at their childishness. 

“Are you guys reverse psychology-ing me? Seriously, so original guys,” She snapped, crossing her arms and straightening herself in her seat, ignoring the snigger that passed between them. 

“You’re not wrong though,” Emily replied quietly as Cyrus walked past them, his eyes falling to them with a frown. Bugsy kept her head down, heeding Emily’s warning of not provoking anyone, and Spencer eyed the way she leaned closer to him.

If she was going to retaliate, whether agreeing or not, she stopped herself, the doors the church opening and an older gentleman walking through the doors, arms full of supplies she’d figured must have been part of the negotiation. He was patted down by an armed guard, searching for his own weapons do doubt, or a wire perhaps, as he handed the box over to another who took it without a thankyou. 

“Rossi,” She heard Reid whisper beside her, and from the look he shot Emily and Spencer she gathered he was from the BAU, just as they’d expected. His eyes fell on her, softening as alot of Emily’s team did when they saw the two of them, as if they were picking her face apart for the tiny ways in which she resembled their Prentiss, or maybe it was the way she curled up in her seat, tired, hungry, on the defence. He just looked sorry for her. 

 “The children,” Cyrus said with no greeting, the air between them particularly frosty. He gestured towards the three of them, though Rossi had already clocked their tired faces staring at him with worry, “And our guests,”

She saw him trying not to react, guessing they had not let it slip to Cyrus he worked with the two undercover FBI agents, looking away from them as if the sight of their forlorn figures was enough to turn him sick. 

Judging by the way Cyrus and he spoke quietly, tensely, Bugsy just hoped they had a plan to get them out of here soon as he soon left with a rigid handshake to the man keeping them hostage. 

–

The three of them had been moved to a backroom a few hours later. Her stomach ached, the little sustenance Rossi had brought being distributed to the community before they’d been offered anything, which hadn’t left much. Reid and Emily had tried to get her to take some of their sharing, and despite how her insides cried out for it, she declined, stating they would be more use than she would; that they needed their strength more than her if they were going to get out of here alive. 

The two of them hadn’t liked that answer judging by the frowns on their faces, but they sat in their seats with little fuss as they waited for things to quieten down after Cyrus’ staged “mass suicide” that had turned out to be nothign more than a test of loyalty and grape juice. 

They had been sat in silence, aside from her foot bouncing on the floor impatiently, as she picked at the threads on her pants, the material uncomfortable on her skin after a day of wearing it. The door slammed open, Cyrus entering the room with nasty scowl. She didn’t know what had changed in the man in a matter of hours as he stormed over to them, two of his men behind him, loaded rifles in their arms. 

This was not good. 

“Which one of you is it?” He asked almost too calm for his demeanour, his eyes flicking between the three of them, where Emily attempted to brush her hair using her fingers, Reid played with the hem of his cardigan, an she sat beside him, resting against the cold stone wall behind them, her eyes narrowing at his furious expression. 

The three of them remained silent, waiting for him to explain more, though clearly it was not the answer he was looking for as he threw his jacket open, revealing a loaded pistol tucked into his jeans. Drawing it into his dominant hand, her body tensed up, her back straightening like a rod as she looked up at him through fear. 

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?” He repeated in that same calm tone, and her heart fell through her stomach. 

She opened her mouth to say something in retaliation, though the way she saw his hand shaking with fury, she knew it was better to stay quiet in case her voice would be the final straw that made him trigger happy. 

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer replied softly, and if he was panicking even a fraction amount she was he held it back, though his eyes flicked to Emily. 

But it was a tell. The smallest movement alone was a tell he was lying, or perhaps it was the fact he’d answered a question with one of his own, distracting from the attention on them with the unsubs own answers. Maybe his quiet and calm showed how trained he was for a situation like this, showed he had gone up against bad guys before and won. 

Whatever it was about him, it had Cyrus cocking the barrel of the gun straight at Spencer’s temple. 

“God forgive me for what I must do,” The preacher murmured, his finger moments away from the trigger, when she lurched forward in her seat, hand shooting out to grab his wrist deathly tight. 

“It’s me,” 

She hadn’t realised she’d said it until the room went quiet. She thought for a moment it had come from Emily, Emily had always been the braver of the two of them, but it wasn’t until Cyrus’ unforgiving, dark gaze fell to her where she froze in her spot, that she understood her mouth had been the one moving. 

Emily looked as if she was about to vomit, Spencer looked dumbfounded, but all she could do was stare back at Cyrus as if to will herself not to back down, knowing all three of them could fall victim if she gave them reason to doubt her; he could kill all three of them just to be sure the mystery agent was dealt with.

“It’s me,” She repeated, voice stronger this time, and she felt her chest relax just the tiniest amount as he turned the gun away from Spencer’s head. 

He stared back at her for a moment, before the weapon smacked across her face in a sharp whip, her cheekbone crying out in a sting she knew was going to bruise. 

He grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her into a stand hard enough she yelped, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction of the torture. 

“Watch the other two,” Cyrus barked, dragging her out of the room as she squirmed under his hand, feeling it only tighten into an unforgiving pull. 

She barely caught Emily bolting out of her seat to yell at the other men, all but fighting in their heavy grasp to follow wherever it was he was taking her, only for the door to be slammed shut behind them. 

It was only then she realised how fucked she truly was. 

–

She struggled to breath through the blood clotting in her nose. She didn’t think it was broken, not that she could check where her hands had been tied to the bedpost, tape over her mouth to stop her calling for help, her feet bound. She’d done nothing but give him hell as he’d been laying into her, keeping her cries and groans of pain silent as he’d kicked her in the ribs hard enough to know he’d damaged something at least. 

She’d not made it easy for him to tie her down, worried about what they were planning next, she’d managed to headbutt him in the mouth, and the way he clutched at his jaw when he’d left gave her a sick satisfaction, though her temple now hurt more than she’d like to admit. But they’d only covered her mouth after she’d screamed obscenities at them for an hour or so, hoping to attract attention, hoping if the BAU were on their way, Emily and Reid would be able to find her fast before they could dispose of her. 

Bugsy didn’t want to go like this. Tied up like cattle, gagged and beaten, the spirit kicked out of her as the dehydration gnawed at her limbs, making her too weak to even try wriggling out of the binds. 

She felt herself dropping off to sleep, or maybe it was a concussion, he’d slammed her face into that mirror quite viciously, she wouldn’t be surprised if it had rattled her head around. Fighting with her eyelids to stay open, she jumped in her battered skin as the door unlatched, and she thrashed on the rickety bed to get away from the impending second beating. 

But it wasn’t Cyrus. A fawn haired woman entered, her eyes falling on the girl on the bed, where blood trickled down her cheek, pouring from her nose like a thick liquor. Frowning, she was on high alert as the woman approached, a small, damp cloth in her hand. 

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you honey,” She hushed, approaching the young girl. Bugsy didn’t believe her for one second, her head pulling away from her as far as it could, her eyes wild and distrustful as the woman kneeled down beside the bed. “I’m Kathy,”

Bugsy debated jabbing an elbow in her face then and there, telling her in few words to stay as far away from her as possible, that the moment she was free she didn’t care who she hurt; she was getting out of here even if she had to crawl. 

“That woman’s your sister right?” The blonde said, and the words stopped her heart for a moment, giving the woman the chance to run the cloth over the dribble of blood, “Emily,”

“Where is she?” She tried to ask, but the gag made it little more than a muffled cry, the woman’s eyes turning down in sadness. Pity. Bugsy hated every second of it.

“She’s okay, she’s worried about you though,” Kathy said, wiping under her nose, making her wince at the feeling, “Put up a hell of a fight after they took you away,” 

She must have rolled her eyes, or perhaps it was just telling on her face that that didn’t surprise her as the older woman wiped over the superficial cut on her forehead she hadn’t realised was deep until the cloth went over it and she yawped like a dog having it’s tail pulled. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Kathy cooed, and she seemed genuinely guilty as she did. She tutted, shaking her head, fighting the urge to smooth the girls hair down the way she did when her own daughter was upset, “Emily said they’ll be coming for us at 3am, Cyrus has a mass suicide planned but they think they can stop him, you just have to hold on a little longer honey,” 

“I want to see her,” Bugsy tried to talk again despite her mouth being covered, only for it to come out unintelligible once more. Huffing, she resigned herself to glaring at the ceiling, biting back frustrated tears. Kathy seemed to want to say something else, but thought better of it as the twenty something year old turned away from her to stare out the window, as if she were being dismissed. 

Sighing, she rose from the bed and headed for the door, praying the FBI would get them out in time, before Cyrus put his plan into action. 

–

Bugsy didn’t start panicking until it hit 2:50. She’d managed to kick the small analogue clock on the beside into working, the red numbers seeming to take a millenia to change over. 

Yet it wasn’t until 3am neared, and the hallways remained silent, did she start to wonder if Kathy had been telling the truth at all. What if they had found out Emily and Reid were FBI and not her? What if they’d already been caught?

She really had wanted to see Emily, wanted to scream at the woman, who had meant well, to bring her sister to her or she would make every damn bible basher in this compound regret the day they were born. She felt helpless. She despised feeling helpless. 

It was only when she heard shots rattling from outside did the cold fear set in. 2:52. Any minute now. 

It was then an even worse thought struck her. What if they didn’t bother to come for her? Reid and Emily were safe downstairs, at least that was how Kathy had made it seem. If they got the women and children, the agents out first, she wondered if they would leave her for last since she wasn’t their top priority. 

2:53 stared back at her. 

At least Emily would make it. She was more important, had more going for her. She was supposed to be an only child anyway, mom had said it herself. Bugsy was the product of a failing marriage and a shared bottle of 1896 Bourbon that had been a wedding gift they’d never opened. 

2:54.

She could have sworn she tore something the way her head snapped to the door as it swung open on its hinges, as if two large men had thrown their weight into it. But it wasn’t two men at all, just one frantic Derek Morgan with an FBI grade assault rifle. 

The relief in his eyes was immediate, and he pulled a pocket knife from his boot, rushing over to where she lay, almost in shock, wondering if he was real at all, her heart pounding as she heard shouting in the corridor. 

“I’m gonna get you out, kid,” The man promised, slinging his gun over his shoulder as he sliced through the rope on her ankles, her eyes trained on the 2:55 that watched them as if to laugh at them. 

She whimpered, cursing behind her gag when she heard footsteps pounding through the hallway, and she was sure they were going to get caught. She thought then it would have been better if they’d forgotten about her, that at least Derek would have been safe, and he could have made sure the children got out safely, could have gotten Spencer and Emily medical. 

Derek whirled on the doorway the same as she did as a tall figure all but skidded around the corner, his legs weak as hers felt, too long and not at all built for running. Clumsy almost. 

Spencer. She should have known from the way he looked white as a sheet the moment he saw her it was him, but maybe she really did have concussion, as it seemed within moments he was fussing over her face, tearing a little too sharply at the tape over her mouth. 

She thinks she groaned, or maybe cursed him out, as he started apologising immediately, his eyes a puppy kind of sad as she stared up at him, Derek handing him the knife to cut her arms free. 

He was talking, but she couldn’t make a lot of it out, just that he was really sorry, it was 2:56 now. It was like her brain switched itself back on when she realised she was free, and the two of them were trying to haul her to her feet. 

“Come on, princess, we gotta get out of here,” Derek said, as Spencer looped an arm around her waist, helping her limp across the room where her weak limbs did little to hold her upright, her ribs throbbing with every step, “We managed to stop Cyrus from detonating it manually, but the circuits are all still live,”

Morgan took the lead with the rifle, knowing some of Cyrus’ men had stayed to look for them, that they would go down with the building even though he’d already shot their leader the moment they’d breached the front door, because that was how loyal they were. They’d proven so already with the wine. 

She kept her groans behind tight lips as they made it down the stairs, knowing Spencer didn’t mean to hold her bruised bones so tight, that he was just worried and her legs were doing the bare minimum to keep them both moving very fast. It wasn’t until they made it within a few feet of the door that they seemed to pick up the pace.

And she saw why. 

Jesse, Cyrus’ child bride that had been the reason they’d come here in the first place was holding the detonator, her face tear streaked at the sight of her husband and prophet dead on the floor, the people responsible all but dragging a lame girl through the foyer and to the doors as if they hadn’t killed a handful of her flock tonight. 

Bugsy saw the moment Jesse decided she wanted vengeance on them, but then, she guessed Spencer had already acted as he slung one of her arms over his shoulder, yanking her out the front door in a matter of seconds as Morgan pulled up the rear, and the two men shoved her down behind the small wall outside the church steps. 

Bugsy expected the bang to be louder as the rubble flew over their heads, the floor shaking with the impact of the bomb detonating, and it was then she realised one of Derek’s large warm hands held her head into his shoulder, protecting her already rattled skull as best as he could. Spencer had done the same, throwing half his body over her back as he covered his ears, the two men tucking into the wall tightly and waiting for the dust to settle. 

Spencer started coughing first, though his position over her never faltered, and she heard his chest wheezing, and knew they needed to move away from the thick smog that blew into their faces. Morgan released her ear, tipping her head back to check her over once more. 

“Kid! You okay?” He fretted, noticing the way her nose had started bleeding again from all the movement; the way the bruise had already started blotching her cheek from where Cyrus pistol whipped her. 

“I didn’t think you’d come for me,” Was all she could say, and Derek thought it was the saddest he’d ever heard her. 

Reid was pulling her to her feet then, where he was still hovering over her, despite the fact the blast had already cleared,  still sputtering and hocking up a lung, but it didn’t stop her from throwing herself at his middle, burying her face in his dusty sweater, not caring one bit if he jostled her aching ribs. 

He was trying to be gentle with her as he squeezed her back, but she knew by the way he pressed his face into her hair he needed it just as badly. 

“You saved my life,” He said, his long arms wrapping around her waist, hauling her whole body against his. 

She laughed through a cough, their cheeks brushing past one another as she pulled him in tighter, thankful, relieved. 

“You saved mine,” 

And then she heard Emily. Emily, who sounded frantic and heartbroken as she called for her, her voice breaking as if she was crying, or atleast on the verge of, and as comforting as Spencer’s long arms around her cracked ribs were, she needed to see her sister was okay. 

Ripping herself from his embrace immediately, she tore off after the sound, and there she was. Her older sister, who had always seemed immovable, like she wouldn’t so much as budge for a bucking horse, like water couldn’t drown her, or however many unsubs she’d faced could stop her from catching them. Her older sister, who looked like she’d taken a few punches of her own, judging by the blood on her blue blouse, that looked around the crowd of fleeing people with watery eyes and a shaking bottom lip.

“EMILY,” She yelled, her voice a bleat, a lamb calling for its mother, as she sprinted down the steps, whatever strength she had left carrying her to where Emily was rushing towards her, taking the stairs in threes, “EM-”

She crashed into her sister’s chest, and it was only then she started crying. 

“I swear I’ll never give you trouble again, I’ll never talk back, I’ll never be a bitch ever again-” It was all a slew of mumbles against her sisters shirt, that was beginning to wet through at the rate the tears were coming, “I thought he was going to shoot you-”

“I was so scared, Bug, oh my god,” Emily murmured into her hair, squeezing the life out of her baby sister that sniffled and sobbed, “You don’t ever, ever do that to me again,”

Bugsy shook her head, clawing at Emily’s back as she pulled her closer, feeling Emily stroking her hair softly to calm her even in the slightest. They stayed like that until she managed to wrangle her sobs into little sniffs, the fire burning her eyes where it burned the rest of the church to ashes. 

She stayed with Emily for a month after that. 

+4. The one where you leave the altar. 

She knew she was turning heads, walking down the street of a drizzly day in Virginia, hair wet and sticking to her face, makeup running down her cheeks, and the sodden, dove white wedding dress clasped in her hands as she paced towards the government building. 

Whether the guards recognised her as the Ambassador’s daughter, or whether they really didn’t want to get into it with a bride looking like that on her day, she didn’t know, but they opened the door for her nonetheless, exchanging raised brows as a trail of wet followed her gown over the marble floors. 

Heading up the desk, she flashed her driver's licence, which was enough to gain her a visitors pass she didn’t bother putting to use as she headed for the elevator, her ballet pumps squeaking under the body of the dress. Waiting for the doors to start closing when she finally let a few tears slip, burying her face into her cold, drenched palms, undoubtedly making the mess of mascara even worse. 

Her heart gave a leap when she heard someone stop the doors, hoping she could get to her sister with little delay, and she quickly wiped her face with whatever was left of her pretty, dobby cloth shawl she had yanked on before she’d ran. 

Whatever excuse she was about to give, whatever one liner she was about to drop to clear the awkwardness this agent was about to walk in on was sucked out of her when she saw Spencer staring at her, his briefcase in his hands he’d used to hold the doors, a wide eyed look plastered on his face as soon as he saw her state. 

“Bugsy,” It was somewhere between surprise and sadness, jumping into the elevator before the metal could shut again, the button for the sixth floor already lit up in a ring of red, “What are you- I didn’t even know…”

“Spencer!” As seemed to be a common occurrence between them now, she threw two very cold arms over his shoulders, tugging him for a hug he quickly reciprocated, feeling like she needed it in the moment, “It was so awful, I just couldn’t all those people staring at me, and he- I just feel so-”

“Hey slow down,” He soothed, slipping his favourite cardigan off his body to put over her shoulders, ignoring the way he cringed as it quickly got sodden, “Let’s get you to Emily, I’m sure we can fix this,”

She nodded, though he could tell she was still shaken up, the elevator dinging to a stop on the fifth floor where an agent looked ready to step in, his face dropping when he saw the sight. 

“Sorry, we’re full,” Spencer said, with little room for discussion, pressing the button to close the doors once more, and taking her by the elbow as she began shivering, “We’re gonna be just fine, you look beautiful,”

She laughed sadly with a roll of her eyes, the tears sticking to her cheeks. She knew she looked no better than a drowned rat, windswept and disgruntled, her dress full of muck from the street. 

“Thankyou, Spencer,” She mumbled, the door sliding open to the sixth floor, where Penelope and her everlasting smile greeted her favourite boy genius. 

She almost dropped her glitter pen when she saw the woman stood next to him looking like Dorothy dragged through the twister. 

“Oh you poor little lamb, what has happened to you honey!” She all but cried, the cute little pom poms in her hair bouncing as she brought Bugsy closer, taking her hands tightly. “Your hands are ice! You’ll catch cold with that wet hair, and your gorgeous dress-” 

“Garcia,” Spencer cut her off, though the woman didn’t seem to mind being manhandled into the kind grip, he guessed her state had her letting her guard down, “This is Bugsy, Emily’s little sister.”

Penelope gasped, her ponytails swishing around some more, the gems on her glasses as bright as the light in her eyes as she yanked the younger girl in for a tight hug. 

“It is so nice to meet you! Emily talks about you all the time,” She said, pulling away and fumbling through her pockets for her fresh pink handkerchief she always carried around, mopping up the girl's eyeliner. 

“She-she does?” Bugsy asked, sniffling, her body trembling as the AC beat down through the water ladened on her body. 

“Of course she does, come on, let’s go get you coffee, I have a new machine in my office that makes the best espresso-” Garcia grabbed her hand as if they were kids in the playground, as if she’d known the girl years, which she sort of had. She had, of course, stalked every single one of Emily’s known relatives, even a distant cousin that never left Europe, and that had thrown up the quiet corner of the internet that Bugsy took up.

“I needed to talk to my sister, if that’s okay,” Bugsy braved enough to say, the swishing of her dress on the carpet making her wince, practically hearing the gallon of rain that soaked the expensive fabric. 

“Ofcourse! How silly of me, I’ll bring it out right to you, little bug. You just go with Spencer,” Handing him the handkerchief, she set off towards her ‘bat cave’ in search of a hot beverage for the shivering woman, “Spencer, clean her makeup!” 

He did as he was told, dabbing the water off her face as he led her to the BAU, where Emily and Morgan sat on their desks, chatting as they finished off lunch, Emily flicking through photos on her phone of baby Henry that JJ had sent over to her that morning from maternity leave. 

“He’s just the sweetest little boy, he’s got the biggest blue eyes just like Jayj,” She said through a smile, “You know Will even said-”

“Holy shit-” Morgan cut her off, and she glanced at him, wondering about his use of a curse. Following his eyes over her shoulder, she swivelled in her position to see where Spencer led a very wet, shaken version of her little sister through the doors of the BAU, a snowy ball gown hanging off her, a veil clinging to her hair that had seen much better days. 

“Holy shit,” She agreed, immediately darting for the girl that tugged Spencer’s cardigan tighter to her body, “Bugsy,” 

“Emily, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t take up too much time- I just couldn’t do it- and I know mom’s always saying ‘Bring home a doctor, bring home a rich man,’ but I just couldn’t no matter how rich his daddy is, he wasn’t even too bad-” It all came out in a slur, not making too much sense, and she didn’t stop until Emily held up her hands, as if easing a wild dog. 

“Woah, take it easy, kiddo,” Morgan hushed, as Emily brought a hand over her sister’s cheek, wiping away the last of the mascara, “What happened?”

Bugsy took a deep breath, looking between Emily and Derek, feeling the rain drip down her back. 

“So a few weeks ago, Mom made me go to that stupid debutante ball,” She started, rolling her eyes already as Emily winced, knowing Elizabeth loved any excuse to dress her youngest up like a Barbie doll. 

“I hated those things,” She confessed, shaking her head, “I thought you’d agreed you didn’t have to go to them anymore,”

“That was while I was in college, she said at least I could focus on my studies,” The girl explained, as Garcia tottered back through the office, a steaming cup of coffee in her beloved Bratz mug. Taking it from the chirpy woman, she took a deep gulp, not caring if it burned her mouth as she wished for the damn chill to go away, “Thankyou- But she made me go to this one on the condition she would pay off some of my college loans, and I was dumb enough to fall for her bribe,” 

She huffed, taking another sip, her stomach warming with the hot liquid settling through her throat. 

“You know how she is at these things, she knows everyone, and everyone knows her. I had four guys asking for my dance card within minutes of arriving there, it was like trying to walk through a dog pound wearing a meat suit, all the hand holding, trying to touch my waist- one guy even called me Madam Prentiss,” She grimaced, shuddering at the thought of it, “Madam? No one even calls mom that-”

“Focus,” Emily reminded gently, and she seemed to nod to herself, setting back on track.

“Right. And then he was there. Byron Hastings.” Bugsy said, wrapping her hands around the mug some more. 

“Oh, isn’t he that super yummy bachelor that just inherited his fathers business?” Garcia jumped in, not noticing how it made her wince, “I hear his dad totally owns a bunch of shares in Facebook and as like just signed a deal with a new company that will change the future of computing-” 

“Not now, baby girl,” Morgan said calmly, patting Penelope on her shoulder when she saw the bride’s crestfallen face.

“Right, sorry. Your turn, little bug,” She said, shaking her head and fiddling with her dozen rings. 

“Yeah, that’s him.” She replied, running a slightly warmed finger over her eyelash where rain even collected there, “And you know, I wasn’t complaining, he was certainly easy on the eyes, and he smelled nice, like he just smelled rich, but man alive he was so boring,” She sighed, “I like computers as much as the next girl, no offence, but he didn’t once ask me what I was into or, and when I tried to bring up my degree he just patted me on the head and said ‘That’s nice’ like I was some child that had brought him a pretty colouring or something,”

“Ouch,” Emily grimaced, rubbing her arms over the cardigan to warm her up a little more, “And then?” 

“And eventually, his dad and my mom cut a deal that we’d make a good pair. He said we could be married within the season, and suddenly everyone seemed up for it, and it was like no matter how hard I tried to dig my heels in, no one would listen, and mom just seemed so pleased with me-” She spluttered, sipping her drink to catch her breath, “I just let it happen and just thought, you know, maybe we could learn to like each other, or we could just be like mom and dad and separate in everything but paper,” 

“It’s your life, who is she to tell you how you’re gonna live it,” Emily was outraged, the tip of her nose pink, her dark eyes stormy as her hands fell to her hips, huffing as if it had been her backed into a corner, “I can’t believe she would do this to you,” 

“I was fine with it, really. It's not like its the fifteenth century when I’d be forced to consummate- anyway,” Bugsy rubbed her face, “I just got there, and mom put on my veil and told me I’d make a lovely Mrs Hastings, and just the sound of it- I couldn’t-”

“What on earth is going on?” A new voice cut through the BAU, and the group disbanded like kids caught trading answers to the homework. Rossi and Hotch stood by the unit chief’s office, brows furrowed at the wet bride and his team that tended to her as if she were a princess. 

“Should we be expecting four wet bridesmaids too?” Rossi asked, the two of them making the steps down to the floor, approaching the guilty faced woman, noting Spencer’s cardigan wrapped over her shoulders. 

“Nope, just me,” Her joke fell flat as she met the stony face of Aaron Hotchner, who looked thoroughly unimpressed, “Nice to see you again, Mr Hotchner, sir,” 

His gaze slid to Emily, mouth opening to share whatever scathing remark bounced around his mouth, but the younger girl beat him to it, everyone’s eyebrows raising when she all but cut him off. 

“This wasn’t on Emily, sir, I just showed up out of the blue, I can go- I’ll go- I just need to figure out where I’m staying since I left my purse at the church- don’t you worry I’ll be out of your hair, Aaro- sir,” Bugsy stammered, plonking the mug onto Emily’s desk, backing away to the doors of the office, clutching her visitor pass tight in her fist. 

Maybe it was because she looked so hopeless, or maybe it was the way his team shot him the same look of horror he would be so regimental, or maybe even it was the fact part of her reminded him of Sean, only his brother wouldn’t have had the courtesy to apologise for his mess. 

Sighing, he gestured her to come back, “Wait,” He said her name, her government name because the other one didn’t fit right in his mouth, “Reid, get her some clothes out your go bag. Emily, tell your mother she’s safe and will be staying in Quantico until you can figure something out,” 

Heaving a sigh of relief, she launched her still sodden form at the chief, wrapping him in a stiff hug, bolder than anyone else on the team had ever dared to be. 

“I swear to god, Mr Hotchner, the next letter you're getting will be the best one yet,” She mumbled into his hard chest, and he fought off the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. Patting her on the back gently, he ignored the way his dress shirt wet through. 

–

let me know what you think! mAYBE A FEW MORE PARTS COMING UP ??

Edit: This is a part one of 3 or 4 I have planned, thankyou so much for all the love on this I did not expect the reaction 🥺🥺

SECOND EDIT: part two and three are out now!! Have a look at the top where it says ‘next chpt and it’s there bbys!!

THIRD EDIT: we are now balls deep into this universe here's th link for the masterlist

[totaly-obsessed]

Nerves

Alessia Russo x reader request

-> Reader navigates the uncertainties of her career, academic studies, and the pressures of her first senior England camp, finding solace and comfort in her relationship

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

As a female football player your future career was not guaranteed - one wrong step and all this could be over. Your dream and passion since childhood days could be over.

Anxious as you were, you decided to do something on the side, educate yourself further, and so that it wasn’t as far off from your day job, you had started to study sports science two years ago. The choice of study had been made quickly, after all, you couldn't imagine a life away from the pitch.

Alessia, your girlfriend, stood fully behind you - ready to drive you to the few in-person lectures you had. The blonde would do anything for you. Washing dishes, doing the laundry, sweeping, cooking? One little smile from you and the housework-allergic striker turned into a housewife.

Being called up to your first-ever senior England camp had not been in the plans. Sure it was always something you thought about, especially when Less left for the camps, but you never thought that you would make it this far.

Your girlfriend however had a feeling that you would join her this time - and she was proven right when Sarina called you. The blonde jumped up and down in celebration, pulling you up with her. But once she saw the tears streaming down your face, you were in her strong arms, ready to dry them with her sweater.

The weeks leading up to camp were anything but relaxing - one exam after the other. And they wouldn’t stop for a couple of days either. 

Alessia had been watching you wear yourself thin, most days were filled with practice, media, recovery, and games. Nights were spent studying methods to reduce the risk of sports injuries and strategies for rehabilitating injuries when they occur as well as analyzing the social and cultural aspects of sports participation, organization, governance, and marketing.

If the half-Italian was honest, she didn't understand most of the things you were reading about. Making one flashcard after the other in desperate attempts to get it in your head as she watched the circles under your eyes darken.

The day you left for camp she had been hopeful that things would change from now on. You were out of the comfort of your home, confronted with new and old acquaintances and friends.

But of course, it didn't go as planned.

“Are you sure that you even have a girlfriend, Less?”

You had barricaded yourself in your room for the third evening in a row, trying to prepare for the last exam as well as you possibly could.

“We’ve been over this Tooney, just a few more days!”

The following Monday Alessia had woken you up early, shaking you softly as a paper stuck to your cheek. You had fallen asleep on the desk, and by the look of the untouched bed, this probably wasn't the first time either.

“Buongiorno amore mio, è ora di svegliarsi!” Time to wake up? No that couldn't be.

But a glance at the watch on the wall confirmed your girlfriend's words, you really had to get up now. “Thanks, Lessi.”

A soft peck on the lips later and your girlfriend was willing to help you get ready, or rather gather your things and pack your bag while you were in the bathroom. 

The car ride to your Uni had been peaceful. Just you and Alessia. It hadn't been like that for a while as you were always studying.

“I’m sorry for being a shit girlfriend lately, Less.”

The blonde's head snapped over so fast that you couldn't even blink. “Don’t you dare say that! You’ve been such a good student, and after this, I won’t let you go that easily.”

“Less, eyes on the road!” your clumsy girlfriend had filled with sudden rage at your guilt, headed straight towards a tree on the side of the road.

“Whoops.”

Alessia could see an immediate difference in you when you sat down in her car again. You felt happier. Not a single word was lost in regard to the exam when it had been all you could talk about before. 

While you felt freer you still looked and were incredibly tired, something even Tooney could see, who had been excited to get your lively person back. She missed her go-to person when Less was boring and wouldn’t run around like a crazy person with her.

So when you refused to play darts with her, clinging to your girlfriend on a couch, she was incredibly disappointed. 

“C’mon, I just got you back - play with me before you go back to fucking London!” But the brunette's whining just earned her a shove from her best friend.

“Leave us alone Ella.”

A whisper went through the room, everyone quietly watching as they glared at each other while you snuggled deeper into Lessi’s neck, desperate to sleep.

“No fair! You have her all the time!” She looked like a little kid whose toy had been taken away. And in a way it had been.

“I don’t care Ell-”

“Okay, off Ella!” It was Mary who pulled the angry chihuahua off Alessia's legs and now pointed up at the stairs, “You two, upstairs!”

The blonde didn’t hesitate and stood up, careful not to jostle you too much as she made her way up the stairs. Ella could only watch, mouth wide open, as you waved her goodbye, your head resting on your girlfriend's shoulder.

“You brat!”

[milfhunter6698]

Under pressure

synopsis: Upon joining the NYC firm as a new associate, you quickly find yourself facing the pressure of working under the firm’s star senior partner, Victoria neuman. With a reputation for excellence and an eye for potential, she was searching for a junior partner who can meet her exacting standards. You, with your impressive credentials and unwavering ambition, seemed like a perfect fit…until the pressure of meeting those high expectations started taking their toll. 

Warnings: 18+ eventual smut, no use of (y/n), cursing, no describing reader’s appearance, explicit language, fluff, angst, teasing, hurt & comfort, power imbalance, slight AU, some similarities to cannon, mentions of the boys characters (Hughie), slight age gap, rival associates, young!reader, older!Victoria, slow-burn. 

notes: Woah thank you guys for the support on my recent posts, so sorry I haven’t been more active on here just been busy with life! But finally I had enough time to finish this story. Like I said before I’ve been cooking up a little something that’s a bit slightly different than usual and well here it is, this is kind of inspired by suits if you couldn’t already tell I love that show so much Anyway a little reminder that it’s an AU so Vic isn’t a supe she isn’t married and she doesn’t have a daughter, reader has a conflicted love interest, only in the beginning. Also just a small age gap (reader’s like 2 years younger). And well that’s it!! I will be posting a new chapter every week really anytime I can but until now I don’t have a specific posting schedule yet, now enjoy.

chapter 1

wc: 2k

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the gleaming glass and steel interior of Reed Caldwell LLP, one of the most prestigious law firms in New York City. You took a deep breath, smoothing out the front of your suit jacket. You had literally dreamed of this moment walking into a top firm as a freshly minted Harvard Law graduate—but the reality of it felt far more overwhelming than you had anticipated.

An assistant greeted you the moment you stepped into the bustling reception area. “Welcome to Reed Caldwell. I’m Claire, and I’l be showing you around.”

Before you could respond, a commanding voice cut through the ambient noise of ringing phones and low murmurs of legal conversations. “Claire, I’ll take it from here.”

Turning, You saw Victoria neuman standing near the glass partition of her corner office. She was even more striking in person than she had been in the firm’s profile you had studied religiously. Sharp cheekbones, sleek long dark hair, and an air of complete control. Her expression, unreadable but undeniably powerful, was enough to make even the seasoned attorneys in the firm glance her way with deference. She strode toward you with an assured grace.

“I was expecting you,” she said, offering a firm handshake. “Welcome, I’ll be conducting your orientation personally.”

Claire gave a polite nod and retreated, leaving You alone with Victoria. You tried to keep your cool, even though standing in front of the firm’s most formidable senior partner sent a surge of adrenaline through you. Holy shit this  is it, you thought. This is where it all begins.

Victoria’s gaze was intense, eyes scanned your figure appraising you without a word for a few beats longer than comfortable. You could feel your own heartbeat quicken in response. Then, with a subtle nod of approval, she motioned for you to follow.

“Come. I’ll show you around,” she said. “I want to ensure you understand exactly what’s expected of you.”

As you walked, Victoria didn’t bother with the typical pleasantries. Instead, she dove straight into the firm’s culture and expectations. “At this firm, we pride ourselves on delivering results. Clients expect nothing less than perfection. You’ll be expected to hit the ground running, and I don’t tolerate mistakes. Learn fast, think faster.”

She led you past rows of open offices, filled with sharp-suited attorneys hunched over laptops or on hurried phone calls. The energy in the room was palpable, like a live wire buzzing beneath the surface.

“You came highly recommended,” she continued, glancing at you sideways, “so I assume you’re ready for what this job demands. Your education is impressive, but that won’t matter much if you can’t perform here. I don’t give second chances.”

You arrived at a glass-walled conference room. Victoria paused in front of it, turning to face you fully. “This is where deals are won and lost. Every conversation in this room has the power to change the course of someone’s life—or their career. You’ll need to be as sharp as a blade if you want to survive here.”

You swallowed, nodding, the weight of her words settling heavily on your shoulders. hmm no pressure, you thought wryly.

Victoria’s expression softened for a fraction of a second. “You’ll be working closely with me. I expect dedication and loyalty above all else. You deliver, and you’ll go far. Fail, and—well, let’s just say you won’t have time to pack your desk.”

The edge in her tone sent a chill through you, but it also lit a spark. This was exactly what you wanted—the chance to prove yourself, to become someone worthy of standing in such a firm like this. The stakes were high, but so was the reward.

“Any questions?” Victoria asked, crossing her arms, waiting.

You shook your head. “No, I’m ready.”

Victoria’s lips curved slightly, just shy of a smile. “Good. We’ll see about that.”

You returned the smile and watched as she trailed down the hallway, your eyes fixated on the way her curls danced with her every movement. The sway of her hips hypnotized you, a vision you couldn't tear your gaze away from. Her delicate blossom pink skirt hugged her body, outlining her curves that made your heart skip a beat.

You spent the rest of the morning buried in a flood of emails, client files, and case briefings that had been stacked neatly on your desk. It was a lot to take in more than you had imagined—but you welcomed the challenge. 

The buzz of the office continued around you phones ringing, associates pacing with urgent phone calls, and the distant hum of printers churning out documents by the dozen.

As you settled into your cubicle, you felt a presence lingering nearby. Glancing up, you saw a guy, another associate—tall, sharp-dressed, and carrying the kind of swagger that suggested he had something to prove. You had seen him briefly during your orientation but hadn’t yet exchanged words.

“It’s you, right?” He leaned against the edge of your cubicle, arms folded across his chest. “Heard you’re the new associate.” His tone was casual, but there was something in his eyes that felt like a challenge.

You nodded, unsure of where this was going. “Yeah, just started today.”

“Harvard, huh?” He scoffed slightly, shaking his head. “Well, let me give you some advice. This place doesn’t care where you went to school. All that matters is how fast you can keep up, and—” He paused, leaning in slightly, lowering his voice. “—how well you play the game.”

You raised an eyebrow, What the?- not entirely sure what this guy was getting at, but before you could even respond, a sharp voice sliced through the conversation.

“Hughie,” came Victoria’s voice, cutting through the air with a tone that brooked no argument. She was striding down the hall, her eyes fixed on him. “Quit wasting time, and get back to work. I need you in my office now.”

Hughie stiffened, his cocky expression dropping in an instant. Without another word, he pushed himself off your desk and muttered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” before turning and following Victoria down the hall.

You watched them go, Victoria not bothering to glance back as Hughie trailed after her like a scolded schoolboy. You turned back to your desk. 

Shaking it off, you focused back on the files in front of you. You didn’t have time for distractions. And Victoria had made it pretty clear that there was no room for error here, and you were determined to prove that you were more than just another Harvard graduate with a shiny diploma.

The office was quieter now, the once-bustling space reduced to a few late-night workers finishing up their tasks. You, exhausted but resolute, packed up the last of your paperwork and headed for the exit. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the hallway as you made your way towards the elevators.

Passing by Victoria’s office, you glanced in through the glass panels to see her still working, her silhouette illuminated by the glow of her desk lamp. You were about to step into the elevator when you noticed her approaching.

“Late night?” She asked as she arrived beside you, her tone softer than it had been during the day.

“Just trying to get up to speed,” You replied, pressing the button for the elevator.

She nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “Hey um, listen about earlier. Hughie can be a bit… intense. I’m sorry if his behavior was off-putting. He’s known for his competitive nature and his, well, cocky personality. It’s not personal.”

You raised an eyebrow, nodding appreciating the gesture. “Thanks for letting me know. It’s been a bit… overwhelming.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. You both stepped inside, the small space cocooning you in an unexpected moment of quiet. Victoria glanced at you, her professional demeanor giving way to something more genuine.

“Just keep your head up and stay focused. You’ve got potential, and that’s why you’re here,” she said, offering a small smile.

You nodded, feeling a flicker of reassurance from her words. “I will. Thank you.”

The elevator came to a gentle halt on the ground floor. As the doors opened, Victoria stepped out, pausing to give you one last look.

“Good night,” she said, her voice carrying a note of warmth. “See you tomorrow.”

“Night,” You replied, watching as she walked away down the corridor to the lobby.

You trudged up the stairs to your apartment, exhausted after the demanding day at the office. You fumbled with your keys and finally managed to unlock the door. Pushing it open, the dim light from the hallway barely illuminated the space as you stepped inside.

Your hand instinctively reached for the light switch, only to find the room already bathed in a soft glow. Your eyes were drawn to the figure sitting on the couch, arms crossed, a silhouette against the light. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Oh hey, you scared me,” You said, letting out a sigh of relief as you recognized the figure. You jingled the keys nervously and held a hand to your chest. “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes were fixed on the floor, her expression a mix of frustration and sadness. She didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch.

“What’s going on?” You asked, stepping closer. You reached out to lift her chin to meet your gaze, but she turned her head away, brushing your hand aside.

“We need to talk,” She finally said, her voice trembling slightly.

Your brow furrowed. “What’s wrong? You’re acting like something’s terribly wrong.”

Her frustration boiled over. “It’s not just ‘something’—it’s everything! You’re always working. When you’re home, you’re so distant. It’s like you’re not even here.”

Your face hardened. “I’m working hard to build my career, This job is important. I thought you understood that.”

She stood up abruptly, her face flushed with emotion. “I understand that you’re working hard, but at what cost? You’re neglecting us. You’re never around, and when you are, it’s like you’re so preoccupied that you don’t even notice how this is affecting me!”

Your frustration matched hers. “Are you saying that my career is more important than our relationship? I’m doing this for us, to secure a future. What more do you want from me?”

Her voice cracked with anger. “I want you to be present! I want you to be here, with me. I want us to have a future together, but not if it means you’re absent from it!”

Your jaw clenched, your anger and guilt conflicting inside you. “You think it’s easy for me? I’m doing the best I can, and it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough. You’re not making this any easier by attacking me like this!”

Her eyes filled with tears as her anger reached its peak. “I’m not attacking you. I’m telling you how I feel. I need to know that you’re committed to us, not just your job. But it seems like that’s not something you’re willing to do.”

She turned towards the door, her movements sharp and decisive. “I can’t keep doing this anymore, I need someone who’s truly here for me, not just physically but emotionally. And right now, that’s not you.”

Your voice faltered. “Hey, wait. please I’m sorry. I’ll try to make things right.”

She paused at the door, her back still turned to you. “Words aren’t enough anymore,” she said quietly. “I need actions. Until you can show me that, I need some time.”

With that, she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The door closed behind her with a definitive click, leaving you standing alone in the dim light of your apartment.

You knew the decisions and the sacrifices you had to make balancing your personal and professional life, when you applied for this position, but the choice was becoming increasingly unbearable. 

The job was intense sure, but your relationship with your girlfriend was just as crucial to you. The thought of losing her was eating you alive, gnawing at your concentration and filling you with a deep sense of anxiety.

With a deep sigh you sank down onto the couch, your heart ached at the emptiness of the place that now felt suffocating. 

[starsjulia]

perfect just the way you are // leah williamson

leah williamson x neurodivergent reader

a/n : i’m literally editing and uploading all my drafts because im on a writing grind, please feel free to send requests! also this is not an accurate representation of neuroscience, this is just one of the ways i experience it!!

warnings : none really! just comfort

Leah Williamson had always been known for her steady presence, the kind of calm that could anchor an entire team even in the most intense moments. She was the one you could rely on to keep a cool head, to make the right decisions under pressure, and to maintain a certain level of detachment that kept her focused on the game. But when it came to Y/N, all of that went out the window.

Y/N was different. She wasn’t the kind of person who faded into the background or followed the crowd. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of interests and ideas, always buzzing with energy. It wasn’t uncommon for her to launch into a discussion about the migration patterns of monarch butterflies in the middle of dinner or to suddenly start wondering aloud about the physics of time travel while walking through a park. Y/N’s quirks made her endearing to those who knew her well, but they could also make her stand out in ways that weren’t always easy.

One evening, the Arsenal girls were out celebrating a hard-fought win at a cozy restaurant in town. Leah had invited Y/N along, as she always did, eager to have her by her side during the rare moments of relaxation they all shared. Y/N had been excited, rambling on about a new documentary she’d watched on ancient civilizations as they made their way to the restaurant.

The team had gathered around a long table, laughter and chatter filling the room. Y/N was seated next to Leah, as always, with Katie McCabe and Alessia Russo across from them. Y/N was her usual vibrant self, animatedly discussing the concept of time in different cultures with Alessia, who was doing her best to keep up.

“So, in ancient Egypt,” Y/N began, her hands moving as she spoke, “time was seen as this cyclical thing, not linear like we think of it today. They believed that everything was part of this ongoing cycle, which is why their rituals were so important—”

Alessia, though genuinely interested, was starting to get a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information. She was about to respond when Beth Mead, who was seated a few spots down, cut in with a lighthearted, but careless comment.

“Y/N, do you ever talk about anything normal?” Beth said, her tone teasing, tough Y/N sometimes had difficulty differentiating tones.

The words hung in the air for a moment, and the table went quiet. Y/N’s face fell, the light in her eyes dimming as she processed what had been said. She tried to hide it, but Leah saw the hurt flash across her features.

Leah’s expression hardened almost immediately. She knew Beth hadn’t meant any harm—Beth was like that sometimes, saying things without thinking—but that didn’t make it any less painful for Y/N. Leah felt a surge of protectiveness rise up within her, a need to shield Y/N from any hurt, intentional or not.

“Beth,” Leah’s voice was calm, but there was a steely edge to it that made everyone at the table look up. “That wasn’t necessary.”

Beth blinked, realizing too late that her comment had hit a nerve. “Oh, Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, her tone apologetic. “I just—”

But Y/N was already pulling back into herself, her earlier enthusiasm snuffed out like a candle in the wind. She offered a small, strained smile, brushing it off. “No, it’s fine. I know I can be a bit… much sometimes.”

Leah felt her heart clench at the words. She hated hearing Y/N talk about herself like that, as though her passions and quirks were something to apologize for. Without a second thought, Leah slid her chair closer to Y/N, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a comforting embrace.

“You’re not too much,” Leah whispered into her ear, her voice soft and reassuring. “You’re perfect, just the way you are.”

Y/N leaned into Leah’s side, the tension in her body slowly easing as she took comfort in Leah’s presence. “Really?” she asked, her voice small, filled with the vulnerability she so rarely let show.

“Really,” Leah confirmed, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “I love the way your mind works, the way you see the world. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, though she quickly blinked them away, not wanting to make a scene. “I just… I never want to embarrass you.”

Leah’s expression softened, her hand gently cupping Y/N’s cheek as she turned her to face her. “You could never embarrass me. You’re the most incredible person I know, and I’m so proud of you—of everything that makes you who you are. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you need to change, least of all yourself.”

Y/N looked into Leah’s eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity and love reflected back at her. It was a balm to the wound that Beth’s accidental, careless words had opened, and she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. Leah always knew how to make her feel seen, understood, and cherished in a way that no one else ever had.

Katie, who had been watching the exchange with a guilty look, leaned over and nudged Beth, who was still looking mortified. “Apologize properly,” Katie whispered, her tone gentle but firm.

Beth nodded, her earlier bravado replaced with genuine remorse. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was just being a bit of an idiot.”

Y/N gave her a small, forgiving smile. “It’s okay, Beth. I know you didn’t mean it. I just… I get excited about things sometimes.”

Beth smiled back, relieved. “We all love that about you, Y/N. Keep being you, yeah?”

Y/N nodded, her spirits lifting slightly as the atmosphere around the table relaxed once more. Leah kept her arm around her, though, not letting go until she was sure Y/N was truly okay.

The rest of the evening passed without incident, the conversation flowing more naturally now that everyone was a bit more mindful. Leah stayed close to Y/N, making sure she felt supported and included, even as the topics shifted to more mundane matters.

Later, as they walked back to Leah’s place, Y/N was quieter than usual, her thoughts still lingering on what had happened. Leah noticed, of course—she always noticed.

“Hey,” Leah said softly, stopping in her tracks and turning to face Y/N. “You alright?”

Y/N shrugged, her eyes downcast. “I just… I don’t want people to think I’m weird, you know? I know I can be intense, and sometimes I worry that people just tolerate me because they have to.”

Leah’s heart ached at the vulnerability in Y/N’s voice. She took Y/N’s hands in hers, squeezing them gently. “You’re not weird, and people don’t just tolerate you. They care about you, Y/N. You bring something special to every room you walk into. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Y/N looked up at her, her eyes searching Leah’s for any sign of doubt. But all she saw was unwavering love and support, and it made her heart swell with emotion.

“You really think so?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

Leah nodded, her expression soft but resolute. “I do, Y/N. I think the world of you, and so do the others. Your mind, your heart, everything that makes you who you are—it’s all incredible to me.”

Y/N looked down at their joined hands, her thoughts swirling. “Sometimes it just feels like I’m too much. Like… people don’t really get me, and I’m just annoying them with the way I am.”

Leah’s grip on Y/N’s hands tightened, a surge of protectiveness washing over her. “I know it can feel like that sometimes, but I promise you, it’s not true. You’re not too much, Y/N. You’re exactly enough, exactly who you’re supposed to be. And anyone who doesn’t see that—well, they’re missing out on something amazing.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears again, but this time they were tears of relief, of gratitude. She felt the weight of her insecurities lifting, bit by bit, as Leah’s words sank in. “But what if… what if I’m too much for you?”

Leah’s heart broke at the vulnerability in Y/N’s voice. She reached up, gently cupping Y/N’s face in her hands, forcing her to meet her gaze. “You could never be too much for me, Y/N. I love every part of you. Your energy, your passion, the way you light up when you talk about something that excites you—I love all of it. You make my life brighter just by being in it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hands trembling slightly as she absorbed Leah’s words. “I just… I don’t want to be a burden to you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me all the time.”

Leah shook her head, her thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “You’re not a burden, not in the slightest. Being with you, caring for you, loving you—it’s the greatest privilege of my life. I want to be there for you, Y/N, in every way I can. Because that’s what love is. It’s about being there for each other, lifting each other up, and making sure we both feel safe and cherished.”

Y/N sniffled, a small, tentative smile starting to form on her lips. “You make me feel that way, Leah. You make me feel like I’m… enough.”

“You are more than enough,” Leah whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N’s forehead, letting her lips linger there as she spoke. “You’re everything to me. And I’ll spend every day reminding you of that, if that’s what it takes.”

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the warmth of Leah’s words and touch envelop her. She felt the last of her doubts melting away, replaced by a deep sense of security and love. Leah had always been her rock, her safe place, and in moments like this, she knew there was nothing they couldn’t face together.

“I love you so much,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with all the emotion she felt in her heart.

Leah pulled back just enough to look into Y/N’s eyes, her own gaze filled with tenderness. “And I love you, Y/N. More than you’ll ever know.”

For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world around them fading into the background. There was nothing but the sound of their breathing, the feel of their hands intertwined, and the steady, comforting beat of their hearts.

Eventually, Leah broke the silence, her voice soft but firm. “You know what I think?”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, curiosity piqued. “What?”

Leah smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Y/N’s ear. “I think you’re one of the most extraordinary people I’ve ever met. And I’m not just saying that because I love you. I’m saying it because it’s true. You see the world in ways most people can’t even begin to understand, and that’s a gift. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you need to dim that light.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion, her earlier doubts fading into the background as Leah’s words wrapped around her like a warm blanket. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for loving me like this.”

Leah’s smile widened, her eyes shining with affection. “I’m the one who’s thankful, Y/N. Thankful that I get to love you, that I get to be the person by your side. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

Y/N felt a deep sense of peace settle over her, the kind that came from knowing she was truly loved for who she was. With Leah by her side, she felt like she could face anything the world threw at her. Because Leah wasn’t just her partner—she was her safe place, her anchor, and the person who made her feel like she was perfect just the way she was.

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

One thing I feel like we don't talk about enough is the fact that Haymitch was 16 when he won the Second Quarter Quell, against 47 other children, 12 Careers among them.

We often see him portrayed as a drunk and a lazy bastard, but the amount of skill and cunning it takes to survive THE HARDEST HUNGER GAMES IN HISTORY. No one understands how he's managed to survive an arena with twice the tributes, or even figure out how the poison works. But Haymitch just doesn't trust the excess, the berries, the green. And he's lived with hunger before. He can take it for a while. When he finds his first body in the arena, the perfectly brown nuts still in his hands, he decides not to eat anything but what's in his backpack. Then, after killing two Careers and being saved from death by Maysilee, they team up and figure out a system to safely drink the rainwater and kill other tributes and scavenge from their backpacks, to make sure that they don't die from poisoning. And being skilled enough at fighting to pressure the Career into throwing her ax at him. Even with half his guts hanging out she apperently wanted none of the smoke. And not only understanding from previous Games, apperently, that the arena ends somewhere, but using it to his advantage. It is astounding.

Then he comes back and the Capitol kills everyone he cares about. This 16 year old boy is surviving the most brutal onslaught in the history of the Games and comes home, traumatized, hurt beyond belief, both mentally and physically - seeing an ally and friend die in his arms, almost dying from taking an axe to the stomach, having to kill no less than 3 Careers - only to see his family and girlfriend murdered.

And as if that isn't enough, he has to spend the next 24 years watching his tributes, all of them the same age he was or younger, die in the arena, all alone. There is no one else to help him shoulder that grief. He has the worst district, where no one ever wins, so he sees 2 children he mentors die every year, and the mother of the girl who saved his life in the arena is still around.

But wait! It gets worse! After Peeta and Katniss show fighting spirit and a desire to come back home alive, he has to choose which tribute he will try to help. He puts his money on Katniss, which is understandable, but still heartbreaking.

Then, they somehow both make it out alive. Notwithstanding the roller coaster of emotions Haymitch must have been on when they pulled that last stunt with the berries - getting them both back, then maybe getting neither back- he has no time to grieve for the 23 children who died, but must immediately go to Katniss to try and save her from the same fate he encountered for his own stunt with the force field.

Then he hears about the Third Quarter Quell, which involves Katniss and either him Peeta or having to fight all his friends. And with Katniss begging him to take Peeta's place when they reap him, all the trauma must've come flooding back.

He is also set to lose the two people he cares about - Peeta and Katniss - to the regime, after snatching them from the jaws of death. When he finally has someone else to share the burden of being a mentor, the Capitol immediately takes that from him, forcing him to watch his comrades die one by one trying to protect Katniss and Peeta to keep them alive, all to give Haymitch a chance to pull them out.

We sort of forget about him a little in the third book, but Haymitch loses absolutely everything he has to the regime. Everything. His innocence, his family, his home, and Katniss and Peeta. He has to topple an entire regime and is a member of a far-reaching conspiracy while he can barely function from all the ( additional ) trauma.

I feel like Susanne Collins used him as a mirror to reflect just how gruesome the Games are, and how this spectacle ultimately damages people so badly they become a shell of themselves. Anyone else thinking about celeberty culture?

When looking at him differently, one cannot escape the notion that he resembles a war veteran, too, forced to kill people to come back and then being lauded, but not helped. Especially him saying "there are no victors, only survivors" and the mind numbing substance abuse in order to avoid dealing with the death of two innocent children every year and everything he went through in the arena.

But not only that; he still has the strenght to fight back, organize a coup, be a mentor. Presented with the first real chance he gets to pull someone through the hell of the Games and come back out, he jumps. Even though that means reliving the horrible games again.

Haymitch deserves a lot more praise, and I think Collins presented him really well as an idea of just how evil the Capitol really is. And how wickedly smart Haymitch Albernathy can be, if he chooses to.

I am honestly suprised that he's still alive and in generally okay condition, despite being a raging alcoholic. Him raising geese and looking after Katniss after they come back from District 13 gives me a little peace.

[artycomicfangirl]

I just wanted to redraw art from last year a bit properly. Fandesigns for different Sarasaland Cultures? Right here!

Although, I wouldn’t call this her ‘Royal’ outfit in Birabuto. Obviously it’s too plain I think. More rough on the edges.

This is more suited for casual and active movement. So likely she’s able to fight at a moments notice if she wants!

Now once again, my little personal notes!

• I thought since SMB movie Peach is actually really active already. I’d like to think Daisy is active as well…x2, with a side of wild, strength and crazy! One woman army!

• Daisy at an older age would most likely be proficient in most of the weapons that are native to the Kingdom. I’m going by this idea inspired from the fact that Daisy is known to be a very all round athletic character!

Think of a moment where you would be sneaking around at night. Then all of a sudden, a dagger comes flying at your direction. Lodging itself into the pillar behind you…centimeters away from your neck.

• There was actually one story which surprisingly, Is one of King Toto’s most favourite and funniest story in the past!

• At one point in her pre-teen to Mid-Teen years, there was a point in time where her training shifted. No more simple training! More difficult, more pressure, more tactical and strategic. Young Daisy would have had a bit of a hard time keeping up. But she admirably would not give up and pull through every time. He was overseeing a performance that would display young Daisy’s skill as she fights one of his guards. Daisy, having had enough of feeling like she should struggle, would be suddenly filled with a fiery determination in his words. And it was that was when not only did she managed to bowl over a guard. But broke a part of one of the pillars in the process.

🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶

“Your Majesty! You have a beautiful palace! But…what happened to that pillar over there? A large chunk of it has been broken off!

“Oh? That! Ah, not to worry. That was made by the Princess when she was but a fledgling…with a Spear!”

“…O-Oh…”

🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶🔶

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

A Type Of Love

Minors Do Not Interact

Feyd x reader

Just a little idea of what Feyd would be like during an arranged marriage and once his wife got pregnant.

Warnings: cannibalism, canon typical violence, typical Harkonnen culture, Feyd is his own warning

His mother once told him, at five years old as he sat in her lap, watching the sun set over the horison, "Don't love anyone but your children. Anyone you love will be used against you, limit you, and make you lesser."

Feyd had looked at his mother, curious. "Well, shouldn't I not love my children then?"

His mother chuckled, kissing the top of his head. "I'm afraid that's not an option for people like us, son. I'm afraid you will have no choice whether or not you love your child."

Feyd didn't realize at the time that the reason his mother took great pains to raise him to be so fundamentally different from other Harkonnens was to ensure that when he sired the chosen one, he wouldn't smother him in his crib. The deep sense of honor his uncle couldn't break him of, even as he was forced to kill his mother, was all a tactic by centuries of Bene Gesserit plotting to ensure their messiah figure was safe.

Feyd took his mother's lessons to heart, even when his memories of her tore at what little heart he had left. When he was assigned a wife by his uncle, he made sure he didn't get attached to her. He did his required duty, visiting her twice a week in her quarters until she fell pregnant. Once she informed him she was with child, he stopped visiting her. He spent his free time with his concubines, the only women he let himself be fond of. Even then, the fondness was that one would have for a pet, not a lover. They were content with that arrangement, as he did spoil them beyond reasonable limits.

His wife seemed to be content with him ignoring her. Yet even without his help, she managed to weasel her way into his uncle's council. She had somehow made an ally of Rabban, giving him advice on everything from women, to dealing with Fremen.

He tolerated it… until she started showing. Once her stomach swelled with his child, he could stand it no longer. He forbid her from speaking to Rabban. He basically confined her to her quarters, and when she complained about feeling imprisoned, he took her hand and lovingly walked her down to the slave pits. He held her still, forcing her to look upon the miserable wretches in the cells. "Still feel imprisoned, my wife? Or have you found a new fondness for your grand room?"

She stiffly nodded, tears silently flowing down her face. He feasted on them, lapping at her face until the tears stopped flowing. She clung to his arm the whole walk back to her rooms, and something foreign and wholly unwelcome began to take root in his wretched heart. Fondness.

As her stomach grew, so to did his new emotions. He found himself unable to stay away from her, spending his nights in her room more often than not. He insisted she dine with him for every meal, and began pressuring her to try a new type of meat. He teased her with the idea of eating the flesh of his kills, assuring her that any heir of his would only grow stronger from it.

She looked sick anytime he brought it up, but to her credit didn't flinch when he snapped one day, killing a slave in front of her and slicing his gut open. "Pick your preference, my wife. Liver? Lung? A chunk of thigh?"

His wife met his gaze, her voice firm and strong when she answered. "The heart."

He carved it out himself, handing it off to a trembling servant who brought it back some time later, perfectly roasted and seasoned.

He stared, his eyes fixed to her face as she calmly cut into the flesh he had provided for her, and delicately raised her fork to her lips. The thin cut of meat passed over her lips and her eyes fluttered shut as she tasted it. She took a liking to it, if her fast eating was anything to go by. Soon her plate was clean, and Feyd felt nearly feral with desire as she delicately dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

Her eyes were warm and soft with adoration as she looked at his cold blue eyes. "Thank you, my husband."

The deeply rooted fondness he had been unable to rip out began blossoming into something far more dangerous. May the stars comfort his mother's weary soul, because it seemed he wouldn't be able to obey her lessons.

[linktotheheart]

I feel like so many people misunderstand BOTW/TOTK Link especially (Zelda too, but that's another topic entirely)

His lack of expressiveness IS a personality trait. It's a direct result of the pressure on his soldiers to be a perfect soldier, hero, and savior. No, he's not Skyward Sword Link, and never will be, because his story is completely different.

"But [other Link] hugged Zelda when he got her back!" and this Link maintained a respectful distance as his princess's subordinate - but ALSO out of respect for Zelda as a person, because she spent her whole childhood having her agency denied and he wants to let her initiate even something as simple as platonic contact whenever possible. He's being kind!

(And yes, I know that primarily only the "he is a knight and she is a princess" part is directly supported in the actual game, but I'll remind the people making comparisons that the dynamic was COMPLETELY different in their favorite comparison game, Skyward Sword. But also... look at the gentleness with which Link interacts with Zelda, the tenderness that he shows so few other characters - Mipha probably being the closest example. Look at the way he looks to her first to see what to do in every scene they're in together, unless he's protecting her from an immediate threat to her life. Notice how outside of that, Zelda IS usually the one to initiate any physical contact)

I also personally hate it when people describe quiet, not very expressive people as "lacking personality" because... my partner IRL is like that. If she expressed herself at all around most people, it's in a very flat, reserved way. I've seen how it hurts her that people treat her like she doesn't have a personality, like she isn't even a full person - and I know that's real life and Zelda is fiction, but come on, do you think all the people that aren't highly expressive and extroverted don't hear that about very popular characters and internalize it?

Being reserved is a personality trait. Being cautious and not impulsive is a personality trait. In fact, I'd even say just because you as an expressive, extroverted person see Link as a blank slate to project your own personality onto, doesn't mean he actually is or was even intended that way.

(I also think this is a very US-centric point of view, honestly. There's plenty of cultures where even BOTW Link would be considered at least close to average - Finnish culture specifically comes to mind, even if he's still slightly exaggerated in that regard as, y'know, a character.)

Idk, this is as much a silly little vent post as anything, it's not that serious, etc, but whatever

(and don't get me started on "oh Zelda got no agency in TOTK and she learned the powers she was struggling overnight". No, it's called a time skip, and just because she learned her powers before the 13th hour this time - which yeah, she would get them easier this time with a mentor who could actually use the same powers, and having already learned to use her light powers - doesn't mean it just "happened overnight". And... she didn't express agency? She was actively influencing the entire flow of the timeline, changing the actions of her ancestors by convincing her ancestors to act, learning to control her powers and fighting Ganondorf, and finally expressing the ultimate form of autonomy in choosing to sacrifice herself to save the world. Some of the criticisms of TOTK didn't even seem to play the same game. Just because a heroine isn't a pop feminist badass who *gasp* wears pants and easily and perfectly kicks every villain's ass, doesn't mean she "has no agency" and is being sidelined. Like, a princess engaging in courtly politics is neither powerless nor "doing nothing")

[theowlwrites]

Shall we dance? // Bailamos?

Melissa Schemmenti x F!Reader

Cariño: Term of endearment, can be translated as honey/ dear/ darling.

~Just want to clarify that I love Mexican and Italian culture. 🫶🏽

Warnings: no physical description of reader, it is mention that her nationality is Mexican en 2 occasions, consumption of alcohol. Angst, fluff, and a little smut at the end?

Summary: Reader is the new Spanish teacher at Abbott, she goes to a celebration of 5 de Mayo at Barb’s house, were things turn interesting with Melissa.

************************************************************************************************************

“Come on!” Janine was trying for the hundred time to convince you to go to this little get together at Barbara's house “It will be fun!”

Today was 5 de Mayo, and for some reason, in the States, they celebrated it. You have nothing against it, but back in México it goes like any other normal day. Despite that, seeing all the decorations with Mexican themes made you miss your home.

“I've already told you” You close the folder you were working on a look at her “I can't go, I already made some other plans”

The truth was that you didn't have any plans, you just don't feel part of the teacher group just yet. You are the new Spanish teacher at Abbot, just entered this year. Everyone has been nice to you, especially Janine and Jacob. You also have a good relationship with Gregory, but you aren´t really close. When it came to the older teachers, you have no issue talking to Barbara, she is really nice, she sometimes even asks you to help her with her Spanish. But Melissa, she was a different story, she isn´t exactly mean, but she likes to make clear that she preferred anything Italian over Spanish, and that Italian cuisine was better than the Mexican. You never argue, mostly because Melissa intimidates you, but not for the reason she intimidates the other younger teachers, but because you have the biggest crush on her.

So going to this 5 de Mayo party to Barbara's house looks like the perfect place for Melissa to tell you over and over again how Italians do it better. Not really something you are looking forward to.

“Leave the booze to me Barb, I know a guy that can get me the best tequila” At that moment Melissa and Barbara were entering the teacher’s room, interrupting you and Janine.

Barb looks directly to you, ignoring Melissa “Oh good, I was looking for you dear” She takes a sit next to you. “Please can you take care of the music? Maybe you can play some Spanish bangers in that Walkman of yours” She meant your Spotify. All eyes were on you know, making you feel the pressure. “You are coming… right?”

“You know Barbara… I… I don´t think I can make it, I have to...” You were avoiding looking at her, you couldn´t lie to her face, actually you couldn´t lie to anyone’s face, you were a terrible liar.

“Okay, what is it?” Melissa´s voice came from behind you, then she walked to your side and took a sit in front of you. “Why don´t you want to spend time with us?”  She had her glasses over her head, leaving a few strands of hair free next to her face, she was raising an eyebrow. She was looking hot.

“It´s not that” Your voice comes out weaker that you expected. “I don´t know, it makes me feel a little… homesick, I guess” It wasn´t entirely a lie, but you couldn´t tell the redhead that she makes you nervous to the point of almost forgetting how to speak English.

“Oh darling” You felt Barbs arm wrap your shoulders. Melissa was still looking at you, but this time with more gentle eyes that before “I can imagine how you feel, but I think this could do you good. You can show us a little bit more of your traditions, I would love to hear about that”

“Yeah girl… we can get to know each other a little bit more” Melissa winked and eye at you, which made your heart beat faster.

With a big sigh, you finally agree “Okay then, I´ll be there at five o´clock”

“You won´t regret it, amigo!” Janine says

“Amiga… with an a” You laugh.

“See you at five o clock then, dear. Don´t forget the music.” Barbara smiles, pleased that she convinced you to go and leaves the room with Janine. Leaving you with Melissa, who was still looking at you.

She stood up and grab her bag, carrying it on her shoulder. “See you soon… cariño” You were so glad that Melissa left immediately after saying those words, otherwise, she would have noticed how your face turned red as a tomato.

Later that day you were at home, putting together a playlist of spanish music. You added some ballads, some more mariachi music, and algo some dancing music, like salsa, cumbia and some bachata, just for fun.

At 5:15 pm you were standing outside Barbara´s house, you have already knocked twice and nobody answered. Maybe you had the location wrong, so you decided to call Janine, but just as you were going to press the call button, a voice from behind called you.

“Hey, cariño, it´s over here” Melissa was standing next to her car on the sidewalk, holding some bags that you assumed contained the tequila bottles. “This way”

You followed her to the back of the house, everyone was there, at the patio. No one was inside the house, that’s way nobody heard you knocking.

“Look what I found in your front door Barb” Melissa was referring to you, as she went straight to the table to settle the bottles. All eyes went to you, for second time in the day. Everyone was there already, with the exception of Ava, that preferred to stay at home watching Desperate Housewives than “going to that lame party” (her words). 

“I forgot to tell you we will be at the back. Anway, I´m very glad you came. You bring the music?” 

“Of course,” You proceed to connect you phone to the speaker and start reproducing your playlist.

“Now this is a fiesta!” Said Janine while trying to dance at the bit of one song.

You were standing next to the speaker, watching everyone enjoy the party. Barbara has offered you a plate of mini taquitos, that were actually really good. It was probably the music, the Mexican decoration and even the taquitos that made you feel nostalgic, so your mind started wondering through your childhood memories. All those parties with your family, how your father had taught you to dance in those parties, how you mom food tasted. You were so immersed in you thought that didn´t notice when the redhead went to stand right next to you.

“Penny for your thoughts” Her voice snapping you out from your own mind.

“I was just remembering some childhood stuff, that all” You didn’t dare to look at her eyes. And she noticed it, actually she had always notice it, how you would avoid looking directly at her. She always took those moments as opportunities to look at you with more detail. Melissa hadn´t admitted this to anyone, not even Barbara. but she thinks that you are very beautiful, she´s intrigued by you. She likes it when you speak Spanish, you make everything sound better. But she has no idea how to approach those feelings, so she decides to keep her distance too, by not being the nicest or most accessible teacher at Abott.   She wanted that to change, and she was going to start working in that today. 

“You know… I sometimes feel nostalgic of my home as well.” She drank from the plastic cup she was holding. “I have always lived in Philly, but I don´t see my family as often anymore, and we haven´t had a reunion or a party in so long… I miss that” You looked at Melissa. She was actually telling you something personal, without sarcasm. “But of course, it must be harder for you, being away from your country” She then looked you in the eyes.

“It´s not too bad” You were actually looking at Melissa´s eyes, for mor than 1 second, for the first time, and God they were beautiful, just as her. “I visit them once a year, and they sometimes come visit” There was a silence, both of you looking at everyone else enjoying the party.

“Would you like a paloma?” Melissa asked, with a mischievous grin.

“That´s what you are having?” She nodded. “Yeah, please”

Melissa served you a paloma (soda with tequila), and from that moment you never parted her side. Both of you kept talking, laughing, at some point you teaching her some Spanish, and she teaching you some Italian. It was probably the booze, but you started feeling how Melissa was getting more comfortable around you. She was being handsy, placing her hand around your arm, sometimes over your hand, and some other times around your waist. Soon she started leaning against you, caressing your hair, holding your waist longer. She was flirting. Neither of you were drunk drunk, you were still perfectly conscious and in you five senses, which made you very anxious but excited about this sudden change in Melissa´s attitude.

It was already 9:00 pm, Janine, Gregory and Jacob had already left, tomorrow was school day. Barbara, Melissa and you were sitting around the folding table in the middle of the patio. Your music still playing. The three of you has stop drinking like an hour ago, to sober up, and were just chatting. And even without the effects of the alcohol, Melissa was still being nice to you, maybe a little less handsy, but still very friendly.

Barbara excuse herself to go to the bathroom. A comfortable silence between Melissa and you, when a salsa began to play at the background.

“God, I love that salsa, I used to dance it all the times at parties, with anyone, even alone, I just wanted to dance it” You smile as you remember. Unconsciously you closed your eyes and started moving in your chair, humming the song. Unaware of the way Melissa was looking at you.

“Shall we dance?” You snap your eyes open. She offers you her hand to you, already standing up next to you.

“What?”

“Bailamos?” She repeats, and this time you nodded. She holds her hand until you are standing next to her. She places her free hand on your waist, keeping you close to her, while her other hand holds yours at the level of her face. And you start dancing.

It´s a slow salsa, so it is easy to dance, but you have the feeling that even if it was a faster rhythm, Melissa would dance like if she had done it all her life.

You feel Melissa´s eyes on you, she´s smiling. She moves her arm, so it surrounds your waist. The sudden closeness makes you lose your balance a little, Melissa holds you tighter, preventing you for falling. You both laugh.

Her face inches away from yours, her eyes going from your eyes to your lips. She caressed your cheek with her other hand, and pulls you closer, closing the space between you.

The kiss is sweet, slow. You both take your time to feel it, you enjoy it. Your arms around Melissa´s neck, keeping her close to you. Soon the kiss turns a little more heated, Melissa´s tongue asking for permission to pass your lips, to which you happily submit.

You still can taste a little bit the alcohol from earlier, and you taste the sweetness of Melissa.  Really there is no other way to describe it, it feels and taste sweet to be kissing her like this.

You break the kiss until you realize you need to take a breath, but not breaking the embrace. You are still so close to each other Melissa can basically fell how your heart is beating fast.

“I never thought Italians were this good at salsa dancing” That´s all you said, making Melissa laugh.

“We are good at everything darling, but you do it amazing yourself, cariño, give yourself some credit.” She kissed you again. “Let me drive you home.” Melisas whispered to your ear, you just nodded.

You both said goodbye to Barbara, not without offering to help her clean, to which she refused. Once inside Melisa´s car she couldn’t stop eyeing you, she kept a hand in your thigh. You couldn’t stop looking at her either, and honestly, if it wasn´t for the seatbelt, you would be on top of her long time ago.

You arrive home, Melissa opens your door, helping you out. And before she could say anything, you were kissing her. This time was passionate, full of desire and lust. Melissa was against the car, her hands on your hips. You were leaning on her, your hand on her hair.

“Come inside, please” You didn’t mean to sound do needy, but you couldn´t hide it.

“I would absolutely love it cariño, but tomorrow is school day, and I need another change if clothes. I just wanted to make sure you arrive safe and sound.” She was keeping her hands on your hips, but this time with a stronger grip, trying to create a little more space between you tow.

“Please” You took Melissa´s hands away from your hips, letting you lean to her once again. “Por favor” (please) You whispered to her ear. Now her arms were surrounding you shole waist. You started kissing her earlobe, descending to her neck. Melissa was in a trance. “Te necesito” (I need you)

“You are making this very difficult for me, cariño” Now it was Melissa´s voice the one that came out shaky, which made you feel proud.

“It doesn´t have to be difficult, you can just come in”.

“Let´s make a deal, hon… I promise that tomorrow I will be here, with a bottle of wine, and we can do whatever you want, but you have to promise to speak I little more Spanish to my ear, deal?” That mischievous grin was back on Melissa´s face, and you loved it.

“¿Te gusta cuando hablo español?” (Do you like when I speak Spanish?) You said as innocent as you could.

“I have no idea of what you just said, but keep doing that you will pay the price tomorrow”

“Trato… deal” You agreed. She kissed you once again, this time keeping it less heated and shorter. You took a few steps away from Melissa, trying to pull yourself together, and trying to ignore you soaked underwear. If Melissa wasn´t going to spend this night with you, you had some plans before going to bed, and as if she could read your mind, she added…

“Oh, and cariño… don´t touch yourself tonight, It will make tomorrow more fun” She winked her eye to you. It wasn’t a question; it was an order. “You can do that for me, right hon?” You really wanted to release all this tension tonight, but you couldn´t say no to Melissa.

“I promise” you said

“Good girl” She went inside her car. “See you tomorrow cariño, sleep tight” She left, leaving you horny as hell.

God, you couldn’t wait for tomorrow…

********************************************************************************************************************

Okay, so this idea pop into my mind while I was watching Shall we dance?, I really love that movie, and I love Lisa’s character. 🥹

Hope you like it, and let me know if you want a second part 🫣

[spiderfreedom]

my suffering is profound and legitimate, yours is frivolous nonsense

Just reading a blogger I like but I had to laugh because she was talking about how beauty practices are bad for women's mental health, and she left a note saying "unlike gender affirming care! gender affirming care improves people's mental health and it's nothing at all like cosmetic practices."

TIL, when an older woman gets botox to remove her wrinkles and avoid facing the inevitability of decline and death, her problem is spiritual/structural and she needs to Do The Work to deprogram her ageism, unlike people with dysphoria, who of course have legitimate claims to cosmetic alteration.

And it is cosmetic - no part of the body that is altered by HRT or SRS or any of the feminization/masculinization surgeries is failing to function or functioning poorly. The problem is with the brain, which perceives the body parts as foreign or undesirable. We may sympathize with someone struggling with such a condition, but that does not change that the body parts being altered were already healthy and the alterations are cosmetic, and the relief being brought about is mental.

But plenty of trans people openly admit that separating body dysmorphia and gender dysphoria is a losing game. Contrapoints's video on "Beauty" (transcript) has the observation that she feels least dysphoric when she is meeting feminine beauty norms:

But I also think that trans people often talk like gender dysphoria is this intrinsic, personal experience that's always 100% valid and never has anything at all to do with the external pressure of beauty standards. But in fact, gender dysphoria is not sealed away in a vacuum away from the influence of societal ideals and norms.  [...] When I try to psychoanalyze myself, I find that my desires to look female, to look feminine, and to look beautiful are not exactly the same, but they're woven together so tightly that it's kind of difficult to untangle them. And the opposite is also true, that for me feeling mannish or dysphoric usually goes along with feeling ugly. I don't have a lot of days where I walk out the house thinking "well, I'm giving femme queen realness, but apart from that I look like absolute shit". 

Max Robinson's book "Detransition," from an FTM perspective, points out how the prospective trans man views his suffering as unique from and distinct from women's, even as the surgeries they seek are not especially different:

The stereotypical cosmetic surgery patient is seeking to become closer to being perfectly feminine - she wants to be beautiful. Transitional cosmetic surgery, on the other hand, is widely understood to mark the patient as ex-female and therefore unfemale; this is part of the meaning FTMs seek to create through surgery. FTM desire for cosmetic surgery is positioned as something totally different than the stereotype of a woman who 'merely' seeks beauty at her frivolous leisure. FTMs are deemed to have a rare affliction that needs urgent, life-saving treatment. Conversely, there is nothing more common than for a woman to become obsessed with her socially-deemed 'unsatisfactory' looks and desperately seek to change them, believing that such a change is the only thing that can restore her quality of life. This comparison will feel like an insult to the FTM. It will feel that way because we believe other women's suffering doesn't matter, and recognize how much ours does. Women's suffering is ordinary but ours is extraordinary. For us to matter, we must be differentiated from the silly little woman who wants to be pretty so badly she'll pay thousands of dollars (now billable to credit cards and loan programs designed to pay for elective surgeries!) to risk her life and health. These women don't need to be fixed; we do. FTMs know that we don't deserve a woman's fate but have not yet realized that no woman does.

I have more to write on the topic of the relationship between gender identity and beauty culture, but I'll end this one here. It makes sense that somebody who is identified with the opposite sex would also be affected by the standards of beauty expected of that sex. (Non-binary identification is more complicated and requires separate treatment.)

[dduane]

So it came to my attention a couple of weeks back that the version of Stealing the Elf-King's Roses that until recently was available over at Ebooks Direct had somehow managed to evade being updated using the cutting-edge Vellum ebook software, when we were doing all the other books in the store.

I have no idea how this happened. Anyway, I've been taking care of that update, and the book will be available again in a day or three.

Meanwhile I'm having the usual conniptions over new cover art and font choices. Fantasy covers these days need to have one or another of a group of very specific looks. So do SF covers. And when you have a novel that splits the difference between the genres (or bashes them together...) the way this one does—as STEKR is an alternate-Earth police procedural—it can seem impossible to get it right. You don't want to leave people who're buying-at-a glance feeling, later on, that they thought they were getting one thing and were sold something else.

The art above is okay enough to go forward with. (Though I'd feel better if I could get Lee something a little more like her judicial robes and less like a "little black [cocktail] dress".) The real problem right now, though, is the font choice.

After some consideration I grabbed the one above from Derek Murphy's fabulous DIY cover site. (Simply because how could I not try a font called The Princess And The Frog?...) But I'm going to go back tomorrow or the next day and try using a much more SF-looking font, and see how that comes out. Who knows... maybe when it's in the store again, we'll offer both cover versions and see what people prefer.

Anyway, this is just an early warning for those of you here who may have picked up the book earlier (possibly as part of our whole store bundle*). When the updated book goes live, you're entitled to be updated to the new version of STEKR, with its improved graphics on the inside as well as the outside, if you feel like it. Just drop a note to the store's support email address, quoting your order number, and we'll refresh your download links when the book's back up in the store.

Meanwhile, for those who may not know anything about this novel: look under the cut for the description.

*Which, along with all our other bundles, is on sale at 20% off right now.

It's CSI, Jim, but not as you know it...!

Psychoforensics specialist and freelance prosecutor Lee Enfield works with the Los Angeles District Attorney’s office as a lanthanomancer—a magic-worker trained in Seeing and revealing the truth.  When she and her fayhound partner Gelert are brought in to do discovery for the investigation into the murder of an Elf named Omren dil’Sorden, at first it seems an ordinary homicide: just one more hate crime in a city and culture where violence against the immensely wealthy, uncannily beautiful Alfen is becoming more and more commonplace.

But Lee and Gelert discover that there's more to this Elf's murder than meets the eye. When political pressure from above the DA's office pushes the two partners out of the investigation, Lee's unwillingness to drop the case gets her and Gelert drafted into a mission to the heart of the forbidden realm of Alfheim. Their involvement makes them targets of a shadowy conspiracy involving powerful multinationals and governments of the Eleven Worlds, intent on taking the secret of the Elves' power for themselves. Drawn into an ambivalent and potentially deadly alliance with the shadowy and much-feared Elf-King, and with the fates of entire worlds on the line, does Lee dare trust her Sight to reveal his true motives—and can the Elf-King be trusted to be on anyone's side but his own?...

This stand-alone fantasy police/legal-procedural novel by DD, originally published in 2002, is reissued exclusively here in a new edition -- revised and updated, with an afterword about the project's genesis and an appendix featuring never-before-published background material on the Eleven Worlds.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag beautiful @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @tellmegoodbye @honeybee-taskforce

@paperstorm @strandnreyes @ironheartwriter @lemonlyman-dotcom

@whatsintheboxmh @heartstringsduet ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

From Poet Fic, Carlos is thinking about where all the love comes from:

Behind him, Trudie talks about a smart little bluebird that just landed on her picket fence, how such pretty birds don’t know or care about the ugliness of the urban blight that surrounds them, the utilitarian grimness of cop cars that intimidatingly fill the cul-de-sac. It sends Carlos back to a moment in his own, very different kitchen over a year ago. His kitchen with its exposed brick and sleek cupboards and black tiles with white grout and a huge gunmetal fridge. This kitchen has creamy yellow walls, melamine cabinets, chintzy plates on the wall, a small white fridge with cartoonish magnets, his firearm tucked away in the crisper drawer.

Gwyn was visiting with baby Jonah. Carlos had Jonah in his arms, the bright-eyed baby squeezing Carlos’ pointer finger and trying to put it in his mouth. He was wearing a pale blue onesie patterned with stylishly illustrated bluebirds. TK was stirring a bubbling pot of cholent and arguing with his mother about aspects of the recipe. TK followed steps from a website; Gwyn recalled her bubbe’s method. Except her bubbe’s method was to just throw in all the ingredients and somehow magic came out. Carlos understood. His abuela cooked the same way, it’s how things used to work, there were generations raised on cultural magic.

“And now it’s the boring old internet,” Gwyn hollered from over by the spice rack.

“You literally use the internet every day, just like we do,” TK retorted.

“Not to cook!” she said.

Gwyn rolled her eyes at her oldest son and sauntered over to Carlos to check on her baby, whose determined face lit up with a gummy smile as she came into view. She laid a hand on Carlos shoulder and said, “You’re so good with him.”

Carlos didn’t know if she meant her big baby or her little baby. To cover all bases, he said, “I love him.”

“I know you do,” Gwyn’s voice echoes through Trudie’s kitchen.

He feels the press of a hand against his shoulder. He’s sweating through his white henley, stinks something nasty, can smell himself. The hand stays there.

“How are you doing?” Gwyn says. Or said. He doesn’t know. “Do you want me to take him from you?”

“No,” Carlos says. Said. Thinks. “Don’t take him back. I’ve got him.”

Open tag and tags below:

@thisbuildinghasfeelings @bonheur-cafe @reyesstrand @goodways

@lightningboltreader @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @ladytessa74

@never-blooms @liminalmemories21 @alrightbuckaroo

@chicgeekgirl89 @freneticfloetry @theghostofashton @sugdenlovesdingle

@herefortarlos @fitzherbertssmolder @orchidscript

@three-drink-amy @carlos-tk @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad

@eclectic-sassycoweyes @kiwichaeng @literateowl

@safeaswrites @captain-gillian @nancys-braids

@sapphic--kiwi @emsprovisions - If you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[coffeeadict61]

Humans Are Weird: Women's Intuition

Report #286

Topic: Gaze detection: in females

Gaze detection: the human phenomenon of becoming aware when another being is staring consistently/intensely at oneself.

In previous reports the topic of gaze detection has been covered but I have more specific information. While it has been observed in both male and female humans, it appears to be more heightened in the female variety. The reason for this, after talking with both parties, could possibly stem from two places:

1. A evolutionary need to better protect themselves in the female variety from predatory counterparts

2. A social or cultural pressure for the male species to suppress their emotions that trigger this "sixth sense".

The "female intuition" was demonstrated for me yesterday.

Lucy, or "Luce" if you know her well enough, is our first human crew mate of the female variety to be assigned to electrical. I was put in charge of walking her through her schedule. While doing so I observed many of the "men" glancing at her. Most watched with curiosity but after an hour or two of Lucy working along side her crew mates, I noticed that she had begun to avoid one of them. Cory Mattinson, a strongly built man around 30 human yrs of age. Lucy chose to work in the area furthest away from his, attempting to stay out of his line of sight, and sitting at a different table in the cafeteria even though he invited her to join him and his companions. While she was polite, I would use the human term "wary" to describe her behavior. I sat with her and the "women" from other departments during lunch break so that I could inquire what her strange actions inferred.

She seemed uncomfortable with my question but answered me directly. "He just gives me a bad feeling." A few of the others nodded in agreement. "What feeling?" I asked. "Just…like he was stalking me. He kept staring and I don't trust him." She explained. A woman named Rebecca elaborated a little. "It's our gut feeling. We can tell when someone is watching us or following us. We get a bad vibe." I tried my best to imagine this guttural feeling but I had more questions.

"Do you have this feeling around all men?"

Lucy ripped of a chunk of her "sandwich" (a common lunch time appetizer). "No, just the ones our instinct tell us are predatory. Creepy men with ill intent."

"This is instinctual?"

"Yeah, men have it too but it's more for suspicious stuff. Fight or flight is kinda similar, I guess."

"Do you all have the same "bad vibe" about the same person."

"Usually, but if there was a predator in our lives before, we will get that gut feeling around people who look, act, or talk like them where others don't." Rebecca answered. "I thought Cory was creepy too."

I was stunned. There survival instincts appear to learn and evolve out of life experience and trauma. I believe it should be closely studied in both the female and male gender.

I am also inserting a request to relocate electrician Cory Mattinson to another station or release him from his contract. His behaviors are threatening to our female staff and is a possible security risk.

Human Observer #5743

[allfortheslay25]

Milo’s Christmas Kiss 💕

Finneeee I guess I’ll introduce y’all to Carla, Milo’s first friend and first girlfriend

I tend to forget her name so I just give her variations of Carla like Cara or Cora or Carol 🤷‍♀️

Carla was Milo’s first friend in elementary school. She would defend him from kids who’d pick on Milo for being different (having one dad that he also calls mom, being previously raised in a college dorm, not having grandparents, not understanding pop culture, basically not having a regular childhood like them)

Carla made Milo feel normal. They were dating up until they were 15 (if I’m remembering correctly) they had a messy break up and it sort of made Milo weird with intimacy

Andreil didn’t care too much about her. They were pretty neutral about her around and they were glad Milo had a friend but they just weren’t interested in getting to know her. They tried to stay out of Milo’s personal life but when they broke up, andreil thought that was a mistake and tried to be more attentive to who Milo’s partners are (but it made them a little overprotective)

Carla changed after they started high school and she ended up breaking up with Milo so she could fit in. But ignoring their horrendous breakup and relationship issue in high school, Carla played a great role in Milo’s early life and I think their relationship was very cute (before the drama)

I wrote their fall out to show that some people in your life can change for the worse and it can be unexpected and cruel but it happens. I was a bit inspired by a childhood friend of mine who I’d known since we were 3 years old. Around high school, she changed in order to fit in and I eventually realized the relationship I was clinging onto didn’t exist with whoever she became and we were practically strangers now

But fret not! Milo will eventually find love again (because my sister peer pressured me😭) but I don’t want to spoil who it is yet so y’all will have to wait and I can’t post any of my art of the two of them 🥲

[tgmsunmontue]

Online & Anonymous 3/16

Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

Odd year = Bradley's POV and Even year = Jake's POV

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

2005/2006 2007

2008 – Jake

                Flight school.

                Four years at USNA and now he’s back in Texas, the familiarity seeping into him like a homecoming and part of him cannot believe he made it into flight school. Not that he’ll let anyone else think he had any doubt, but he is inwardly fist pumping, outwardly trying to pretend it’s no big deal. He doesn’t care if it comes off smug, he does feel a little smug, that he obviously good enough to have been selected. Damn it feels good. And also such a relief.

                He’s good enough.

                He wants to share it with Nick. Doesn’t of course. While he trusts Nick with pretty much every little piece of vulnerability when it’s related to his sexuality and experience in that arena, his career is shaping up to be another huge part of his identity and he doesn’t need help or guidance from a guy on a website on how to best work on this aspect of his life. He feels like he’s got this one. After a few months though he decides to share, in a vague way, because he’s been getting comments from his instructors.

                Approval.

                He’s doing well.

>>You ever accomplish something that people didn’t think you could do?

>>That even you maybe didn’t think you could do?

>>HA.

>>Yes.

>>Feels fucking amazing to prove them wrong.

                Jake grins at the screen, wants to tell him about how amazing it is, being in the air. How much he loves it, the rush of the pressure pushing him back into the seat as he takes off. The

>>I got into my first choice of programme. So yeah.

>>Does feel pretty good.

>>Well done. Proud of you.

>>Thanks.

>>Think you maybe need to believe in yourself more.

>>Maybe.

>>My parents didn’t.

>>Don’t.

                He hasn’t talked about his parents with Nick. Talking about your parents generally doesn’t come up when your jerking off with another guy online, but they talk about a lot of different stuff now and it fits with this right now. He feels like Nick might get it.

>>I came out to them and they kicked me out.

>>Oh shit. I’m sorry.

>>I mean, it’s not a competition but my parents are dead so I can understand that feeling of loss I guess? Like they should be around to support me, but they aren’t.

>>Sucks more for you I think. They’re alive and are just bigots.

>>I was lucky to already have a place to go.

>>I’m extra proud of you.

                Pensacola is a different beast than boat school, everyone seems to be a little smug that they made the cut to be there, and Jake lets himself absorb the culture. He tries sleeping with a woman only to find that he can apparently have worse sexual experiences than his first time with a man, and of course he finds himself messaging Nick.

>>Bad sex with a man is still preferable than bad sex with a woman.

>>You give in to peer pressure and hook up huh?

>>How did you know?

>>Been there, done that. Got the tshirt.

>>As a gay man I have to tell you that even bad sex with a man rates above mediocre sex with a woman.

>>Why do people care so much where you want to stick your dick?

>>I like that rhyme. And I have no fucking clue. Mystery. It’s not like gay people haven’t always existed.

>>I’ve got a friend, female friend, who knows I’m gay, and she let’s me use her as a beard sometimes. Everyone thinks we have an on-again off-again fuck-buddies type thing going on.

>>So you’re still not out to people.

>>Nope. Would make work impossible so I just –

>>Hide in plain sight.

>>Huh. I wonder if I could get one of my friends to cover for me.

>>A lot less women in the military. Good luck I guess?

>>Well. I think one of my friends might just lie for me. Tell others that he saw me leaving with a hot chick or something. He’s the best wingman.

                He stares at the message, wishes he could call it back.

                Delete it.

                It’s too close to home.

                Wingman.

>>Definitely need a good wingman if you’re planning on cruising. You got bigger balls then me if you’re going to try and do it while you’re not on leave.

>>Are you sure that’s safe?

>>It’s not like they’re following me and putting cameras in rooms. I just need to be careful. Although so not worth it most of the time. But it would be kind of nice to have the option if it did present itself.

>>Yeah, I’m sure guys are just falling into your lap in the military.

>>I mean, they might be and I’m just not picking up the signs. They’re probably so repressed they wouldn’t be any good anyway.

>>I’ll leave that for you to find out.

>>Not sure if I should be wishing you luck or telling you to be careful.

                Jake isn’t sure either. He probably not going to risk it.

…            …            …

                It’s not always possible for them to have instant communication. He gets interrupted sometimes, or Nick isn’t available for days at a time, sometimes weeks, and his own schedule is erratic. However he’s always had time, made time, to chat with him since they found each other and he doesn’t have so many close friends that he can afford to ignore one.

                “What are you always doing on your laptop?” Javy asks and Jake feels like time freezes around him for a split second. Javy is one of the few people he’d count as a friend, his easy-going nature dealing with Jake’s prickliness effortlessly, seemingly patient and just waiting for Jake to come around. They were at USNA together and it wasn’t until they shared all their third- and second-class summers together that Jake had thought that maybe they could be friends.

                “Talking with a friend. He travels a lot.”

                He feels like it’s not actually a stretch of the truth, because he’s figured out that Nick moves around, the times he can talk inconsistent, meaning different times zones. He’s always assumed that Nick is American, but now he knows that the website they’re using to chat is actually based in England, and for all he knows Nick could be anywhere in the world.

>>Are you American?

>>Will you stop talking to me if I say no?

>>Of course not.

>>I’m shaking my head at you. You’re meant to be all patriotic being a member of our military. Shouldn’t be communicating with the enemy.

>>You just called it our military. Pretty sure you’re American.

>>Caught out. Yeah. I travelled around a lot as a kid. Tennessee, California, Virginia, Maryland and even Texas. Who knows, we could have walked past each other and never even known.

>>Yeah. We could have. That would be a weird coincidence.

                “You know, if you ever want to tell me something, I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.”

                Jake’s head snaps up so fast he’s surprised there isn’t an accompanying sound.

                “What?”

                “Just. Uh. I know if there was something, you can’t tell me. But if you did, and I’m not asking you to, but if you did, I wouldn’t be letting anyone else know. No telling on my part, that is.”

                He blinks.

                Holy shit.

                That’s pretty much Javy saying he knows, or at least suspects, that Jake is… something other than straight.

                “Just, once second. Just let me say bye…”

>>I think I’m about to come out to a guy who is my best friend in real life, because you’re my best friend in not-real life, plus we have sex and I do not want to ever have sex with J, but uh… I think I might be sick.

>>I’ll talk to you soon.

                His conversation with Javy goes around in circles for a little bit, Javy not willing to ask outright, and Jake unprepared to speak the truth; terrified to voice it. Then Javy gets fed up, places his hands on Jake’s shoulders and just stares at him, expression serious.

                “Jake. You’re the closest thing I have to a brother. There is nothing, nothing,” he stresses, “that would make me stop loving you as my brother and best friend. So, if in some hypothetical world you felt brave enough to tell me that you were… gay, then it wouldn’t change anything for me. I just. I got your back no matter what okay?”

                Jake can’t form words, grabs Javy into a tight hug, he’s biting his lip so hard it hurts, might even be drawing blood and he nods.

                “Thank you.”

                “Any time man. You want to go shoot some pool?”

                Jake lets out a shaky breath and nods again.

                They spend several hours together, in which Javy seems to want to really impress upon Jake that nothing is going to change between them. He still uses his body to shove Jake out of the way when he shows Javy up at pool, still slaps his ass in a vain attempt to distract him while playing darts, grabs them beers and doesn’t pull his fingers away when they accidentally brush like Jake is somehow going to take that as a sign of something more. He can have friends that know and they won’t hate him.

                It’s a revelation.

…            …            …

>>How did it go?

>>I’m kind of worried about you.

>>Hope you haven’t done anything stupid.

>>Or been beaten up.

>>Dishonorable discharge.

>>Fuck Jas, please tell me you’re okay.

                Jake stares at the flood of messages and feels touched, but also a little hysterical, because none of those worse case scenarios are going to happen. He trusts Javy with his life, he can definitely trust him with knowing.

>>I’m okay. Sorry.

>>It was fine. He had pretty much guessed and we talked about it. He’s the best.

>>After you.

>>Glad to know I haven’t been replaced.

>>I appreciated you for the orgasms.

>>Oh. Okay. Putting me back in my place.

>>Prefer you to put me in my place.

>>Really now? You in the mood huh?

>>Yeah.

>>Fuck. This is awful timing. I’ve got to leave in like five minutes.

>>Can’t take care of you like I want to.

>>That’s okay. You can go out and do what you need to do, and while you’re out you can think about me, jerking off as I type out what I want to do to you.

>>Unfair.

>>Hot though.

>>Shit. I’ve really got to go. I look forward to reading whatever you leave me.

                Jake grins, a little nervous. He’s gotten better at this, anything he does regularly for a few years becomes better, but he doesn’t know if it’s good. Not without Nick offering his constant feedback. He always finds what they talk about together the best, but Nick has left him plenty of messages that are just descriptions of what he wants and likes that Jake wants to return the favor.

>>I want to go down on you, suck you off until you come. I want to kneel in front of you and take my time, learn the taste and smell of you. The texture of your skin under my tongue and fingers.

>>I want to do it while I’m in my uniform, because that feels taboo you know? Want you to rub the head of your dick over my lips.

>>Want you naked so I can touch everywhere.

>>I start off slow, a little cautious because I want you to fuck my face, but we’re going to need to build up to that, stretch out my mouth and throat a little, let me gets used to the feel of you in my mouth and throat.

>>I really want to do this. I’m hard just thinking about it. Like the idea of your hand on my head, just guiding me, think I’d enjoy fingernails scraping my head.

>>I want to do this with a guy with no condom, I want to taste the skin and salt. I want that trust as well.

>>I’d trust you.

2009