#just that she was a genius at a 'young age' (which could mean anything considering shes still only 18 in the game) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rk-ocs · 1 year

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Old oc quotes

"Wait! When did you get kidnapped by terrorists! Why did we never Talk about Obidah sooner! I could have prevented this Tony, why didn't you say anything!"

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What do you mean you almost Died of metal poisoning!

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"Just what is Red planing that involves a Kimono?"

"I don't know. Do you think it has anything to do with her plans to rob FedEx."

"No. She borowed Tonys sweater for that."

"I don't know what she has planed for today, and I don't want to know."

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Well it involves Reasons why Hydra should not use FedEx. A mision to Japan to shoot raccons, learn Japanese, and catch up to the twentith centry, and hiring Tony a bodyguard that is around as more of a full time.

Also giving the poor guy some space to reajust without being crowded by either side.

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Unless the clothing has some noteworthy reason to stand out, I'm probably not going to describe it.

"You know what, I really like Lucy's jeans. I mean who else do you know owns red bellbottom jeans."

"Ok. That's going to be a hard chrismas present to get."

"No No. We won't have to do that. The reason I'm bringing this up to you, is beacuse I'm planing to steal them, and I'll need your help with that. "

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Desmond Miles is sick of everyone's shinanagains. And yet resinged

That's it, someday Desmond will adopt eagles! Or more, the eagles will adopt him. And he will curse, and blame Red, and start takeing classes on falconery

Holy shit yes, Desmond with cross arms un the middle if a room filled with eagles surrounding him on all sides

Jacob Fyre is one of the two assassins in syndicate, and he starts a gang called the Rooks.

He's a lot more intrested in fistfighting more then this stealthy assassian stuff, much to his twin Evies annoyance, and though I had always intended them to meet (I had a draft where Red occasionally looks after them when they were younger) it's clear now Jacobs desire to lead a gang, was strengthened by Red and her accidently addopting things tendency.

Haha, n8ce on the adopting.

Tony picked up her tendacy to adopt things, except he adopts people.

Desmond is woried one day he will get an urge to adopt eagles or something. And train them to steal wallets. Clearly her need to adopt things can be passed on, and since he is around her so often, he one day might pick up stealing.

Yes, the world needs to hear about the genius of the catbonells

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Red first met Tony as a kid, a bit after she revived bodyguard training. Maria introduced him as your Principal, and knew about how to properly do this, beacuse in her past (and Reds future) red was hers for awile, and further down reds future, she protected her parents for a short time, and preseumably told them.

Red is bodygaurd for at least four familys, in diffrent time periods, and she is fond of bodyguard work, beacuse the principals are rich, so provide good and whatnot, some of them have been friends from a young age, like for one she has on off, helped raise, though not as much as the official first bodyguard Alba who has been around Amanda from birth, and was Reds first principal. Alba considers bodygaurding serious buisness, and is kind of like a faimly retainer. And Red is sort of this accidently, but likes the job, and is friends with the principal. As she met Tony the youngest of his faimly, and has known him the longest, they are close friends. Or she is that second cousain, that no body talks about, and comes over anyways.

I think the first party happened when Tony was thirteen, and they met when he was eight.

The first meetings I wrote earlier are AU, beacuse they didn't really work.

Maria and Tony have Spanish ancestry, btw. Like Xavier Carbonell the artist.

Red gets to make sure dogs get well taken care of. Sometimes to destress, she goes to visit the shelter ( which ridiculously spoils the dogs, and also provides work and training to those who need it, which is why Tony counts or as philandriphist activity, beacuse it's in his name, so he has to talk about it sometimes) and just play with dogs. And check how they are running the place.

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Yah, Red isn't as bad on friends. And Tony let's her have a lot of freeway with money anyways, being a timetravler is great for investing in stock. That she used some of the money on philanthropist projects like all the dog shelter/homes She starts, and hired practicly homeless people and whatnot to run it.

She loves dogs. She wants to adopt like every dog. Tonys like, so long as I can make robots, I don't really care.

Desmond facepalms whenever this tendancy pops up.

"All of your friends look after your various dogs. And then there's Tony. This is a tad ridiclous."

She was Robing FedEx for the same reason for why Hydra should not use FedEx. She found the correct package. She decided Tony needed a more permeant bodyguard.

I do sometimes dance. I think running might also help, if this urge didn't hit me at times like 10:30 pm.

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I kove that . I just really love Red right now. Haha, nice Red disguised as younger Tony, in a party full of investors and what not. Does Maria notice this? Like she makes a game out of it if she can get red to break character. A bored genius is a dangerous one

No, problems on this side either. Nist of them tend to rationalize it as I will need this, they don't anymore .

Guess i gotta keeo an eye out for my stuff around Red then lol .

I haven't. I have heard of it by whisperes post in tumbkr with Canada. That sounds good, i hope to try one if i ever see a Tim Hortons

Have you walked it out or i dunno uh i tend to dance a butchered version of ballet if i get restless. Music tends to help but it just makes it worse on my part

I eanna try that. Stop making me hungry for food xD

Oh, Maria does what bored guiness mothers do. Start telling embarasing Tony stories, to see how Red can get out of that while reasonably staying in character. Of course Maria noticed, Red has done that for her too. Not that Red knew that yet, but she does catch on to Maria noticing her.

I think she has dressed up and impersonated Tony to be a decoy for something when they were younger. It could have been for something dangrous just as easily as it could have been a borring event he didn't want to attend.

She does impressions and impersonated people all the time, but the voice can't sound exact. Just very good. She has attention to details, but rarely history.

"I don't know Desmond, what happened in 2012."

"That was the year I got kidnapped. You know, the year we were almost destroyed by the sun."

"I knew that. Someone was saying something about a present or something. Whatever."

If it's not relevant , she dosent really care.

Yah, I tend to find most of my characters at the very least seem to be corpse robbers.

Red is a shameless pickpocket.

"Hey Desmond. Today, some guy named David Johnson will be paying for lunch with his credit card. So for today, your David, K"

"Damnit Red, when did you nab that. "

"Common David! Lets go to Applebees."

Have you ever been to Tim Hortans. I'm aware that an American company owns it now (to which I am a little offended by) and there might be some around down there . If so, have you ever tried a creamy maple chill? Its super sweet, and rich, but I kind of like it.

Yah, but that's the thing. I'm haveing trouble sitting still. Its figitty. I sit and I need to get up again.

I found out today that pizza ghetti (spaghetti pizza) is a thing in Quebec (and some other proviances, but mostly Quebec).

Yah, she finds running past a fight and pickpockiting the opponents the most useful skill out there. It requires her looking and figuring out what's in their pockets first, but that's always helpful. Swipe and run.

She does do a lot of stealing. Still, various people in her life are giving her limits on what is appropriate to steal when.

Any guesses as to why she needed Tonys sweater?

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And then I imagined Red being like

"Hey Tony, I need to go Rob FedEx , and I'm borrowing your sweater. Be back in a few days."

Tony: "...? Ok?"

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Yes, Just him and Bucky, not breaking hearts, but messing with Germans by deploying the ghost army.

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I like to try to get Red to meet people she will friendship, though some people she just can't help but dislike. Then there are neutrals. And of course, there are some people she just hates. And the sun. The sun is on that list most days.

Ahh, yes I can see them clashing over that. But wouldn't that make it funnier if he gave one of the shovel talks?

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Maybe. I think I want to do that digitally though, so I might wait untill Monday where I have access to Adobe illustrator at school.

Red, would probably not be traditionally pretty, she has a lot of scars, which stand out more with the pale skin. But beyond that, Mars would probably fix her nose and whatnot if it broke. They want her in the best condition, and it includes inocculating her against any desiease they can think of, to prevent her from accidently starting a plague sometime.

Of course it's not out of alterism. They have use for her fighting skills.

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Red originally was a much darker blond. But then I realised, she wouldn't complain about sunburn so often. She takes after her dad in colouring and her mom or mixed in features.

Well, that and I wanted her to stand out. That way she does want to learn disguises more, and enjoys the sun barrier the skin colouring of the diguise out teaches.

I haven't come up with a name for it yet, but I have a concept of something that you would use for disguise that can change your skin colour. It will give you sun, and will show tan if you have been out awile, or even sun burn in appropriate skin types. It washed off with its counter and not even water will get rid of it. Red, pretends to have darker skin then she does, as it covers up as her tattoos and scars, unless she adds some, and it lessens her chances of getting burnt by the sun.

Red is pale. Pale skin (that everything shows up well on) pale blonde hair, light grey eyes.

Though sometimes I'm tempted to have them dark grey for contrast.

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She has killed a lot of people, and dosent usually feel to upset about that. She had trouble seeing what was wrong about teaching a seven year old to use a gun, and is more upset at Lenas distress then the fact that Lena killed someone.

She gets that first kill can be distressing, but puts Lenas life over Damions and would have done the same thing If she had been at the house. She was 'killed' by a convieance store robber, and is glad Lenas home invasion has a diffrent outcome.

So she empathisises with Lena, but dosent quite think she would change it, unless she could have had Lena out of the house and avoid the whole thing.

And some people tell her that she should learn dillomacy, that she should prevent loss of life, and others praise her for being an exclent accident specilist.

She's kind of confused about the whole thing, as a teen really.

"Did you forget? I'm a terrible person. This will be no problem for me. "

With age, she kind of finds a sort of ballance, but still finds the killing tabo thing a tad strange. So long as it's on appropraite targets , and clean kills, she dosent quite get the deal.

She's trying to get better at diplomacy and negotiation.

She's going for break their arm if they attack, when asked.

Its getting a little easier to do it without being asked, but she still needs reminders sometimes.

Her head is a strange place

And she's also selfish. I don't know you, I wouldn't do that for a stranger. But then she goes into a house on fire, beacuse the person is still alive, and probably won't die if I do this now.

But she will kill a lot of people to keep her friends safe, and society has strange morals about that.

She doesn't quite have a normal moral compas

Have i ever mentioned lately how much i really love Red?

It might take her quite a bit to feel that way about herself

She puts her friends as a value higher then her.

Beacuse if they die, she will lose them, where she has been comeing back from the worst hits since she was eight (I think)

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Red is also not that big on being touched. Neither is Tony. Red would prefer to initiate contact, then be surprised by it. At times she's not sure if a hug is needed and just hovers awkwardly around, and resist the urge to stiffen up if they do hug her. They should hug, but both of them are ridiclous people like that, and that's what Desmond is around for. "Serriously you guys, hug. "

She would pick kid Tony up for a piggyback if he asked. Or carry him if needed.

Does picking him up, and carrying kid Tony to a private place to cry help, and tell him about, something mundane, like how to tell good fruit from bad. She wouldn't shove him off if he curled in, but they would be talking, or end up working on something.

If I had to make a music video for tony, I would go with one of Bo Burnhams finales. Like "We think we know you."

As adults they would probably go and play video games. And talk. And sit on the couch, and stop being Tony and Red, and be pokemon fans. And have something in the tv. Other days they would play Bioshock or something but bad days are no weapons games, and this way they can be competitive and distracted from lifes problems.

Body swap from the same story I showed earlier has Darcy and Tony , senses, and self care. That's probably a bad way to explain it but, I think I need that now

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Even though there are a lot of things about Tonys personal quirks that probably means I wouldn't get along with Tony, I like his character. I get some of the things about his character in my own way. Tony is an artist who grew up in the spotlight. If left alone he would probably just sit in his lab and make things. And get hyperfoccused and not eat. I admire his ambition.

The thing I find about being any kind of celebrity is that the media builds them up to tear them down.

Tonys work will get imeadite attention, and he is praised to the skies for his sucess, and dragged down for his failures.

He decided, these weapons are my mistake, and I will fic this.

The world looks up to him, and he is under so much pressure to deliver, and now that he's a hero, he tries with everything hes got. He puts his mind, his body, his sainity, his hopes and dreams into his work.

And at times it comes crashing down around him. And that hurts, that failure hurts so much, and the world wacths Tony Fail and holds him so accountable.

Tony, I think, is not the type to like to have other people in charge of him. He has some people he trusts, to varying degrees, and he will take orders from, but that's personally chosen. To see him arguing for the Slovakia accords felt kind of strange, but after his last failure, I can see why he would be doing that.

He made a huge mistake, and he is takeing all the blame. No really, Bruce was kind of involved in the science bender, but is probably doing a runner, beacuse he is already afraid of how people react to the Hulk.

So Tony is there, and feeling like crap.

NothingIdoisgoodenough. Imnotgoodenough. Iamaterribleperson. WhydidIthinkIcouldmakethingsbetter, Iamsuchascrewup. Ialwayshavebeen,andalwayswillbe. Icantdothis.

Familiar thoughts to artists, cbeacuse we do at times feel that way about our work, and Tony must feel so much worse, beacuse his killed so many people, and he didn't want to make things to kill people anymore.

Beyond suits, beacuse those things saved his life.

Then Cap going against what he thinks, and bringing a wanted man (and his parents killer) into his place uninvited.

And it goes downhill even more.

Someone give that man a hug, but he dosent like hugs, so Red, you go to him as a kid, and teach him disguises, so he can get some time away from being Tony Stark all the time.

And make him food, and Later get Desmond to make you eat food regularly, beacuse God knows the two of you are terrible at eating regularly

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Ahh, your dorks are so happy! It's heartwarming! What is the book called?

Sometimes in the quieter moments, Red paints scenery. She can draw people pretty well, but there's something about water colour paintings she just likes. She will use other mediums if she has them, but water colour is easier to carry and use in a variety of places. Or watercolour pencils.

On the bad days it's deffinatly not scenery.

Does Red ever hang her paintings? That's so cool. I wanna know what she paints on bad days but i kinda don't wanna know but do

I wonder if Tony have her paintings. Does she have sone of Desmond and Maria? Who does she paint more of?

Some places she sells them. them. Sometimes Her friends hang them.

Sometimes she draws people they ask her to describe as witness statments or something. She was taught very accurate anatomy.

Other times she draws people she is peoplewacthing.

Occasionly she does portraits. Tony asked for one of his mother once, and she realised, Oh, thats why Maria gave me permission to paint that one day. I ask later , apparently.

She also paints scenery on Tonys walls, in his old home. Sometimes she paints on the walls on had days too, but that is usually after drawing for awhile and calming down. Sometimes an outlet can help you think about something more calmly, even if it is still not a story you want to share. Desmond is not allowed to look at that skethbook.

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Logan and Helga are Jason and Eleanors Parents

.They are the Ryans

Even if it dosent play out in the story, I need to know these little details so I can write them accuartly as I can.

Her mother is Angela Lareau- Jordan. Her father is Jason Ryan.

Her cousian has a dead twin so they gave her both sets of names.

Mary-Jacob, Elizabeth-Brandon, Monique- Theirry, Ryan- Laframbois.

We just call her M.T

MTs parents are Eleanor Ryan and David Laframbois

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I'm trying to develop people in Reds life, especially Pre Desmond, beacuse they didn't beacome a team untill after he died (and he was the ghost snoop) and became Jesus. Martians brought him back.

I decided that she has had three serious relationships.

One was a one faded, one was a mutual break, and the last was with a rival where they broke up (mutualy) after their competitiveness got them into serious trouble.

I'm comeing up with ways that might have reached that, but all that's really hitting me was they put themselves and someone else in mortal danger through it, or they almost (or really) caused an international incident

Most other dates Red goes on are really more for the food, and some intresting conversation.

I think the mutual break up, might have happened dateing someone durring the zombie appolyapce. Seeing your girlfriend die, (and it's bad enough that she's your friend and that hurts, but worse as a girlfriend somehow) and meeting her latter when she's older, or younger, ect, is not a relationship that is easy on the partner, especially in zombietimes. They can work together fine, are even still friends after some distance, but long term was not in the cards for them. That's kind hard, and she got that.

Now the rival, was a lot of fun to date, but also kind of covers why you shouldn't date a rival. You focus more on compeating then compromise and communication. Then you both end up escalating it too far, and cause an international incident.

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Her lack of filter drives Desmond nuts. She has one when in a mask, but relaxed and casually chatting some will unknowingly reveal disturbing information. And then people just look at her with alarmed faces, and she shuts up, blushes,and leaves.

Yah, Red sitting there thinking "...this was not what I thought you wanted to talk about in the slightest."

And then there are her friends who are talking about a subject she has no Idea about, because she is hopelessly out of touch with whats going on right now in the world.

She sits there wondering "Do we normally talk about this? Is this something that happened last time you saw me, and you are finishing a conversation I haven't had yet? Do I know your friend? Is it rude to ask for a name?

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I decided to flesh out the wacthdogs part of Reds story. In a diffrent direction from cannon, the car accident that was meant to assassinate Aiden, took his nephew Jackson instead of his niece Lena. He's still looking for revenge, but Lenas reaction went differently from Jacksons

I didn't quite expect it to lead where it did, but Red is a bad influence on children. Shes known this faimly, ever since she came into this time running, and was hit by their car. She's kind of that cousian that sometimes shows up to the kids. She does not think that what comes out of her mouth will be influence them that much, when she plays with normal children. She is proven wrong several times.

Anyways, when Red got out of the hospital around the beginning of watch dogs, Lena meets her at the hospital and asks her to teach her to use a gun. This is a seven year old.

Red gets the sense that Lena will get a gun and learn anyways, if she says no, beacuse and she might as well be there to teach her to shoot safe

Red, who also learned to use weapons at a young age, and learning made her feel safer, does not see much of a problem with teaching this, and goes about teaching her to responsibly use an H&R 243 rifle. (one that would be ok for a child recoil wise, and prevent bad habbits from forming latter)

She gives a safety lecture, and tells Lena that one day She Wil take her hunting. (Red intends Lenas first kill to be very diffrent from her own, done in a safe and controlled enviorment, to an food, from a distance)

Red is a good teacher , but actions have consequences

When Aiden met up with his sister at the beginig, she had been getting crank calls threatning robbery.

In the game, Damien Brenks breaks into his sister's house, kidnaps Nicole, and uses her to get Aiden to do work for him in excange for her saftey.

(I did not expect it the following )

Here, Damien breaks into the house intending to get Lena, or Nicole, and meets up with an armed Lena that ends up with her shooting him in the head, and completely derailling the later plot of watchdogs.

She is alive beacuse Jackson successfully called shotgun seat in this verse, and then this happens.

I'm sorry. Kind of. I don't know. I knew something bad was going to happen when Red taught her to fire a gun, but I did not expect it to take the turn it did where a seven year old kid shots someone fataly. Even Red was probably eight in the conviance store disaster.

I don't know how to feel about this one to be honest. I mean, red gets into all kind of messes, and probably brings people into them, but this was a seven year old. Aidens neice.

All I knew about her before this, was that when She was twenty she had a TMI talk with Red in the hospital about her sexuality and the people who we're involved in her journey to figure that out.

Lena is the sort of person who does talk to random people about her issues, and Red is the kind of person who sometimes gets TMI conversations as a confidant, and didn't expect to have that happen.

Well, Lena really derailled the game plot, in a way I was never expecting her to, and It could be intresting to see, what comes of it.

Desmond will use this as a primary example of why Red should not be a babaysitter.

"You taught Tony to drive."

"Tony could have probably hotwired the car, and learned by himself anyways. anyways. Teaching him was safer "

"You also taught a seven year old to use a gun."

"I think she would have found one and learned anyways. Gun safety is important."

"She shot a man in the head."

"He was breaking and entering. And Damien. "

"She shot a man in head, Red."

After this, along with paying for therapy for all involved. (she was able to get her hands on a fair bit of Damien's money) she signs Lena up for Karate. And leaves her money to continue with the lessons.

Nither of them are wrong, per say, but people are more inclined to agree with Desmond.

This is not the zombie apocalypse times

I may agrer with Desmond ,but i do believe with Red at some point they will need to learn. More so Tony i doubt he will just take no okay. He will probably one way or another its better to teach him now. However she should have probably took more precautions with a child and a gun.

Yah, she was younger then, and she taught gun safety and shooting fine. She just didn't... think this all the way through, to possible consequences.

She was trained to use weapons at a young age, after all, and probably didn't think too hard about teaching a kid, beyond makeing sure she can do it safely and supervised.

She went over instructions like "never point a gun at something you don't intend to shoot. Keep the muzzle pointed in a safe direction. "

It was, a home invasion. invasion, and not an accident.

Yah, Red kind of realised. "I should have started her off with martial arts, rather then let her insist. "

So she dosent repeat that incident again, but she dosent have much of a filter for "things not appropriate to teach to children. "

Yah, everyone involved need some grief therapy at least about Jackson, and probably a fair bit more, especially Lena.

In game Jackson was going to therapy after the death of his sister, and wouldnt talk to anyone except his mom.

How dare he get Ivette into star trek!

Jk that's adorable

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Tony stark has a thing for adopting superheros.

Tony does have a thing for adopting superheros.

Yes, I want a sciencing hulk at my tower.

Sure I'll take a sniper and assassian.

You might as well be here in my Avengers Tower. Take that fury!

I'm glad she is relatable. relatable. I tried to make her flawed and relatable. And she dosent quite get normal conventions, like why it was a bad Idea to teach ten year old Tony how to drive like a get away driver.

Tony. If Tony decided to rule the world, she would probably do her best to make it happen. There is another universe out there, where she and Tony fought their way to the top and started the Iron empire. Pepper potts rules the world. And Red protects them. They are all in armor.

But that is not this world.

I'm going to have to learn more about math, to write her as a sniper, mechanic, medic, And hacker. She's the kind of person who can rattle off cordnites like a boss. Its important for accurate telleporting. Sometimes,when she's really desprate, she can convince herself of a fourmula to slow down.

On the other hand, her foccus often has her putting personal things on the burner. Self care, relationship care, happiness.

She has work priorities.

She likes people, and she can fake it to strangers, but friends. She doesn't genraly like to lie to them.

Haha, Red and Tony talk tech so much. She likes math

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I got the idea, if there being other precursor talents from Desmond. The dude is almost sage in precursor percentage of blood, but dosent have the eagle vission, despite his ancestors having it. Including three generations of Kenways at least.

He only activated Eagle vision, from the bleeding effect of the animus.

So I think he had something else before,and eagle vission might have overwrote it.

I don't know if I mentioned this, but in the assassins creed verse, most assassins we play have eagle vision.

But eagle vision probably wasn't the only sense that could be enhanced, just the most famous one. And wanted

Red is trained, to use it. It can indicate to her if people are lying (though about what she has to use logic and reading people skills) and tracking , along with regular things scent trained people can do like sillage, and picking out fresh ingreadents. We can pick up emotions to some extent by scent, although our brain tells us by body language.

We are not alone in our head. We have the left brain and the right brain. The left brain gets surprised when the right does something unexpected,and logics it to us as something we were planning.

Especialy as her precursor talent is scent/taste

Oh! Red, that sucks. Imagine vinegar, i have better smell and jesus i hate the sharp nurning smel of it.

That is a nice tattoo

Desmond got Red a scarf in Assassian colours. It's white with red maple leaves at the tips. It doubles as a Canada scarf.

She wears scarves, and wraps them around her face, when going into overwhelming smell areas. Like the sewers...or the body shop for soap

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That's the thing. People see so much of Howard in Tony.

What kind of woman could keep Howard's attention that he would want to marry?

Probably not some trophy wife.

No, he would go for someone intelligent. Someone headstrong. Someone who he won't get bored with.

Perhaps they are not the most suited people to be parents, beacuse they both get so caught up in their projects, and each other, that they don't pay enough attention to Tony.

Of the two of them, she gets along more with Tony then Howard, but Tony really wants his father's attention, but their relationship is rocky.

Sometimes she plays the piano with him, and he loved that.

No, I like to think that Tony inherited traits from both of them, and his mother was kind of overlooked beacuse Howard stood out more, and the male dominated society overlooks her.

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Red being drived crazy by Maria sometimes makes me laugh. That's really amazing, i always saw Tony taking after Howard but his mom makes it 100 time better

She is fonder of Tony then Maria, though she will never tell them that. Tony met her as a kid. They were friends from a young age. Maria met her when they were both older, and she was kind of assigned to Maria to keep her safe. Beacuse I kind of Headcannon Both Maria and Howard driving their bodyguards nuts in diffrent ways by being geniuses with more brains then common sense or patience.

Tony inherited his brains for both of them.

"Trust me, you do not get that just from your father. "

Maria is kind of condescending at times, and stubborn, and gets tunnle vission to her goals. She sort of occasionally treats Red as faimly property, and Red kind of is, Beacuse Maria's parents already knew her, and saw fit to send her to gaurd their daughter with no interview, meaning she must have impressed the pants off of them sometime in the past.

Still it helps sometimes.

"That is my secratary, hands off. "

She refers to a lot of people possessively.

"What did you want with my son?"

Tony might just be the third generation she has been a tempoary bodyguard for.

Probably the one with the longest contract, in his faimly.

I decided a thing about Reds fassion. When she's out in public she will be wearing clothing which colour and style is remicent of who she is around. Like, I can't see her carrying clothing with her, so it would make sense of she's almost always wearing other people's. Beyond her tattered oversized reversible sweater she won't get rid of. And for important people like her principals,she will be wearing their colours. Like around Tony, she wears black pants, red sweater, and a gold broach, as casual, where around Maria (his mom) she wore a lavender sweater and pkatnium white pants.

It's kind of important for blending for her too. If she is wearing her Principals colours, she won't be questioned as much on why she is here. But, she also cares, despite herself.

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And I headcannon that the longer she has the shard, the further she will go when she accidently telleports out of danger and knocks herself out. This can lead to near -(should have died)-death and wakeing up in a new place, beacuse being uncouncious does not mean safe or patched up from wounds. When She learns to use it intentionly (involving math) and when not in danger( physical, although everyone says that the shard will one day probably drive her crazy, especialy if she keeps useing it to grab groceries and other mundane things), she becomes like a casual apperator in Harry potter. It won't protect her from everything, but it can be good for a saving throw.

She despratly does not want the wrong people to learn about it.

Headcannon two is that Tony who grew up with her in his life, is both kind of corrupted by her in some ways, and better at blending in when he wants to.

She taught him something about minute masks, and how other people behave, so sometimes he doesn't have to be Tony Stark, when he needs to be someone else.

She teaches him exactly what he asks. Which is why at age ten, Tony learned to drive. He's learned her signs, he's learned Martian, he's learned how to paint with a tablet, all beacuse he asked "teach me that".

Principals are some of the few people she meet who are meeting her for the first time too. Bodyguard conditioning may keep her loyal, but frindship keeps her honest. She is a closser friend then should probably be professional, but being a friend means you get in disguise and go crash a party your not invited to, or a movie, or bowling. Sure most people probably don't have observation tests after that, but it's a lot more normal then they usually get. That's how you learn that normal people don't all have hot tubs, and other important disguise tips.

---

In another world, Tony Stark is raised by a Bucky Barns breaking his conditioning, constantly on the run from hydra. Red is a kid they occasionly take to the hospitial, and repays in false ID, cover in firefights, sabatoge, and teaching Tony Languages, math, science, and genraly chatting.

In a diffrent one, she is there, but Tonys goal is to rule the world to best protect it, and she will do anything to help him get there. He will be carried to the throne by her, as she cuts down those who try to stop him.

In another world, she is Jasper, and Tony is Hydra 's leader. Yet another has her an Hydra asset, and Bucky his bodyguard.

But Tony thinks the worst worlds, are the ones where he is alone. No Red to teach him, or tell him about Hydra. No Bucky to take him around the world, on the run, but happy. Just Him and Obie. Or possibly the female Tony and Obie, who designs better programs then he could dream about. Those Tonys always come off as bitter and lonley.

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Headcannon , Desmond got snaged by Templars when he went to go pick up borderlands 2 he ordered.

---

Headcannon, Red deffinatly played videogames and other media from her world with Tony, so they are always referencing things no one else gets, as an in joke.

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Ok let's break this up so tumbler doesn't send it to space or something.

Sorry if you've already seen parts. The AU Red of another world. Perhaps the soulmarks of life-changing people.

I don't know how many marks she has, but her first one, that She meets (and in some Alternate Soul marks the only one) says "don't move" on her neck. That is of course, the robber who robbed the convieance store her cousin works at, beacuse whatever comes of that situation, it will be life-changing.

This wouldn't quite be cannon, beacuse she wouldn't quite say it this way I think.

Strays

Somehow she's picked up a tendency to adopt things. Did it come from her apparent adoption of Aeiden? Did his niece niece addopt her? Or Aeidens sister? Or did she adopt them into her life with him?

Perhaps its a learned habit from the strange rich people she hangs around with. She certainly is often an older sister figure to their children. And some orphans. Then possibly a generation or two of zombie appolcyapse survivors. Jacob and Evie. Countless dogs. A few cats. Her students. And Desmond.

It weirds her out more when the people around her seem to share this habit. Like Conner and their ridiculous amount of dogs. And the hospital she accidentally started. And his second child he adopted.

Her students and their pets, for clearly she has been a bad influence on them.

Not to mention Amanda (who seemed to want to marry Desmond). Or Tony, who had taken to adopting superheroes, and also Desmond for good measure. Or Thor who is just as bad as Clint Or her at bringing back stray animals.

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#desmond miles #red jordan ryan #writing #original character #assassins creed #marvel #tony stark #howard stark #maria stark

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cacoetheswriting · 4 years

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little mystery

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: tattoos, alcohol consumption, gambling/betting money, mild swearing (i actually don't think there is any but just in case), baby spence!!, no smut/or implied smut but it reads a little dirty (so i’m gonna rate this 18+ anyway) Word Count: 1.8k Summary: Bets are placed to see who can be the first to figure out the secret location of your tattoo, and what the tattoo is.

A/N: i was browsing pinterest for my next ink inspiration (the whole country is currently in lockdown, but a girl can dream), when i stumbled across a particular tattoo, featured in this fic, and this idea just came to me ah i hope you ENJOY!

“A recent study concluded that people with tattoos are more likely to be so called experience seekers, and they tend to lean more towards rebellious, non-conforming lifestyles.” Spencer stated glancing between the group. His eyes lingering a little longer on you. “Research also shows, people who choose to get tattooed feel a stronger need to claim their identity and stand out from the crowd.”

Derek chuckled while taking a sip of his drink. “Kid, not everyone that has a tattoo is an attention seeker or a criminal. Many who get inked lead perfectly normal and stable lives.”

“It’s a form of self expression.” Morgan continued. “It doesn't necessarily mean people with multiple tattoos are wildings. I mean look at Y/N, she’s got like ten and she's far from a non-conformist.”

All heads turned in your direction.

“Ten is an over exaggeration Morgan.” You replied with a light giggle before looking directly at Spencer. “It’s eight. I have eight tattoos.” You said shooting him a smile. A mix of intrigue quickly spread across his features.

Of course, he was aware you had a couple of tattoos. Like the tiny heart on your left index finger. The crescent moon just above your right elbow. Or the rose on the inside of your left bicep. Given that the two of you were similar in age, the young doctor didn't think you would have that many.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s a huge difference.” He teased, granting Penelope to nudge him in the arm. The bubble blonde then turned to you. “You have eight tattoos?” She asked with a raised brow. “How come I didn't know this about you? I know everything.”

“Because you never asked me and eight really isn't that much. Plus they’re all pretty simple and dainty. Well... actually... all apart from the snake slithering between my boobs.” You responded nonchalantly causing the males at the table to simultaneously choke on their drinks.

The girls all whistled before erupting into laughter at the suddenly red faces of the three boys. Hotch stared silently at the half-empty class in his hands, Derek nervously cleared his throat, while Spencer gaped at you completely wide-eyed.

The image you just painted circulating in his mind.

“Don’t be shy, tell us, any other risqué body art?” Emily chimed once the laughter died down.

“Uhm, there is one but I really don't think it’s appropriate to share.” You answered, a sly smile circling your lips. JJ and Emily both groaned at your response. “Now you have too!” The blonde exclaimed, but you just shook your head.

“Only a handful of people know what it is, and where it is.” Your eyes locked briefly with the brunette doctor sat across from you. Not enough time for anyone at the table to notice, but enough to get him a tiny bit flustered.

“What if we guessed?” Emily enquired, her eyes sparkling mischievously. You giggled. “If one of you manages to guess both what and where it is, I will tell you whether you’re correct.”

“I want in on this little bet.” Derek chimed confidently. “I can get you talkin’ hot stuff.” He shot you a playful wink and took another sip of his drink. Hotch snickered next to him. “I wouldn't be so certain Morgan.” “Oh, and you think you can?” Derek asked sarcastically. “Maybe.” Hotch poised, shrugging his shoulders.

“Right.” JJ clapped her hands. “Let’s make this interesting. Everyone that wants to take part place a ten dollar bet on themselves, and the winner will take the pot.” She turned to you. “We’ll give you the money for safekeeping and once one of us guesses correctly, you can rightfully pass the cash onto that person.”

“Sounds good to me.” You replied with a grin. “But what if none of you guess? Who keeps the money then?” “Do you forget who you work with? We’re FBI agents, profilers, one of us is bound to figure it out.” Morgan stated making you giggle.

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Oh! And whoever wins gets to see this mysterious ink of yours.” Emily added teasingly.

Just like that a pile of cash formed in the middle of the table. You reached out to grab it when a hand slowly slid across with a neatly folded ten dollar bill between two fingers. Your eyes snapped up to meet the determined gaze of none other than the resident genius.

“I want to take part too.” He said, trying his best not to appear jittery. The grin currently embellishing your features swelled, and Spencer took note of the devilish sparkle in your eyes. “Well all right.” You responded, fingers brushing lightly against his as you retrieved the money. An instant spark tingled through both you and Spencer.

The night carried on. You were bombarded with questions that would give the team any sort of clue as to what the tattoo could be, but you didn't budge. It was a lot more fun seeing your friends struggle. The only person that didn't say anything further on the matter was the young doctor sat across from you. In true Spencer Reid fashion, he simply listened and observed.

About an hour later, he accompanied you to the bar for another round of drinks. After ordering for everyone, you quickly glanced at him. “What’s going on in that big brain of yours?” You asked causing him to break away from his thoughts and turn his attention to you. He lightly scrunched his nose.

“I’m just wondering when is the most appropriate time to tell everyone what your secret tattoo is.”

Your mouth parted ever in shock, eyes widened. “There is no way you know.”

“Actually, I not only know what and where it is. I also know when you got it and why.” He stated confidently.

“Alright then, tell me.” You challenged taking a step towards him. Spencer stiffened for a brief moment. Your sudden closeness caused the heat to rush to his face and his heart to skip a beat. All he could do was hope you didn't notice; which of course you did.

With a raised brow and your fingers tapping lightly on the wooden bar, you waited for Spencer to respond. You were about to say something like, ‘See, I knew you were bluffing.’, but he cleared his throat. Regaining his confidence.

“It’s the word ‘bite’ written in cursive on your ehm, on your left b-buttcheek. And you got it your freshmen year of university as a result of a drunken game of truth or dare with your friends. I believe it was either getting the tattoo or shaving your head.” He was, of course, correct. Every word.

You stared at him in disbelief. This you definitely did not expect. Spencer on the other hand seemed quite pleased with himself. It’s not often he’s the one to rattle you.

“H-how, how did you-” You shook your head. “You know what, never mind. I don’t want to know.” Your lips twirled into a smile. “Congratulations doctor.” Without really thinking, you leaned in closer and placed a soft kiss on his cheek causing once again for the blood to rush to his face. Once you pulled away, his hand immediately travelled to the spot.

“What, uhm, what was that for?” He asked and you shrugged. “An extra prize considering it didn't even take you ninety minutes to win. I hope that was okay?” He quickly nodded his head. “Ye-a, yes.” “Good.” And with that you kissed his cheek again.

He couldn't help but grin proudly as the two of you ambled back to the table, each holding a tray of drinks.

“What’s got you so happy, kid?” Morgan asked, drawing attention to Spencer’s expression.

“Spencer just won your little bet.” You replied, placing the tray down and reaching into your purse for the money. Although his win was definitely part of the reason for his increased good mood, it had more to do with the spot on his cheek that was still tingling from your kiss. But he’d never say that out loud.

Gasps of shock echoed through the team. “What?! There is no way he’s won already!” JJ exclaimed. “He cheated. Did you give him extra hints because you have a soft spot for him?” Emily accused, narrowing her eyes.

“Nope.” Your mouth popped. “He definitely won fair and square.” You stated before shifting your body weight to look the young doctor. Smiling, you handed him his winnings. He didn't hesitate to take them, eyes never leaving yours.

“Well pretty boy, what is it?!” Derek enquired eagerly. Spencer waited for you to nod your head before turning to address the team. He revealed the design and location of your secret tattoo in one breath as you watched, finding their reactions amusing.

“How did you figure that out?” Penelope asked.

“A little mystery never hurt.” You chimed before Spencer got a chance to respond, and proceeded to intertwine your fingers with his. His head snapped first down at your glued hands, and then up at your face. He wanted to ask what was happening, completely forgetting what else the winning prize entailed, as you were leading him away from the table.

Morgan and Emily whistled after the two of you, the rest of the group laughing.

It wasn't until you were walking into the bathroom, locking the door behind, that the realisation hit Spencer. He swallowed his breath and opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

You quickly noticed the nervous look on his face. “We don't have to do this if you don't want to. If you’re uncomfortable.” You said in your usual kind and caring tone.

“No, uhm, it’s okay. B-but if you don't want to?” He mumbled. “I don’t have to see it if you don’t want to show me, or anyone for that matter. We can just pretend.”

You smiled at him, your hands travelling to the zipper of your jeans. “A bet’s a bet, and like I said, you won fair and square.”

“Y-you, are you sure you don't want to know how I figured it out?” Spencer asked, voice breaking. The palms of his hands began to sweat. He wasn't sure where to look. Did you want him looking directly at you? Or was he supposed to keep his attention on something else until you were ready to show the tattoo?

“A little mystery never hurt.” You repeated what you said earlier to the group and pulled your pants down, just low enough to display the tattoo in question.

Spencer’s gaze landed on the writing. At this point his heart was hammering inside of his chest, and he was sure it would explode any second. His eyes widened as he slowly licked his lips. He was sure this was the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“Do you like it?” A seemingly innocent question, although the intention behind it was anything but.

Spencer nodded his head. “I-I...y-es, I do.” His eyes gradually moved up your body until they once again locked with your gaze. His pupils now flared.

A mischievous smirk escaped your mouth. “I always knew you had a naughty side, doctor.”

spencer reid taglist: spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no, @calm-and-doctor, @idroppedmygourd, @averyhotchner

masterlist

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #little mystery fic

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Be Forever Young (Reid Fluff Fic)

Summary: After Penelope’s resignation from the BAU, she attempts to set up her tech protégé, Reader, with Reader’s intellectual match yet much older counterpart - Dr. Spencer Reid.

A/N: The POV switches between Reader and Spencer, just use context clues to detect who the narrator is. Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: 21 year age gap, headcannon proposal Playlist: Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny Word Count: 6.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Prologue

Events like these weren’t exceedingly rare. They weren’t anything like Halley’s Comet, by any means, where it only happens once in your lifetime - if you’re lucky. But they weren’t exactly sunrises - something that you can count on occurring every day without fail.

The best celestial phenomenon I could compare it to are blue moons. Rare enough to still have an element of surprise when they came, but not so rare that I should never expect them.

These ‘blue moons’ are actually the events in which I meet an intellectual match.

It’s not too often that I find a mind quite like mine, so you’ll forgive me for the reaction it elicits to watch them transcend the physical level and connect with me on the psychological one. There’s only been a handful of people who’ve ever had the exact standard of aptitude to be permissible into this metaphysical world with me, but now - there’s a handful and one.

The newest addition to the list is her.

_ _ _

Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia is nearly impossible. Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia about Dr. Spencer Reid is impossible.

I couldn’t tell you when the first time she brought him up was, but I could probably tell you just how many times since then she’s mentioned him.

A trillion. At least.

For months on end, he was the only thing she would talk to me about. Morning, noon, and night. Every single day she’d gush about him with the same unrelenting zeal as she had the day before and the day before that. It was both scary and impressive how she never seemed to run out of good things to say about him.

“You would just die for his apartment. It’s got this super chic dark academia thingy going on. You’d be really into that,” she would say. Or something to that effect. I was never really listening.

Not that I wasn’t interested in learning about Dr. Reid - I was very interested in him.

As a superior.

I first learned of him when he taught my Psych 101 class. Freshman year me was simply enthralled with him as a speaker, probably due to the charm of his awkward humor. I found it eerily relatable and touching, in a way. That was probably my favorite class, minus the assholes who made it less than enjoyable at times. (That’s a story for later).

The next interaction I had with him happened not even a year later when he came back after temporarily teaching to sit in on a philosophy class. Even though he was only auditing the lecture, whereas I was enrolled in the course, he ended up sitting in the seat right beside me. Had he not been gifted with an eidetic memory - a fact I found out during one of my obsessive research sessions - I doubt he would’ve even remembered sitting next to me.

Our shared field of work helped to bring us back together repeatedly throughout college. I would run into him at seminars, workshops, once even at a library where we were both looking for the same book.

But for the most part, our relationship was parasocial. It largely consisted of me learning from him at a distance. I would use his brilliant research to support my own assignments, read the books he recommended, audit the classes he would teach.

Rather than accurately interpreting my very limited, very professional connection to Dr. Reid, Penelope was deliberately using it as ammunition for her arsenal of reasons why I should consider dating him.

“You guys are basically already friends, and nothing is cuter than the friends-to-lovers trope!” Now that she actually did say, and the only reason I remember it verbatim was it was so outrageous I couldn’t not remember it.

And probably because she just said it to me right now.

“We’re not friends! We’re ... acquaintances. Colleagues, if you will.” My attempts to gain distance from Penelope and this topic of conversation were crashing and burning. The more I tried to walk away from her, the faster she would chase me. It was inconceivable how she managed to do that and continue to pelt me with her perky persistence.

“Even better! You know I’m no stranger to workplace romances.”

That I did. One Derek Morgan or one Luke Alvez ring a bell?

“Dr. Reid and I don’t work together,” I reminded her, if only to burst her bubble of insanity.

“Exactly my point! If you two don’t work together, then there’s nothing keeping you apart.”

I was stopped dead in my tracks, almost causing Penelope to trip since she was right on my heels.

“Nothing? Really? Try 21 years.”

That surely kept us apart.

Our age gap was one of those glaring disparities Penelope couldn’t wave away with her magic wand. Frankly, it wasn’t an age gap so much as it was an age Grand Canyon. He was a whole person of legal drinking age older than me!

Hell - our age gap itself was older than me!

Maybe there weren’t any contracts or agreements or supervisors to keep us apart, but there was still one significant thing doing that.

Time. Arguably the most important thing you needed to get right for a relationship to work.

If there were any chance that he and I were good together, that was squandered by our divergence in age.

Right person, wrong time ... but wrong time by more than two decades.

I could see the smallest fragment of hope wither away in Garcia’s eyes, and it actually hurt to have known that I caused that. Her voice was more solemn when she said, “You don’t have to date him, I just want you to go on a date. Get to know each other better. Who knows? You might finally graduate from colleagues to BFF’s.”

Not that I was seriously considering the possibility of growing closer to Dr. Reid, but there was one question lingering in my mind.

“Does he even want to go on this date? Have you asked him how he feels about it?”

Part of why I was wondering was on the off chance that she’d tell me he had the same objections towards this that I did, which would be good news for me since it would mark my reluctance as a sound judgment. If there was anyone whose opinion was worth something, it was his, right? After all, he was the provable genius in the same compromising position as me.

“Trust me, he’s been dying to do this.” In spite of her preface to trust her, I didn’t. I couldn’t be sure if she was suggesting that he’d been dying to go on a date with me or if he’d been dying to go on a date in general.

No offense to him, but I guessed it was the latter, and if that was the case, he was only being a team player because she hadn’t told him it was me she was setting him up with. Already suspecting that I’d probe further to navigate through her vagueness, she cut in with one last Hail Mary. “One date! That’s all!”

Whether you believe me or not, 100% the only reason why I said what I said next was to put an end to this madness. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Maybe 99.99%.

_ _ _

I never knew how I could lose so much time. Sure, if anyone asked, I could probably account for everything I’d done in my day, second by second. But still, there was this cloudiness, a fog, inhabiting my brain, casting this haze on whatever else dwelled in my mind, too.

I couldn’t focus on anything for more than 4 seconds at a time, and while that wasn’t incredibly concerning for the average human, it was disconcerting for me.

What was going on?

What is going on?

“What’s going on?”

Suddenly, a hand began to wave in front of my face. “Yoo-hoo? Anybody in there?” JJ wondered aloud, causing me to realize it was her voice that asked the question from before.

“Yeah, sorry,” I shook my head to regain some clarity, but that did me no good. My foggy brain still remained. It goes without saying my words were worth nothing as well. JJ saw right through me in a way that never failed to scare me shitless. I could never conjure up a lie good enough to follow that look she’d give me. So I settled for the truth. The question that cast the haziness in my brain to begin with.

“What do you think about me dating again?”

If I thought that first look was bad, then the one she was giving me now was something of a nightmare. At least with the first, I knew what she was thinking. With this one, I hadn’t a clue.

To relieve us from some of the insufferable silence, I found myself speaking again in my defense. “Garcia mentioned something earlier about setting me up with someone and it got me thinking.”

Thinking about Max that is.

Being my most recent girlfriend, it made sense why she was freshest in my mind. That being said, we’ve been broken up for 14 months, which in any other context would seem like more than enough time to start dating again, but therein lies the catch.

We didn’t just break up. She said “no” when I asked her to marry me, which, if you ask me, is one hell of a way to break up.

So from that perspective, it obviously begs the question: is 14 months too fast to move on from something like that?

JJ sharply inhaled. “Well, are you ready to start dating again?”

I still didn’t have an answer for that myself. “I don’t know. There isn’t exactly a rulebook on how long you have to wait until it’s socially acceptable-”

“Lemme stop you right there, Spence,” She placed her hand on top of mine. “You can’t just do whatever statistics or studies or science say is right all the time. You not only need to be more in tune with your own needs but accepting of them, too. Screw what anyone else has to say about you dating again - including Socrates, including Einstein, including Aristotle ... including me. Do whatever you think is acceptable by your standards - not society’s. Do what you wanna do and I’ll support that.”

There was something special about having JJ’s approval. It was like getting permission to be excited, something I didn’t know I needed or wanted.

“I’m ready.”

Born ready, as Penelope herself would say.

_ _ _

I was starting to get suspicious that maybe I had an invisible string attached to me and on the other end of that string was Penelope. It was the only explanation as to how she managed to trail behind me at an isochronal pace. Perfectly equidistant, perfectly equal intervals of time. Must’ve been some form of magic that she was able to synchronize that connection for as long as she did as we pranced around the office, basically chasing me.

“Okay, I know the date isn’t until Saturday, but I really think we need to amp up your wardrobe choices ... like stat.”

Hearing that I was seeing my superior still didn’t settle well with me. I don’t think I could ever get used to the thought.

I should’ve been offended at her suggestion to change my clothing taste as it implied my stylistic choices weren’t up to par, but a part of me, a very small part of me, knew she was right. And just because I wasn’t keen on the idea of going on a date with Spencer didn’t mean I didn’t want to look nice for him for it.

“I’m assuming you’ve got some ideas in mind,” I said in a teasing voice, knowing that’s precisely why she brought it up.

“See! You are a genius! Exactly why you and Spencer are meant to be together!” Her exclamation was just as loud as it was outlandish.

“Alright, calm down sparky,” I shot a warning look. “It’s just one date - we’re not soulmates.”

Then, talking in the quietest voice I didn’t think Penelope was capable of speaking with, she said, “Not yet.”

I knew the minute I showed even the littlest bit of interest in Penelope’s fashion guidance, I’d end up draped in ruffles, sequins, glitter, tulle, rhinestones, or all of the above. Nothing again Penelope’s personal style - it’s just not mine.

I was scared to ask, but I had to know. “So what were you thinking?”

Before my very eyes, Penelope’s constantly-there smile transformed, something akin to the mischievous grin of the Cheshire Cat. “I was thinking …”

In a Mary Poppins-esque fashion, Penelope produced a dress that in no feasible reality should have been able to fit within that little Hello Kitty side bag.

I suppose it must’ve been absolutely backbreaking for Penelope to refrain from choosing a multicolor or at least pattern-riddled dress, so as compensation for the fact that it was only one singular color throughout, it had to be a bold one.

Red.

“Not too shabby, right?” Her eyebrows jumped on her forehead, knowing she’d made a good choice.

And a part of me actually died saying this, but it was pretty perfect.

_ _ _

My life didn’t flash before my eyes, per se, the moment I finally arrived at the delicatessen. It was more like a very specific, singular memory had flashed before my eyes.

That story for later? This is the one.

Psych 101 was my best class in Freshman year ... by a long shot. Come rain, wind, or snow, I was always excited to go. It was a standout course on its own, but not because it was terribly spectacular or the most fascinating subject in the world, but more so because of how it changed my own person. It challenged me, like all worthwhile things do.

There were more judgmental meatheads - boys, if you will - than not, who would jump down my throat for being a smart ass or a teacher’s pet if I so much as answered one of Dr. Reid’s questions. Par for the course, really.

As a result, I had a proclivity to avoid raising my hand. It wasn’t that I was hyper-fixated on managing my reputation, just that participating wasn’t worth the eventual harassment from my dimwitted classmates.

Nonetheless, one day, I felt compelled to answer Dr. Reid when he asked what our thoughts were about the sampled, pretense manifesto.

No one else was jumping at the chance to speak, perhaps they were just as cowardly as I was, and it was clear that he was going to stand there waiting until someone finally would. The silence was painfully awkward for everyone and so I felt obligated, as a student who was actually enrolled in the class for credit and not just to audit like 90% of the other girls here, to break it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, my hand hesitantly inched up into the air until it floated just high enough above the student in front of me’s head. As soon as I knew he saw it, I let it plunge straight back down.

“Yes, Ms. (y/l/n)?”

I could already feel the dirty looks and snide comments coming before I even said a word.

“I know we’re all collectively referring to this unsub as a man, and while that might just be a general assumption or Freudian slip perhaps ... I think the language is steeped in betrayal and contempt. And it would be ignorant not to notice how it reads more like the wrath of a woman scorned than your typical jilted male lover.”

“Lover?” Someone two rows back snickered quietly, clearly to mock my choice of words. I didn’t even have to look to know it was Brad who had said that. Nevertheless, Dr. Reid was impressed with my answer. His lips curved into the faintest smile as he nodded his head. If he had heard the commentary of one Brad Sterling, he made no visceral reaction to it.

With an extended hand, palm facing up, he gestured for me to, “Please. Stand up.”

I fumbled my way up and out of my seat to possibly delay the shit I’d get for this mere action.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is what it looks like to have courage,” He underlined his words with a grand flourish of his hand in my direction. “Putting yourself on the line even in the event you’ll be mocked and ridiculed or deemed wrong. That’s something you’ll need if you are seriously considering being part of the BAU, or the FBI at any capacity.”

My face was flushed from the acclaim he was showering me with. Suddenly, I was glad I volunteered.

Taking me completely by surprise, Dr. Reid wasn’t done yet.

“So, Mr. Sterling,” He began, directly calling out the boy in the back who without a doubt made the remark. I wouldn’t have had any reason to believe he heard it since his attention never diverted away from me long enough to catch the comment, much less the culprit. I wonder if he’d heard all the times Brad made jokes at my expense. Was he finally at his wits end with the sarcasm? “Make fun all you want, but might I suggest that if you like a girl, you do the opposite of that.”

His sickly sweet drawl was followed by a short wink at me as if to say ‘I have your back’, and I was lucky to have already been in the process of sitting back down because my knees would’ve given out underneath me from the sheer exhilaration of his praise.

The thought never once crossed my mind that Brad was so fixated on me because he had a crush, but it all made sense once it did. And if I didn’t know any better, Dr. Reid only humiliated him and brought it up because the realization dawned on him, too.

Was it possible that Dr. Reid was ... jealous?

In the spirit of complete transparency, that suspicion may have lit the tiniest wildfire imaginable in my chest. A wildfire that, even now, has yet to extinguish. Perhaps that little flame is the 0.01% of the reason I said yes. I could only imagine what kind of omnipotence it would soon gain if this date went well.

If he could light such an enduring kindle with simple praise, think about what would happen if he smiled at me. If he laughed at my jokes. If he held my hand.

If he kissed me.

Dr. Reid’s validation would be something I actively sought from all walks of life, I knew that much. What I didn’t know was how far that desire would take me.

I would have never guessed it would lead me here.

Standing in front of a fancy restaurant in a pretty red dress with the tenuous hope that the professor inside might just like it so much that he’ll end up liking the girl wearing it, too.

_ _ _

No matter how many times I adjusted the bouquet of poppies, they sat perpetually crooked on the table. Much like the dark gray tie around my neck that tightened around my throat with every passing second. I had to keep messing with it to loosen the noose-like grip it had on me. Who knew if it actually was becoming more restricting or it was the flourishing bundle of nerves in my stomach that made it harder to breathe.

I was never very good at lying in wait patiently. Especially if I was expecting something. Now that I was expecting someone? I could say with perfect clarity - I was not good at waiting.

I don’t wanna seem the way I do

Every time the door opened, my eyes flashed to it instantaneously. And every time it wasn’t her, a little part of me was disappointed. It was still too early to say for certain that she was standing me up, but my mind was doing what it did best. It wandered. There was nothing else to do after all.

Except maybe adjust those blood orange poppies one more time.

I’d picked them out specifically because Penelope slipped in a not-so-subtle comment about her dress being “a perfect match to the color of papaverales” - her words exactly. I thought if she went through that much trouble to find a color coordinated plant and say the scientific name for me to decode, it was worth picking up a bouquet of them on the way.

It was only the most ironic occurrence in the world that when I went to rearrange them one last time, I devoted my full attention to the action, missing the very moment I was on the lookout for the past hour and a half.

I didn’t even see her until the red poppies camouflaged into the identically colored setting of her dress.

Then there she was.

All the disappointment in the world was worth that first time I saw her with fresh eyes.

I was dumbstruck for a moment, long enough that it warranted an apology for not standing up sooner.

“(Y/n)! Hi!” I accidentally squealed. I couldn’t control myself, let alone control the pitch of my voice apparently.

I could see, in her, youthful naivete where, in others, I saw their age. She paradoxically had not aged a minute, and yet a new womanhood was piercing through her ultimately adolescent appearance.

“Hi, Dr. Reid,” She said through a laugh and a smile, shaking my hand politely and professionally. She was greeting me like I was still her professor and she’d just happen to run into me on an errand. Next, she’d be attempting small-talk for as long as it took for me to let her go.

Unfortunately for her, I had no plans for that.

But I’m confident when I’m with you

“Please, it’s just Spencer,” I reminded her, hoping to break down that governing image of me she surely maintained.

“Spencer,” She tried again; doing it more to be obedient to my instruction than to satisfy her own desire. It sounded so unnatural to her, just as it did to me. I found it adorable, actually. It seemed like she was breaking this unspoken, and very much illusionary rule to say my first name. “It’s nice to see you again,” She added after I pulled out her chair for her.

“Is it?” I asked when I rounded the table to get to my seat. “I get the feeling you’re a little disappointed.” The only reason I pointed it out was that it was true, not just that I’d observed the notion grow more poignant in her face for the past minute.

“Not at all,” She shook her head, which luckily for me, drew a line of congruence between her body language and verbal language. At least, she was being truthful. “It’s just that I’m sort of embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” I repeated in astonishment, unable to cultivate a list of reasons that would justify her feeling that way. I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done to provoke that emotion, and it nearly broke me to consider her internal being substantiating it.

“Embarrassed isn’t the right word, but I can’t find a more accurate one for what I’m feeling,” She shied away from my eyes when she lowered her head as she spoke.

“You could try to explain it to me?” I offered gently. It took an overwhelming amount of self-restraint to not offer my hand with it. It would’ve been so easy to slide my hand across the threshold to enter her territory of the table, but who knows if doing so would just make her that much more uncomfortable.

“Well for one thing, I don't really go on dates,” From this alone, I could already relate to her enough to laugh at the fact. “Don’t laugh at me! You know how dangerous first dates can be,” She swatted her hand in my direction to chastise me.

“I do! I do! I think it’s really good that you’re protecting yourself to the point of avoiding dates,” I was teasing the implication that she wasn’t asked to go on very many, which was thankfully delivered well enough to make her laugh again.

“Hey! Many people have wanted to go on dates with me, thank you very much. You included.”

“Me included.” I nodded in approval. We sat in a short period of silence while we exchanged one soulful glance, borne from the insinuation of what I just said.

“And for another ... I respect you too much as a figure of authority to see you in that way.”

_ _ _

“In what way?”

Rather than tossing me a lifeline, he was feeding me to the sharks. Forcing me to dive into the deep end. He wanted to see me struggle to stay afloat in the sea of his sticky toffee eyes. He knew I'd get suspended in them when he gave me that look. How much I’d be willing to get lost in them just so I could wander in the depths of his honeyed orbs for a little bit longer.

That look ...

“You don’t find it weird?” This was the most honesty I could’ve demonstrated.

“Find what weird?” For someone with such a high IQ, you’d think he’d be quicker on his feet.

“This! You - me. On a date!” I gestured to the space between us. “You’re ... well frankly, Spencer, you’re old enough to be my father.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” He genuinely cared about the answer.

“Only in theory. Not in actual life,” was the most precise response I could give.

“So what is making you uncomfortable?” Again, I could tell my answer mattered to him.

“You were my professor once, and now I’m just supposed to go on a date with you and see you as my equal when I’ve spent the entire time I’ve known you, putting you on a pedestal? Do you know how much pressure that puts on me? To be perfect?”

“Who says you have to be perfect? Who says you’re aren’t already?”

That one caught me off guard. I had to gulp down the lump of shock.

“You think I’m perfect?”

“That, or you’re pretty close to it.”

Lately all I feel is bad and bruised

I could’ve smiled, I could’ve thanked him, I could’ve fallen at his feet and thrown my dignity down there along with it, but I just laughed. I laughed.

“That’s ridiculous! You barely know me.”

“You’re wrong,” He simply replied with a firm shake of his head and a cavalier sip at his drink. It showed just how confident he was in his answer. How cocky he was.

“How am I wrong?”

He cleared his throat as though he were preparing to deliver the world’s greatest speech. Then, he leaned forward, motioning with his fingers for me to do the same.

“If I’m remembering correctly, which you know I am, you were the student who had the gall to raise your hand and correct me on my gender identification of the unsub, right?”

The second the sentimental thought, ‘aww he remembered’, came into my head, it was soon followed by, of course, he did, idiot. Eidetic memory, remember?

Tired of tripping on my shoes

“What does that have to do with me being perfect? Or so you claim?”

He was piercing deep into my eyes now, his gaze overwhelming my senses and sending shockwaves akin to the feeling of butterflies everywhere … and I mean everywhere.

“Bravery is the audacity to be unhindered by failures, and to walk with freedom, strength, and hope, in the face of things unknown.”

I recognized the quote as one of Morgan Harper Nichols, but the words went right to my chest like they were his own.

That damn wildfire just got a whole lot bigger.

“I’ve always thought about how if I could be unfazed by failure or even just the prospect of it, if I could just be strong enough or have enough hope to face what I couldn’t predict, I’d be set. I’d be golden,” He paused. “I’d be perfect ... but you? You, little one, have already got that figured out. So whether that means you’re perfect on your own because of your bravery or you're a perfect match for someone fainthearted like me, is up for you to decide. Whichever interpretation of being perfect you choose would be correct, but you should know - I meant both either way.”

But when he loves me I feel like I’m floating

When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody

Even when we fade eventually to nothing

You will always be my favorite form of loving

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked when he finally refound his voice.

“Since the minute I walked in.” I replied after refinding mine.

_ _ _

“You always take girls to your apartment on the first date, Doctor?” Asking this in the name of taking a jab at him was the most clever way I could think to conceal my underlying motive of trying to gauge how giddy I could let myself feel about the fact that he’d taken me to his ‘super chic dark academia’ themed residence - Penelope’s words, remember?

“Well, in my abundant dating history,” He sarcastically began, “I can’t say I ever have, no. You’d be the first.”

That shot another quick bolt of lightning to the wildfire in my heart that I’m ashamed to admit made the heat reinvigorate. The flame must’ve been too much for my chest to contain so it had to relocate to my face, where my cheeks were left to burn under his gaze and thanks to his admission.

I was the first.

He must’ve seen the glint localizing on my countenance and decided to speak on it. “Why does that amuse you?”

“I don’t know,” I dumbly but truthfully replied. He didn’t need any more information to get his answer, though. Because even if I didn’t know what amused me about being his first, I never denied that it did, and that was more than enough confirmation for him.

“You promise to be here when I come back?” He wagged a cautionary finger at me like it might persuade me to stay and hold me accountable if I didn’t.

Spencer needed to go into his room to collect an item that ‘shall not be named’ but was apparently essential for our super secret plans tonight (secret to even me) and he was leaving me in the living room while he did so. I guess being the initial girl he took home on a first date was okay, but being the initial girl he took into his bedroom on a first date was crossing a line.

That was alright with me, though. I was in this for the long haul.

“I promise I pose no flight risk, Your Honor,” I taunted with a coy tone. “But I can’t promise I won’t snoop around some.” Hey, at least I was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

“Snoop around all you want,” He laughed ruefully, demonstrating an openness I quite envied and admired. “You’ll probably learn a lot about me that way. And you won’t even have to talk to me to do that!” I knew he was only saying that out of self-deprecating tendencies he harbored, but I couldn’t help feeling that a small part of him actually believed that I wasn’t interested in talking to him.

“Spencer, you know I do like talking to you right?” I caught him just before he ran into his room. Already halfway in the door, I could still catch the megawatt smile on his face.

“So stay then,” His smile grew impossibly bigger. “We can talk all you want when I get back.”

The door closed, and then suddenly reopened to let just his face through, a face that said, ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

After a few minutes of loudly sorting through his room, I heard the sanctimonious cry of victory. “Found it!”

I could hear the little pad of his feet and he happily trotted out of the room. “Ta-da! My stargazing kit.” He said it as though he were introducing the basket he was holding to me, and me to it. Like it was a real person he wanted me to know. I almost felt obliged to say, ‘Hi stargazing kit! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m (y/n)!’

“Let’s go,” He smiled, reaching for my hand.

I unabashedly took it, because although it meant that I was truly leaving his apartment, I had a very strong feeling that I would be back here again one day.

_ _ _

We were lying there on this big quilted comforter that was stashed away in that stargazing kit of his, staring up at the sky, drunk on the sound of our occasional fits of laughter.

“It’s Earth Day, you know that?” I wondered aloud in a state of complete euphoria.

“I actually did,” He said through a sheepish laugh, almost as if he was admitting the knowledge of it against his own will to protect my fragility.

From out of nowhere, there was a small tug on the skirt of my dress. I looked down to find Spencer’s hand there, playing with the fabric until it lay perfectly on my leg.

I coughed to possibly relieve the tension brewing in my loins. “So then you know the Lyrid meteor shower is tonight,” I moved the tiniest bit closer to lean into his touch.

“At exactly 4:33 a.m,” He moved too.

“Is that why you brought me here? To watch the shooting stars? To make a wish?” I thought for a second that I would appear exceedingly childish - more so than I already did being 21 years his junior. But he didn’t judge me at all for the kid-like notion of making a wish on a shooting star or the implication that I still believed in those things.

In fact, I piqued his curiosity, telling by the way he moved only his head to the side to watch my reaction. “Say I did. What would you wish for?”

In the throws of dreamy elation, I softly murmured the only honest answer. “To be older. But not the unfulfilling 9 to 5, loveless marriage, ‘I do my taxes for fun’ older. I want to be old in the ways that the stars and the sky are old. I want to be infinite.”

“...To be infinite.” He whispered my wish back, sounding sort of in awe of me.

Just then, the overhead horizon grew larger. With no buildings or people to block the view, it was just us, the stars, and the sky. I could actually feel that I was lying on a planet. It was so wide. So infinite.

“Can I hold your hand?” I asked softly, in a manner so vulnerable it scared me.

Without any words or hesitation, he put my hand in his.

“The universe seems so big right now. I just needed something to hold onto.” I explained quietly, practically with the hopes that he wouldn’t hear me. But he heard.

“I’m here.”

We didn’t know what was ahead of us then. We were just two people, looking up at the sky on a cold February night. We weren’t divided by power, or age, or space. We were ourselves and no one else.

My eyes fluttered shut again and a smile stretched across my face. “Stargazing was a good idea.”

The world and the sky and the stars and I - we were all infinite. I couldn’t have felt bigger in my own body. In the best way possible, I was taking up so much space. I was occupying the earth. I was made up of matter. I mattered.

Just as I began to open my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a fading shooting star. Though I had wished to be older, I still felt like a child. Then it hit me. I didn’t feel older because I wasn’t older.

I was infinite.

Yes, I was a child, but not in the pinch your cheeks, bottles and pacifiers, babyish way. I was a child in the ‘you have a life full of possibilities ahead of you’ way.

You are young. He tells me with his eyes. And that is a good thing. Be forever young.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #juniorgman187 #be forever young

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spencersstrawberryjello · 3 years

Text

Treat People With Kindness (The BAU)

Summary: Garcia gets Reid into Harry Styles and everyone subsequently loses their minds over it.

Content: Honestly just funny I’m not sure what to call it

MC’s name/pronouns: No alternate main character, just Spencer.

Word Count: 1706

A/N: This whole fic was inspired by the fact that a fan gave Matthew Gray Gubler a Treat People With Kindness pin, which then sparked my friend Emily and I to theorize that Spencer Reid would absolutely be a Harry Styles stan. So yeah, this is literally just the product of one fan interaction lmao

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“I got a good feelin’.”

“... What’s he doing?” Emily leaned over and whispered to JJ, who just shook her head.

“I’m just takin’ it all in.”

“Ok, what happened to Reid?” Morgan joined them, and they both shrugged, watching Spencer walk through the doors of the office.

“Floatin’ up and dreamin’.”

“You know, maybe I need to add him to my drug test list too.” Hotch had stepped out of his office, trying to hide his grin as they saw Spencer making his way to his desk, headphones in and practically dancing over to his seat, mouthing every word of the song he was listening to. He plopped down in it with a little spin, opening a file on his desk without ever taking his headphones out.

“Try ‘Dancing with the Stars,’” Emily laughed, and JJ broke away from their group, heading over to his desk.

“Hey Spence,” She rested her arms on the divide between his desk and Emily’s, tapping on it to get his attention.

“Maybe we can find a place to feel good.”

“Spence!” She tapped his arm this time, and he practically jumped out of his skin, turning to face her.

“And we can treat -”

He quickly tore the headphones out of his ears, setting them down on his desk and looking up at her, clearing his throat.

“Sorry. I was listening to something.” He gestured to the headphones still connected to his phone, as if that wasn’t already obvious.

“Yeah, I noticed,” JJ laughed.

“Do we have a case?”

“Nothing yet, you’re good.” She tried fruitlessly to hide her grin, and he gave her a strange look.

“Ok…”

“So,” She plopped down in Emily’s chair, rolling it over to sit near him, “What were you listening to?”

“Oh!” His face lit up, and he grabbed his phone, holding it out for her to see. She put the headphones in her ears, hearing the final moments of the song he’d been jamming to.

“And we can treat people with kindness, find a place to feel good.”

“Harry Styles?” JJ laughed incredulously, handing him back his phone.

“You’ve heard of him?” He asked, taking the phone and sitting it back on his desk and turning back to her.

“I’m pretty sure most people have heard of him, Spence.”

“Ok, well, I hadn’t. But on Saturday I was speaking at the University of Mary Washington with Rossi, and one of the girls gave me this, after the lecture,” He grabbed his bag off the back of the chair, pointing to a round pin clipped on the strap. It was enamel, with light pink on the inside and a red rose in the center, encircled by the phrase “Treat People With Kindness” in black lettering. “And you know, naturally I thought it was a good message so I put it on my bag and I thought that was all it was. But then I ran into Garcia.”

“Oh god.”

“I was walking in yesterday and she saw it and kind of freaked out a little bit, and pulled me into her office and played me the song - the one you just listened to - and it was amazing and so I told her I thought it was amazing, which made her freak out even more and then you called with a case so I left, only to receive a a YouTube playlist a few hours later that she told me I had to watch every video on or she’d stop printing the case files for me.”

“You know she loves you too much to actually do that, right?”

“I mean, the odds were low, but I wasn’t going to risk it. Either way, I sort of listened to every single song on Fine Line and Self-Titled in one night and also a whole bunch of interviews that she sent me and he’s really funny and his music is great and the moral of the story is I kind of love him.”

JJ sent back in her chair, dumbfounded. “Dude… you mean to tell me Garcia made you a Harry Styles fan?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“I - Penelope!” JJ left without another word, making her way into Garcia’s office. Spencer just shrugged, returning to the file he was looking at - and his music - as Garcia spun to face JJ.

“Jennifer, my love, to what do I owe the pleasure? New case?” She asked. JJ just shook her head.

“You broke Reid.”

“I did not break Reid!” She defended with a grin. “I merely helped him reach his true form.”

“He willingly used technology, and he came into the office today practically dancing to Treat People With Kindness. So yes, you did break Reid.”

“JJ, dear,” Garcia got up from her chair, taking JJ’s hands in the doorway, “Do you remember when Reid got that adorable little shaggy haircut?”

“Despite the fact that he changes his hair like every month, yes, I do.”

“And do you remember what Hotch said?”

She thought for a moment, then her eyes widened in shock. “You did all of this… because of the boyband joke?”

“Like I said: true form.” Garcia returned to her chair, spinning around with a laugh. “In my defense, I didn’t know he was going to get a Harry Styles pin. I just took advantage of the opportunity when it presented itself. I already failed at teaching him to worship Lady Gaga, I could not miss another chance to try and pull him out of the dark ages.”

“You are ridiculous, you know that?”

“That’s why you love me!”

JJ laughed, leaving Garcia’s office and heading up to hers, ruffling Spencer’s hair on her way by.

“You should grow your hair out again.”

“You think so?” He reached up and fussed with his hair, just as Garcia emerged into the main room.

“Spencer Reid, my beautiful boy genius, did you do what I asked?”

“Garcia, I figured out how to download music to my phone because of you. So yes, I did what you asked.”

“You are officially my new favorite person.”

“Hang on, what is this all about?” Emily asked. Garcia grinned, hardly able to contain her excitement.

“I’m finally bringing the lovely Dr. Reid here into the 21st Century.”

“Penelope,” Emily raised an eyebrow at her, “What did you do?”

“Garcia thinks she did something revolutionary by getting me into Harry Styles’ music,” Spencer clarified. Emily immediately clapped her hand over her mouth, about to respond before Derek piped up from his desk.

“Oh, she converted you too?”

“‘Too’ - you mean to tell me that you, Derek Morgan, are a Harry Styles fan?” Emily was looking between the three of them now, practically in shock. Derek just laughed, holding up his hands.

“What can I say, the guy’s got an incredible voice.”

“And the make up of his songs is so interesting as well; I mean, when you look at the music he’s produced in the last few years in comparison to what he performed while he was a part of One Direction -”

“Oh my god please tell me you’ve also listened to One Direction,” Emily said, laughing when Spencer nodded.

“I don’t understand why you guys are making such a big deal out of this. He’s a singer, it’s not like he doesn’t have fans,” He defended.

“Reid, two months ago you didn’t even know who Lady Gaga was. This is kind of a big deal.”

“Conference room in five,” JJ walked through the group, heading upstairs as everyone else got up to follow her.

“Do not think I am dropping this,” Emily pointed at Derek and Spencer before jogging to catch up with JJ. Derek laughed, falling in step with Reid.

“So, what all did Garcia make you watch?”

“Oh, just a bunch of interviews. I did some of my own reading though -”

“Of course you did.”

“- and what I found really interesting was One Direction’s actual rise to fame. Because the thing is, they didn’t even win X-Factor. They came in third, and yet they became the most famous group to come from that season of the show. In Forever Young - their book - they talked about their time on X-Factor, but it was so strange to me because their first album - Up All Night, that came out not even a full year after they finished the X-Factor live tour - sold 4.5 million copies within the first year. And they just kept growing… Morgan why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry,” They’d walked into the conference room by now, sitting down next to each other at the table while Derek tried to stop himself from laughing, looking at Reid in disbelief, “You read their book?”

“And their Wikipedia page - I told you I did my own reading!”

“You said you did some of your own reading, you didn’t say you’d memorized everything about their career!”

“Eidetic memory, remember?” He tapped his forehead, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“You never let me forget. I’m assuming you know everything about their solo careers as well?”

“Well I got into Harry’s stuff first, but I ended up reading all of theirs since I didn’t have anything else to do last night. It’s just so interesting to think about what One Direction’s situation reveals about human nature and celebrity culture. I mean, a lot of their fans are dictionary definition erotomaniacs, and yet -”

“I shouldn’t even be surprised that you read this all in one night.”

“Like I said: didn’t have anything else to do.”

“As much as I’m glad you boys are bonding, we have more important things to worry about than Reid’s newfound love for a British boy band,” JJ interrupted.

“Niall Horan’s actually Irish -”

“Spence. The case.” She pulled up the photos on the screen, and Spencer nodded, opening the case file in front of him as JJ began to review everything they needed to know. She finally closed out, and Hotch grabbed his tablet and rose from the table.

“Alright, wheels up in thirty.”

Everyone nodded, gathering up their things and vacating the room. Spencer and Derek trailed out after everyone, Spencer picking up the conversation as soon as JJ finished.

“You know, I’m considering learning how to knit - there’s this cardigan that Harry wore...”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #bau #bau headcanon #spencer reid headcanon #criminal minds headcanon #bau fanfiction #fanfiction #reid #dr reid #dr spencer reid #writing #harry styles #treat people with kindness #hs #styles

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nataliaphantomhivesblog · 4 years

Text

In the end of it all, Monaca Towa was still a child.

To start this off, this isn't my usual Black Butler posts but ive been meaning to talk about Danganronpa for a hot minute, so please bear with me! Second, this is solely my opinion and before anyone wants to attack me please read thoroughly first. Thank you:)

(Spoiler warning for Danganronpa: Ultra Despair Girls and Danganronpa 3)

Also, before we dive in I'm going to list some trigger warnings:

Physcological abuse

Physical abuse

Manipulation

P*dophillia

Suicide attempt

Violence (?)

Childhood trauma

Please take care and read at your own risk<3

Hello there Danganronpa fandom! Today I will be talking about Monaca Towa (as stated in the title) and how people often minimize her trauma and sometimes forget the fact that shes still a child who got heavily manipulated by Junko too.

Monaca is seemingly very amiable and caring, because of her charming personality, all of the Warriors of Hope love her and try their best to keep her happy and go along with what she wants. However, it's slowly revealed that she is actually manipulative and cunning behind her friendly facade.

Monoca is a character that is cruel, manipulative, and extremly unhinged. Many of her actions cannot be excused or justified, but you can understand where she's coming from.

Monaca's Backstory:

She was born an unwanted child by both her father and her mother. Monaca's mother was supposed to take care of her but instead abandoned the child soon after her birth. Because of all her actions, Monaca saw her mother as a completely selfish and pathetic person. Monaca's father thought of giving her to an orphanage but instead took her into his family.

However, Monaca was always unwanted and everyone else felt uncomfortable around her. Every time Monaca smiled or joked, the others looked at her coldly, as if she didn't deserve to laugh. Every time she spoke, the others turned silent. His older-half brother thought of her as an alien, not part of the family.

She was also physically abused to the point that she pretended to be seriously wounded for them to stop as a result.

Monaca also attended Hope's Peak Elementary School and was part of the "trouble-makers class" along with Nagisa, Masaru, Jataro, and Kotoko.

Along with her fellow abused classmates, she planned a group suicide; however, Monaca never had any plans to commit suicide in the first place and was planning to let the others die as a prank.

The group suicide was stopped by Junko, who took the kids in and manipulated them by treating them with kindness and love.

Monaca then helped Junko mass produce Monokumas for the Tragedy by using her position as a representative of the Towa Group.

She lied to her father and the other adults in order to produce the Monokumas, telling them that she wanted to create futuristic robots that could be domestic helpers and emergency aid workers.

Due to her separation from the family and her genius, her family decided to give her leg room to do what she wanted as long as she brought in profits to the company, and didn't delve too deeply into her plans.

Things to keep in mind about Monoca's backstory:

She was emotionally and physically abused from a very young age.

She started to pretend to be paraplegic because she was finally treated with some kindness and she could have more control over people.

She convinced Nagisa, Jataro, Kotoko and Masaru to commit suicide.

Out of all the Warriros of Hope, Junko took the most intrest in Monoca due to her position, meaning that she was the one who got used and manipulated the most.

How Monoca's mindset works:

The moment she got physically abused to the point that she had to fake her injuries to make her family feel bad was the moment she learned that through sympathy from others comes power. Due to her families neglection and abuse, she started to quickly pick up on things in which benefited her yet hurt others.

She started to use manipulative tactics on her family to gain control over them. She then started implicating these tactics with the Warriors of Hope.

When Junko got into the picture, everything changed for the worst. Junko was the only person in Monaca's life who showed her affection. Even though deep down Monaca knew Junko only cared for her as a means to use her robotics genius for the Tragedy, Monaca didn't care, and happily helped out Junko with her plans if it meant being loved and appreciated in return. At the heart of it, despite all her horrific acts, that's a very child-like thing to do, right? So when Junko dies, Monaca's entire reason for living basically disappears.

AI Junko via Kurokuma may have planted the idea of a successor in her head, but in Monaca's mind it's a way to get her big sis back, and very specifically chooses to mold Komaru into becoming Junko's successor. That's for a big reason, Monaca doesn't want to become Junko, I'd say she actually just wanted her big sister back who would love and appreciate her again, and hence tried to make someone else take on that role initially. Once again, that's the mindset of a child.

Monaca's relationship with the Warriors of Hope:

The Warriors of Hope are a group of children who are extremely resentful and hateful of adults, regardless of whether or not they were involved in their rough paths.

We all know that the Warriros of Hope are extememly tramutized kids. Masaru had alcoholic parents who physically abused him, Jataro was physcologically abused to the point he bealived he was so ugly that if anyone saw his "repulsive" face they would die, Kotoko was r*ped multiple times by disgusting p*dophilic men (not to mention, Monaca's brother was attracted to her), and last but not least we have Nagisa who had pressuring parents who wanted to raise him as the child prodigy and expirimented on him constantly.

Monaca used the Warriros of Hope's trauma against them, manipulating them to the point were they had to do her bidding completly.

As much as I hate to say it, Monaca truly saw them as pawns. Although there are some instances where she openly declares her care for the Warriors of Hope, it's likely she does that as a form of emotional manipulation.

If anything, she probably did see them as equal in the beginning but then when she started to gain control over her own family, she started to do the same with the Warriors of Hope as a way to protect herself from getting hurt, then again this is my baseless assumption.

Her dynamic with Nagito:

Monaca was amused by Nagito's strange behavior and contradicting beliefs and appeared to be somewhat annoyed with him at the times. However, the two appeared to at least seemingly respect each other in some way, as they treated each other somewhat formally as allies.

Her dynamic with Nagito is one of the most intresting ones. Obviously I think that her being rasied by Nagito was potentially a dangerous thing, considering Nagito's goal was for Monaca to become Enoshima's successor. Monaca seemed to agree with this goal, but Nagito's constant rambling about hope and despair made Monaca bored and feel embarrassed about the whole thing.

She claims he made her an adult in a way, as she grew up in the mental sense and became more cynical and apathetic, not really caring about anything.

In the end, Monaca found Nagito creepy and annoying, but she also appeared to get closer to him during their time together, while originally calling him just "Mister Servant" in UDG, she later refers to him as "Big Bro" in Danganronpa 3. I do think their dynamic was sort of soft and I would've loved to have seen more of it. Honestly the concept of Nagito being a soft brother to Monaca warms my heart, and the wasted potential will forever anger me.

(If any Danganronpa fanfic writer or any writer in general is reading this post: if u could be so kind and do a PLATONIC Nagito and Monaca prompt and tag me in it, I would love you forever!!)

My opinion on Monaca:

I think that Monaca was a very well-written character who deserved more than what she got in the end of Danganronpa 3. She was abused, mistreated and belittled by her family. If anything, I see her as a completely misguided little girl. If she actually had a positive authoritative influence in her life, she wouldn't have turned astray.

A lot of people disregard Monaca's trauma and forget that at the end of the day, Monaca was a child who the moment she was born, the people who were supposed to love her were unwelcoming.

Don't get me wrong though, there is no way in hell I will ever justify or condone the things Monaca has done. If anything, I just think that she alongside the rest of the Warriors of Hope should've been properly taken care of.

Also, if you dislike/hate Monaca thats 100% valid! She did a lot of inexcusable things and its alright to hate on her. I personally love her character but I know she is not everyones cup of tea.

If you read all the way, I'm actually surprised! Thank you and I hope you enjoyed<333

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incorrectbandofbrothersquotes · 3 years

Text

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 8

She Makes Me

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @iilovemusic12us @hesbuckcompton-baby @tvserie-s-world @whovian45810 @50svibes @cagzzz107 If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update!

Warning(s): None :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

AO3 link

Chapter 8 let’s go!!!

LONDON HEIR WEDS UP AND COMING LADY

Arthur William Burns, 33, of London has married Miss Elaine Spencer, 20, of Birmingham. The couple celebrated their union on February 14, 1944 at the chapel on his uncle Edward’s estate in Suffolk. The intimate ceremony was followed by a small reception of the couple’s closest friends and family. The new Mrs. Burns was thoughtful about her war-time wedding, taking extra steps to avoid unnecessary costs or supplies. She updated her mother’s wedding dress instead of buying new, and after the wedding, generously donated the gown to the Army. Her engagement ring was an heirloom of Mr. Burns’ family, but it didn’t stop there -

The article didn’t stop there, but Juliet did. She couldn’t read another word about Arthur’s wedding. In fact, she slammed the paper down on her desk. It rattled the teacup in its saucer to the side, but miraculously, nothing spilled. Huffing, and her article forgotten, Juliet folded her arms across her chest and stewed.

She couldn’t really say why it bothered her so much. She had moved on the same as him, but getting married? It hadn’t been that long. What could Arthur possibly know about this girl? For a girl she was at the tender age of twenty. Was that what irked her? That the girl was so young? No, it was fairly normal for an age gap like that, especially among their class.

Perhaps it was the class issue that was grating on her. Elaine Spencer was - to the Burns family - everything Juliet was not. Young, rich, well-behaved, and (though only Arthur knew this difference) able to bear children. Seeing their announcement, and the kind of wedding they could afford, was a rather harsh reminder of all that. But even that should not have been this upsetting.

Deep down, Juliet knew what was bothering her was that she was bothered at all. She was happy with Ron. So why did she care about her ex? Why did this feel like such a blow to her pride? Why did she feel as if Arthur had just terminated their engagement all over again? Wasn’t it enough to have Ron in her life, a man she truly respected and cared about?

That was something else to consider. Juliet realized she had wasted far too much time on someone who wasn’t half the man Ron was. And yet, Arthur had rejected her. If what she thought about him was true - that he was a coward and totally undeserving of her - shouldn’t it have been the other way around? She knew she felt shame for how much she had loved Arthur when she didn’t receive that love in return. Was that what got on her nerves about this?

She certainly was not jealous of the girl. Elaine. Juliet knew she absolutely did not want to be married to Arthur. In the long run, they could never make each other happy. Especially now that Juliet had experienced Ron, who truly appreciated what she had to give. She had to keep reminding herself of him or Arthur’s dumb face next to Elaine’s stunning smile would drive her crazy. And yet, she couldn’t stop looking at that picture. They looked so perfect.

Her door opened and she jumped a little bit out of her seat with a gasp. It was Ron, but that oddly made her more nervous. She perked up.

“Hi, honey!” she greeted brightly.

His brown knit together over his eyes. “Honey?”

“Yes, dear?” she returned.

“Seriously,” he frowned. “Why are you calling me that?”

“I haven’t before?”

“Obviously not.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Obviously not,” he repeated. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” she insisted. Then it was her turn to frown. “What endearments am I allowed?”

“Why do you need them, when my name works just fine?” he replied.

“Oh come on,” she said. “Not even darling?”

“Darling is meaningless here, you people call everyone darling,” he said.

She considered that. “Alright. ‘Love’, then?”

“No, thanks.”

“Baby?”

“No.”

“Dear?”

“No.”

“Sugar?”

“No.”

“Sweetheart?”

“No.”

She bit back a giggle for the last one. “Daddy?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“My heart belongs to Daddy,” she began to sing as she got to her feet and approached him. “So I simply couldn’t be bad -”

“That’s a little bit sick, coming from you,” he cut across her as he shrugged off his jacket.

She ignored him. “Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy! Da da da da -”

This time, he interrupted with a kiss. Juliet giggled into his mouth, but he was successful in stopping the song entirely. When they parted, she had a goofy grin on her lips.

“Are you absolutely certain we should disregard the genius of Cole Porter?” she teased.

“Let it go,” he returned.

“What are you gonna do?” she challenged, making her voice dramatically husky. “Spank me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

She blinked, taken aback by his casual reaction to such a suggestion, but she was also a little curious, so she decided to push the envelope. “You wouldn’t.”

“What’s the matter?” he questioned. “Afraid you’ll like it?”

Her mouth fell slightly agape. How had he managed to so drastically turn the tables on her? She was supposed to be teasing him and somehow, she ended up being the one flustered and red-faced. She cleared her throat and shook her head to remove the rather graphic images that had popped up inside it. All thoughts of Arthur were certainly out the window.

“I did not anticipate this backfiring,” she admitted.

“And yet, here you are,” he said.

“How tired are you from training?” she asked.

“Not too tired to make love to you, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answered.

“That’s the perfect amount,” she said.

With that, she tugged off her cardigan and pulled him in for another kiss, deep and deliberate, with a nip at his bottom lip to get him riled up. He lifted her into his arms and they fell on the bed together - her pinned beneath him as their lips remained locked.

Afterwards, as they dressed to get some dinner and Juliet was in the bathroom fixing her hair, Ron spotted the article. Suddenly, her behavior when he first walked in made sense. She’d distracted him with the endearments conversation, and he hoped he had distracted her from what she’d read. But his gut told him there was something more. He’d walked through that door every day without surprising her. There was a reason she had started and panicked this time. He picked up the newspaper, and looked hard at the photo - at the man who had humiliated Juliet, but ultimately paved the way for Ron’s own happiness with her.

Arthur was not much to look at, which was both surprising and expected. Surprising because well, Ron found Juliet to be very beautiful, and he knew she could do better. Expected because Juliet was not the sort of person to base a relationship on looks alone. Although she had certainly noticed Ron’s. But for the first time, that made him doubt. She told him once she was more upset by the indignity of what Arthur had done, but she must have really seen something in him to have agreed to marry him. And she talked so much about Ron’s looks, he started to wonder if that was all she saw in him.

He quickly dismissed that thought. She had been incredibly vulnerable with him and shared parts of her life he was certain she had shared with few others, perhaps not anyone. But something was holding her back from addressing this with him, and he wanted to know what.

“I reckon we can just pop downstairs and have something quick,” she said as she emerged from the bathroom and picked up her cardigan. “That way we won’t get too cold before we - y’know - warm back up again.”

He faced her, and caught the surprised look in her eye at his expression. Her smile drooped and faded as she realized what he held in his hand.

“Jules,” he said, voice heavy. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Sure,” she looked nervously between the paper and his face. “Anything, Ron, just -”

“Without one fucking joke, I want you tell me why you’re upset about this,” he said, indicating the paper, though she understood perfectly well what he meant.

She sighed. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Yes,” he said.

She waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. But he was not sacrificing his control of the conversation, he was solidifying it. She was going to explain herself to him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m annoyed at myself for letting it upset me at all,” she said. She met his gaze, searching his face for a reaction, but he didn’t give one. “I mean, yes, it’s a wound to my ego that by all rights that announcement should be about me and him. Although, I never would have gotten married on Valentine’s Day. Seriously, of all the cheesy -”

“No jokes,” he cut across her.

“That wasn’t a joke, it was a disparaging remark,” she returned.

“Juliet.”

“Sorry.”

She bit her lip, carefully forming how she wanted to say what was on her mind. But, it turned out he wasn’t giving her that either.

“Don’t think, just talk,” he instructed.

“I care about you so much,” she blurted out. “You make me happy in a way I hardly thought possible until I knew you. But seeing that announcement made me ache. It’s difficult to pin down why exactly since there are a number of things that bother me about it, but mostly it’s that it shouldn’t matter. I’ve moved on, haven’t I? But if that still hurts me, I’m worried that perhaps I haven’t, and that’s not fair to you or to me. And if that’s the case then perhaps I should let you go, but the thought of that makes me want to hurl myself out of a window. Then that makes me worried that no one will ever be enough for me. Which is ridiculous because you’re more than enough. You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met in your own weird way. So, that means there’s something terribly, terribly wrong with me.”

She stopped to take a deep breath and paused. She considered saying more, that was really the sum of her feelings. Ron stood there calmly.

“Can you talk now please?” she requested.

A hint of smirk tugged at one side of his mouth, but he stopped it.

“It’d bother me more if you didn’t care about this,” he replied, which made her brow wrinkle. “It’s okay to have feelings about someone you were involved with. Doesn’t mean you still have feelings for them.”

“You don’t think it’s a reflection of my feelings for you?” she asked hesitantly.

“No,” he said with a shrug.

She bit her lip. “I just...I just don’t think it would get to him if he saw my wedding announcement in the paper.”

“It would,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t know that, you didn’t know him.”

“I know you,” he said. “That’s enough to understand that there’s no way you didn’t have an impact on him.”

“That’s -” she began to argue but stopped herself as she absorbed it fully. “Well...that’s actually a lovely thing to say, thank you.”

He set the paper down and walked over to her, gathering her up in his arms so he could kiss her forehead.

“Don’t hide behind distractions when there’s something serious,” he said gently. “And don’t hurl yourself out a window, I had enough trouble with you on the bridge.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “You’ve lifted your moratorium on jokes, I see.”

He pecked her on the lips. “Nope, just for me.”

She repaid him with a light jab to his ribs with her pointer and middle fingers. “Shut up.”

On that note, they headed down to the bar for dinner and drinks. Though Juliet had mentioned wanting to return to her room quickly, they ended up lingering. Talking like they had when they first met. Juliet talked a little more about Arthur, and Ron gave her the space to do so. It didn’t last long. Slowly, he faded from the conversation and they moved on. Ron challenged her to a darts game, and Juliet readily accepted.

“I’ve never played before,” she confessed. “Well, actually, I almost did when I was seven or so. Dad took Billy and I to the pub with him and left us to our own devices.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Ron said.

She pressed on anyway. “We weren’t tall enough to reach the board, so Billy drew one on the wall we could use. The owner got upset and started shouting at him.”

“I really don’t like where this is going,” he said again.

“So, I stabbed him in the thigh with the dart,” she finished.

“Billy?”

“The pub guy.”

“Just checking.”

“Anyway, he starts screaming -”

“Billy?”

“Nope, still the pub guy,” she said. “He grabs me by my hair and starts dragging me out. That didn’t sit right with Billy, so he leaps onto the man’s back and starts punching him. Mind you, Billy was only about nine at the time, so he wasn’t the most effective.”

“I imagine not.”

“But of course Billy doesn’t care, he’s just looking out for me,” she continued. “So the guy lets go of me, and I grab him round the legs and trip him. Then Billy and I ran out of there as fast as we could, terrified about what Dad would do to us if he realized we’d caused the commotion. Luckily, he never found out.”

He blinked at her. “Honestly, I’m just impressed you stabbed a guy.”

“He yelled at my brother!” she returned. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Stab him, of course,” he said.

“That!” she cried. “Right there! That’s why we work so well together!”

She giggled into his mouth as he kissed her in agreement.

“C’mon, let’s play,” he said.

He showed her where to stand, how to hold the dart, and some tricks he used to get better aim. She was attentive to his coaching, and it certainly paid off. Each throw got her closer and closer to the bullseye. So much so, he considered tripping her on her last turn. He didn’t, since that would put her dart in rather close proximity to his thigh, and he was in no mood to get stabbed himself.

She took her shot, and to the surprise of Ron and a few onlookers, she hit the center of the dartboard. She punched the air with excitement and let out an enthusiastic scream before turning to face him, beaming with triumph.

“That’s right!” she bragged to anyone listening. “Juliet Fletcher is the darts champion!”

For a moment, Ron genuinely feared she was going to try and chest bump him, and he wasn’t sure there could be romance after that. To his relief, she did not. She did something far more embarrassing. In movements that could only be described as lost and awkward, she...danced. If one could even call it that. Her limbs jerked, her hips lacked any semblance of rhythm, and her feet sort of scraped across the floor. He watched in disbelief as she went about her celebration, completely unabashed.

“What’s the matter, Speirs?” she taunted. “Upset you lost to a girl?”

He wanted to laugh, but he was so disturbed it came out more of a grimace. “What...what are you doing?”

“Victory dance,” she returned simply. “Like footballers do.”

“No one has ever done anything like what you’re doing,” he said.

She came to a slow stop, a smirk on her face. “I told you I can’t dance.”

“I thought you meant the foxtrot.”

“Well, I can’t do that either.”

“I’d expect not.”

“Are you embarrassed?” she wondered.

“Aren’t you?” he shot back, though judging by her expression, she wasn’t.

“Nope,” she shook her head.

“Should be,” he said under his breath.

She ignored that little remark. “Life’s too short to stifle the joy of kicking your boyfriend’s ass in a game of darts.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’d hardly call that an ass kicking.”

“You wanna go again?” she dared him.

“God, no,” he replied quickly. “If you win, you’ll start dancing again.”

“So you admit it?”

“What?”

“You’re afraid I’ll win.”

“Yeah, but not for the reason you want.”

“Whatever,” she giggled. “I’m gonna get another drink, d’you want one?”

“Sure,” he said.

With a nod, she headed for the bar. She established fairly early on in their relationship that she was not the sort who wanted to be doted on. She had no problem sharing the responsibility of buying drinks or fetching said drinks. Ron rarely even pulled out her chair for her. Opening doors was different, as Juliet usually had a bag or something, but she never so much as suggested that Ron carry it for her. He once offered, but she told him she’d only allow it if she could tip him, which promptly ended the conversation.

“Hi, Juliet,” Emily, the bartender, said as she approached. “‘Nother round of whiskeys for you and Lieutenant Speirs?”

“Yes, please,” Juliet replied.

“Just a moment, I’ve got to bring some beers to the lads back there,” Emily said, pointing to the other end of the pub. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Juliet assured her.

While she waited for Emily, a man approached the bar. A dark haired, tall, but mousy looking man Juliet had seen at the Blue Boar only a handful of times. He was usually alone and stayed for only one drink before leaving. She got the impression he was not solitary by choice - he was clearly unpopular. The other officers always gave the table a wide berth.

“Hi,” he said timidly.

It took her a moment to register he was speaking to her. “Oh! Hello, there.” She stole a glance at his rank and then his name. Sobel. She decided against trying to say it to avoid the risk of mispronouncing. Plus, she didn’t want him to think she was interested.

“My name’s Herbert,” he said. “Herbert Sobel.”

She studied his face for a moment. “Herbert, huh?”

He blinked, surprised. “Um. Yes.”

“Oh, yeah, Herbert absolutely suits you,” she said.

He was taken aback again. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Never mind,” she shook her head. “How can I help you, Herbert?”

“You could start with your name,” he replied.

She wrinkled her nose. “Eh. No, thanks.”

“What?”

“I’d rather not give you my name,” she said. “Because I’m afraid the follow up is going to be your asking for my phone number or offering to buy me a drink. So I reckon we’re better off if I get the ‘no’ out of the way now. Save us all some time.”

He sputtered for a moment before she went on.

“I know this must seem like contempt prior to investigation,” she said. “But even if I wanted to - which I don’t, mind you - I am involved with someone.”

“Wha - who?” he wondered.

“Lieutenant Speirs,” she said, and pointed him out for good measure.

Sobel glanced over just as Emily returned and began pouring the whiskeys.

“Well, isn’t Speirs lucky,” Sobel murmured.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Juliet said, taking their drinks. “I really am a horrid bitch, you wouldn’t like me anyway.” She held back a laugh as his eyes went wide. Emily covered her mouth to stifle her own giggle. “Cheers, Herb. And thanks, Emily.”

Emily asked a stricken Sobel what he wanted to drink while Juliet left. She returned to her seat next to Ron and delivered his whiskey. He wore a deep frown which told her he’d been watching her interaction with Sobel.

“What’d Captain Sobel want?” he asked, just a hint of bitterness to his voice.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I shot him down,” she replied.

“He hit on you?” he questioned, but his shoulders relaxed a little. “Must not have seen you dance.”

“Shut up!” she laughed, elbowing him.

He didn’t say anything in return, he only put his hand on her thigh, giving it a little squeeze. Something about it thrilled Juliet. It was...intensely macho. Possessive even. Normally things like that disgusted her, but Ron made it sexy. Only, she had to question it.

“Are you serious?” she said.

“About what?” he returned.

“You’re not bothered by my talking about my ex-fiancé, but a strange man offering to buy me a drink has you marking your territory?” she asked.

“I can’t help who you were with before we met,” he said. “I can do something about anyone getting ideas now.”

“What would you have done then?” she questioned playfully.

“Stab him with a dart,” he replied, without missing a beat.

She giggled before she sipped her drink. “You’re ridiculous.”

She wasn’t able to remain in Ron’s grasp long. Emily approached and told her there was a phone call for her. Juliet excused herself, but not before kissing Ron deeply.

“So the other girls don’t get any ideas either,” she teased.

“Fine by me,” he said.

With one more peck, she followed Emily behind the bar. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

“Juliet Fletcher,” she said.

“Juliet, it’s Otis,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Oh, hello, Otis, how are you?” she replied politely. She got along with the investigator most out of all the people involved in Peggy Lee’s case.

“Quite well, thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry to call you so late, but I’ve just gotten the news that Meredith Fisher’s trial has been moved up. We begin on the fifteenth of March.”

“Crikey, that’s quick,” Juliet said.

“I know, but the prosecution is confident enough,” he told her.

Juliet was tempted to let him know they were absolutely right in their confidence with the way Meredith Fisher’s lawyer was going about things, but she held her tongue.

“That’s good,” she said. “I’ll be sure I’m there for the trial.”

“I’ll see you then,” he returned. “Good night, Juliet.”

“Good night,” she replied before hanging up.

She returned to Ron, who shot her a curious look.

“A trial date has been set for Meredith Fisher,” she said. “In just a couple weeks.”

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Damn right I am,” she said.

“That’s my girl.”

#band of brothers #ron speirs #juliet fletcher #roliet #hbo war #ron speirs x ofc #band of brothers fanfic #hbo war fanfiction #you better you better you bet series

31 notes · View notes

iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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My Love, My Soulmate

Request: Hi there - I see your requests are open! Would you consider a Marauders era Sirius x reader for a Soulmates au? With Sirius resisting of course! Tattoos, colour, dreams - I don’t mind which you choose. Nice angsty/fluff mix with a tiny bit of zest?! 💕 - @fific7

A/N: Here’s your request! I hope you like and I hope it meets your expectations! There’s a little bit of fluff, little bit of angst and a little bit of zest. I’m unsure of whether my explanation of soulmates makes sense but I still like it nonetheless. Also, I 100% believe that the teachers at Hogwarts had like a bet on which students would end up together and that they thrived on gossip.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: swearing, making out, eludes to sex, angst. If there is anything I've missed, let me know and I’ll add it immediately.

Word count: 3.4k

It starts as a burn. As if you’ve caught yourself on your curling wand. A short, sharp shock of pain and it’s over.

Pulling your wrist from your chest, you peek at the two letters now engrained onto your skin. A mark no bigger than the size of a muggle penny coin details your soulmate’s initials. There in magical black ink are the letters: S.B.

You lie back with a groan, pulling your pillow over your face to hide away the emotions. It seemed the fates were playing a sick game with you when they decided to make Sirius Black your soulmate.

The initials of your soulmate appears on your wrist on your seventeenth birthday. As far as you know, it is only a phenomenon that occurs within the wizarding community. Muggles, for the sake of their hearts, believe in soulmates but will spend their lives trying to find their perfect match. For wizards, the soulmate mark is the result of the countless hunts for witches and wizards across history. As society progressed and began to hunt those who did not seem to fit with the norms, the fates decided that every witch and wizard would find their soulmate at the age of seventeen as a way to protect the population. It would manifest in a bond between the soulmates; only felt between the two individuals.

As witches and wizards went underground and hid their identities, the soulmate mark and the subsequent bond became a thing of fairy tales told before bedtime. Little girls and boys lulled to sleep with the idea that somewhere in the big, wide world there was someone waiting for them.

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Sirius sees the initials on his wrist and knows immediately whose they are. Your face flashes in his mind and he groans as he falls back onto his pillow.

For so long, he has dreaded this day. He believed in soulmates, he did. His own parents were soulmates; their initials marking each of their wrists. But they were completely wrong for each other, and he slowly saw his mother become poisoned with his father’s vitriol. From a young age, Sirius had always questioned the magic behind soulmates. If they partnered someone as lovely as his mother with someone as mean as his father then he couldn’t put much stock in the whole institution.

He watches you that day; checking for any reaction for whether his initials had been marked onto your wrist. The day ends with him feeling disappointed; you either hadn’t got the marks yet or you were an exceptionally good actress. Your face gave nothing away the whole day other than curiosity when you caught his eyes on you for the third time.

You were the complete opposite to him. He loved heavy metal music; you preferred the crooning sounds of artists such as Frank Sinatra and Louis Armstrong. Sirius had heard you hum their songs under your breath enough that he was sure he knew the lyrics to them.

You think pranks are childish and they have the potential to be a real danger; he disagrees, he thinks that pranks can be a work of genius if the right amount of planning and preparation is put into it.

Sirius frowns; he didn’t think he paid you this much attention. You had never flowed in the same social circle; conversations between the two of you limited to classes where communication was only necessary if you were sat together. He found you attractive, that much he could not deny. But the fear of turning out like his parents loomed over him; prevented him from taking it any further.

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“He couldn’t be any more my polar opposite!” You moan to your friend, Jude.

It had been a month since Sirius’ initials had appeared on your wrist, and for all of your wondering, you could not figure out how Sirius worked out to be your soulmate. There was so little you had in common. The only things being your academic status and a love of books. It was rare to see Sirius with a book when he was in a crowd, but when it was him and the Marauders in the common room, he could be found with a leather-bound book open on his lap. His eyes would scan the pages so fast, you wondered if he was truly reading the words on the page.

Jude pats your head, “Yes, you’ve mentioned.”

“Jude… I need a little more sympathy here, please.”

She frowns, “It’s hard to dredge up more sympathy when all you’ve done is complain since you found his initials, my dear.”

You frown back at her, “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I’ve been an arse about this – who knows? Don’t they say opposites attract?”

Jude smiles at you, “I do believe that is the saying.”

“Well let’s hope it’s true then.” You murmur, your eyes landing on the shaggy-haired Marauder sat further down the table from you. His friend, James, elbows him, pointing over to you when Sirius protests his elbow. Your heart starts to race the minute you lock eyes with Sirius; for a singular moment, everything else seems to fade away and your vision solely focuses on him.

The moment is broken when Sirius turns away with a scoff.

The hope that had begun to grow within you quickly dims. You let your head fall onto your arms, “I don’t think he likes me, Jude.”

Jude tuts, sending a glare down the table to where the Marauders sit, “Then he’s a prick.”

“That’s my soulmate you’re talking about.”

Jude shrugs, “He’s still a prick. If you were my soulmate, I’d be over the moon.”

“You’re too good to me, Jude.”

“I know.” She states, “Now, come on, we’ve got Charms first and I want to practice the Deletrius charm, I’m certain it’ll come up on the summer exams.”

You let her drag you out of the Great Hall by the hand, feeling Sirius’ eyes on you with every step you take.

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Filius Flitwick was an exceptional teacher and an interesting man – but he was also notorious for loving gossip. The staff room at Hogwarts was always rife with gossip when another pair of students had found their soulmate in each other. Professor McGonagall would always claim that she had known from the start; Flitwick was not one to argue with her. Besides, she was probably right.

The staff room was positively rioting when news hit of Sirius Black finding his soulmate in (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Professor Flitwick wanted to question the match given how at odds they were to each other, but he knew never to argue with the fates.

Professor Flitwick had changed the seating plan.

He changed the seating plan so Sirius would be sat next to (Y/N). The teachers at Hogwarts all promised to not intervene with soulmates, yet they all did. Professor McGonagall would be happy to hear of this prompting; she had been worrying over Sirius Black finding his soulmate for longer than she cared to admit.

Walking into Charms, you saw that the class was lined up against the back wall. You grumbled to yourself; the last thing needed was a new seating plan. You got on well with the Ravenclaw girl you were sitting next to, you didn’t want any more change.

Your stomach dropped to the floor when Professor Flitwick announced that your new place would be next to Sirius.

You felt as if you were in two minds. Since seeing his initials on your wrist, you were drawn to him – wanting nothing more to be in his orbit. Yet, the look on his face as he turned away from you in the Great Hall had dread unfurling in your stomach as you walked towards your new seating place.

“Sir, what was wrong with the old seating plan?” Sirius asks, refusing to take his seat next to you.

“Seating plans need to change to better fit the needs of the students, Mr Black. Please take your seat next to Miss (Y/L/N) so I can begin my lesson.”

Sirius grits his teeth as he slides into the seat next to yours. His entire body tense while he opens his parchment and prepares his quill and ink.

It doesn’t take long for the atmosphere to change between the two of you.

It’s like electricity, or so you think. The space between the two of you hums to life and you can feel the change. You gasp involuntarily, biting your lip as goose bumps break out across your skin at the mere notion of having Sirius this close to you. You know he hears your gasp and you know he feels the same as you; he shifts imperceptibly to try and stave off whatever he’s feeling but he’s finding it harder and harder to resist you.

It’s the bond between soulmates, you think to yourself. The bond was a living, breathing thing between the pair whether it was accepted or not.

The class drags on for what feels like hours. Sirius gives up trying to pay any attention to Professor Flitwick and instead, focuses on resisting the urge to drag you from the classroom.

He practically throws his things into his bag when Professor Flitwick dismisses the class at the sound of the bell.

“Sirius, I need to talk to you.” You call, following him from the classroom.

“I know what you want to talk about, and believe me, I was just as shocked as you were when I found your initials on my wrist.”

“But what do we do about it?” He can hear the hope in your voice and see the promises in your eyes.

It almost breaks him when he says, “Nothing. We do nothing.”

Your mouth drops open, “What? Why?”

“I didn’t choose you.”

“It isn’t a choice, Sirius. The fates decide soulmates, everyone knows that.”

“Still. I didn’t choose you.”

His words land this time; each one a blow to your heart. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, gritting your teeth to stop them. You would not show an ounce of weakness in front of him. Anger rises within you, turning your blood to flame.

You glare at the teenager in front of you, spitting the words, “I wouldn’t have picked you for me either, but the fates did Sirius and it’s something that we both have to live with.”

You turn away from him, leaving him there in the corridor. You barely make it to the common room before the tears start to fall and your breath falls short due to the sobs heaving from your chest. You blindly make your way to your room, pausing now and then to wipe the tears from your eyes and to berate yourself for crying over a silly boy.

But he isn’t a silly boy; he’s your soulmate and he rejected you. That lone thought has the tears beginning all over again as you hide yourself under your duvet, making sure to pull on all the curtains around your bed.

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His rejection of the bond did nothing for your feelings. If anything, they made them stronger, but you knew that you could not act on it. Sirius had made his feelings for you clear so you settled for loving him from the sidelines; watching as he hid his wrist whenever he started to flirt with other girls.

It destroyed you, but he had made his decision. You would not push him on this.

In such a short amount of time, you had gone from barely recognising Sirius as a friend to being his soulmate to being completely in love with him. Whenever you thought of your feelings for the Marauder, you felt dizzy because of how fast it had all happened. If this was the magic of soulmates, you felt whiplashed.

Jude remained your rock; handing you tissues and listening to your complaints. She had found her soulmate; a Slytherin named Poppy. And yet, Jude remained by your side through it all. Poppy joining her more often than not, and a close friendship developed between you both. You felt like a burden to them; ruining their happiness with your sadness but they assured you that they would have a lifetime to be happy. But they wanted you to be happy too – which you were working on.

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Sirius felt awful. Truthfully, he felt empty. And he had done since he said those words to you after Charms class.

He felt the idiot; he felt the fool. He could see how it was affecting you and knew that it was mirrored on his own face. He was just so scared of turning out like his parents; of fulfilling the cursed cycle all the couples in his family seem to take. First, loving each other passionately before turning to hate each other down the line. If that happened with you, he would never forgive himself.

He watches you from across the room. Your nose stuck in a book that he’s seen you read a thousand times over the last month; as if this particular book is a comfort read. He takes a deep breath before walking over to you.

“Can we talk?” He asks you, motioning to the stairs that lead to the boys dormitories – the only place in Gryffindor tower where there is privacy.

You nod, not trusting your voice around him. You wanted so badly to say no, that he has to earn that right but looking into his eyes, seeing the small light of hope there. You had to say yes. Your mind rebelled, throwing every logical reason at you, but your heart won out and you were following him up the stairs before your mind could catch up.

Sirius holds the door open for you. You duck inside, stopping in the middle of room. Tensing slightly as you hear the door shut.

“Can I be honest with you?” He asks, joining you in the middle of the room.

“Of course.”

“I didn’t want to reject the soulmate bond.”

“What?” A hot flash of anger pangs through your body – how dare he say that? How dare he say that after the pain you’ve been through watching him with other girls and keeping your mouth shut.

“I didn’t want to reject the soulmate bond.”

“Then why did you? Why have I sat by for a month with a broken heart?”

He voice is small when he replies, “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t want us to be like my parents,” He confesses, “They’re soulmates yet entirely wrong for each other. It’s like that with every couple in my family, and I would never forgive myself that happened to us. So I pushed you away, told you I didn’t want the bond and then flirted with other girls to dig it in. It was a shitty move, and I am so sorry, but I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to stay away from you, I want to be with you.”

“Sirius, I just spent the last month of my life wondering what was so wrong with me that you couldn’t possibly love me. I sat by and tried to be happy for my best friend who had found her soulmate, but I couldn’t because my heart was in pieces. I watched you flirt with other girls as if I was nothing to you and it broke me. And it was because you were scared? Sirius, you should have talked to me. I know that we didn’t socialise much before, but you should have told your fears when my initials showed up on your wrist. I am your soulmate; I am supposed to help you through it all.”

Sirius falls to his knees before you, pressing his face to your stomach, “I know, I know. You’re right, and if I need to I’ll stay on my knees and beg for your forgiveness even though I don’t deserve it. But we can do this right? We can be together?”

Your hands begin to card themselves through his hair without thinking, “Sirius…”

He shakes his head, “There aren’t enough words in the English language for me to tell you how sorry I am. I felt it too; I felt the heartbreak and the sadness. I shouldn’t have done it, but my fear outweighed my logic.”

“We aren’t going to be like your parents.”

“But how do you know?” He whispers, fear creeping into his voice.

Your hand cradles his cheek, “Because I’ll remind you… every single day if I need to. I’m not saying I forgive you immediately, but I want this to work. The fates gave me your initials for a reason; I felt our bond in Charms, we are destined to be together.”

Sirius presses his face into your hand, dropping a kiss to the palm, “I didn’t mean it, you know. If I had to pick anyone to be my soulmate, it would be you. I am honoured that it is you.”

“You mean it?”

“I do. You’re perfect for me, and I think I’ve already fallen in love with you.” He states, eyes shining with unshed tears.

You close your eyes, his words feeling like balm spread over the gaping wound of your heart, “Thank god, because I’ve fallen in love with you too. I didn’t mean it either, I would always pick you.”

You are in his arms in an instant; his mouth hot and insistent on yours. His hands roam over your body. Your hands in his hair, grabbing a handful to keep him pressed to you. At the feel of his touch, all previous reservations fly out of your mind – the only word running through your brain is his name being repeated like a prayer. His touch feels so right, and you simply give in to what your heart has wanted since the night you saw his initials.

He walks you back towards the bed, never once pulling his lips away from yours. He only pulls away when he lays you down on top of his covers; you lie underneath him happily, enjoying the feeling of his lips leaving open mouthed kisses down the expanse of your neck and collarbone. His hands undo the buttons to your shirt, and you shift so he can push your shirt from your shoulders. He latches his lips back to your collarbone, sucking a mark there that will surely be a dark bruise by morning.

Your hands shove the hem of his t-shirt up; he pulls away from your body for long enough to take the shirt off. The minute its gone; your hands run over the expanse of his stomach, savouring the feeling of his muscles contracting at your touch. You pull his face back to yours, desperate to feel him. Your lips glide together seamlessly; as if made for each other.

Sirius runs his hands down your sides; memorising every curve of your body, grinning into the kiss as you shiver underneath him. You bite down on bottom lip; a move that has him moaning into your mouth.

“I need to know…” He whispers into your mouth; the words barely heard as they’re swallowed by you.

“What?”

“Do you want to do this?” He asks, pulling away from your mouth to run his eyes over your face, checking for any hint of hesitation whilst simultaneously asking for permission.

Your eyes sting with the tears at his care for you. You kiss him sweetly, lovingly before looking into his eyes, “I want this. I want it to be with you.”

That’s all he needs to know before he’s casting a silencing charm on the room and locking the door.

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Sirius finds it hard to keep his hands off you after the acceptance of the bond. He has to be touching you at all times whether it’s a shoulder pressed against yours, his hand holding on tight to yours, or his arms around your waist. It keeps him grounded, it keeps him calm when the stresses of life begin to settle in.

He thinks back to the beginning of your relationship; how cruel he was, and he looks at you in awe because he still doesn’t understand how you could forgive him – let alone, love him. On the days where those thoughts plague his mind, he places kiss after kiss on the mark on your wrist where his initials sit.

You know the meaning behind these kisses, knowing he’s torturing himself internally. On these days, you draw his attention from your wrist to your mouth instead where you remind him of how much you love him and how you’ve forgiven him for those early days.

His fears are quashed and his love for you only grows. You’re his soulmate, he’s yours. It’s as simple as that.

*******

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter @obsessedwithrandomthings @kalimagik @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @slytherinprincess03 @mischiefsemimanaged @soleil-amaryllis @masterofthedarkness @bforbroadway @chaotic-fae-queen @peachesandpinks @nebulablakemurphy @haphazardhufflepuff

Sirius Black taglist: @cheapglitter @fific7

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bktaro · 3 years

Text

rumour (part 1)

erwin smith x f!reader

warning: season 2 spoilers, eventual smut, drinking, one night stand, 18+

click here to read on ao3

summary: there’s a rumour about Erwin Smith amongst the aristocrats of Wall Sina, and you were determined to finally figure out the truth behind it.

“There he is.”

Your eyes followed the direction your friend nudged toward, leading towards the entrance of the ballroom. The grand double doors spread open, welcoming a group of people to into the hall, all dressed impeccably head to toe in their best outfits with matching emerald brooches either wrapped around the collars of their dress shirts, or dangling by a chain around each of their necks.

His tall figure stands in the front of the group, serving as the obvious leader, shoulders broad and chiseled chest puffed out. He doesn't disappoint from your imagination of him at all— he’s just as handsome, if not more, as the rumours claimed him to be.

Erwin Smith, Commander of the Survey Corps had finally made his long-anticipated entrance to the party.

“So, it’s true.” You whispered to your friend; eyes unable to peel away from Erwin. “He indeed is incredibly easy on the eyes.”

His reputation amongst the aristocrats and bureaucrats within Wall Sina was one that sparked a controversial debate depending on who the question was to be asked. To some, he was the genius leader of the Survey Corps that ventured out to seek truth behind the unknown, a job only a select few could ever possess the intelligence to handle. However, to others, he was nothing more than the head honcho of a group of suicidal maniacs wasting taxpayer funds with little to no returnable benefits to the grander society.

You consider yourself part of the first group, especially impressed after his ability to sniff out and take out the illegitimate trash that infiltrated the Military Police and Royal Government— something that you were always disgusted with but were too outnumbered to truly do anything about even as a part of one of the noble families. In your view, he was a daring, brave and admirable soldier, sincerely passionate about what he does.

But as much as you admired his courageous acts, there was a lingering rumour about him you just couldn’t ignore.

“There’s absolutely no chance those raunchy rumours could possibly be true about a man like that.” Your friend’s jaw is nearly on the ground, her eyes glued to every move the tall, blond man made.

A waiter balancing a tray of champagne glasses pauses and offers the drinks to Erwin and his group. Erwin gives a small, charismatic nod in thanks, grasping one of the champagne glasses and tipping the bubbling beige liquid into his mouth. His eyes survey the ballroom, observing the attendees across the room, and he eventually catches you staring at him.

You expect him to look away, ignore it and move on. You haven’t even fully introduced yourself to him yet, and you imagine even if by some chance your father who worked closely with him before had dropped your name or showed a portrait of you in conversation before, he would have never remembered it.

But Erwin surprises you, locking his eyes with yours and giving you a tiny smirk against his champagne glass. It’s more than enough to fuel your confidence, reciprocating him and giving him just a tiny grin back.

“You know what?” You mumble, and your friend looks at you, eyes widening at the realization of the interaction between you and Erwin. “I’m going to see if the rumour is true myself.”

—

The night continues to carry on in the traditionally extravagant ‘Wall Sina’ manner. The bureaucrats and noblemen continue to drink their wines and other alcohols, noblewomen gossiping amongst each other, food continuously being brought out and served, and live classical music playing in the background, allowing the open space of the dance floor to be available for couples to sway along with.

You had split with your friend, sitting with the rest of your family at your designated table and took sips of your own champagne while quietly analyzing the scene in front of you. Your mother is off gossiping with the other noblewomen, and your father being the head of one of few legitimately operating branches of the upper Military Police was busy, most likely drunk in discussion about how ‘finally-those-good-for-nothing-lazy-leaders-all-got-removed-and-got-what-they-deserved” and “now-the-Military-Police-could-finally-regain-its-former-glory’. It’s probably an interesting conversation, but at the moment you were waiting for just one particular thing you know is bound to happen at any second.

And as if he could read your mind, he comes just right on time.

“Look who it is!” Your fathers face is red from the alcohol, a toothy smile spread across his face at the arrival of a new guest at your table. “The man who brought glory back to the military himself— Erwin Smith.”

“Please sir, I wouldn’t have been able to do it all without the support of you and your honorable team.” Erwin’s voice breaks out into a deep laugh, drunk members of your father’s team hollering and even slapping Erwin's back in appreciation. “I hope the evening is treating you well.”

“Good food, good drinks and good company, nothing more I could ask for a good time.” Your father stops, glancing his eyes towards you before continuing his sentence. “By the way, this is my daughter, the one I’ve told you about previously.”

Bingo— the moment you’ve been waiting for was exactly this.

Your eyes look up right into his, the most professional and pleasant smile spreading over your face. Offering a hand outward, you introduce yourself, and Erwin bends forward, taking it gently into his and holding on to your fingers, bringing them up to leave a tender kiss against your knuckles.

“Pleasure is mine to finally meet the daughter the chief has talked so much about.”

“No, no. I take all the pleasure meeting you, Commander. You’ve done such marvellous things for the people of the walls.”

Erwin lets go of your hand, his eyes lingering on yours for a little longer than he knows he should, before he pulls back, facing your father once again.

“Erwin,” Your father begins, taking another sip of alcohol from his cup. “May I request something personal from you?”

Erwin raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but a personal request sure isn’t one of them.

“Of course, sir.”

“My daughter, she’s a smart one. Got into the Military Police on her own too, being top ten in her training year. I plan to pass down my position to her eventually, but only if she proves capable.”

You suppress a laugh from coming out at his words, trying your best to hold a straight face. You knew you were more than skillful enough to handle the position and found it rather cute your father thought otherwise. Not that you particularly felt offended at his words— you were smarter than to let the old man's dated standards of what ‘capable’ meant define your worth. But he was helping you get closer to the Commander Erwin Smith, what more could you do than just sit back and let him set it all up for you?

“I want a great leader like you to teach her more ways in becoming successful that aren’t the out-of-date methods us old folks use. You two are also close in age, I assume it would be much easier to understand one another's viewpoint.”

Erwin's response is nothing short of what you expect him to answer, the corners of his lips turning upwards into a small, confident grin.

“It would be an honor and a privilege to share my knowledge onto such a gifted young woman.” He bends his body slightly down towards you once more, offering the palm of his hand upwards towards you. “Would you be interested in having a discussion about it tonight?”

You eye your father, silently seeking his approval. When he nods his head in a way that is much more enthusiastic than you imagined, you eagerly place your hand onto his, letting him wrap his fingers around your hand.

“Gladly, Commander.”

His hands are large and calloused compared to yours, the years of training and firsthand combat clearly visible in the rough texture of his palms. Effortlessly, he leads you across the dance floor of the ballroom, heading towards the outside veranda that overlooks the city of Stohess, and where the noises from inside the party become muffled behind you.

“You smart, aren’t you?”

Erwin’s hand releases yours, admiring the view of the quiet city of Stohess under the night sky, the side of his body leaning against the railing. His broad statue is overwhelmingly large compared to yours, now emphasized by him standing mere inches away from you.

“Whatever could you mean by that?” You arch an eyebrow, questioning him back.

You’re not an idiot, and neither is Erwin. You’re more than aware he knows exactly what you’ve been scheming.

“I can see right past the facade you put up with your father back there. You’re not interested in the slightest talking strategies to become a better military leader tonight, are you?”

Erwin’s eyes shift to look at you, a knowing glimmer in his eyes in which you can’t help but release a tiny smirk in response.

“You caught me.” You take a step forward, bringing a hand up to rest your palm on the top of his chest. Your fingers traced the muscles of his well-defined chest through his dress shirt, eyelashes batting while looking up straight into his eyes. “Truthfully, I might have asked father to say I wanted advice just as an excuse to talk with someone as impressive as you in private.”

A smug grin forms onto his face. Erwin knew exactly who you were the moment he saw you, the famous beautiful yet intelligent daughter of one of the top Military Police chiefs. He never failed to get any woman he sought after, and he planned on making you no exception to that rule.

He’s enjoying this all just as much, if not more, as you are, internally gloating at it all unraveling quicker than he anticipated— partially due to your cooperation of course.

“You’re just as I envisioned. Quite the vixen.”

“Having daydreams about me already, Commander?”

“Can’t help it, the rumours amongst the soldiers said you were the most stunning woman in the entire Military Police.” Erwin’s gaze flickers from the bottom of your lips and works upwards, meeting your eyes once more. “And I can now confirm the rumours are indeed true.”

You want to roll your eyes, no, you should’ve rolled your eyes. But when such words come out of his mouth, they no longer felt cliched. That was the renowned power of Erwin Smith, he had just the right charm and skill to hypnotize just about anyone with his words.

And rumour had it he was a repeat offender in using this ability skillfully to the advantage of the Survey Corps.

“There also is a rumour floating around about you too, Commander.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You do exactly what you’re doing to me right now, charming and enticing me until I open my wallet to you to aid in the cost of the Survey Corps next expedition. Then to show your gratitude while taking the advantage of the opportunity to release your pent-up desires, you’ll offer me the night of my life, and when morning arises, you’ll be gone without a single word.”

Erwin does nothing at your accusation, staring at you blankly momentarily until breaking out into a low chuckle.

“That’s quite the ridiculous rumour, I must say.”

You embarrassed yourself. You let yourself get too cocky. Rumours were rumours for a reason. Your friend was right, there was no possible way such a dignified man like Erwin Smith would do something like that. Or at least, that’s what you think briefly.

Erwin’s hands find their way to the small of your back, pushing your body closer to his. His face looms over yours, illuminated by the moonlight shining above the night sky, and the smug grin on his face widening before asking you one last question.

“Would you like to make that rumour into reality?”

#erwin x y/n #erwin smut #attack on titan erwin #erwin smith #erwin x reader #aot fic

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ghostburs-blue · 4 years

Text

Peace Is Momentary

Summary: soulmate!au where your soulmate will appear to you in a time of need. Spencer’s gone 20 years without meeting his; so has y/n. What will happen when fate finally connects them together?

Warnings: angst if you squint, nothing else really

Word count: 2.2k

a/n: this might become a series if people like it enough!! we’ll see ;)

Spencer knows there’s a chance he’ll never meet his soulmate. He knows the statistics, he’s done the research. Yet, he always feels a little bit better at the thought that someone was made just for him, someone who’ll stay with him through it all.

Of course, he assumed he would have found his soulmate much earlier in life. Most people found theirs when they were as young as 16, though always in the same fashion. Spencer was turning 22, 6 years older than the average age of finding your one true love.

Your soulmate would come to you in a time when you need them the most; when your soul calls out to its other half in a cry for help.

Every time Spencer broke down or cried, whether it be over a case at work, his mother’s condition, or quite literally anything else, he prayed that his soulmate would magically appear in front of him. Alas, the cards simply haven’t been in his favor.

Unknown to Reid, about 20 minutes away, you were in the exact same predicament. All of your life, you had waited to find your soulmate. When your parents passed in your high school years, there was a small part of you that was hoping you would find your soulmate right then and there. That... didn’t exactly work out.

You had moved in with your aunt and uncle in a different city and had turned into the epitome of a rebellious child. You wore clothes your modest family would have a heart attack upon seeing, listened to music the church choir you were a part of would scoff at. However, if there was one thing you were good at, it was school.

You didn’t have a ton of money growing up, so you worked harder than anyone you knew to get scholarships to college. You juggled a full time job at your local coffee shop while still in school to get your engineering degree, and boy was it tiring.

“Excuse me lady? I’ve been waiting for 10 fucking minutes. What have I got to do to get a coffee already?” A man with a thick (Boston?) accent leered at you. You groaned internally, proceeding to plaster a much too bright smile on your face in an attempt to hide your obvious disdain for him.

“So sorry sir! Your cold brew will be coming right up,” you exclaimed cheerily, though you felt anything but. Turning away from him, you let your hands fly over the coffee machine to make a drink you’ve made a thousand times over. Your mind starts to wander as you brew the espresso. Did you even have a soulmate? What if they hate you? What if they’re dead? What if-

Your thoughts were cut short as the espresso machine beeps, jolting you back to reality. You quickly finish off the cup, gratefully sliding it across the bar to the rude man waiting close by. You turned around and caught your coworker’s bemused expression; you were too tired to complain.

Spencer frowned as he gazed at the crime scene photos. What wasn’t clicking?

He was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of Emily’s heels clacking on the linoleum floor. He turned with his chin resting on his hand to see her wearing a pitying look on her face. In one hand, she held a cup of coffee.

He reached out, pointing to the styrofoam cup. “Is that for me?” Spencer asked, secretly hoping it wasn’t so he could get some rest.

Thankfully, Emily shook her head. “No, Reid.” She sighed, looking back up at him sadly. “Listen, I know you really want to solve this case. Don’t get me wrong, we all do. But you’ve been awake for what? 30 hours straight? You might be a genius but even Einstein needed rest,” she finished. Before Reid could protest, she lifted a hand. “Go back to your hotel room and sleep. That’s a direct order from Hotch.”

Spencer frowned unhappily at the brunette in front of him, but he knew when the conversation was over. Grabbing some files he was fully planning to mull over on the comfort of his stiff hotel mattress, he brushed past Emily and headed towards his car.

After a long shift, you groaned as you pushed open the door to your tiny apartment. Immediately, you stripped off your clothes and headed straight for the shower in an attempt to scrub off the now nauseating scent of coffee.

Emerging 20 minutes later with bright red and freshly exfoliated skin, you felt like you were about to collapse at any second. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow.

Reid sat on the bed, papers and crime scene photos splayed out in front of him. The heels of his hands dug into his eyes as he tried to prevent tears from running down his unshaven cheeks.

You wake with a start, sweating slightly. Looking around, you frown. This isn’t your hotel room, you think to yourself, confused. You gasped when you noticed a man sitting on the bed, looking like he hadn’t slept in months. His clothes were misshapen, hair messy and clearly not brushed. He was boyishly handsome, you decided with a satisfied nod.

The gasp you let out caused him to look up; you both realized what was happening at the same moment.

“You’re my soulmate,” Spencer breathed out, at the same time you muttered “Oh my fucking god.”

For a few more moments, both stared at each other, unsure how to act and what to do.

Reid made the first move, awkwardly scooting over slightly and clearing his throat, patting the now empty space next to him.

You quietly shuffled over, perching politely on the edge of the bed.

“So um... where are you right now?” You offered, genuinely curious as to why he was in a hotel room in seemingly the middle of nowhere.

Spencer laughed. “I uh- I guess it’s a long story,” his voice trailed off slightly as he noticed the look you gave him, the one that said Really?. “I guess that was a stupid thing to say,” he mumbled.

You laughed, hitting his arm gently. “Don’t worry about it. For now, we have all the time in the world.”

And so the night progressed; Reid told you all about working at the BAU and you told him all about, well, working at a coffee shop. You quickly found out Spencer was a literal genius, and you, completely serious of course, asked if he would do all your homework for you. (Spoiler alert: he said no because it “goes against his morals”. What does that even mean???)

You could feel yourself fading as Spencer got happier and happier. You both seemed to realize you didn’t have much time left. You grabbed his hand, staring deep into his eyes. You could feel yourself leaning in, Reid too-

“Wait!” You exclaimed, and the two of you jumped apart. “What’s your name?” You asked breathlessly.

“Oh!” He replied, seemingly surprised that you two had never exchanged names. What he didn’t know, however, was that you were slipping away from him much faster than either of you could have realized. “It’s Sp-“

And just like that, you were gone. You woke up in your own bed to find it was morning, sunlight streaming through your windows. Racking your brain, you tried to remember what he said his name was. Unfortunately, all you could remember was the short 2 letters you heard before you vanished. He hadn’t even gotten your name! How was he supposed to find you now?

Across the country, Spencer woke up with his head pounding. Bleary eyed, he tried to make sense of what just happened. He met his soulmate, then lost her just as fast. He didn’t even get her name!, Reid kicked himself.

The next few days for the both of you seemed like hell. You found out it was practically impossible to find records of government employees, especially from divisions like the BAU. You grew increasingly frustrated while scouring through database after database.

Spencer had immediately called Garcia, but made her swear to keep it a secret. He attempted to give her an idea of what you looked like, only to hear the disappointed sound of Penelope’s voice letting him know that she had a list of about 10,000 people who fit the description. Of course, knowing Penelope, no secret ever stayed a secret for long. No more than a few hours later he was met with a chorus of congratulations from his fellow colleagues, including Morgan’s “I knew you had it in you!”, which was met with a sad frown as Spencer explained the unlucky situation.

Unfortunately, nothing much happened after that. You gave up your search on this mystery man, he did the same. Every day, however, you both woke up and hoped today would be that one special day where they found each other again. Every day, they were met with another heart wrenching disappointment, until one fateful afternoon.

Your back ached as you scrubbed down the counter for what felt like the thousandth time that day. It had been a few years since what you liked to call “the incident”, and you liked to keep it out of your head at this point. You were now in grad school, in a different city. You still worked at a coffee shop, though this one was much more busy and frankly much more stressful.

You stretched slightly, pulling your arms up in the air as you readjusted your torso. You turned when you heard your coworker call your name; he was going to take a break. You nodded at him, letting him know you would take over for him.

There was a lull in the customers in the shop, which made sense considering it was 2:00 on a Tuesday afternoon.

You decided to make the most of the break and started to clean the espresso machine in front of you. As you grabbed a dish cloth from the sink, you heard bells in the doorway tinkle slightly as the door was pushed open.

You looked up with your customer service grin automatically painted on, ready to greet the customer. The welcome died on your lips, however, as you realized who it was. It was him.

Your eyes widened in horror as you realized something else; he was kissing a girl who was definitely not you.

You forced yourself to walk over to the cash register, clearing your throat to break the intense lip-locking session apart. A faint look of annoyance crossed Spencer’s face as he looked up at who interrupted them.

His first reaction was exactly what you thought it would be. He froze slightly, then slowly walked up to the register with what looked like a death grip on his (girlfriend’s?) hand.

Though it was the girl who spoke, you found your attention kept flitting to the man next to her. You couldn’t tell if she was oblivious, or just didn’t care.

He had... changed to say the least. Stubble covered the bottom portion of his face, and his hair had grown out. His cheekbones looked more defined, and he walked with an aura of confidence that he didn’t have before. Still, you had to admit he looked very handsome.

You were shaken out of your stupor when you felt the gaze of the girl. She looked at you with, was that impatience? You asked for her payment and her name, Stacy, noting it down on both cups before you took her credit card.

You hurried around behind the bar in an attempt to give them the drinks as quickly as possible and get them to leave. How were you supposed to talk to him now? He literally has a girlfriend!

You finished making the two coffees and set them on the counter, calling out her name to let her know the drinks were ready.

“One nitro cold brew for you, and one iced vanilla latte for him,” you handed over the drinks directly to each of them, making a point to shift Spencer’s drink slightly, causing him to look down. He caught your drift as he noticed a little extra writing underneath Stacy’s name.

His girlfriend grabbed his hand, throwing a quick and insincere “thank you!” over her shoulder at you as they left the store. You slumped against the sink, grabbing the countertop with your hands. What in Gods’ green Earth was this?

Outside, Spencer finally got the chance to look at the cup. He smiled as he read what you had scribbled on there.

Underneath your phone number, you had written, “It’s a really long story but I hope you have the time. Let’s talk soon?”

It was nearing 9 pm when you were starting to lose all hope. What if you made a mistake, and that wasn’t actually your soulmate? You shoved a pillow over your face with irritation and groaned, collapsing onto the sofa next to your phone. As you lay in silence, you heard a noise. Your phone was vibrating.

Sitting up quickly, you picked up the phone.

“Hello?” You asked breathlessly.

A familiar amused chuckle rang on the other end of the line.

“Hi, soulmate.”

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sweetteaanddragons · 4 years

Note

Here am I again bc apparently the Silmarillion™️ now lives in my head rent free and I like ur interpretation of the characters (some of ur fics also live in my head rent free) ... Do u think things would improve or go more horribly wrong if Feanor was the youngest Finwean? Like if Miriel was the second wife? Idk if everything is less or more of a disaster bc in one hand I think Fingolfin is a tiny bit more well adjusted than Feanor at least when his mother is the one living (Unless he like Feanor would feel a lil bit threatened by his lil brother genius? Is he being replaced here?) and there’s also the fact that I hope that Feanor would be a little less of a disaster If his mother lived (Unless he convinced himself that he has to be better than everyone if he wants her to stay or something like that) but on the other hand that family is a powder keg waiting to explode no matter what u change

Ps: Is Feanor still Finwe favorite child or does this change bc he’s not the only living reminder of the wife he loved and lost? Bc if he’s still the favorite I don’t think that would help with the feelings of “is dad replacing us?” That could possibly arise in his other children.

If Feanor is still the favorite I suppose there’s a little more protectiveness now that he’s the youngest...

Ps 2: Does Feanor being younger affect the age of his children by much 🤔

Thank you! This one took some thought.

Okay, so the initial change is easy enough. Finwe marries Indis, Indis dies in childbirth . . .

And that brings up the first question.

Which child?

Fingolfin? It’s certainly a possibility, but then we have to consider what’s going to happen without Finrod and Galadriel. (And his other sons, but they’re less impactful.)

Findis or Lalwen? Do they even exist in this AU?

Or Finarfin?

If it’s the last, then we also have to consider what the age gap between all these kids is in this AU and how their feelings about little baby Arafinwe are complicated by this.

We also have to consider how the political situation gets even trickier.

Because Indis wasn’t just the Queen of the Noldor.

She was also a princess of the Vanyar.

Which means that while the Vanyar may not get a direct say in what goes down with a potential remarriage, they are definitely going to have an Opinion on it.

I feel like there is probably at least one frosty offer to foster the children that Finwe immediately turns down.

For the sake of argument, let’s say that Findis is on the cusp of adulthood. She is politely present at the marriage ceremony and stays a very precise, very respectable length of time afterward before going to visit her relatives indefinitely.

Nolofinwe, as the crown prince, stays. He has a lot of feelings about the collapse of his once happy feeling, but he’s well into his adolescence and used to hiding things at court. He mostly reacts by emotionally shutting down and very politely refusing to talk to his father about it. He daydreams about storming the gates of Mandos and demanding his mother back.

Lalwen is just on the verge of adolescence and would prefer to spend as much time in the trees in the gardens as possible. She is torn between wanting to play with her baby brother and wanting to avoid him.

Arafinwe is old enough that he is aware that Miriel is not his mother but young enough that most of what’s going on is flying over his head. He warms up to Miriel almost immediately and then spends a few weeks avoiding her out of a vague idea that if he’s around her too much, she’ll die.

That eventually gets more or less cleared up.

So then Miriel has Feanaro! And Miriel - what?

Is fine?

Dies? (Finwe is pretty sure he’s cursed. Arafinwe figures baby Feanaro is like him and they should stick together. The gossips are going wild.)

Survives but is unwell?

Let’s go with that one.

So the thing is, Feanaro is not Feanaro if he does not have something to throw himself against. In canon, it’s his determination to not be replaced in his father’s affections. Here, it’s his determination that he be considered worth it. Worth all the gossip about marred marriages and what comes of them; worth all the trouble with the Vanyar; worth the fractures between his half-siblings and his father; worth his mother’s illness and pain.

What he has going for him, though, is that his mother is still alive and supporting him. He still loves language and still has Opinions on the language shift, but he’s not as ride-or-die about it as in canon; his mother is still alive, queen, and perfectly capable of insisting on whatever pronunciation of her name that she likes, even weakened.

The thing about his relationship with his siblings is that in this AU, they get to set the tone. They’re the ones establishing that tone when he’s still too young to have an opinion on it.

He has almost no relationship with Findis. She sends very polite notes and very respectable gifts on all appropriate occasions; his mother reciprocates on his behalf until he’s old enough to do it, at which point the gifts get a little half-hearted or pointed, depending on the year.

Nolofinwe is . . . fine, but distant. Feanaro doesn’t understand him at all and doesn’t really care to try.

Nolofinwe is also established as the crown prince, and it doesn’t occur to Feanaro to try to take it from him. Politics are boring, court is infuriating, and his projects are much more interesting. Sure, Feanaro is convinced he’s the smartest person in the room, and he wants to be listened to, but in his father’s court, he mostly is already. He’ll poke at Nolo, sometimes, but he has no interest in trying to usurp him. Of course, if something ever does happen to Atar and Nolo does become king, then the distance between “not willing to fight you for the throne” and “actually willing to treat you as an authority figure I should obey” is going to become apparent very quickly.

As long as Nolo doesn’t tell him to do anything he wasn’t going to do anyway, they’ll be just fine.

Lalwen is fun, but, due to the age gap, is more of an impromptu babysitter than a playmate. As they get older, they’re genuinely affectionate, but it’s complicated by the family mess and made more so by the political one; Lalwen always takes Nolo’s side, and Feanaro has no patience for it.

Arafinwe . . . Arafinwe is a different story.

Arafinwe is a lonely little kid who latches onto his new little half-brother and takes him everywhere and shows him everything in the early days when everyone is still really unsure whether or not Miriel is actually going to die. This closeness remains even after those concerns mostly pass.

What happens from there is . . . I have no idea. Probably not worse of a disaster, but maybe not notably better either.

#long post #headcanon #silmarillion #au

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dreadpoetssociety · 4 years

Text

I Just Want My Brother

TW: Kidnapping, Abuse, Death, Drugs, Mentions of blood.

Prompt: hi! i loved ur reid x sis!reader!! i was wondering if u could do one with reid x teen sis!reader and maybe she was a witness to something or got kidnapped and survived or something so they have to give her a cognitive interview and she refuses to do it unless spence is there or the one asking her the questions

Note: I really liked this request. I feel like I may have gotten off topic a littttttttle bit, but I tried my best! Also, sorry for any grammatical mistakes!

()()()()()()

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3589

You were never really one to defy your elder brother’s rules, given how lenient he was with you, but it was supposed to just be one fun night out with your friends. The night scene that your friends adored was never really your cup of tea due to the horror stories Spencer would come home with. Girls getting kidnapped going on a run, girls being drugged and killed at a party, girls just going missing off the streets never to be found until it was too late, things like that. After a while, he slowly stopped giving you the gory details when he’d noticed the actual effect it had on your own life, whether or not you chose to acknowledge that when begging him to tell you more, but not knowing what was out there did scare you. Especially after stealing one of Spence’s files and looking at the photos that it held.

But, you were feeling daring on this particular night. Your friends finally convinced you to sneak out of the house. Spencer wouldn’t be back from his current job until morning, and even if you did get caught, you were generally a good kid. You bent the rules from time to time, but most high-schoolers you knew were sneaking out regularly, skipping class, doing hard drugs and even getting arrested from time to time. How bad could you be? At least, that was the reasoning your friends put into your head.

So, you thought hey, if you ever have kids, mind as well at least have one cool story to tell them. You didn’t even bother to go through the apartment window, you just walked out the door and met your friends out on the street. It was nearly midnight, but the night had just begun.

It was hours of going to this person’s house and that person’s apartment, stopping by a random party and making noise in the streets, until finally, your friends made it to a bar.

“You know,” you laughed a little anxiously, “maybe we shouldn’t. I mean I don’t even have a way of getting in there.”

“Y/N, chill. I know your brother freaks you into obeying the rules, but those things he sees have like a .0001% of actually happening. Like what are the chances really?” your friend, Elliot, smiled at you.

“Actually, about one out of 300,000 people get kidnapped, which doesn’t seem like a lot, but the actual percentage is-“

“Y/N, we’re fine! Kids do this all the time. Plus, I already paid that Barry kid to make you a fake. Consider it an early birthday gift.” your other friend, Sheila, pulled out her purse and passed you the piece of plastic. Although incredibly concerned, you were impressed by how realistic it was. You sighed.

“Fine, you’re right.” you laughed, “But there’s no way I’m convincing that bouncer that I’m 21.”

“Confidence is key. Just stroll past him like you know what you’re doing. If you look nervous they’ll know. I swear, Y/N, those dudes can smell fear.” Elliot laughed. The three of you made your way to said club entrance, and although the bouncer did seem suspicious of you, he just let you in anyway.

The club was loud, there was a band on stage and lasers going throughout the room. Alice and Elliot didn’t hesitate to drag you to the bar first. You’d drank a little before, but you’d never gotten buzzed, let alone completely drunk. It wasn’t really your style, and thankfully, Elliot and Alice respected that. They pressured you to do a lot of things, but not anything like drugs or alcohol. They merely pushed you out of your comfort zone sometimes, and irregardless of whether or not the adults around you thought they were a good influence didn’t matter to you.

“We’re going to go dance, but we’ll be nearby if you don’t want to join us! Just make sure not to go too far alone, Y/N” Alice stated, knowing you would absolutely not agree to dance with them. You smiled and nodded and the two went off to do their thing within your sight.

“What can I get you, young lady?” the man at the bar caught you off guard.

“Oh, uh, maybe just a glass of water?”

“Ah, designated driver I presume?” he laughed.

“Yeah, something like that.” you replied, “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on those two.” you nudged your head towards your two friends who were living it up with some other people in the crowd who you think might’ve been your age, too. You were sort of surprised at how easy it was to get into this club, considering so many of your peers get thrown out of it or get caught.

The man passed you the water and walked off almost a bit angrily. Understandably, though, because water is free. You made a note to leave the man a tip later anyway. It was the least you could do. You played with the straw, took a few sips, and watched as your friends danced the night away.

After a while, though, you began to feel off. Dizzy even, and you couldn’t think clearly. It was a hot summer night in a hot crowded club, the one cup of water you drank all day was right in front of you, so you figured it was the heat. You decided to take a quick trip outside to try and catch some air.

It was when you left the club that it really hit you. The world was turning, and you were barely able to stay awake.

The club was located in an area that wasn’t super lit other than the one club sign. The bouncers must’ve been in the midst of switching shifts because there wasn’t one outside.

“Hey young lady, you okay?” a man’s voice was all you could make out of him. You could see him, but you couldn’t, and it didn’t make sense. Someone grabbed you and the world went dark.

()()()()()()

You woke up slowly. You didn’t recognize your surroundings, the walls were concrete and disgusting. The room reeked of something.

You tried to stand, but something was holding you to the floor. Having looked down, you noticed sort chains attached to both wrists. Your heart sped up, but you didn’t scream.

How the hell. . . you thought. How did they get me here?

The last thing you could really remember was the water. What was in the water? It was too slow to be ketamine, too fast to be rohypnol. You wondered. Oh my god, gamma hydroxybutyric acid. Or cherry meth.

You heard someone make a noise and instantly forgot about the debate in your head. Being able to think more clearly, and your eyesight less blurred, you began to take in your surroundings. There were windows in two two of the walls without glass. Taking a look, you noticed three other women in you line of sight. One in the room with you, who was starting to wake up, and two through the left and right windows. Straight ahead was a doorway that showed a room with a table on in the middle.

It was then that you really began to understand what was happening. The exact thing you were afraid of this whole time. Your breath sped up, your heart was nearly coming out of your body, your blood ran cold.

“Hey,” the girl was awake now, “I’m Charlotte.” you looked at her wide eyed. Here you two were, chained against a wall, she was bruised and bloodied up and down, and she decided that it was appropriate to introduce herself?

“What’s happening?” you didn’t even think to reply back to her. She could be anyone. She could be the person who took you, acting as your friend. Your paranoid mind raced through multiple scenarios.

“Look, you’ll be fine as long as you listen.”

“Listen? Listen to what? To who? Who took us? What are they-“

“You need to calm down.” she whispered, “If they hear you they’ll come. They haven’t been so nice to the noisy ones.”

If anything anybody had never shut you up before, that certainly did. You could feel the fear in every nerve of your body. he other girls around you faced the floor. One was in a party dress, the other in a pan suit. Looking at them, the girls had nothing in common. One had dark hair, the other had her hair dyed a faded blue, and the last was blonde, each with a different eye color and skin tone. You tried your best to think like your brother, but you couldn’t. Unlike him, you weren’t a genius, you were just average.

You heard a door creek open and all the girls instantly looked up. Through the doorway of your room, you saw a masked man walk in. You could almost hear the other girls’ hearts pumping. You watched in terror as he began to step towards you. When he got into the room, though, he turned towards Charlotte, and began unchaining her.

“No, please!” she cried, “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.”

Charlotte went quiet. He aggressively picked her up by her arm and dragged her to the table, of which he pinned her down onto and began to strap her in. It wasn’t long before he opened a cabinet out of your view, and pulled out various rusty tools.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked. You didn’t even think out what you were doing. What the hell do you think YOU’RE doing, Y/N? you thought to yourself. Unconsciously, you knew that you can’t profile this guy like Spencer could, you couldn’t talk your way out of this, but you could protect the girls around you. How? By pissing him off.

“Don’t speak, woman.” he growled.

“What are you going to do about it? Kill me?” he slammed a knife-like tool straight down into the table a millimeter next to Charlotte’s abdomen, “What? Did I hurt your masculinity, big boy?”

He unstrapped her quickly. You figured what was coming for you next, and it wasn’t long before you were on that table. The leather restraints were on way too tight, there were splinters in your back already from the poorly sanded wooden table, which you figured was on purpose. And all you could do was watch, and scream, as this man did whatever he wanted to you. hitting you, cutting you, seemingly testing out tools you’d never even seen before. The camera on the ceiling told you that he was recording this all to watch later.

And all you could do was scream out your brother’s name.

()()()()()()

You didn’t know how long you were there. Hours, days, weeks, you had no idea. Time didn’t exist down there. Ever since your first encounter with the man, you tried to deter him from the other women around you any time he came around. And fortunately for them but not for you, it worked.

All of the pain and screaming left you numb, but it wasn’t until you saw him get angrier with one of the other girls that you weren’t able to comprehend your situation anymore.

She hadn’t been doing well, the one in the party dress. The color in her skin was drained, making her paler, her eyes sunk. And you watched as the man pulled a knife from his pocket, and stuck it right through her heart. The screams from you and the girls flooded the room, and it was like the air in the building was being sucked out.

You would never forget it.

()()()()()()

You were asleep when suddenly you heard the door open again and your body began to shake. But it wasn’t the man who came in.

“Reid! I got her!” the sound of Morgan’s voice echoed in your ears. Spencer burst into the room, and while Morgan Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi tended to the other three girls, Reid and Hotch came straight to you.

“Y/N? Oh my god, Y/N, you’re going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here.” Spencer panicked as he tugged at the chains, “Come on!”

“Y/N, do you know where the unsub went?” Hotch asked. You looked at him, you understood his words, but all you could manage to say was,

“Liquid cherry.”

“Y/N?”

“No, cherry E.” you were so distorted, either from the pain, or from the shock.

“Y/N I don’t understand.” Hotch said.

“Liquid cherry?” Reid repeated, “Y/N, do you mean Liquid E?” you nodded.

“Cherry meth.” Hotch confirmed. You don’t even know why you brought it up. It wasn’t important, and although that’s what the man used on you, it wasn’t even relevant at this point.

The rest was a blur. Being free had a different meaning to it for you then. But yet, you were brought into an interrogation room after the ambulance had deemed that you didn’t have any truly hospitalizing injuries, just horrible bruises along with scars that would probably never fade away. You looked down at the table.

Emily Prentiss and JJ sat on the other end of the table.

“Y/N, we know you’ve been through something traumatic, but that man is still out there. The other two girls aren’t conscious, and you’re the only one who knows what he looks like.” Prentiss explained, “You might not remember, but we if you’re able, we want to do a cognitive interview with you. It might help you remember details you didn’t know you picked up on.”

“I don’t want to be here alone.” you whispered. JJ sighed sadly for you, “I don’t want to do it unless it’s Spencer.”

“I know, Y/N, but your brother is personally involved now. He can’t work on this case.” she said. In your heart you knew why, and you understood completely. But your mind just didn’t follow, and you shook your head. You looked up, and the color of the room and placement of the mirror seemed to eerily familiar, and the scene switched.

There you were, back on that concrete floor, screaming out for Spencer. All you wanted was for your brother to come save you. You saw the man walking towards you. You screamed louder as he got closer.

You felt someones hands on your shoulders and the scene had changed again. You were breathing heavily, the interrogation chair was on its back, and you were in the corner of the room. Emily and JJ were crouched with concerning eyes in front of you.

“Y/N? It’s us.”

“I can’t do it.” you sobbed, “Not without him. I won’t.”

Emily and JJ looked at each other and nodded. Emily walked out of the room while JJ sat on the floor with you.

“You’re safe now.”

“He’s still out there he’s not going to stop.” you whispered, “I just want my brother. I just want Spencer.”

She held you tight.

“We won’t let anything happen to you. Spence won’t let anything happen to you.” she reassured.

It wasn’t long after that Spencer finally entered the room and signaled that it was okay for JJ to leave.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft, and you instantly felt safer in the presence of your brother, “are you sure you can do this?” you nodded in response. As much as it terrified you, you didn’t want that monster hurting any other girls. He was still out there somewhere. Spence helped you up and fixed your chair. You sat across from each other.

“Y/N, I need you to close your eyes.” he said. You did so, “Now think. What’s the weather like before you met the unsub? Was it cloudy, light, dark?”

“It was night. The sky was so clear.” you replied, imagining the time in your mind.

“You’re going out. Who are you with?” he asked.

“Alice and Elliot. Spencer, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have broken the rules.” you cried. Spencer hadn’t even considered the thought of you sneaking out until now, but had decided that it was a talk for another time, if he thought you’d ever be able to handle it.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’m just glad you’re safe.” he said. With your eyes closed, you couldn’t see the tears pricking your brother’s eyes. He’d seen many tragic things, done some of the most gruesome cognitive interviews, seen the most disgusting and vile actions done by the most heartless of monsters, but none of that beat this. His own sister. He’d watched the tapes that the man had recorded , and his heart sunk every time you screamed out his name, but his anger grew just as much, “Where did you guys go right before you met the unsub?”

“The club on 16th street.” you stated, seeing yourself and your friends right outside the doors, “Alice and Elliot convinced me to go in.”

“What are you doing in there?”

“Alice and Elliot went to dance. I don’t like dancing, so they stay near me while I sit at the bar?” you realized that you talked as if you were presently there.

“Who is around you? Anyone you recognize?” he asked.

“No, I’m alone with the bartender.”

“Is he talking to you?” Spencer questioned. It was then that you recognized something.

“What can I get you, YOUNG LADY?” the bartender’s voice echoed in your mind, and aligned with the man who asked if you were okay outside before you were taken. You realized that the size and stature of the man who had tortured you matched with the bartender. You gasped and opened your eyes quickly. You were visibly distraught, so Spencer grabbed your hand in a quick attempt to comfort you.

“Y/N, are you okay? If it’s too much we can-“

“The bartender, Spencer.” you huffed out, “He said something to me and spoke to me outside after I was drugged.”

“Do you know what he looks like? Or his name?” he asked. Your thoughts were so fragmented now that you couldn’t remember, and a few tears slipped down your face as shook your head, “Do you want to try to keep going? You don’t have to Y/N I don’t want to put you through this again.”

“No!” you yelled, “No, it’s okay. It’s important. I can do this as long as you’re here.” He smiled slightly at how much you trusted him, but it quickly faded.

“The bartender,” he started, “He’s talking with you, what’s he saying?”

“He asks me if I want a drink. Calls me ‘young lady.’” you replied, as you saw yourself seated at the bar. The man just looked like a blur to you, and you tried so hard to remember him.

“What’s around him?” Spencer asked.

“Well drinks, obviously. Alcohol.”

“What kind?”

“He’s got all kinds of fancy bottles. Jim Beam, Captain Morgan, Patron, Bacardi,” you paused, “The Smirnoff is the same color as his shirt. A red shirt as a bartender. He stands out in an odd way.”

“His shirt, is he wearing anything? A name tag?”

“He has a lanyard. It’s got pins on it and a picture with his-“ you see his name in big black letters on the end of the lanyard, “Andrew Vaughn. The drug is started to hit me now Spencer I-“

“Hey,” his voice was soft as he quickly got up and hugged you, “you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

“I’m so sorry!” you sobbed into his shirt, grabbing onto him. He put his head on yours.

“It’s not you’re fault Y/N. You’ve been through something traumatic, you can’t be sorry for it.” he said.

“If I hadn’t gone out like you told me, Spence! And those other girls. The one in the party dress! I watched her die! He just stabbed her and she bled out in agony, Spencer!” you nearly yelled. You almost couldn’t breathe, and your face was wet with the tears.

Spencer’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Reid knew some what of what you were going through. He reminded himself of what it was like when Tobias Hankel, and tried to think of how he wanted people to treat him then when he was freed, and how long it took for him to be okay again. He never really was, and he was afraid that you would never be able to feel safe again, but understood why you wouldn’t. He just wanted to take care of you, and blamed himself for not being there.

Within the next few hours, Hotch had refused to let a very angry Spencer go with the team to the unsub’s house. The BAU, although, successfully brought your kidnapper into custody.

“You don’t have to worry now, Y/N” Morgan said to you, “We’re gonna make sure he never sees the light of day again. He’ll live the rest of his life behind those bars.”

“Yeah.” was all you managed to say with the slightest smile as you walked through whatever precinct you were in.

“Y/N, Garcia told me to tell you that if you ever need anything, she’s here. I think the same goes for the rest of us.” Rossi explained.

“Thanks. I owe you all everything.” you said.

“Let’s get you home.” Spencer put his hand on your shoulder, careful not to touch any of your injuries, and the two of you walked out together.

You would never be the same after that, but at least you had your brother by your side.

453 notes · View notes

hxneyandespressx · 4 years

Text

if i were a man (i’d be the man)

summary: jj holds a press conference while on a high-profile case. she has to deal with the stupid male reporters. after the conference is done, jj goes to the nearest bathroom, away from the crowd, and screams and swears to her heart’s content

word count: 6.2k

content warnings: mentions of emotional and verbal abuse, guns, violence, blood, suicide

a/n: inspiration for this fic is from criminal minds season 4 episode 16 “pleasure is my business”

☆。*。☆。

It was a rough start to a Wednesday morning for a particular FBI agent. She almost twisted her ankle on her early morning jog, got stuck in traffic, and had to wait in a long line for her co-workers’ coffee orders. Soon enough, she started to wish that she took the metro instead. Media communications liaison Jennifer “JJ” Jareau woke up today and chose violence. She huffed in frustration at how her morning went.

Walking toward the bullpen with the coffee orders in her hands, JJ was greeted with “hellos” and “good mornings”. Not wanting to have her co-workers profile her, JJ bottled up her frustration and grumpiness and put a smile on her face. It was a rule amongst the group to never profile each other. With learning an assortment of profiling tactics, JJ knew how to form a realistic smile without genuine happiness. Creases around the eyes, smile lines contoured the mouth, sparkles in her baby blue eyes. The short blonde perfected the fake smile that could fool anyone, even expert profilers.

“Good morning, guys.” JJ said with a bright smile on her face. She held two cardboard trays filled with various coffee orders. She placed one of the trays on Emily’s desk, so she can pass out the orders to her co-workers. She called out the order name as she passed the cup to the person.

“One French vanilla latte for Ms. Garcia. Two black coffees for Emily and Derek. And finally, a coffee with extra cream and sugar for Spence.” Everyone said their thank you’s to the blonde. Then, there was one coffee cup left. A cappuccino.

“Happy Wednesday, my nerds.” Rossi said as he approached the group of tired agents. JJ smiled and handed the cappuccino to the elderly man.

“Grazie.” He thanked the media liaison for her efforts to bring his favorite morning beverage. The group spent some time chatting nonsense before the case briefing. Thirty minutes went by and all of them disbursed into their desks to finish up the paperwork. JJ headed down to her office to work on choosing the next case after the one that was currently ongoing.

After settling in her office chair, JJ took a look around her office. Messy stacks of pending files scattered her desk. Empty coffee cups and water bottles lined the file cabinet. JJ checked the time on her watch. 8:12 AM. About two hours to kill. The blonde put her hair up into a ponytail and took in a deep breath. She dove into the nearest pile of manila files, looking through all the documents and photographs to determine which case for the BAU team to take on after the current case.

As the clock ticked closer to 10 AM, JJ picked up today’s case files and head out of her office. Strutting through the bullpen, JJ entered the briefing room slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” JJ said while passing the manila folders out to her co-workers. After handing out the necessary materials, she grabbed the remote from the center of the wooden table.

“Sam Winchester was found in Fulton Park, in the Stuyvesant Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn. Eighteen stab wounds to his chest and neck,” JJ explained as she clicked on the remote to switch between the crime scene photos. “He is one of the victims dumped at various locations of Brooklyn that was found last night.”

“Hold up. One of the victims?” Derek asked.

“Yeah. So far this killer built up a rep sheet of five kills.” JJ stated. Hotch raised one of his eyebrows at the new information.

“Seven? Why haven’t the NYPD notified us immediately after the first three kills?” Hotch asked the media liaison.

“Probably the department thought they could handle the crimes,” JJ explained. “That was the case until they realized that they needed help.”

The young blonde switched to the next slide, showing one of the other victims dumped in North Williamsburg.

“What’s interesting about the locations is that the first victim was drowned in the Hudson River. And as more victims appear, the disposal methods get more dramatic. Maybe it plays some role in the unsub’s pathology.” Spencer said as he looked at the screen, observing for any patterns.

“Like with one of the recent victims, the disposal site is in Cobble Hill. It’s typically occupied by those who are relatively wealthy.” Rossi said to continue Spencer’s thoughts. “This unsub is getting bolder with his disposal sites. I’m concerned with there being an end game to this.” Emily stated. Everyone at the round table shifted through the various crime scene photos and documents. Rossi took hold of one of the crime scene photographs: a reversed ten of cups tarot card. “It is also apparent that the unsub is leaving tarot cards at the scene of the crime.”

“Tarot cards? What’s the significance?” Derek asked.

“Maybe to tell of the inevitable fortune the victims faced?” Emily said.

“Well, each card has a different meaning when it is upright and reversed. And usually, when doing a reading, three to five cards are pulled to tell a fortune.” Penelope explained as she typed away on her work laptop. It had not surprised anyone that the technical analyst had an interest in tarot readings and astrology.

“You know, the first documented tarot packs were recorded between 1440 and 1450 AD in Milan, Ferrara, Florence, and Bologna when additional trump cards with allegorical illustrations were added to the common four-suit pack. These new decks were called carte da trionfi, triumph cards, and the additional cards are known simply as trionfi, which became "trumps" in English. The oldest surviving tarot cards are the 15 Visconti-Sforza tarot decks painted in the mid-15th century for the rulers of the Duchy of Milan. The Duke of Milan described a 60-card deck with 16 cards having images of the Roman gods and suits depicting four kinds of birds.” Spencer talked about the history of tarot cards, with hand gestures to accompany his little ramble. When he finished, everyone at the table stared at him. The young FBI agents sheepishly smiled as Emily poked his left cheek.

“Since when did you learn about tarot cards?” Emily asked.

“I learned about it when I took a college course on the Italian Renaissance.” Spencer sheepishly smiled.

“Well, whatever it is, it seems like there is a story to be told––or rather to be heard.” JJ said as she stared at the crime scene photos, her eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment.

“That’s what we need to find out. Wheels up in 20.” Hotch called out.

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The BAU members sat comfortably on the jet, each in their little world. That was until the unit chief called on everyone for a case discussion.

“Let’s go over victimology.” Hotch said to call on the group. Everyone moved closer to the unit chief to better discuss the case. Derek sat in an armchair, with Emily next to him. Across from them were Spencer and JJ. Hotch leaned against one of the seats, practically sitting on the adjustable arm of the plane seat. Rossi sat on the tan velvet couch, adjacent to JJ.

“Reid.” Hotch called on the genius of the group.

“White. Male. Between the ages of 45-55. Jobs ranging from a stockbroker to assets protection manager. All of them have cheated on their wives multiple times and some even had sexual harassment accusations.” The young curly-haired man said to start the discussion.

“Even if these men cheated on their wives and got those accusations, they still didn’t deserve the multiple stab wounds to meet their end.” Emily said.

JJ looked through the case file to see the reports on all five victims.

“The victims’ names are Igor Andreevich, Lucas Duncan, Hunter Mcevoy, Sam Winchester, Jared Kalinski.” JJ called the names out like it was a roll call.

“These are the five victims that this unsub killed so far?” Hotch asked. The blonde nodded her head and said “yes, sir” in response.

“As the victim count increased, the more stab wounds appeared on the body.” Rossi said to point out an observation.

“But the M.E. said that most of these stab wounds were created post mortem. Meaning that the initial stab was to get the job done efficiently and he went back in to fuel his rage and/or sexual needs.” Spencer

“Are we assuming his sexual orientation? Because there aren’t many homosexual serial killers, kid” Rossi said.

“It could be a possibility. We have to consider our options.” Hotch said.

Just then, the laptop turned on and showed the beautiful Penelope Garcia.

“How’s it going, my crime-fighting musketeers?” Penelope asked. Everyone, even Hotch, smiled at her cheery greeting.

“Garcia, start compiling files on each of our victims,” Hotch told the technical analyst. “Everything financial and personal. Bank statements, credit card bills, investments, wills, trust funds. Anything that will tell us more about the victim’s lives.”

“Faster than a Hotch rocket.” After that was said into the air, Penelope felt embarrassed while Hotch looked at her with his usual stone-cold face. Derek sighed and shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee to hide his second-hand embarrassment for his babygirl.

To break the silence, Rossi grunted and coughed into his fist.

“Based on the jobs these men had, we could safely assume that they were killed in the financial district of New York. Then, the unsub transported the bodies to a dumpsite.” Emily said as she read off from the case file in her hands.

“But why from Manhattan to Brooklyn? That is a lot of weight to carry.” Derek asked.

“Maybe Brooklyn holds a lot of significance to him. Something from his childhood and he can’t let go.” JJ said. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement as they all closed their files.

“Once we land, do you want me to get in contact with the media to inform the public?” The media liaison asked the unit chief.

“No. We need to hold back on it. Giving him the media’s attention is exactly what he wants. He wants his story to be heard and we will not give him that.” Hotch explained. JJ nodded in response and wrote down media concerns in her small blue notepad.

“Dave, You and Prentiss go to the crime scene,” Hotch instructed the group. “The rest of us will get up to speed at the precinct.” Everyone nodded in agreement with the unit chief.

After discussing the victimology and the nature of the case, everyone separated and occupied their own space on the jet. Derek on the couch, listening to music. Spencer by the window, reading the Hound of the Baskervilles. Rossi and Hotch in the back, conversing whatever two elderly men talk about.

The blonde media liaison stared out of the window until she felt a presence next to her. She looked away to find Emily standing in the aisle with a cup of coffee and a bag of Cheetos in her hands.

“Want some company?” Emily asked as she took the empty seat.

“I don’t mind at all.” JJ smiled at the brunette. The shorter woman felt special that Emily did this for her. She took the Cheetos and the coffee mug from her co-worker. As she grabbed them, their fingers brushed against each other. A little pink blush formed on JJ’s cheeks. Not wanting Emily to know about the silly crush the blonde had on her, JJ covered half her face with her beloved blue blanket. Emily chuckled at JJ’s actions and placed her hand on the blonde’s right shoulder, closing her eyes for a quick nap.

JJ carefully took some of her dark blue blanket and wrapped it around Emily’s right shoulder. She looked at the brunette who was sleeping on her shoulder and softly smiled.

The blonde took sips of the coffee as she stared out of the window. The sunlight bounced off the water particles in the clouds, creating a mini rainbow over the tops of the white clouds. The media liaison took in the silence as a treat, before landing into the chaos of New York.

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A government-mandated black SUV arrived at the 25th precinct. Everyone––sans Emily and Rossi––got out of the car and was greeted by a lively short woman.

“Detective Miller? We spoke on the phone.” JJ shook hands with the short woman.

“Please, call me Kennedy. Thanks for coming in.”

“No problem. These are agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Doctor Reid.” JJ introduced them while gesturing at the person, in respective order.

“Hey, why don't you go on inside and make yourself comfortable.” Kennedy said. The remaining BAU members nodded their heads and made their way inside the busy precinct. Police officers swarmed everywhere as the federal agents weaved their way to an empty conference room.

Everyone worked at a swift pace to get everything set up. JJ and Derek went with a police officer to get boxes filled with case files and other materials. Hotch talked with Detective Miller to get information on how her officers dealt with the unsub so far. While all this is happening, Spencer worked on the geographical profile, so the agents know where to look for the unsub.

“What do these tarot cards mean?” Hotch asked the group. Everyone shook their head “no”, signifying that they had no clue what each card meant.

“I’ll call Penelope and ask her about the meanings of the cards.” Derek said as he took out his flip phone to dial Penelope’s number.

“Live from Quantico, Virginia, it is the Divine Miss Penelope.” Penelope greeted the group.

“Hey, sugar mama. I need something from you.” Derek said.

“Talk to me.”

“I need you to interpret the meanings of the tarot cards that were left at the different crime scenes.”

“Ah- I’ll be your little witch today. Hit me with have you have.”

“Alright, I’m putting you on speaker.” Derek puts down the phone on the wooden table, so everyone could hear what the technical analyst has to say.

“Ten of Cups, Garcia.” Hotch said.

“When upright, the Ten of Cups embody happiness, joy, contentment, and emotional satisfaction in your family, relationship, or companion. It represents an idyllic state of comfort, harmony, peace, and love which makes you feel like you are in paradise. When reversed, it could mean shattered dreams, disharmony, or a broken family.” Penelope explained.

“Reversed Wheel of Fortune card.” Spencer called out.

“When the wheel is reversed, it means that luck has not been on your side and misfortunes have been following you. When it's associated with this card, you must understand that these are due to external influences that you cannot control.” Penelope said.

“Reversed Justice card.” Derek said next.

“A reversed Justice tarot card could indicate various things. One Justice reversal meaning is to show you are living in denial. You are not willing to accept the consequences of your actions or others. You are running from your guilt. You must, however, be aware that these are actions that are in the past. Other Justice reversal meanings could be injustice, retribution, dishonesty, corruption, dishonesty, unfairness, and avoiding accountability.” The technical analyst interpreted.

“Lastly, the reversed Emperor.” JJ said the final card they had.

“The Emperor reversed is a sign of abused authoritative power. In your social life, it can manifest in the overreach of power from a father figure or a possessive partner.” Penelope described the final tarot card.

With all the information in their heads, the BAU members felt puzzled about how to move forward.

“How are these cards related to the crime scenes?” Derek asked.

“It’s like a performance,” Penelope chimed in. Everyone turned their heads to listen to the cheery woman on the phone. “Like there is a story behind these killings. The cards are telling how the unsub is feeling. She wants us to know her story.” Everyone stood in shock when Penelope made a breakthrough in the case.

“Wait, Garcia. You said ‘she’. Why do you think it is a woman?” Hotch asked.

“Well, sir. The first victim was drowned, with no signs of sexual assault on his body. Doesn’t that usually indicate that the unsub is a woman?”

“Not necessarily but it is a quiet and efficient way of murdering someone.” Hotch explained.

“Female serial killers are a fascinating field. We don’t have much information on them. But what we do know involves throwing the riles completely out of the window,” Spencer started going on one of his rambles. “For example, female serial killers typically don’t leave a signature.”

“But this one leaves tarot cards at the scene.” Derek pointed out.

“Maybe it was what Garcia said: she’s telling us her story.” JJ said. “Alright. Let’s start from the beginning. What could be inferenced from her childhood?” Hotch asked.

“She could have had a domineering father who worked on Wall Street. And with that dynamic, he could have sexually and emotionally abused her, making her feeling like damaged goods.” Spencer explained the backstory of the unsub. “Also because the victims cheated on their wives, we could also conclude that the father also cheated on the mother, who always forgave her husband and tried to rationalize to stay for her daughter. And that made the unsub feel rage and being inferior. That she didn’t do anything to help her mother and herself.”

“But there is no indication of sexual gratification.” Hotch interjected.

“However, there’s a reason why there are so many lacerations on the later victims. It could be the rage from her abusive father that this unsub is using against the victims, who acted like surrogates.” Derek said.

“The stressor?” Hotch asked.

“To follow her father’s footsteps, she may have also worked in the financial field. As a stockbroker, a financial analyst, or even as a secretary for a company,” Spencer said. “And as she continued at her job, she had a bunch of little comments and slights against her”

“As for the trigger, maybe she got passed up for a promotion by a male co-worker who was less qualified than she was.” JJ explained.

“Any sane person would get miffed about it, but she’s built differently,” Derek said.

“So much so, she killed five men so far.” Hotch said.

“And she did it in an efficient manner where no one had any idea until now,” Derek said right after the unit chief. “But how did one woman kill five men in one borough and disposed of them in another?”

“She must know the area like the back of her hand. Brooklyn is what? Around 72 square miles?” JJ said in response to Derek.

“Uh, 69.5.” Spencer corrected JJ. The blonde sighed, not surprised that the boy genius would know the exact measurement.

“And the fact that no one has seen her either abduct or dispose of says she knows the city and its patterns well.” Derek said to continue what JJ had said before she was cut off by the boy genius. Just then, both Rossi and Emily had returned from the latest crime scene. In Emily’s hands were coffee cups on cardboard trays while Rossi had Chinese takeout. Everyone shared the food as they continued to work on the case. Being the little tease he was, Derek flung a wonton piece at Spencer, who was struggling to eat with the wooden chopsticks. The wonton piece gently hit Spencer’s forehead and the boy genius pouted, hiding his frustration at both the chopsticks and Derek.

“The M.E. said that the cuts were clean, no serrated edges. It would have to be a very sharp knife to be able to cut through human skin like nothing.” Emily said, to drive the discussion about the M.O.

“A knife like that could get the job done efficiently. Could be the work of a throwing knife. Take out the victim with a single throw to have them die quickly, then she stabs them to feel something.” Derek said.

“Throwing knives? What is she? A secret agent of the Dai Li?” Rossi joked sarcastically.

“From Avatar the Last Airbender?” Hotch retorted, remembering that his son Jack watches that show on Saturday mornings.

“What’s Avatar the Last Airbender?” Spencer asked. Nobody bothered to answer the young man’s question.

“But this one is different. It’s like the more she kills, the more anger builds up inside and it gets released on the victim when she goes back in.” JJ stated.

It became silent in the conference room, quite the opposite to the noise of the New York precinct in the evening rush hour. Tired from both traveling and working, Hotch could see that the rest of his team was also exhausted from the day. The unit chief called everyone to head to the hotel and rest, as they can always come back to the precinct tomorrow morning.

Slowly one by one, each of the agents packed their things and get out of the New York precinct, and hopped into the cars, praying the soft hotel beds would lull them into a deep slumber.

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Day Three at the New York precinct. All the BAU members were getting irritated that they hadn’t proceeded much on the case. Derek tossed a small basketball up and down to pass the time. Spencer twirled a pen as he stared at the geographical profile, the gears turning in his mind. Both Hotch and Rossi were discussing the case quietly while JJ and Emily doodled on each others’ arms. The blonde was innocently drawing hearts and flowers until Emily came up with an idea. Feeling a tad mischievous, Emily took her sharpie marker and started to outline something on the media liaison’s left forearm. JJ raised an eyebrow, questioning what her co-worker was doing. As the image came together, JJ gasped softly, however, not surprised that Emily drew a vagina.

Emily quietly laughed as JJ, annoyed by the brunette’s actions, took her sharpie marker and tried her best to transform the vagina drawing into a flower. Taking her time, and with only a sharpie, JJ showed off her artistic talent by creating a masterpiece: a carnation blooming out of a vagina.

Emily rolled her eyes when JJ stuck out her tongue at the brunette. Taking Emily’s right arm, the media liaison started to outline a grid for a game of tic tac toe. The brunette started the game by marking an “x” in a spot and JJ took her turn. The two women continued their game of tic tac toe and

Everyone was silent in their own world until Hotch’s phone rang. The unit chief picked it up and it was a number he couldn’t recognize. Hotch silently motioned Derek to call Penelope to start triangulating the call’s location.

“Hotchner.”

“Hello, Aaron.” A sultry voice talked. On the other side of the call was the unsub, Taylor Evans.

“Seems you know my name.” Hotch asked.

“I researched you in preparation for this phone call,” Evans said. Through the phone receiver, Hotch could hear the soft whooshes of pages turning.

“You reading a book? What’s the title?”

“Le monde comme il va by Voltaire,” Taylor closed her book. “Have you read his work?”

“No, I haven’t. You seem highly educated.” Hotch stated.

“You seem to know a lot about me.” Taylor retorted.

“But I don’t know you that well since the start of this phone call.” Hotch responded.

“What would you like to know?” Taylor asked.

“May I know your name, for starters?” Hotch asked. A cold laugh could be heard through the landline speaker.

“Evans. Taylor Evans.” the unsub replied.

“Nice name,” Hotch complimented her to bring her guard down.

“Now that we are acquainted, you can ask me questions.” the unsub’s content sigh could be heard on the landline.

“Has life been hard on you?” Taylor asked, wanting to jump the gun.

“I try my best.”

“Try my best,” Taylor said mockingly. “Is that the best you can do for your family?” A sarcastic tone filled Taylor’s voice, not liking what the unit chief said in response to her question.

“With what I’ve got.” Hotch said.

“You got any children?” Taylor said to divert the conversation.

“I have a son.”

“How often do you see him?”

“I try to see him every week.”

“Do you see him every week?” Taylor tried to put Hotch under pressure, to get him to crack.

“No, I don't get there as often as I want.” A pitiful sigh was heard on the phone.

“I believe you, but don’t compare yourself to the men I see and work with. You are nothing like them. You’re just another whore.” Taylor said with such disgust in her tone.

“How am I a whore?” Hotch asked.

“You come when called on short notice. Begging to be put to work. Saving your reputation. However, even though you’re a workaholic, you make the time to see your son. You care for your son. You want the best for him.” Taylor explained.

“You’re right. I do want the best for him” Hotch said. The unsub sighed, wishing that she had a good man, like Hotch, for a father.

“Enough about you. What do you have to say about me?” Taylor asked the unit chief.

“You've been betrayed so many times, You don't know who to trust, And that's why that first murder felt so good. But each one since has been less and less satisfying.” Hotch explained.

“Good deductive reasoning,” Taylor said. “But how do you know if what I find provides me less satisfaction each time?”

“It’s a part of your nature. Until you hit a psychotic break and start devolving.” Hotch said.

“Hm. Want to find out, Agent Hotchner?” She hung up on him after that last sentence. Everyone in the conference room stayed silent in awe. The unsub injecting herself into the investigation surprised all the agents in the room.

“She contacted us,” Spencer said in astonishment, breaking the silence.

“She’s getting impatient. Have Garcia look up everything on Taylor Evans. We need to find if she lines up with the preliminary profile.” Hotch instructed Derek. The olive brown-skinned man did exactly what the unit chief said: call Penelope and extract as much information as possible on the potential unsub.

“Her use of the word whore is interesting,” Spencer quipped. “It suggests she's trying to disassociate herself from her actions.”

“But she's become more personal with the murders,” Emily said. “This doesn’t make sense. She is contradicting herself.”

After gathering the information, and debilitating on the facts, everyone came to the same conclusion: Taylor Evans was their unsub.

“Reid, tell Detective Miller that it’s time to deliver the profile.” Rossi said.

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Every law enforcement officer occupied the main space of the precinct. All of the BAU members stood at one side, making it like a stage. JJ stood beside Emily, thinking to herself that she could have been this girl in a way. Both her and the unsub look eerily similar, maybe even mistaken for each other.

“We wanted to give out the profile as soon as possible. We’re looking for a white female, between the ages of 20 and 25,” Hotch said to start the profile. “Her name is Taylor Evans. Dirty blonde hair with grey eyes. She’s organized, methodical, and knows how to blend in with the crowd.”

“When this unsub kills, she does so mercilessly and without an ounce of pity. She also wants her victims to know they are going to die by her hand.” Rossi said.

“That’s why her preferred weapon of choice is throwing knives. They provide a clean cut. No mess required.” Emily said, slowly rocking on her heels.

“With her choice of weapon, she can be quick and efficient with her kills, as murder is her only goal,” Spencer paused to catch a breath. “But all the bottled-up rage gets released when she goes in for a second time, post mortem, and stabs the body multiple times.”

“It is a way for her to get sexual gratification. And revenge, from her years of being emotionally and sexually abused by her father,” Rossi said. “The victims fit the description of her father and they are surrogates for him.”

“She is also a textbook psychopath, exhibiting all of the classic traits: incapability of feeling any empathy towards others, neither guilt nor remorse, and claiming no responsibility for her actions. Like others of her type, she is highly intelligent, manipulative, and narcissistic.” Spencer explained the unsub’s pathology.

“Evans had received higher education. She graduated with a business degree, most likely a subconscious influence from her father. With the business acumen and the social skillset, this unsub can easily blend in with all the other business people and manipulate them.” Hotch explained, walked slowly around the large room.

“Based on her background, she came from a wealthy family. However, the family wasn’t perfect. Her father constantly cheated on his wife. The mother always forgave him. As a young girl, Evans most likely has experienced emotional and sexual abuse from her father. It was a way for him to control his daughter, and she had resented that for years.” Emily said about the unsub’s childhood.

“She mostly has experienced misogyny in her professional life. Had little comments and slights against her. Perhaps a less qualified male co-worker took a promotion that she deemed herself to be of a better fit,” Derek explained about the stressor. “Something in her work life triggered her to start killing the men who represented her father.”

“With this profile, we should search for Taylor Evans’ location and any potential victims. We suggest going public with the information as soon as possible… Thank you very much.” Hotch ended the profile with his parting words. Everyone at the precinct was disbursed from the room to get back to their work. The agents huddled together to prep themselves in case something big were to happen.

“JJ, I would like for you to conduct a press conference,” Hotch said.

“Why is that, sir?” The media liaison asked.

“I would like to draw her out. Have it known that we are after her.” The media liaison nodded her head in agreement and left the main room to work on getting a press conference together.

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Before entering the press room, JJ took a deep breath and exhaled to calm herself down. Thoughts were rushing in her mind. Don’t let them get to you, JJ. She neatly fixed her hair to seem presentable. Taking her golden heart necklace, the media liaison kissed it for good luck.

The media liaison walked into the conference room with great confidence and stood behind the mahogany podium. Standing tall, JJ was not willing to lose a fight with the media, especially with a high-profile case.

“Ok, can I have everyone's attention,” JJ said to gather the media’s attention to her. “Please, if you could just take your seats…”

“There have been a series of murders that appeared in random locations around Brooklyn. There is sufficient evidence that the victims were murdered on Wall Street then transported to their disposal sites.”

“We believe she may have experienced a psychotic break recently, causing the unsub to escalate to murder to regain a sense of control. You should increase your patrols in and around Wall Street… “

“Why would you focus your profile on the finance guys when the unsub has also contacted members of the FBI?” A male reporter interrupted the media liaison.

JJ stood at the podium in shock. How could he know about that? We kept that under wraps.

“I- How did you obtain that information?” JJ asked.

“I overheard one of the cops saying it.” The journalist said casually. The blonde’s right eyebrow lightly twitched in anger. What couldn’t those cops just shut their mouths, JJ thought.

“What you heard from these officers isn’t true,” JJ lied to keep confidential information private. “Now, do you have any questions about the case?” A new wave of hands came up. JJ took a few more questions to answer. After a while, it was time to end the press conference.

“If anyone works in or around Wall Street, and sees anything unusual, please do not hesitate to call the number on your screen. Thank you.” JJ said her final statement, ending the press conference. As she walked down the steps down the small stage, a reporter called out her name.

“Agent Jareau! I have something that may be of interest for you!” A different male reporter called out. JJ turned to face him, excepting the same male reporter from earlier. Trying to keep her anger inside, she greeted the news reporter with dignity.

The male reporter handed the media liaison a letter. JJ took a look at it and was surprised at what she saw: the signature of their unsub.

“How did you get this?” JJ asked the man.

“It was sent to me yesterday, directly to the New York Herald.” The man said. JJ called for one of the officers by the wall to collect the letter for evidence.

“We are going to take this in for evidence processing. One of the officers here will take you in for some questioning.” The man nodded as another officer whisked him away for interrogation.

JJ sighed and went to search for the officer that unknowingly leaked information. She saw him with another cop, talking, against the wall outside of the press conference room.

“That information was not for the public!” JJ said, angrily at an NYPD officer.

“Listen, lady. I don’t know how and where he got the information from,” The beat cop explained himself. “He could have been creeping around the crime scenes or the precinct.

“Keep your mouth shut, pal, as this case is private and under federal jurisdiction.” JJ huffed as Derek grabbed her shoulders and slowly tried to drag her away. The blonde complied with her co-worker, not throwing a fight as this was not her battle to fight in.

Once Derek loosened his grips, the media liaison dashed out of the conference room to find her own space to calm down.

JJ speed-walked once she was out of the hallway’s vicinity. She rushed into the nearest bathroom. Breathing heavily, the media liaison slowly walked into one of the stalls and locked the door. Taking a deep breath, JJ prepared herself for the biggest scream she would take in her life.

“Fuck. These little shits. Those bastards. Assholes. Son of a bitch. Fucking shit. Why can’t they keep their mouths fucking shut! Those cocksucking motherfucking god damned jackasses!” JJ yelled at the top of her lungs. Her chest fell hard as the blonde was taking deep breaths. She felt better after taking out her anger by screaming. Feeling a little tired, JJ sat on the closed toilet and placed her head between her knees to calm herself down. A few minutes went by, and someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“JJ… Are you okay?” Emily’s voice could be heard on the other side. JJ sighed while getting up. She opened the stall door and tried to make herself more presentable. Unlocking the silver lock, she opened the door slowly to reveal a relieved Emily Prentiss.

“Ah–,” Emily gently grabbed JJ and brought her in a warm embrace. They stood together in that position for a few minutes before heading back to the conference room, where the others were, preparing themselves to capture the unsub tonight.

Later that evening, the BAU team, along with SWAT, raided a luxury apartment building in Downtown Brooklyn. Upon entering the only penthouse, Derek broke the door with his strength. The group of agents entered the area and in the middle of the living room, was Taylor Evans. Black mascara ran down her cheeks as she held a gun in her left hand and the final tarot card in the other.

“Just in time for the show, agents.” Evans croaked. Her sad grey eyes filled with tears, her cheeks flushed from her mental breakdown.

“Taylor… Listen. You’re young. You don’t have to do this. If you come with us, you can get a lighter sentence and live your life.” Emily said to calm down the broken girl.

More time passed by as Emily and Spencer tried their best to negotiate with the unsub, but the end was already written. Taylor Evans planned to do an end game, one where she put herself out of misery.

“I’m sorry….” the blonde girl whispered. In a swift motion, Taylor pulled the trigger onto herself and shot herself underneath the jaw. Her body dropped quickly but Derek ran up to the body to catch it.

“Damn it,” Derek said. “She was young. Broken. Felt like she had to prove herself that she was something.”

“There was nothing we could have done to help, Morgan. She already had planned her end. She was long gone before anyone else could have noticed.” Hotch responded to Derek’s little monologue.

Right next to her body was the Emperor card. A beautiful deep purple with gold lining depicting an emperor. The gold detailing reflected against the tall mirrors in the room. The card was reversed, like if she purposefully did that to tell the end to her story.

taglist: @homosexualyearning / @ssajelle / @iconicc / @sunlightgalaxy / @jemilyology / @pumpkin-stars / @lgbtbau / @drinkingcroissants / @abbyprentiss / @pen3mily / @morcias / @hotchsbabygirl / @gravelyhumerus / @notsosmexy / @rxcklessly-bratty / @hqtchner / @girlbossjareau / @pagetsimp

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ephemeralstark · 4 years

Text

An Intern’s Ordeal

Summary: Peter gets invited to the Annual Stark Charity Gala, only he thinks he's attending as an intern and panics because he doesn't even know how to make coffee so how can he manage an actual event. Throw in a stab wound, some fractured ribs, a healthy dose of self-deprecation and a case of mistaken identity, and Tony realises that Peter really doesn't understand how much he means to him.

Rated T | Irondad | Completed | 10k

AN: i hope you all enjoy, i’ll add the link to read on ao3 in a reblog if you guys prefer that!! tw for injuries and blood, stay safe my lovelies and the tag list is at the end!

“You know,” Peter commented idly as he set down the wrench Mr. Stark had handed him on the table, “when you said you wanted me to come over and help out in the workshop, this wasn't exactly what I thought you’d have planned.”

“No?” Mr. Stark wondered as he held out a hand for the weird caps Peter was still tightly gripping after being warned not to lose them, “what did you think we were going to do?”

“I don’t know, really,” Peter shrugged dismissively, “but I kinda thought it would be something to do with Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Man?” Mr. Stark spoke as though he had forgotten who Spider-Man was, as though he wasn't sitting in the same room as him, before cursing slightly under his breath and dropping one of the caps.

“Yeah, you know? The red and blue guy who swings over the city on webs that he made himself because he’s so totally cool and smart.”

“I know who Spider-Man is, kid,” Mr. Stark said rolling his eyes at Peter, “can you grab that wrench again? Then get down here, it’s your turn to do a bit of work.”

“Well, I’m just saying you sounded a bit confused,” Peter said as he jumped off his stool and crouched by the engine on the floor, the smell of motor oil and grease making his head spin a little, he blamed his enhanced sense of smell for that as he other man didn't seem to be affected by it.

“Not about Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark corrected him, before frowning and giving Peter a serious look, “Pete, do you think I only keep you around because of your abilities?”

“Uh,” Peter faltered, unable to find the words to explain how he did think that but not in a way that made Mr. Stark seem like a bad guy, just in a way that proved Peter wasn't any more special than the next intern who passed through the halls of Stark Industries.

A look of understanding seemed to cross Mr. Stark’s face and before Peter could even open his mouth he continued to speak, “hey, actually, how would you feel about coming to this charity Gala on Saturday?”

“Wh- wait, what?”

That… had been the last thing Peter expected Mr. Stark to say, why would he invite him to a Gala? Didn't he realise that Peter was probably the last person in the world who should be invited to a fancy event - in fact, he wasn't entirely sure he owned a suit, would that be an issue? Maybe he could borrow that one of Ben’s he wore to Homecoming.

“Charity Gala,” Mr. Stark repeated, “it's a big event with suits, ties, dresses, and champagne; lots and lots of champagne, not that you’re allowed to drink that, but as Stark Industries is the organiser of the even then I can make sure we have plenty of soda. So, what’s your favourite: Coke, Pepsi, Dr Pepper, Sprite, Fanta…”

“Uh, I don't- I don't know,” Peter stammered, “just whatever you want is fine with me.”

“Come on, Kiddo, I want to make this enjoyable for my favourite intern, so what’s your drink of choice?”

“Uh, Dr Pepper, maybe?” Peter said unsurely.

“You got it,” Mr. Stark said, “now come on, get your head in the game, we need to rebuild this engine.”

“Why are we doing this?” Peter wondered, still feeling slightly confused by the conversation that had just occurred, he felt like there was a deeper meaning to it.

“By the time I was your age, I’d lost count of the number of engines I’d rebuilt, this is a young genius’ rite of passage.”

I’m not a genius, Peter thought to himself but instead of voicing the thought aloud, he focused his attention on the task at hand. Or, he tried to, at least, the truth was that he was slightly caught up on Mr. Stark’s comment about wanting his favourite intern at the Charity Gala.

Was that his way of saying that he wasn't keeping Peter around because of his Spider-Man abilities, but rather because of his status as a Stark Industries intern? But that couldn't be right, Peter wasn't even a good intern - he usually just fiddled around in the workshop and tried to improve his Spider-Man equipment before attempting to eat Mr. Stark out of house and home. So, why wouldn't he take a better intern to the Gala? And what exactly would be expected of Peter on Saturday?

“Kid?” Mr. Stark poked Peter’s arm making him jump in shock and his head snapped to the side to see his mentor staring at him with a slightly concerned expression, “you good? You’re off in your own world tonight, I’m starting to get a little worried and you know me; I don’t like to be worried, I like to be blase in most situations.”

“I’m yeah, I’m good, don’t worry,” Peter lied, “I was just thinking about this US History project I’ve got to hand in soon.”

“History?” Mr. Stark muttered, screwing up his nose in disgust, “you go to a STEM school, right? Shouldn't they be focusing on the sciences more than history?”

“Well, you know how it is,” Peter muttered with a shrug, “those who are ignorant of history are doomed to repeat it, and I suppose they have to give us a rounded education.”

Mr. Stark cast him a dubious glance, “you sure that’s the saying, Bud?”

“Well, it’s close, I think,” Peter mumbled, “anyways, I like history, I don't think it’s something I’ll pursue as a career but the class is interesting enough.”

“A career?” Mr. Stark asked jerking back in shock, “in history?”

“Not for me,” Peter repeated, “I don’t know, I’ll probably go into research or scientific development or something, I haven't thought about it in too much detail, to be honest.”

“You haven't- Kid, what? You should absolutely be thinking about this,” Mr. Stark said, “I know I’ve mentioned this before but I do have some pull at MIT. In fact, I have some pull at almost every college out there, you name it and I could probably get you in. What can I say? People love me.”

“I just don't want to make a life-changing decision at fifteen,” Peter muttered, “I know I’m going to have to soon, but do you know how much people change and grow? I asked May and she said she’s nothing like the person she was as a teenager, so if that’s going to be the same for me, how do I know that I’ll choose the right career at this point in my life, I’d rather take the time and make that decision.”

“Alright,” Mr. Stark said, “as much as I’d love to put you through college and have you working full time at Stark Industries, I can understand why you feel that way and it’s quite a mature observation - even though I hate it.”

“You’d want me working here?” Peter asked with wide eyes.

“Of course, you’re my favourite intern after all,” Mr. Stark said with what Peter was sure was meant to be a teasing grin, but all he could think about was the swooping in his stomach as those words were repeated. ‘Favorite intern’ was that Mr. Stark’s way of saying he was going to have to act like an intern at the Charity Gala?

He instantly began to feel nauseous, Mr. Stark was dropping hints about the intern thing which meant that he was absolutely expecting Peter to be on the ball at the Gala and he was only used to messing around in the lab. In fact, Peter was fairly sure that he’d never done anything intern-like; Mr. Stark had once asked Peter to turn on the coffee machine and Peter had merely shrugged, shoved a handful of sour patch kids in his mouth, and admitted that he had no idea how to make coffee.

So really, Peter had never done an intern’s job, he was going into this completely blind.

“Peter?” Mr. Stark prompted, “are you alright? Was that too much?”

“I’m fine,” Peter said quickly, as he lurched to his feet, “I just really gotta go and… work on that project.”

Peter stumbled over the toolbox on the floor, a testament to his distraction as his Spidey-Sense would have usually warned him of such obstructions, and grabbed his backpack off the ground.

“Peter, wait-”

But Peter didn't wait, or even hang around outside the door to the workshop to listen to the end of Mr. Stark’s sentence, he ran. Like a coward, his mind supplied.

He wasn't a coward, he was just… scared that Mr. Stark was going to expect more of him than he was able to give, he didn't know how to be an intern, so really, was it any surprise that no one at school believed him? Ned probably would have eventually lost his trust in Peter after a while if it wasn't for the discovery that he was Spider-Man.

Peter made his way upwards to the roof, instead of towards the main exit, slipping his web-shooters on over his wrists in preparation to swing home.

“Peter, Boss has requested that I ask you to stay, at least for ten minutes,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, which of course shouldn't have been a surprise considering she was everywhere in the building - except the bathrooms.

“I can’t,” Peter said, guilt gnawing at his stomach as he spoke, “tell him that I’m sorry for rushing out, and it wasn't anything he said-” that was a lie but Mr. Stark didn't need to feel guilty about expecting Peter to do his job “-and maybe just say I’ll see him on Saturday, although if wants to he could text me the details?”

“I’ll pass that along,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said gently, or as gently as a robotic voice could sound, “take care Peter, don't forget your mask and swing safely.”

“Thanks, F.R.I.,” he mumbled as the doors to the roof slid open and Peter breathed in the cool NYC evening air.

Taking note of her advice, he pulled his Spider-Man mask out of his backpack and pulled it over his head, he didn't bother changing fully into his suit, he was only going home - he had no plans to stop and fight any crimes.

“Good evening, Peter, I heard from F.R.I.D.A.Y. that you were distressed, how are you now?” Karen greeted him instantly.

“Of course you did,” Peter muttered, “I’m fine, don't worry, but can I ask you something?”

“You just did, but of course I am your A.I. system therefore you can ask me as many questions as you’d like,” Karen told him.

“Alright,” Peter mumbled, rolling his eyes behind the mask as he wondered whether she had been programmed to respond with that whenever he asked if he could ask a question, “uh, so theoretically if I asked you some questions would you have to tell Mr. Stark what I asked you?”

“No, he only has override codes in case of an emergency, but I was designed to be yours alone and that must come with some degree of trust.”

“Right,” Peter said, trying to process her words as he launched himself off the side of Stark Tower and felt the cold wind make his clothes flap in the breeze, his stomach swooped with the familiar, intoxicating fear of falling and he felt himself immediately perk up with the adrenaline rush.

He waited until he could make out the shocked expressions of the people on the street before he shot a web, feeling the familiar tug on his arms as his fall was broken and he swung in an upwards arc - it felt like he was on a rollercoaster and he couldn't deny that he loved every moment of it.

He had almost lost himself in the comforting thwips of web-slinging and the soothing breeze when Karen spoke up once more and reminded him of his concerns.

“Did you want to ask me anything else?” she prompted.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter mumbled, “what would an intern typically wear to a Stark Industries Charity Gala?”

“Mr. Stark doesn't typically take interns to his Galas,” Karen informed him, “however, I know that you’re asking this because you were invited this Saturday, therefore why don't you just wear formal attire.”

“How did you know that?” Peter asked in a moment of paranoia.

“I am connected to Tony Stark’s personal server which is the same server as F.R.I.D.A.Y. and she has the finalised guest list for the Gala which includes your name.”

“Is there anything else there about me?” Peter wondered, “besides my name, that is?”

“Unlimited access.”

“Unlimited because I’m an intern, right?” Peter asked, “I have to be able to do what Mr. Stark needs during the Gala?”

“I don't follow your line of questioning,” Karen said.

“Yeah, no,” Peter mumbled, “I didn't really follow that either. How about this: what does an intern typically do?”

“I need more context,” Karen said, “the job role of an intern depends on who they intern for.”

“Alright, what does an S.I. intern do?” Peter corrected.

“In which department?”

“Mr. Stark’s personal intern, what would be expected of that person?”

“The only person to ever fill that role is yourself, therefore I’m afraid that’s only a question you can answer as it was never an official post therefore I can’t source any information from a job application.”

“So,” Peter said slowly as he swung, “you’re telling me that only I know the answer to the thing I don't know?”

“Exactly.”

“Great,” Peter mumbled, shaking his head to himself.

So basically he was the only person who had ever interned for Mr. Stark, which made sense, after all, Mr. Stark had always had Miss. Potts with him, she had been his assistant before she had taken over everything, therefore why would he need interns? If anything, Miss. Potts was probably the one who had interns, so what if Peter asked her?

No.

That wouldn't work, she and him hadn't seen each other a ton and if he went up to her and started asking weird questions she would either assume that he was looking for money or she’d grow suspicious and tell Mr. Stark about him questioning her.

So, he was essentially lost. There didn't seem to be any clear answer about how to be a good intern for Mr. Stark or what would be expected of him on Saturday. To be fair he should have expected this to be harder than expected, his mentor wasn't one to play by the rules and why should this situation be any different?

“Are you alright?” Karen asked, “you’re acting strange tonight, your behaviour is sparking concern.”

“I’m fine,” Peter lied, “just worried about this project thing I have to prepare for school next week.”

“You know, I am connected to a great deal of information, if you need help with a project, you can always ask me,” Karen reminded him.

“Yeah, K, I know,” Peter murmured, “I just need to think, alright? I’m fine, I just need some time to myself.”

“Noted.”

And with that, she fell silent, finally, and Peter was left to his thoughts and worries. Which he had absolutely planned to do, except a piercing scream breaking through the night distracted him from himself.

“No, no, please, my husband’s medication is in that bag!” A woman shouted, sounding panicked, “please, no, he has seizures and if you take his meds he will be in danger and my money is in there too, I can’t buy more pills.”

Peter immediately changed his trajectory, so much for not getting involved in anything, I probably should have put the whole Spidey-Suit on, he thought to himself as his hearing honed in on the desperate sobs coming from an alleyway.

The scene that met Peter in the alleyway made his blood boil and he felt himself gritting his teeth without meaning to; a lady who looked to be in her late seventies was clutching at her handbag as though her life depended on it, although judging by what Peter had previously heard, her husband’s did. The thief was tugging sharply and slashing the air between them with a sharp blade, he didn't seem to be trying to stab her, but he wasn't exactly being careful.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, successfully distracting the thief who seemed to jump out of his skin and let go of the lady’s handbag on impulse.

“Spidey?” the man asked, looking over Peter’s clothes with a confused frown which reminded Peter that he was wearing an incredibly dorky science T-Shirt with an amazing science pun on it, he would probably have to bin the shirt now, or at the very least retire it for a year or so.

“Stealing a lady’s handbag?” Peter asked, not needing to put much effort into proving that he was disappointed in the guy, “really man? That’s low, especially when she’s told you her husband’s very important medications are in there.”

“No one asked you, beat it!”

“I can’t do that,” Peter said, “I’m going to have to insist that you walk away, maybe if you go in the opposite direction I won’t knock you out and call the police.”

Alright, so maybe that was a lie and Peter was planning to web the guy up and call the cops no matter what he decided.

“Oh, fuck off,” the man muttered.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, “language!”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the thief snapped, forgetting about the lady and her handbag in order to focus his attention on Peter.

He made a quick hand motion to the lady to run, and thankfully she didn't need to be told twice as she instantly broke into a hasty trot away, her heels clicking on the concrete but the thief didn't seem to care, his attention was solely on Peter and the blade in his hands was no longer being held loosely, now it was poised to attack.

“Woah, dude!” Peter muttered, holding his hands up as he backed off a few steps, “I take it back, you can use whatever language you want.”

“Why couldn't you just keep swinging?” the man asked as he took a couple of calculated steps forward, “I had this all under control, why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to get involved?”

“You were stealing that lady’s handbag,” Peter said, “and her husband’s medication, there’s nothing about that situation that is controlled.”

“It was for me, alright?” the man screamed.

Uh oh, Peter thought, from experience he had realised that when people were overly emotional, they became unpredictable. This man was armed and seemed desperate.

That was something that Peter occasionally struggled with; he was out almost every night as Spider-Man and often he stopped people who weren't truly bad but they were just in a difficult situation. Did that make him a bad person? Some of those ‘criminals’ were potentially only trying to scrounge money to feed their families.

He couldn't think like that though because if he started excusing some people’s bad actions and condemning others’, where did he draw the line? Spider-Man was the person who looked out for the little guy, he stopped crime, he didn't take statements and decide who was guilty or whose actions were justified. If someone did something wrong then he would stop them and that was that.

“Look, I get you think you have your reasons for this, but it's wrong,” Peter said, “why don't you put the knife away, and maybe we can sort this out without anyone getting hurt?”

“You-” the man broke off, seemingly too angry to form a coherent sentence, instead he lunged forward, knife in hand.

Peter hadn't been expecting that reaction, he had hoped the man would have been willing to compromise. In a desperate attempt to avoid being impaled on the guy’s blade, Peter forced himself through the air and he hit the ground with a thud, feeling as though something in the side of his chest had cracked.

“Ouch,” Peter muttered, trying to ignore the whine he could hear in his own voice, he was meant to be the tough hero who fended for those who couldn't fend for themselves, “hey, man, that was seriously not cool.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

The man lunged at him again, still holding the knife, and Peter skittered backward like a crab until his back came up against a hard, metal surface: oh, the dumpster. He desperately needed to get back up on his feet, he was at a serious disadvantage.

His Spidey-Sense thrummed in alarm and he whirled around just in time to see the moonlight glint off the blade that was flying towards his face - this guy was aiming to kill! In a last-minute, desperate attempt, he pushed himself downwards so that the guy stabbed into the dumpster instead of Peter’s face, the blade cutting through the metal as though it were butter.

“Dude, what the hell?” Peter gasped out from his place, flat on his back on the damp alleyway ground.

“Stop moving,” the man grunted as he swung again.

“What?” Peter asked, “no!”

Why would he do the one thing that would mean certain death? Sure, he put on a spandex suit on a nightly basis and swung around the city at dizzying heights, but he didn't have a death wish. Besides, his suit had a certain degree of shock absorption ability, and it was cut-proof, which didn't always prevent Peter from getting hurt, but it definitely took away the brunt of his injuries.

Except he wasn't wearing his suit currently…

He was very much just Peter Parker in a mask, although he did have his web-shooters. His web-shooters! Just as the guy lifted the blade, with two hands, looking as though he was ready to perform a sacrifice, Peter shot a web upwards and pulled himself out from certain death.

As he flew upwards he felt the man strike one last time, and in his desperation, he succeeded. Pain radiated through Peter as the blade embedded in his thigh and was dragged downwards as Peter’s body moved up.

“Ah!” Peter called out in agony, the man below in the alley laughed in victory.

“Got the little bastard!” The man cheered as he started to run.

Peter wanted to chase after him, web him up and make sure that he would never hurt another person ever, but he was smart enough to know that with the current state of his leg, he wasn't going to be chasing anyone.

“Karen? You there?” Peter asked, despite knowing that she never went anywhere.

“I’m here,” she confirmed, “I know you needed time to think, but I would seriously recommend seeking medical attention, you have a large laceration down your right thigh.”

“I’m aware,” Peter said dryly, or tried to, his humour was shadowed by the pain that was coursing through him.

“I can contact Mr. Stark if you would like?” she offered, and normally Peter would have said yes, he would have felt relief at the thought of his mentor coming to pick him up from the cold rooftop and taking him back to the tower where he would receive decent pain relief and have his wound cared for immediately.

But, he couldn't say yes, because he had run out in such a strange way that the next time he saw Mr. Stark the man would undoubtedly have more questions than Peter was ready to answer.

“No,” he said slowly, “but thanks, Karen, actually though… could you just alert the police to that guy, I don't care what you tell them, just make sure he can't hurt anyone else, please?”

“Consider it done,” she said.

Peter let out a breath of relief that he hadn't even realised he’d been holding. It was going to be alright, the cops would pick up the guy before he hurt anyone else, that lady would probably be at home with her husband by now and he could go home and patch himself up before he started to research further into interning at a fancy Gala.

Or, that had been the plan.

By the time he made it home, the sun was beginning to reappear in the sky and he could hear the sounds of the city waking up for another day.

It's a good thing May was on the nightshift, Peter thought to himself as his apartment block finally came into view.

His jeans were no longer blue, but rather a strange brownish red with the effect of a mixture of dried and still flowing blood. His blood. It wasn't often he ended up covered in his own blood, but these things happened he supposed.

Taking advantage of the last hour or so of dim light, he carefully crawled up the side of the building, doing his best to make sure there wasn't a blood trail leading up to his window - he wouldn't be able to explain that one away easily.

“You have a text from Mr. Stark,” Karen informed him.

“Oh…” Peter mumbled and he painfully crawled through his bedroom window and let his body fall to the carpet with a thump, “what does it say?”

“One message from Tony Stark, sent two minutes ago: hey Kiddo! I’m not really sure what happened back there, maybe I overstepped by bringing up colleges and working with me, or maybe you’re more interested in Oscorp - although I don't know why didn't you hear about their animal experimentation scandal? Probably not a good time for jokes, but let me know you’re alright, ok? I saw that Karen has been active all night, so try and get some sleep and just know that I’m not mad at all… I’m just a little confused, but there's no pressure here for you to explain what was up. “

“Do you think I upset him?” Peter asked his A.I. carefully as he lay on his bedroom floor, probably creating a mess of blood that he would be forced to scrub at later.

“I like to think he was honest in the message, I believe he is just confused.”

“It’s stupid,” Peter mumbled, “like, I shouldn't have freaked out, it was so dumb of me.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Karen offered.

“Uh, maybe?” Peter said, “I could keep the mask on while I clean this leg up.”

“Sounds good,” and if Peter wasn't mistaken, her voice sounded gentle and reassuring, he was lucky that she was a computer program and didn't tire of him, or need to sleep.

So, Peter carefully pulled himself back to his feet, crying out in agony as soon as he put weight on his bad leg. If the thought of trying to stand once more didn't fill him with dread, he would have crumbled instantly.

“Shit,” he muttered, he wasn't one for regularly cursing but all things considered he felt the situation called for it, and there was no one around to hear, except Karen.

He made his way slowly to the bathroom, dragging his leg rather than stepping to try and reduce the amount of muscle movement, not that it mattered, the blood still oozed out and the tearing sensation still made him feel nauseated.

“I’m going to have so much blood to clean up before May comes home,” Peter whined to Karen as he pushed open the bathroom door, leaving a red smear behind.

“Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark for you? He can hire a cleaning company,” Karen offered.

“A… cleaning company?” Peter asked, feeling ill at the thought, and not just from the pain he was in, “no, no that’s fine, thanks though.”

He and May weren't poor per se, but they didn't often have an abundance of money to spare, and the thought of paying someone to come and clean their little apartment, when that money could have been used for gas or food, made Peter feel ill. He already caused their food bill to skyrocket thanks to his enhanced metabolism.

Peter sat down heavily on the side of the bathtub, letting the bright lights hurt his eyes momentarily.

“Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“I didn't run out on Mr. Stark because I was upset that he had brought up college or offered me a position at Stark Industries,” Peter admitted, “I mean, it was a bit of a shock, and I know I’m going to have to decide what I want to do with my life soon enough because I can’t live in limbo until I know for sure, but yeah, working with Mr. Stark is the dream.”

“So why did you leave?” Karen asked.

“He asked me to go to the Charity Gala,” Peter said.

“That’s a bad thing?”

“No, no, no, not for a normal intern,” Peter admitted, “but for me, yeah, I’ve never actually done anything intern-y in my life, I don't even know how to make coffee because I don't drink it and that one time I tried to make it for May she made me promise to never put her through that again.”

“So?”

“So interns get coffee,” Peter said as he inched out of his jeans, the dried blood creating a kind of glue between the fabric and his skin.

“You have never gotten coffee,” Karen informed him as though that wasn't partially what he was freaking out about.

“Exactly,” Peter muttered, gently easing his clothing off was causing him too much pain, so he tore the jeans away from the wound in a sharp motion that made stars blink in and out of existence in his line of vision as darkness threatened at the edges.

He didn't remember slipping off the side of the tub, but just as he thought he was going to lose the fight to stay awake, the fuzziness disappeared from his vision and he was blinking tiredly on the bathroom floor with his leg oozing fresh blood.

“Peter? Peter!”

“Ugh,” he groaned, “s’ok, ‘m fine.”

“I really think it’s about time we sought more professional help,” Karen suggested.

“No, no, it’s all good,” Peter said as he started to feel less dizzy from the agony, “besides, I was telling you stuff, remember?”

“Indeed, would you like to continue?”

“Yeah, uh, so, the coffee thing,” Peter mumbled as he gently nudged his jeans off properly, trying to avoid looking too closely at the blood on his leg as he did so, “well, it’s just that I’ve never done one of the most simple things an intern does, and Mr. Stark was dropping hints about me being an intern, so obviously I need to fill that role at the Charity Gala, but how can I when I don't know what’s expected of me?”

“Maybe you’re meant to just go and have a good time?” Karen suggested.

“No, no it’s not that,” Peter was sure, “he mentioned interning a few times, it was very clear that he’s wanting me to step up and actually fill that role.”

“Why don't you ask him?”

“What? No way!” Peter said quickly, “I absolutely can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn't get it,” Peter muttered and ripped the mask off in one smooth action, feeling slightly guilty about cutting off his closest confidant so ruthlessly.

He tried to ignore the turmoil in his mind and instead focused his attention on the gash on his leg. He carefully pulled himself back up onto the side of the tub and swung around so that he could clean the wound off in the bath. He used the showerhead and rinsed it on the gentlest pressure setting, rubbing at the skin around the laceration to clear it of the dried and congealing blood.

“What the-”

For some reason he had expected a long swipe, maybe from upper thigh to his knee, he had not expected the sight he was met with. The wound was the length of his pointer finger, and it was wide. It was almost like someone had cut an oval into his flesh rather than swiping him with a knife.

It needed stitches.

It probably needed a professional, but Peter was an amateur with a complex against disturbing others and a strong need to avoid Mr. Stark until the Gala, so he was going to have to deal with it himself. How much blood had he lost? How long did he have until this wound became life-threatening? He needed to get his shit together and sort it out.

Once he had finished rinsing the laceration, he wrapped one of May’s nice yellow towels around it tightly, to try and stem the flow of the blood - a large part of him felt guilty, he was going to have to throw it away and listen to her confused rambles as she wondered what had happened to it.

“Come on, Peter,” he muttered to himself, “you can do this.”

He forced himself to stand, ignoring how that simple, painful movement made a sudden red appear on the otherwise pristine towel.

“Gotta close it up,” he muttered as he opened the mirrored cabinet and began to rake through for the first aid kit he knew was hidden in there, various things fell as he searched and clattered into the sink making him glad that he was home alone.

When he opened the first aid kit, he rummaged until he found the thing he had been looking for; a pack of Steri-Strips. He opened them and read through the information leaflet.

Only use on shallow, clean, uninfected wounds. Do not use where bleeding is unmanageable or significant. Do not use on hairy, oily areas, joints, the face. Seek medical attention if the wound was a human or animal bite.

Well, that was a lot of situations in which they were unsuitable and Peter was fairly sure his wound wasn't shallow and he would have said the bleeding was erring on the unmanageable side, but what else could he do? He didn't have any other option, he would have to try.

So he did, he carefully unwound the towel and looked at the nauseating wound on his thigh. He needed to align the edges and hold them in place with the Steri-Strips. It sounded simple… but it was going to hurt. Gritting his teeth, he started to get to work. Small whimpers and whines of pain would escape every now and then as he struggled not to lose himself to the lightheaded feeling that kept coming with the pain.

The Steri-Strips didn't work as well as Peter had hoped, the edges of the wound weren't exactly lining up and there were parts of the sticky side that were attached to the open part of the wound, which he was sure wasn't meant to happen. But, it was an improvement, and that was all he could ask for.

He stuck one of the sterile dressings over the top and used the first aid scissors to cut a strip off the towel - he was going to bin it anyways - which he then tied tightly around the affected area to create enough pressure to stop the bleeding.

“Now to clean up,” he muttered with a slightly delirious laugh that he was putting down to the blood loss.

Sitting there, with his leg wound cared for - to his best ability - and his throbbing ribs, Peter realised just how tired he was. He still needed to clean up the mess he’d created and research what Mr. Stark would be expecting of him at the Gala.

He pulled on his mask tiredly, “Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, what can I do for you?”

“Can you text Mr. Stark for me and say: sorry for running off like that, don't worry I’ll be at the Gala tomorrow, and I’ll be fully prepared.”

“Message sent.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Peter said and laid his head back, fighting the urge to fall into a deep, comforting sleep. He still had so much to do…

----

By the time Saturday evening arrived, Peter was so nervous he was almost crawling about on the ceiling.

“Oh, Honey, relax would you,” May said with a fond eye roll as she rewatched the tie tutorial that she’d saved after they’d both been mystified by the snakelike fabric on the night of Homecoming.

“Relax?” Peter asked, his voice a few octaves too high, “May, I can’t just relax, this is the Stark Charity Gala and I am a Stark Intern.”

“So?” May asked, motioning for him to come closer so she could do up the tie after her third run through of the video.

“So, I need to be the best intern that has ever been to one of these things, if it gets out that I’m Mr. Stark’s personal intern and I don’t do a good enough job, then my actions will impact negatively on Mr. Stark and I can’t have that!”

“You need to calm down, Pete,” May said with a laugh, “you’re getting too in your head about this, why don't you just try to have a good time? And maybe go fix your hair.”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled running a hand through his curls, “hair. I can do that.”

“Just don't use as much gel as you did last time, alright?” May said, “the curls suit you, the greasy look does not.”

“Oh ha ha,” Peter mumbled as he made his way out of the living room, pain echoing in every step, but May couldn't know.

She couldn't know about the thirty dressings he had gone through in the last two days as his leg refused to heal properly, despite his normally impressive healing abilities. She couldn't know about the weird yellowish-green discharge that was escaping constantly or the strange smell he had begun to notice. She couldn't even know about the smattering of dark bruises that spanned across half his ribs and made breathing difficult.

“Don’t take too long, Peter,” May called after him, “Happy will be here soon and I want to take some pictures of you before you leave.”

Peter looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his ghostly pallor and the bags beneath his eyes, how had he avoided causing May suspicion? He looked terrible, or maybe that was his enhanced sight picking up on things normal people couldn't see.

He coated his fingers in a light amount of gel and ran them through his hair, enough to style it but not so much that it looked greasy, as May would say.

“Alright, I’m ready!” Peter declared, walking back into the room to be met with the flash of a camera, “woah! May!”

“You look so cute!” she said in response.

“I am not cute!” Peter insisted, “I- I’m- I am the most-”

“Face it, you’re the cutest,” May said pinching his cheeks gently, before pulling him into a hug that squeezed his ribs painfully, “alright, now, have a good night, alright?”

“You sure you don't want to come?” Peter asked.

“Oh no,” May said with a laugh, “I have a bottle of red and a handful of romcoms with my name on them.”

“Alright,” Peter said, “have a good night.”

“You too, and if you’re staying at the tower, send me a text, ok?” May asked, “I don't want to spend the night worrying about where you are.”

“You got it!” Peter said with false cheer, he doubted that Mr. Stark would want him to stay over, especially as he hadn't replied to the man since that message while he’d been cleaning his wound up.

Peter made his way downstairs to see the familiar sleek black car parked by the curb, without hesitating he wandered over to the back door and slipped inside.

“Hey, Happy!”

Happy grunted in greeting and fixed Peter with a piercing stare through the rearview mirror.

“Is uh, is everything ok?” Peter wondered nervously.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Happy said, “Tony says you’ve been avoiding his messages.”

“My phone died,” Peter lied.

“You couldn't charge it?”

“My charger is broken.”

“You couldn't get a new one?”

“We’re not all billionaires,” Peter mumbled.

“You could have asked Tony, he would have replaced it in a heartbeat.”

“How?” Peter asked, “my phone was dead.”

“Alright, fine, keep your secrets,” Happy grumbled, “just… be careful alright, Kid? Tony is really worried about you and I thought he was maybe overreacting because I know how he can be sometimes, but now I’m beginning to think something might be wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Happy asked, ignoring Peter’s lie.

“Uh actually, can we go to a Drive-Thru Starbucks on the way?”

“You… want coffee?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter mumbled.

“Alright, sure,” Happy said, “the first time you’ve actually asked for something so I’m not going to say no.”

Was it really?

The server manning the Drive-Thru window looked very confused when Happy pulled up and requested an Americano and a Hot Chocolate, Peter could see her glancing between the two of them, obviously wondering who Peter was and why he was being chauffeured around.

Maybe she would make up a story for her friends to laugh about, or maybe she was tired and nearing the end of her shift and didn't really care. Either way, Peter slunk back into the seat and looked the other way until Happy handed him the two drinks he had requested.

“So, what’s with the drinks Kid?” Happy asked.

“I don't know how to make coffee,” Peter admitted as though that was an appropriate answer.

“Alright,” Happy said and he sighed deeply, “do you… do you normally drink coffee?”

“What? No, this stuff could kill me,” Peter said, “ever since becoming Spider-Man, I have bad reactions to caffeine.”

“Bad reactions?” Happy asked, his eyes narrowing at Peter through the mirror.

“Oh yeah, you know; palpitations, heart arrhythmias, rashes, jitters, headaches, projectile vomiting, occasional hallucinations, collapsing episodes, cra-”

“So it’s bad?” Happy interrupted.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” Peter agreed.

“So…” Happy trailed off, looking seconds away from pulling over so that he could tear the coffee from Peter’s hands and throw it, “why exactly did we get you a coffee?”

“Oh, this isn't for me.”

“Peter, Kid, come on, you’ve got to give a little here,” Happy muttered, “why did we get a coffee if it’s not for you and you can't even drink the damn stuff?”

“It’s for Mr. Stark,” Peter said as though that should have been the most obvious thing in the world.

“And pray tell, why are you getting a coffee for Mr. Stark before the Charity Gala?”

“Because I’m an intern.”

“Of course,” Happy muttered, looking about ready to drive them off the bridge they were currently crossing, “why did I even need to ask?”

The divider slowly raised between them as Happy muttered his statements of disbelief under his breath.

-----

“There he is!” Mr. Stark said cheerfully as Peter walked into the room, Americano in hand, “I was starting to worry you wouldn't show up.”

“I promised I would,” Peter said, despite Mr. Stark’s words he could see the worry in the older man’s eyes, “oh uh, here, I brought you coffee.”

“Coffee?” Mr. Stark asked, taking the drink from Peter and looking at it in confusion, “you brought me a coffee?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “I hope it’s alright.”

The worry only seemed to intensify rather than lessening, was Mr. Stark that concerned about Peter messing up in public? If so, why should he invite him?

“Thanks, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, taking a polite sip from the cup, “anyway, why don't I introduce you to some people.”

“Sounds good, but maybe I could go to the toilet first?” Peter asked, “it was a long drive and I may have had a hot chocolate.”

“Great, a sugar hyped kid,” Mr. Stark joked, “go on then, scram, you don't need my permission.”

Things seemed to be going smoothly enough until Peter walked out of the bathroom to find his Spidey-Sense thrumming away with a sense of urgency. Just as he started to look for the source of danger, a hand fisted into the fabric at the back of his neck and he was tugged to the side harshly.

“Where have you been?” a man asked angrily, “and what are you doing out here without even a tray of drinks?”

“I uh-”

“Shut up!” the man snapped, “I don't know who your daddy is or whose ass he had to kiss to get you this job but if you’re going to work tonight I need professionalism.”

“I’m not-”

“I said ‘shut up’!” the man shouted once more, giving Peter a little shake to further drive his demand home. Peter was surprised to find himself slightly afraid, and the shake had hurt his ribs and pushed a little too much pressure down his sore leg.

“Please, Sir,” Peter begged, “I’m not working.”

“Oh you absolutely are,” the man snapped, “you think you can sneak through here and meet Iron Man?”

“I didn't-”

“I have half a mind to kick you out into the gutter,” the man continued, “you are a disappointment to all of us in the service industry, you are meant to remain professional at all times, which doesn't mean fishing around for secrets and autographs.”

“I wasn't!”

“Liar!”

The man tightened his grip and started marching Peter forward as though he was a disobedient child.

“Sir, listen, please,” Peter pleaded, “Mr. Stark is waiting for me.”

The man froze, his grip tightening momentarily, and Peter’s Spidey-Sense blared louder.

“You disturbed Tony Stark?”

“No! No, no, no!” Peter insisted, “I came here with him, I’m his intern.”

“That’s a lie,” the man said, “Stark Industries never brings interns to these events, now come with me or I’m going to end up kicking you out on your ass and blacklisting you from ever working an event in New York ever again.”

“You can’t make me do anything,” Peter grumbled, trying to twist out of the man’s hold but being restricted by the pain in his leg and side, he wasn't going to be able to free himself, “you have to let me go?”

“Or what?” the man asked with a sneer in his voice, “what are you going to do about it?”

“Him? Probably nothing, he’s far too polite for his own good, but me? That’s another story entirely,” Peter felt the grip loosen in a second and he almost crashed to the floor from the relief of it, only for Happy to grab his elbow and stabilise him.

“Thanks, Happy,” Peter whispered, knowing the man would hear him.

“You’re Tony Stark’s security,” the man who had grabbed Peter stated with a dumb expression on his face.

“Yes, and you were manhandling one of the people I am here to protect,” Happy said seriously, Peter had often wondered how Happy - with his tendency to get overstressed and his annoyance at most living things - had become the Head of Security at Stark Industries, but now, looking at him confronting the man, he had no doubts that Happy deserved that title.

“I wasn't- manhandling?” the guy asked, “that’s a bit… harsh, wouldn't you say?”

“I call it as it is,” Happy said, “care to explain?”

“I thought the kid was one of my waiters.”

“Did you recognise him?” Happy asked.

“Well, no, but there are a lot of them, it’s difficult to know them all,” the man said.

“That’s dangerous,” Happy said, “it’s fortunate for you that I personally run background checks on everyone working this function, but if you’re not even able to recognise a stranger among your employees then I feel like you won’t have a future organising events for Stark Industries.”

“Wait, no, you can't do that!” the man insisted, “this is my biggest job of the year.”

“It’s a shame you care so little about it then, imagine not caring enough to learn your employees’ names?”

“It was a misunderstanding!”

“Peter, did you try to tell this man you weren't a waiter”? Happy asked patiently.

“I uh said that I’m an intern and that Mr. Stark was waiting for me,” Peter admitted, feeling a little guilty for the ashen look that came over the man’s face when he realised that Peter had been telling the truth, after all, how else would the head of security know Peter’s name?

“Mr. Stark is in fact waiting for you,” a familiar voice broke in, “and he’s not a patient man, what is going on here?”

The man now looked positively grey as he tried to look anywhere but at the confused and impatient billionaire before him, Peter however noticed the way Mr. Stark’s eyes narrowed in on the crumpled fabric by Peter’s neck and the sheen of panicked sweat on his forehead.

His mentor looked questioningly at Happy, “well?”

“This is Bernard Kyting,” Happy said, and Peter was sure in that moment that Happy knew absolutely everyone in the room’s name and face, “he is the owner of the company that organised this Gala, he is also the man that just manhandled Peter and attempted to kidnap him.”

“Kidnapping? What no!”

“Uh, Happy, he wasn't going to kidnap me,” Peter said hesitantly.

“Are you sure?” Happy asked seriously, “because we should operate on the worst-case scenario and him trying to force you to go somewhere against your will without listening to you say you’re an intern and that Tony was waiting for you sounds bad to me.”

“It would probably sound bad to the police too,” Mr. Stark agreed thoughtfully.

“You’re not serious!” Bernard gasped.

“I’m deadly serious when it comes to Peter’s safety,” Mr. Stark said.

“Mr. Stark, I really don't think-”

“Hush Peter, we’re handling this,” Mr. Stark said, “actually, don’t hush, Happy will handle this and I am going to show you off to all the stuffy businessmen here, let’s make them all insecure as a twelve-year-old shows them up.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m fifteen,” Peter said, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly, now come on.”

Maybe it was the anxiety that had been festering in his stomach since he’d been invited to the Gala, or maybe it was the stress of almost being roped into working as a waiter for a high-end Gala, or maybe it was even the blood loss he’d recently suffered… maybe the reason didn't matter, because it was kind of irrelevant.

The important thing was that Peter suddenly found himself falling forward.

He felt hands grab at him to try and stop him from crashing against the ground, but they caught him exactly where his ribs were sore and Peter screamed and everything flashed a brilliant, agonising white before the darkness suddenly crept in.

------

When Peter woke up he was partially surprised that he had actually passed out and partially relieved that he had passed out. He had managed to completely avoid the stress of pretending to know how to act as an intern.

He tried to sit up, only to gasp and fall back against the pillows as his ribs announced their displeasure at the sudden movement, “oh,” he murmured under his breath as he tried to catch what little of it was left thanks to the pain.

“I wouldn't recommend that,” a smooth voice said from beside him, Peter turned his head to see Mr. Stark sitting there, looking over his tablet at him.

“Hey,” Peter mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact.

“You have three fractured ribs,” Mr. Stark informed him casually, “which wouldn't normally concern me too much because I get it, it kinda comes with the job, no matter how good you are, you usually end up a little banged up.”

Peter nodded solemnly, not wanting to speak up because he got the impression that Mr. Stark was nowhere near finished.

“However, imagine my surprise when I lift your unconscious body up off the floor and find myself with a patch of blood on my new grey suit,” Peter winced, yeah, there it was, “so of course, there’s complete pandemonium, we think there’s an assassin in the Gala, we lock the place down and organise S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medics to attend. The highest of all security is on alert and preparing to raid the building, only for us to find that you have a stab wound, that looks to be a few days old on your leg.”

“Oh, that,” Peter mumbled.

“Oh that, yes that,” Mr. Stark snapped, “what the hell were you thinking not telling me about that?”

“It happened after I left the other day,” Peter admitted, “and I thought I’d managed to deal with it myself.”

“You thought-” Mr. Stark broke off and sighed, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “do you realise how irresponsible that was?”

“It was fine,” Peter mumbled.

“Fine?” Mr. Stark questioned, his voice rising an octave from the shock of hearing such a thing.

“I have healing powers,” Peter said.

“Kid, you’re still human, you still need appropriate medical care and time to recuperate after getting hurt,” Mr. Stark said gently, “you’re not a machine, no one expects you to be able to keep going without looking after yourself.”

“I guess,” Peter whispered.

“And you had no idea what you were doing, did you?” Mr. Stark asked although it seemed like he already knew, “those Steri-Strips were totally inappropriate for that wound.”

“I know,” Peter said, looking down, “I just didn't have anything else.”

“You had your phone.”

Peter cast him a confused look, “my phone? They don't like blood or moisture that much.”

“To… call me,” Mr. Stark said slowly, looking at Peter with a strange mix of disappointment and amusement, “you’re a smart kid, but would you really think to put your phone on a bloody wound before using it to call me.”

“Uh, not usually,” Peter said, “but this kinda happened after I left yours the other day.”

“Ah,” Mr. Stark murmured, seemingly understanding something that Peter hadn't yet explained.

“What?” Peter asked, feeling unnerved by the older man’s sudden understanding.

“I freaked you out with all that talk of colleges and coming to work for Stark Industries,” Mr. Stark said quietly.

“What? No!” Peter almost shouted, jerking upright in the bed despite the pain in his ribs that threatened his ability to breathe, “Mr. Stark, that’s not at all what happened.”

“No?” Mr. Stark asked, arching an eyebrow curiously.

“No, of course not,” Peter mumbled, “I mean, yeah, I wasn't ready to think about that sort of thing, but it would be an honour to work for you in the future, but Mr. Stark, I realised that I’m a really bad intern.”

“What- Kid, no,” Mr. Stark said quickly.

“I am!” Peter argued, “I don’t know how to make coffee, I don't know how to sort paperwork, I don't know what else interns actually do! There’s no way you can say I’m good at it when I don't even understand my own job description. You invited me to the Charity Gala as your intern and I freaked out because I didn't want to embarrass you, I wanted to make a good impression.”

“Kid, I invited you to the Gala as you,” Mr. Stark said, “we both know the internship is a fake formality to keep your alter ego a secret and give you a boost in your college applications.”

“So, you’re not mad that I don't know how to make coffee?”

“I never was,” Mr. Stark said, “wait… is this why you brought me an Americano earlier?”

Peter nodded guiltily, “yeah…”

“Kid, you absolutely did not have to do that, although I must admit since I’m staying away from all the fun stuff now, it was rather nice to have,” Mr. Stark said, “I wanted you there so you could have a good time and so that I could brag about how amazing you are.”

Peter couldn't stop the warmth that spread over his cheeks and he ducked his head.

“I just didn't want to be a disappointment,” Peter mumbled.

“Kiddo, you could never,” Mr. Stark sounded as though he had never been more sure about anything, “I’m slightly upset that you didn't come to me about this wound, but I get that your teenage brain works in mysterious mystery ways.”

“I tried my best with it,” Peter mumbled.

“It’s infected.”

“I didn't say my best was good,” Peter continued, he pulled the blankets to the side to look at the wound on his leg only to find that the bloody, yellowing dressing he had last seen was gone and had been replaced by a bright white one with only a tiny amount od seepage. “You fixed it.”

“Well, my doctor did,” Mr. Stark corrected, “I called him in and we gave you some of Cap’s meds to keep you a little out of it while we cleaned it up and you’re now the proud owner of some stitches.”

“Oh cool,” Peter mumbled.

“Stitches are cool?” Mr. Stark asked with a raised brow, perhaps he was questioning Peter’s sanity.

“No, I got Captain America’s drugs!” Peter said with a smirk, “he always tells us not to do drugs in those PSAs so this is a wonderful twist of medicated irony.”

“Yeah, I think they’re still in your system a little,” Mr. Stark muttered, “so since you’re still a little dopey, I think now would be a good time to remind you that you have three fractured ribs and you’re not allowed to go out as Spider-Man until they’re fully mended.”

“Wait… what?” Peter protested, “why?”

“Swinging will put a strain on them and cause you pain meaning you could flinch and fall, or you could receive another blow and worsen the damage,” Mr. Stark said, “come on, Underoos, you were just bragging about your healing powers, it won’t be forever.”

“But…” Peter hesitated.

“But what?”

“If I can’t be Spider-Man will I still be allowed to come to the workshop?” Peter asked and he focused his attention on fiddling with the sheets rather than facing the look he knew Mr. Stark would cast towards him.

He wasn't ready for the ‘why would you come to the workshop if you’re not needing upgrades?’ response, the one that he knew in his head he was about to receive.

“Kid, what?” Mr. Stark responded instead, “look at me, Peter.”

Peter blinked back the tears that were building in his eyes, trying his best not to appear childish and weak before the man who had been his hero since he was a child.

“Pete, c’mon Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said gently, and Peter found himself unable to avoid him any longer, “I don’t know why you have this idea that I only care about Spider-Man, because you are always going to be my number one priority.”

“But-”

“Uh uh,” Mr. Stark cut him off, “no, you need to listen to this. I’m Tony Stark, do you really think I would have a fifteen-year-old kid running around my home if I didn't want him there? Do you think I’d be texting his Aunt and arranging transport for him when she’s at work? Would I have a ridiculous amount of food and sweet things in my kitchen? Would I brag about him to my colleagues and competitors?”

“But we spend so much time designing stuff for Spider-Man?”

“Because you are Spider-Man and no matter how much I wish you had a safer hobby, I know that you won’t quit helping people just to stop the greying of my hair and the wrinkles that are forming. So instead of sitting here panicking about you getting brutally killed, I help you develop things that will ensure your safety - which you then bypass by trying to teat that wound by yourself.”

“Oh,” Peter mumbled, how had he gotten it so wrong? “I’m sorry.”

“Kid, don't apologise,” Mr. stark said, “listen, I’m the one who’s sorry for making you think that I only cared about Spidey, I know I’m as Pepper would say “emotionally constipated” but I really do care about you and your dorky interests.”

Peter couldn't help but smile, “well, in that case, I’m sorry for freaking out about the intern thing, and for hiding my injuries from you.”

“Those are apologies I can accept,” Mr. Stark said with a smile, “although, I wouldn't be opposed to you turning up with coffee more, especially when we both know Happy’s the one paying for it, just… not Starbucks, ok? Try some smaller places, support local businesses and all that jazz.”

“MJ would love that you said that,” Peter mumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, come on then,” Mr. Stark said, his knees cracking as he stood and stretched.

“Come on?” Peter repeated, “where are we going?”

“Someone has to explain all of this to your aunt and I’m not taking the blow on my own,” Mr.Stark said.

“You can’t throw me under the bus,” Peter protested, “I’m injured.”

“Yeah, and I will be too if you’re not there to soften the blow.”

Peter grumbled under his breath as he clambered out of the comfortable bed, May was going to be so pissed at him, in fact, he’d be lucky if he lived to see his Spidey-Suit ever again. Maybe he should write a will, did he had time for that?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Mr. Stark moving to his side to support his weight so that he didn't step too heavily on his sore leg.

“You don’t have to help me,” Peter said, “I’ve been walking on it since I hurt it.”

“Yeah and look how that ended up,” Mr. Stark muttered, “anyways, this is as much for me as it is for you. May won’t kill me if she thinks I’m holding you up.”

“You’re using me!” Peter protested.

“Now he gets it.”

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 4 years

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Wip Wednesday

Untitled fic (Correspondence)

Summary/Story so far: HotchReid, slow burn, AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. We are now months into this... tentative thing that is beyond friendship, beyond flirtatious, they still don't know much about each other on paper... but this feels a lot like dating. And then one day, Hotch abruptly stops answering his phone.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

(Set in season 6, unbeta'd, still the first draft, text/email templates are temporary)

((Notes: Spencer's POV this time, he is 29 and working at CalTech, Hotch still doesn't know how old he is though he does know that he's at least younger than 45 now. Hotch has been MIA now for about 18 hours.))

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch is working. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be apart of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking.

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

[]You're going to get me in trouble.

[][]Did I make you smile?

[]I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[][]Then why are you checking your phone?

[]You know why.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague.

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules.

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is.

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, and Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath.

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes realize he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call.

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it.

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

Please let me know of his well-being.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s.

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

His morning routine progresses as usual, to start. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well.

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling.

He becomes even more distracted when his email pings, a response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen, right in the middle of his department announcements. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is hurt, he’s in surgery, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt.

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a faction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted.

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

The reply is almost immediate.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. But then his mind sticks on something from the email.

Boy Wonder.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch?

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or lables as official.

It’s easy to see, now why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean.

Except, every victim has elevated potassium rates.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?”

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “... Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.”

tbc...

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #I s2g it is but it is also long af #legit this ended up being 1900 words i just didn't feel like stopping you know?#so yall get like... 25% of the entire chapter basically #sorry not sorry #expect a wip every week now #wip wednesday #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting #don't ask about the dots tumblr and I are in a formatting fight and aren't on speaking terms rn

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