#tiny agent 24

[g0kud0ll]

eight eight eighT 8 EIGHT 88 &;; 8-

& XTRA;; a photo of agents 8 + 4 im 99.9% certain captain 3 keeps in their wallet くコ:彡

[bpointsplatling]

in honour of pride month shoutout to agent 24 redraws of oe concept art

gotta be one of my favourite genders

[just-a-lesbian-octoling]

[I wanna make gay Inklings and Octolings but am tired ( ＞Д＜；)]

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Oh, To Be A Harbinger

Pairings: Various Fatui grunts x reader

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, harbinger!reader, sub/bottom characters, power play, free use, groping, blowjob (Mirror Maiden), choking (Agent), fingering, rough sex, eating out, use of the terms 'whore, slut, good boy/girl, sir'

Genre/Format: Smut; Scenarios

Author's Note: Please tell me that I'm not the only person who's insanely horny for the Fatui enemies...? They're all so incredibly gorgeous and submissive and breedable 😳

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

Most harbingers were known for something; some niche or expertise that they so proudly flaunt as if it were a trophy. You were a bit different, however. On the surface, you appeared to be 'the sweet one.' All of the others saw their subordinates as just that; subordinates. Pawns to do their menial work, at their beck and call 24/7

But not you. No, no, no, you were the harbinger that cared. You were the one to learn all of your subordinates' names and memorize them, casually chatting with all of them and helping them at times. People were always begging to be transferred to work under you, pleading with the Tsaritsa on their hands and knees. She never understood what got into them. Was being treated with kindness really all it took to gain complete submission from a person?

On the outside, everything was innocent. Your subordinates were called into your office and left ten minutes to several hours later with a smile. But those that were under your command knew the truth. Their hushed whispers reached the ears of harbingers and their subordinates alike

The truth is...

The truth is, your subordinates signed contracts to become your free use sluts. Not every single one, necessarily, but once the word spread about how good the sex was (and the aftercare), more contracts were eventually signed as you amassed a harem

-

The tiny electro cicin mage yelped when you harshly yanked her panties to the side, pushing your fingers into her wet hole immediately. She didn't expect to run into her boss on this particular patrol...and she was super embarrassed when you caught her stroking a finger over the panties of her uniform, gasping her boss's name as a dark spot grew on the clothing

Mewls of shame and pleasure slipped from her mouth while you sunk in deeper, knuckle deep in her pussy and scissoring your digits. The contrast of your slow fingering and the way you furiously rubbed her clit caused her to cum so fast. Her knees buckled as the slick ran down her plush thighs, apologizing for cumming without permission. “I-I'm so sorry, s-sir...I didn't mean to...just felt so good...”

Without a word, you grabbed the eager lady's ass and pulled her forward, causing her to stumble a bit. An even deeper blush spread across her cheeks when she noticed that your lips were brushing against her little pussy, as it was hovering just above your face. She opened her mouth to question you but immediately moaned instead, rolling her hips and scrambling to grab your shoulders or hair, anything to support herself while your mouth latched onto her heat

A shrill cry pierced your ears as you ripped a second orgasm from the poor girl. Her cry transitioned into panting and broken begging when you didn't stop after she came, licking her cunt just as vigorously as before while her juices flowed out

You reached an arm up to grab one of her cute tits and squeezed while your tongue worked even deeper inside of her pussy. The overstimulation caused the little thing to actually cry, staining the inside of her mask with salty tears

-

Dragonspine was known to be a harsh environment to traverse, though not quite as harsh as you were going to be with the beautiful Fatui agent that was on patrol just to the right of the snowy peak

A knife pressed against the fragile flesh of your throat as you accidentally startled your grunt, who was extremely quick to stammer out a profuse apology. “Please forgive me, sir! I-I thought– I thought you were one of those annoying adventurers f-from the Guild...” The man explained, “They've been all over me as of late...”

A single scoff was the only sound that came from you as you pushed the agent up against a rather large tree trunk. He was caged in by your larger form, a realization that caused him to tremble. The next thing that the agent knew, your firm grip wrapped around his windpipe, squeezing all of the air out of his lungs while you used his own knife to cut the man's trousers open

The sounds of the grunt's wheezing and the sloppy wet sounds of your dick fucking into his ass were loudly echoing around the area. You had lifted the agent off of the ground a bit by his neck, pinning him to the tree while you took out your frustrations (mild annoyance) on him

Multiple loads were emptied within the man's walls and promptly fucked deeper inside of him until you were satisfied with your work. Releasing your grip and letting the fucked out slut fall onto the grass, coughing and sucking in sharp breaths

Crouching down to his level, you tilted your subordinate's head up until he met your eyes. Two simple words elicited a pitiful whimper from him: “Good boy~”

-

Pacing along the soft sands of Nazuchi beach, a mirror maiden was enjoying the serene sounds of the salt water and gentle breeze when her acute sense of hearing caught something else—

“I heard you”

You let out a soft chuckle before putting your hands in the air jokingly, “Ya got me. I hope I didn't startle you too much, darling.” Immediately, the maiden's posture straightened up at the sound of your voice. She apologized for acting hostile as she had no clue who had approached her, erring on the side of caution since there had been quite a few attacks around the beach as of late

“No, no– It's my bad. I should have remembered your crazy good ears. I just–” You began, pausing for a second. Then suddenly your voice went from being several feet in front of the maiden to being directly in her sensitive ear

“–Wanted to see you for a bit, baby. I knew you'd be alone today and I um...I need a little something from you~ ” You purred, pulling the slender woman against your chest while trailing wet kisses all along her neck

The unprepared maiden spent the next hour or two bracing herself against a nearby rock while you pulled her white dress up and penetrated her fat ass. Her pussy dripped with desire while you used her ass as a personal fleshlight, groping her big tits and grunting in her delicate ears because you knew how much she loved it when you took advantage of her impressive sense of hearing

Every thrust inside of her tight hole caused the fat of her cheeks and breasts to bounce and jiggle. The maiden futilely begged for you to use her pussy too, but you had already decided that you were going to deny her that privilege today. Opting for violating her other holes and fucking her breasts if you so desired

Once you had pumped a load into her ass, you spun the woman around and pushed her onto her knees, smacking your wet cock against her cheek. The whore's mouth was the next thing to get pounded as you forced your entire length down her warm throat until it pushed you over the edge again. Your second load poured directly into her stomach since your dick was so far down her throat; poor thing didn't even get a taste of your seed this time...

-

One time, a fellow harbinger caught you railing one of your subordinates inside of your office

A cute cryo cicin mage was bent over your desk, clutching scattered papers in her nimble hands as your fat cock drilled into her sopping cunt. Wet plap plap sounds were the only thing that the other harbinger could hear — besides the mage's shrill moaning and you groaning — as your fingers curled in her hair and pulled the little thing's head up to meet their shocked face

“Soooo...”

“Either get in here and lock the door or get the fuck out.” You spat, not once slowing down or interrupting your rhythm. The harbinger stepped in somewhat reluctantly. This isn't exactly something that they expected to see...and yet, they found themselves growing hard/wet by the second. Instinctually cupping their groin as a choked moan tried to slip through

“Take that fucking cock, babygirl. Yeah, riiiiight there~ ” You drawled, angling your thrusts so that you were pounding against her sweet spot, pulling all sorts of adorable noises from the sweet mage

Your fellow harbinger couldn't stop their hips from rocking into their touch while they stroked their dick/rubbed their pussy. Not wanting to admit that the sight of their coworker fucking some grunt was actually turning them on. Though it was extremely obvious to you

Speeding up your hips, your thrusts became a bit sloppy as your climax drew closer– Railing the mage harder and causing her ass to turn pink from how hard you were slamming against her until–

“Gooood girl~ ” You growled while spilling inside of your little subordinate. Staring directly into the other harbinger's eyes while your cum painted the mage's walls white

Your coworker couldn't prevent the breathless noise that escaped from their parted lips, flitting their gaze down to your creamy cock when you pulled out of the small lady

Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3

[smytherines]

Not to get too serious about something that was super fun and we all enjoyed immensely, but I keep thinking about the Mega Bastards headcanon video because the thing is...

in A1P1 Agent Mega is already shown to be drinking alcohol at inappropriate times (i.e. trying to escape a Russian weapons facility with his boyfriend). We tend to focus on Curt's drinking post-banana because of course we do. It's a traumatic event (even if it's his fault, ugh agent Mega) and definitely accelerates his drinking to the degree that he can't do his job for four years.

BUT he clearly already has a drinking problem at the beginning of the show. Owen reacts to him drinking out of the flask like this is a thing Curt regularly does, a thing Owen is at least somewhat concerned about. Curt even (very defensively) teases Owen into taking a swig himself.

So thinking about what Actor Curt Mega believes about Agent Curt Mega, that he regularly used to have to seduce women despite having no interest in women, it just makes the Mega bastards lore (as much fun as I've had with that) incredibly fucking sad. Like most things with SAF, first it's a farce, then it's a tragedy.

Curt Mega even uses the term "masking" (which definitely shot me in the heart as an AuDHD person), and while I personally headcanon Agent Mega as ADHD, there are still plenty of things that ADHDers have to conceal about themselves. A gay neurodivergent man in the 1950s-1960s would have to conceal so much about themselves that it absolutely could lead to substance use as a way to deal with it. Substance use is a pretty serious problem for ADHD & autistic (and queer!!) people precisely because we live in a society that is not built for us, that is often actively hostile to us, and we have to find ways to survive that.

Maybe this is too personal but I'm a chronic oversharer- my dad had alcohol use disorder. It destroyed his life. He passed away several years ago, and one of the hardest parts of my getting diagnosed with ADHD & autism as an adult was having to really reckon with the fact that he wasn't drinking because he was a bad person or because he didn't love me- he was drinking because he was born in the 50s and things like ADHD & autism weren't as well-understood, and as someone who was certainly autistic and possibly ADHD (there's a heavy genetic component there) he had to hide so much of himself. All the time. He was masking 24 hours a day. And I think he coped with that incredible pressure and physical and emotional distress by drinking. That drinking often made him defensive and petty and irresponsible.

Anyways, the more I think about the Mega bastards lore, the more heartbreaking it becomes. Agent Curt Mega's job requires him to have sex he doesn't want to have with people he is not attracted to. His life, safety, reputation, freedom all depend on nobody knowing he is in love with a man.

Actor Curt Mega kinda nailed it when he used the term "masking." There is really no part of Agent Mega's life where he is allowed to be himself, except for **maybe** when he and Owen are alone together, so when Owen "dies" and Agent Mega loses that one tiny place where he gets to be his authentic self, his drinking just goes over the edge.

As an Owen Carvour apologist I sometimes feel like the narrative doesn't really punish Agent Mega for being kind of an asshole in A1P1, but I'm sort of reframing it after the headcanon video, because it does make me wonder how much of that asshole behavior stems from his persistent alcohol use, his defensiveness when people point out issues arising from his alcohol use (Owen, Cynthia criticising his job performance), and the general macho tough guy affect Agent Mega has adopted to just survive living as a neurodivergent gay man in the 1950s.

I know it was just a fun unofficial kickstarter goal (and I got to make like six tinlightenment promo posts out of it so thank you for the promo content, sir), but it has legitimately kinda forced me to extend empathy to Agent Mega in a way that I didn't really do before.

Goddamn, this show has l a y e r s

[radical-sky]

Shelter, part 1

don't you ever leave me alone, my war is over, be my shelter from the storm

One year post-Fallout, Ilsa joins the IMF, partnering with Ethan and his team. After their first mission goes catastrophically wrong, Ethan sacrifices himself in a desperate bid to save Ilsa's life. Believing he failed and she's dead, Ethan suffers the consequences of the unsuccessful mission. Five months later, the team - and Ilsa, get him out.

pairing: Ilsa/Ethan

wordcount: 4.1k

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, violence, graphic depictions/descriptions of torture and the aftermath, pregnancy, very minor mention of a suicide attempt.

AO3 (user restricted) here

ENDLESS thank you to the truly amazing @agentfaust for the most thorough, in depth, and detailed beta anyone has ever given me. You are phenomenal babe!!

Ilsa can’t remember the last time she was tempted to fidget, all nervous ticks trained out of her before she was even with MI6. The old habits have never been as tempting as they are now, standing in a cold and damp third-world prison waiting for Ethan to be brought out to her.

Well, not just her. The White Widow stands next to her, her brother not far away. He scowls at Ilsa, not happy to be here and not happy to risk his and his sister’s lives on a job for her. It’s nothing sanctioned (if any members of your team are caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions) but the moment Benji had finally, finally found Ethan the team had gotten things moving as quickly as possible. Luther and Benji worked their computers nearly 24 hours a day, and Ilsa called favors and made connections in country wherever she could. Even Brandt was helping, pulling strings and doing as much as he could legally behind the scenes while staying their inside man at the IMF.  

Luther or Benji (it doesn’t matter now because they both had been trying their damnedest to get it done) had hacked into the security system in the prison; cameras in every cell, interrogation room, the hallways. Not that any of them needed to see what they were doing to Ethan (in the two weeks since she first saw him on the grainy camera feed it’s all she sees when she closes her eyes, doesn’t need audio to hear his screams and the sounds they rip from his throat, or backdated footage to catalog what tool made each scar or bleeding wound on his body. Those pictures will be seared in her brain for all eternity. She wants and yearns and rages at the sacrifice he made for her, for them, and falls asleep with a screen playing live footage from his cell in her lap, showing him pressed back into the corner of the tiny cage, curled up protectively, shivering or trembling she can’t tell. Wishing she could tell him somehow I’m coming. I will get you out. I haven’t forgotten about you. you’re not disavowed to me. I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry Ethan). 

They don’t have to watch the footage for long to decide that any escape that depends on Ethan getting himself out won’t happen. Without government backing and even with Brandt’s help they don’t have the resources or the manpower to storm the prison and break him out. That left one option, and it wasn’t one that any of them liked. The White Widow hadn’t been the least bit interested in taking a call from Ilsa until she’d said John Lark needs your help. 

The team had debated on how to refer to Ethan, desperately wanting to keep his identity as an American agent secret. They knew he hadn’t revealed it, the terrorists would have auctioned him off or killed him if he had. The White Widow knew him as John Lark, and that was all it took. From there Alanna was easily bargained into breaking him out. To Ilsa’s trained eye she could tell Ethan intrigued the other woman. It wasn’t a jealous realization, wasn’t even a shock. It’s Ethan - people are drawn to him, he’s magnetic without even trying or meaning to be. Without even being in the room he can convince people to take jobs that are completely against what they usually do. Ilsa can speak to it herself, she knew she was burning a bridge when she saved him the first time, but despite her past, she couldn’t watch Vinter kill him in the most painful way possible. She’s never been in a relationship like the one with Ethan, drawn in and ready to sacrifice the mission for someone else. Ilsa had been ready to be out of the game for a long time, before Kashmir had believed that it would never - could never - happen. Ethan changed that. Changed her reasons for wanting out. She didn’t plan on falling in love when she tossed him the key in London.

Breaking him out had been the original plan, but when Zola studied the camera footage, guard patterns, and security he decided it would cost too many men. A second plan was formed, and the White Widow had brokered a trade as diplomatically as she always had; the prisoner who was arrested after a motorcycle accident on terrorism charges 5 months ago traded for cash and enough weapons for a small personal army. Ilsa knows she should be as worried about what the weapons will be used for as the rest of the team, but even though she is part of them now, she operated differently for so long that she’s almost forgotten what it’s like to have those concerns. It’s Ethan, surely any price is worth his freedom? (Deep down Ilsa knows Ethan would disagree, loudly, with his dying breath, that his own life is not worth a single innocent life.) Benji and Luther had come up with a secondary mission, running alongside the retrieval to guarantee there would be no innocent lives lost because of the weapons traded for him. It took another week for Alanna to acquire the weapons, leaving ample time for the team to gather the cash for Ethan and the separate cash for Alanna, one-half of the price for her involvement in the exchange. Alanna, just like the terrorists, had also required a two part payment, unable to pass up an opportunity when it presented itself to her. Ilsa doesn’t worry about the other half of Alanna’s fee, it's a problem for later. After Ethan is back and healed and whole again. She hopes he won’t be too furious with her for agreeing to it on his behalf. 

So, now here she is. Not fidgeting. Not twisting her ankle or flexing her calf muscles and imaging she can feel the rods and pins holding her leg together, or the scar where her tibia bone punched through the skin of her calf, not twisting her arm and feeling knitted scars where the bones ground together excruciatingly. 

And above all else she’s not resting her hand on the barely there bump on her stomach, the bump invisible and hidden beneath a loose blouse and trench coat. Invisible to everyone who doesn’t know her and Ethan’s secret. 

———

The first mission wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

It was supposed to be easy and wonderful and the start of the greatest partnership of his life. 

So of course, like everything else in his life, it went to shit in 5 minutes. 

He and Ilsa had never exactly named The Thing between them, except that it was theirs. He didn’t tell Benji and Luther (although greatly suspected Luther knew and Benji was suspicious), and Ilsa being a free agent didn’t have anyone to tell. They were each other's greatest secret, greatest weakness, greatest compromise. Because they did compromise each other. There was no question after they’d saved each other so many times, sacrificing the mission for them. The Thing started simply. After handing Lane off to MI6 they spent a week in London exploring each other's bodies carefully around broken ribs and bruised necks (and how he had enjoyed adding his marks to her neck and having her hands on his chest) telling stories and sharing the private, secret parts of themselves no one else knew - then a night Cape Town, a weekend in Moscow, six hours in Brussels, two days in Paris, traveling 8 hours to spend half that time in her hotel room in Athens. Whenever they could and their schedules overlapped enough, or if they even happened to be in the same time zone, they were together. 

After Julia, he didn’t think he’d ever feel this way about another woman. 

Any chance he could he’d pull her into his missions. Anything to have her by his side. Ilsa was always available and never said no. She was traveling a lot, but he didn’t think she was taking any other jobs as a free agent, waiting for him to call her and almost always close by. Ethan had wondered many times if she declined jobs and traveled to follow him, just close enough it was convenient. When Brandt told him Sloane had given him the approval to extend the offer of a permanent position with the IMF - with Ethan’s team - to Ilsa he was perhaps the happiest he’d ever been. The two of them together - partners - properly, permanently. 

He never thought he’d be considering marriage again either.

So it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when it fell apart. The plan failed. His backup scenarios ran out. There were no more moves, no more chess pieces. So when he wrecked and went down, Ilsa dead in his earpiece, Benji too late to save her, a part of him, all hope, died with her. When he saw his pursuers approaching he was relieved, he’d never been so ready or willing to meet death than in that moment. To go where Ilsa would be waiting for him. He was already halfway there, a piece of rebar in his chest, internal injuries too numerous to catalog, his leg didn’t feel right, arm wouldn’t lift. Ethan closed his eyes, ready for the bullet that would end his life. 

He certainly hadn’t expected them to take him alive, put him in the hospital, and get him just healthy enough that he’d survive the torture, and survive he did, but not as Ethan Hunt. As something else, a shell of a human. All hope lost. No prayer of rescue. He knew he was disavowed and no help would be coming. He tried to escape, more than once. Each time failed and each time it got worse. So he kept his mouth shut and took what they gave him. Didn’t utter a word except for the screams and shouts when it became too much. He’d already failed everything and everyone else. He couldn’t fail here. Couldn’t stand to betray his country on top of it all. 

When his captors told him he was being traded for goods more valuable than him, he knew he had to end it or escape. He couldn’t do this indefinitely. Eventually, he’d break and the shell would crack and he’d be human again. So he plotted and planned, and when they came for him he knew what he had to do. His final mission, the last plan, the one to end it all. 

———

The far door opens with a clang and three guards file in, dragging a body by a chain between them. 

She’d known it would be shocking seeing him again and was already braced for what condition he’d be in, but she wasn’t quite prepared for how awful it would be to come face to face with the consequences of her own failures. How jarring it’d be to see Ethan so still and lifeless, compliant. She would’ve guessed he’d die before giving up. 

Ilsa is the cynical one, she knows the harsh realities and cruelties of this world. She’s practical. She’s been the torturer and the assassin with no regard for the lives she’s affecting. But not Ethan, it was never supposed to be him that faced down the darkness of her world and had to, somehow, come out the other side. Ilsa has already done that. Too many times to count. It’s made her who she is and she’s not prepared to be on the opposite side of that. Ilsa had been alone for so long before him and no one had ever protected her like this before - sacrificing themselves to shield her from her own mistake. She hopes it hasn’t destroyed Ethan. Taken away his loyalty, compassion, the ability to see goodness in everyone, or the desire to protect everyone. It takes every bit of her not to step forward and cradle his body to hers when another guard grabs his legs and the two men toss Ethan into the center of the room. 

Ethan hits the ground with a thud and multiple wet coughs. 

“Fucker tried to kill himself. Been a long time since he’s had that much energy.”

Fury, hatred, and grief all ripple through her at the words, but the man spoke in his native tongue, one she isn’t supposed to speak. She keeps her face and body language impassive. This isn’t a man she’s deeply in love with. He’s a job, a mission required in the course of her duties. Nothing more than the man her employers want her to hunt down and bring to them. 

If only it were that simple.

Ilsa steps forward and crouches in front of Ethan, fisting her hand into his hair. She pulls up harshly, detaching her mind from her body and what she is about to do. (Her mind is raking her eyes over him, unable to focus on one thing because her attention is immediately drawn to something else. There’s a thick chain fastened around his neck, tight to his skin and surrounded by some of the deepest bruising she’s ever seen. The end of it trails out from his neck, a mocking and sick impersonation of a leash. His hands are bound behind his back with rope that’s splotchy bright red with new blood and dark almost black of old, dried blood. She can’t see the skin of his wrists. She doesn’t want to. He’s shirtless and Ilsa can count his ribs where they protrude from his chest and the vertebrae of his spine down his scarred and bleeding back. She can identify where and what bones of his bare feet and hands have been broken and healed wrong because she’s done that, she’s broken those bones on prisoners before. She wonders what his legs look like under the ripped and torn tac pants he’s still wearing from the mission. Each breath rattles in and out across lips that are cracked and bleeding. Her eyes jump across him and she is seething, furious, ready to burn down th-) Ethan’s glare is still defiant when their eyes meet, and before he recognizes her he spits a wad of blood and saliva into her face. He starts to speak in a hoarse, raspy voice completely foreign to him “you might as well just kil-”

He cuts off as he realizes it’s her. Almost instantly his face collapses into the most profound display of grief and heartbreak and utter relief she’s ever seen. It’s an expression meant to be carved in marble, painted and displayed in a museum, or preserved in a book for all eternity but not on someone's face. Human beings aren’t supposed to look like that, especially not at her. Not for her, when she’s done so much wrong. There’s blood running from his bruised nose and congealing in the sparse hair on his lip. The smack she delivers to his face adds more to it. 

“Хуй!” She swears in Russian and wipes her face as she stands and pushes Ethan away. 

There is a simmering beast of rage burning within her. She has killed and tortured and maimed and done things that haunt her. Nothing will haunt her as much as the way his face instantly shuts off, all the emotion in his expression a moment before disappears. He doesn’t flinch or wince with the slap. Just takes it, and flops motionless to the ground. He’s nothing, a blank slate as if Ethan is gone, and here is his corpse. 

“This is the target.” Ilsa still speaks in Russian, accent perfect, with no hint that it’s not her native tongue. No hint of the swirling emotions within her. She nods to the prison warden. Alanna, face a perfect mask, passes the backpack stacked full of cash to him. 

“We can continue with the exchange then. I assure you, it’s all there. Couldn’t stay in the business like this if we didn’t ensure all terms were met on both sides.” Alanna says, perfect smile in place. Underneath it though, her skin has paled a shade. Shocked by the brutality Ethan has suffered. 

The man takes it, a slimy grin exposing yellow teeth as he hands it to another man who excuses himself to count it. 

“When my man confirms it you’re free to leave with him.” He rakes a dirty hand through his greasy hair and sends both women another nauseating smile. 

Only in your wildest dreams, Ilsa thinks as she nods to him again. She expected nothing less, to everyone else this is nothing more than a business transaction.

The room waits in silence, save for Ethan’s rattling breaths. She glances at the White Widow whose face has gone another shade paler as she looks more closely at Ethan. Her brother behind her looks grim but is no longer glaring at Ilsa. 

She refocuses on Ethan. He hasn’t moved since she slapped and pushed him back to the ground, hasn’t even turned his head so his face isn’t resting on the floor. His breaths begin to take on a wet quality and she steps over to him with less urgency than she feels. Ilsa pauses when she gets to him as if she’s considering, and carelessly uses her foot to push him up and onto his shoulder, the closest she can get him to the recovery position. 

“Can’t have you dying before my employers get their hands on you can we?” She says, her voice low as she crouches back in front of him, trying to meet his eyes and communicate with just a glance like they used to. His stare is dead ahead, eyes unfocused. There’s a small pool of blood where his face was just resting on the ground, more running from his nose and mouth. It’s concerning, but not enough to be immediately life-threatening alone. She’s not sure if paired with the rest of his injuries and the disassociation it’s a significant concern. 

She stays crouched by him, listening to his breathing and watching his chest rise and fall jerkily, winces as she can his broken ribs flex and expand under the skin that’s practically molded to them he’s so thin. 

Ilsa stands when the outer door opens and the man who counted the money nods. 

The warden looks at them, “It seems our terms have been met, the terrorist is yours. My men will move him to your vehicle. It’s a pleasure to do business with you, perhaps next time we’ll meet under more pleasurable circumstances.”

Ilsa wants to punch the man square in his smug face, maybe whip around his back and break his neck with her thighs. Instead, she nods and motions two guards forward. 

“Carry him. My employers will not appreciate any more damage to the goods.”

The warden translates, and there is a brief bickering back and forth before the guards begrudgingly scoop Ethan up by his feet and under his arms. It’s not a long walk to the roof of the compound, but it still concerns Ilsa that Ethan doesn’t move or flinch throughout the journey no matter how many times the guards carelessly let him bump into the walls of the corridor. 

Outside on the roof, the light rain from when they arrived has lifted, leaving the air damp and chilling to the bone. She instantly wants to shiver and pull her coat tighter around herself.

Ilsa points to the helicopter she arrived in, indicating where she wants the guards to set Ethan. They toss him in, none too gently. She dismisses them with a flick of her hand and they retreat back inside. She nods at Alanna and Zola, as they climb into their own helicopter.

Alanna has to shout over the sound of both helicopters spinning up, “I trust you’ll ensure he’s well healed by the time I need to call on the second half of my payment.”

Ilsa nods again, not needing another reminder of the other half of the agreement, “You have my guarantee.”

She nods to them in dismissal before ducking under the spinning rotors, stepping up into the helicopter, and sliding the door closed with a satisfying thunk when it latches. She reaches forward and taps Brandt, behind the stick of the chopper, on the shoulder, giving him the signal to fly to their first rendezvous point with Luther and Benji. His gaze is focused on Ethan, worry written in every wrinkle of his face. 

As gently as she can she rights Ethan, crouching on the floor and leaning him against the fuselage of the helicopter. He’s still out of it, gaze empty and unfocused. Ilsa blinks back sudden wetness in her eyes and swallows a choking feeling rising in her throat before dragging the first of the multiple medical bags towards her, fishing a pair of medical shears out of a front pocket. She begins to reach behind Ethan to cut the ropes on his hands when he makes an almost imperceptible sound of pain, barely audible over the sound of the helicopter as it lifts in the air. She’d have missed it if she wasn’t leaning over him. As quickly as she can she leans back, gently cradling his body to rest back against the fuselage. His eyes are red and bloodshot, one swollen, and the other already surrounded by bruising. But they are staring directly at her, locked onto her face, his expression a mix of fear and hope, an open book to her always. 

“Ilsa?” He asks in the same shattered voice as before. 

“Yes, it’s me. It’s me.” She drops the medical shears and cups his cheek with one hand, the other cradling the back of his head, her fingers tangling into his hair. 

Ethan is staring at her with so much intensity it’s almost overwhelming. Like she’s an oasis in the desert and he’s drinking her in, a dying man and she’s the thing he needs to survive. He leans his cheek into her palm, pressing into it and nosing into her wrist, eyes falling shut for the briefest moment before they snap open and he pulls his head up like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, eyes locked back on her. 

“You’re real? You’re alive? This is all real?” Ethan’s eyes are brimming with tears and he’s not even trying to blink them away, afraid she’ll disappear if he takes his gaze off of her for even a millisecond.  

She presses a kiss to his forehead, “It’s all real. I’m real, I’m alive. You’re alright, you’re okay.”

Ilsa swipes her thumb over the bruise under his eye, catching a tear as it falls and watching as his face crumples with relief. She pulls him into her, tucking his face into the side of her neck, pressing her own cheek on top of his head, one hand still tangled in his hair, holding. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. We’re both alive. You’ll be okay. The other arm wraps around him carefully, avoiding the worst of the wounds on his back and holding him close for the first time in five months, pressing them together, and wishing she could lay her claim on him. She’ll never be able to protect him entirely, but damn if she doesn’t wish she could. Soon she’s crying too, silent, as Ethan shakes in her hold. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. She thinks. 

They’re safe. Together. Alive. A weight she didn’t know was on her shoulders lifts, relief coursing through her so powerfully it leaves her feeling breathless, overwhelmed, and exhausted. There is a fine tremble running through her hands. She almost didn’t get this; holding him, kissing him, loving him.

The baby kicks, shifts inside of her and she holds back a gasp. The doctor who had performed the surgery on her leg had consulted an OB after confirming she was indeed pregnant. After the surgery, there had been conversations - what to expect and when, how often she should be coming in for check-ups, and more dietary and health recommendations for herself than she wanted to think about. The list had been endless, but she had been out of it with pain, grief over losing Ethan, and overwhelmed with shock that she was pregnant after a lifetime of being told she couldn’t conceive children. But now, thinking back, the doctor had told she’d start to feel kicks and movement around five months. Even with tears on her face, she smiles a bit. He’s already like his father with perfect timing. She presses more kisses to Ethan’s hair, making her way down his face with gentle touches of her lips to his skin, ghosting over his eye, trailing across his cheekbone, and collecting salty tears until she gets to his mouth. He surges up to meet her, pressing them together desperately and with more force than she thought he was capable of. Ilsa smiles into him, god she missed this. 

Meet your dad, little man, he’s the best of us. 

an: anyone catch the sneaky little line of dialogue i stole from rogue nation in there?? title of this fic and the lyrics at the beginning are from the war, by syml. also, xуй means dick in Russian

taglist (i made this from people who showed interest, please don't hesitate to ask to be removed (or added!!), absolutely no hard feelings): @valmare @thethistlegirl @alcafrach @izzypuppybutt

[softpascalito]

javier peña x f!dea!reader - we got your back - chapter 2

Summary: You work as a new DEA agent alongside Peña and Murphy. A not-so-kind colleague reveals more about you than you would like. Also, who the hell is still in the office in the middle of the night?

Relationships: Javier Peña x FemReader

WC: ~2800

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow burn, mention of canon-typical violence, no beta we die like Colonel Carrillo, family Issues, they arent specified but reader is implied to be from a dysfunctional family, Steve is here too, literal sleeping together, one bed trope if you squint, tac vest javi

AO3 LINK // PART 1 // PART 3 (on tumblr)

Notes:

helllooo! i am really proud of this chapter and ofc i had to put tac vest javi in because i am a slut <3 comments are very welcome, have a great day!

spanish translations can be found at the end :)

_______________________________

Chapter 2

The rest of the day passes without any hiccups. You can only assume that either Javi or Steve have made good of their promise to make sure that Raquel doesn't bother you again. You can't say you regret it.

Throughout the afternoon, you find both men glancing over at you more frequently, evidently making sure you're okay. Noone mentions the events that took place in the same room mere hours before. Not that anyone other than Steve and Javi really cared. Office gossip existed just as it did anywhere else but so far, you had steered clear from it. The DEA section had more important things to do either way.

You watch the clock go by. You can't really see the sunset from the office. The windows aren't very large to begin with and the curtains are always required to be closed. Safety and all that. As a few wayward rays of the sunshine steal their way into the office, most of your coworkers start packing up. You don't.

When you had arrived in Bogotá after a long flight and a daunting drive to your apartment, you had stood in your new home in shock. The embassy had apartments of all sorts all over the city. It was helpful to use different comunas for safehouses. Most agents lived in the northern part of the city in fancy highrise buildings guarded by fences and security. Some, especially the ones that were doing a lot of undercover work, had apartments in slightly more dangerous places. As did you. It was a tiny bit closer to the embassy than the northern city apartments. The first few nights you had barely slept, scared that someone would break down your door. Judging by the way it hung off the hinges slightly, it wouldn't take a lot of effort. Then there were the gunshots. They weren't uncommon, really, but they still scared the shit out of you. You knew how to handle yourself in combat, you'd successfully completed the grueling weeks of DEA training after all, but gunshots during a raid with a bulletproof vest strapped to your chest were something different from gunshots during your dinner time at the small, wooden table with nothing but your pajamas on. Or worse, when you were sleeping. Or at least trying to. You don't even notice that Steve is leaving until you hear Javier call after him:” Give Connie my best.” He looks after his partner for a moment before his gaze wanders over to you. When your eyes meet, you quickly force yourself to look away. The files in front of you. You're not sure how long this one has been on your desk but you don't seem to be making any progress. Whenever the search bloc finds something that could be of importance, you are given 24 hours to look through it, make copies and find any potential clues. So that is what you're doing. The murky paper in your hands feels like it's going to suffocate you. But between this and another sleepless night at your apartment, you feel like the choice is an obvious one. Javier is still looking at you. You can feel his gaze on you as you try and continue reading the file. Has he noticed you've read the same page about four times? “You should go home too. Get some rest.” His voice rips you out of your thoughts and back into the present. You simply shake your head, muttering something about the time limit and not wanting to piss Carrillo off and to your surprise, Javi actually lets it go.

Or, you think he does. That is until half an hour later when he leans against your desk again. “Hermosa, I appreciate you doing this but you look like you're about to fall off that chair.” He raises his hand and when you follow his movement you can see his car keys dangling from it:” I'll drive you?” He offers and if you weren't so irritated by your lack of sleep and, well, everything else, you would almost think it's cute how much he cares.

You don't feel like arguing so you just stay quiet and focus your attention back onto your paperwork. He groans a little in annoyance but the two of you know each other well enough to know that neither wants to give in. You're just as stubborn as he is. “Look, how about I-”

You never actually learn what he thinks will get you to change your mind because he is cut off by his walkie springing into action. It's the second raid being conducted tonight and someone is asking if the DEA wants to send an agent. You're not sure why they even bother to ask. Javier will happily jump into action at a moment's notice, no matter the time. You watch him as he shoves his cigarette between his lips to unlock his desk drawer with two hands, pulling out his gun and a tac vest. “Be careful,” you say, too late. He is already hurrying down the hall. You're not sure how long he is gone when your head begins to droop, sleep slowly but surely taking over. With a frustrated huff, you get up from your chair, ignoring the creak it gives as you push it aside.

The jacket will do fine, you think, as you sit down against the nearest wall, wrapping it around yourself to give your body some sort of signal that it can relax. In the back of your mind, you remember that someone kept a blanket and pillow around, just in case, but you're not sure where it is and even if you did, you feel like your body might not want to get up again just now.

Sleeping in the office isn't allowed, technically, but you know that Javier and Steve have done it before. Likely, more than once. You set an alarm on your watch to make sure you'll be up before anyone starts to arrive in the morning. You hadn't expected him to come back. You should have known, really. ___________________________________________

Something had been off. None of them got nearly enough sleep as was, but today you had seemed like you were barely there. Javier wasn't sure if it had anything to do with what had happened earlier with Vázquez but either way, he didn't like the way you had looked. So, when he finally left the lab they had raided, he decided to drive back to the embassy instead of going home. Surely enough, there you are. Huddled into a corner in the dimly lit room, breathing steady with your eyes closed. He sighs as he takes in your form for a moment, already knowing you'll wake up to back pain from the way your body is twisted up against the concrete wall. Javier crouches down in front of you and for a moment, he considers not waking you at all, simply lifting you up and carrying your form into his car to get you home. He isn't sure if it's the concern of startling you or the anger he'd inevitably have to face if he did, but he lets it go, settling on giving you a gentle nudge instead. “Wake up, dormilona ,” He hums softly, his brown eyes focused on you as he gives you a moment to regain consciousness. You wake up the way you always do, slowly at first and then with a start. Your eyes fly open to stare at his form, taking in his gaze on you and the tac vest he's still wearing, and you blink a few times in confusion. When you don't say anything, Javi gives a small chuckle and gently grabs your jacket before standing and picking up his car keys once more. He rummages through his drawer for a moment before finding another cigarette and lighting it. When he turns back to you and sees you still slouched against the wall, his eyebrows involuntarily go up a bit.

He ponders for a moment before he opens his mouth:” Vamos, get up.Te llevo a casa.” It comes out as a mumble but in the empty office, it's still loud enough for you to hear. It's not as much of a question this time, more of a gentle command. You sigh, your shoulders dropping involuntary. You don't want to explain, don't want him to know, but you're too tired to put up a fight. His gaze is still lingering on you and you distantly wonder if this is the longest he has ever looked at you. “No quieres ir a casa.” He says gently, and again, it's more of a statement than a question. God, he sees through you so easily. “No.” You admit silently, finally averting your own gaze. Both of you stay quiet for a moment. Him waiting for an explanation and you trying to think of one. Again, you feel the need to close your eyes but you know better. Just get it over with. “It freaks me out a little bit. The empty apartment. And it's so far from the embassy, from everyone.” From you, you add in your mind. Not that you'd ever admit it out loud. Javi slowly crosses the space between you in a few long strides and crouches down next to you again. He takes a drag of his cigarette as he looks at you, waiting for you to go on. “The gunshots creep me out. And I-” You shake your head ever so slightly:” This is stupid,” you mutter under your breath:” I never really unpacked. I didn't want everything- the pictures of-” You can feel yourself getting choked up at the thought of your family pictures and simply bow your head a little. If Javier thinks your explanation is stupid, he doesn't say so. To your surprise, he doesn't say anything for a while. You're the one to break the silence:” Look, you can leave. I'll be fine.” He looks at you, cocking his head a little as he seems to consider something.

“No.” No? At that, your head whips around to find him standing up and pressing his cigarette into a nearby ashtray. His face doesnt convey any emotion, and you silently curse him for his poker face. “No?” You repeat, still a little dumbfounded. That gets a small chuckle out of him. “Me quedaré,” He says, as if that explains anything. When he looks down at you and sees the confusion evident in your features, his gaze softens a bit:” Vamos. Come on.” He stretches out a hand to pull you up, gives a quick glance towards the clock on the wall and then leads the way into a small office room that you know Murphy and him use for file storage. Indeed, there are several old file cabinets placed on both sides of the cramped room. The blinds are shut and when you follow his gaze, you notice a small couch that looks like it's been here since the Embassy was built. Maybe even before.

“I crash here sometimes. It's a hell lot more comfortable than a concrete wall, don't you think?” He teases softly but his tone immediately lets on that he isn't serious. At an inviting gesture from him, you sit down and immediately sink into the cushions a little, involuntarily giving a small sigh. It is a hell lot more comfortable. “Here,” he pulls a worn-down blanket from one of the drawers and along with your jacket, throws it over at you. To your surprise, you catch both before looking back at him as he starts to undo his tac vest. You want to say something. Something smart or at least funny. But your mind is still so tired so you just keep looking at him.

That is until he catches your gaze, his small signature grin creeping back onto his face:” Like what you see?” He asks as he throws the vest into the corner, left in one of his white short-sleeved shirts:” Or are you sleeping with your eyes open?” You roll your eyes ever so slightly and give a small huff:” Both .” You shoot back, trying to ignore the underlying message in both your words. When you glance over at him and see him sit down on the floor, you give him a look:” What are you doing?” “It's called being a gentleman, querida,” He replies, that small grin on his face again. Even if this wasn't Javi, or if he wasn't as attractive as he is with his stupid faithful eyes and small brown curls, you weren't going to let him kill his back by sleeping on the office floor.

“It's your couch.” You try gently, hoping he'll take you up on the offer. He glances up at you from where he is sitting, cocking an eyebrow:” Technically, it's George Bush's couch.” You can't help the small chuckle that escapes your lips as you shift a little to make room for him:” Get your ass over here, Javier.” The use of his full name seems to make him understand that you won't back down on this one and with a small sigh, he gets up again and crosses the space between you before sitting down next to you. “You okay with turning the light off?” He asks, his consideration taking you by surprise once more. You murmur a small agreement and feel him shift as he reaches over to turn off the small lamp placed on one of the file cabinets. A few orange rays from the streetlight are falling in through the blinds, just enough to make out his form beside you. You're not sure if you've ever seen him up this close and you allow yourself to study his features for a moment, the way his nose perfectly aligns with the small crease in his forehead, his breaths escaping through his slightly parted lips.

The couch is too small for you two to not touch but to your surprise, the warmth beside you is somewhat comforting. You're squished between the backrest and him and if you weren't so tired, maybe your brain would think further, more. But it doesn't. Nor do you. He has his arms crossed, no doubt thanks to a lack of other comfortable and, well, unassuming positions. You watch his form through the corner of your eye. You break the silence.

“How did she know?” You ask silently and you feel him tense ever so slightly beside you. Of course he instantly knows what you're talking about. “They have files on all of us. What we do here, what we did before DEA.” He gives a small shrug:” I'm assuming she saw yours in passing.” At that, a new fear creeps into your chest, one that seems a lot worse and scary than Vázquez could ever be. “Have you seen them?”

Even in the dark, you can see him turn his head slightly to look at you. He studies your face for a moment. You're not sure if he finds what he is looking for but after a moment of silence, he hums.

“No, I haven't.” “Okay.”

Your answer makes it clear you trust him. Javier wouldn't lie to you. Not on this, at least. He seems to follow your train of thought, his eyes never leaving yours. “Are you okay, cariño?” He asks silently. You instantly know he isn't talking about Vázquez or the files or even Colombia. He is talking about something without knowing what it actually is. It makes your heart ache a little. “Yeah.” You mumble back and you think you mean it. Right now? It doesn't seem so bad.

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I won't judge.” He isn't sure if you're ashamed of anything in your past, if that is the reason why you're so hesitant to talk about it. He just knows that something is there that gives your features a look he doesnt like on you. He wishes he could take it away.

“I know.” You simply say, again meaning your words. Before the silence between you can get too overwhelming, you add:” Lets get some sleep, yeah? Estoy cansada.”

“Yeah, me too.” He mumbles and he seems to hesitate for just a moment before he reaches out and wraps an arm around you, pulling you into him ever so gently. His movements are slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted to. You don't. If anything, you cuddle a bit closer to him, taking in the way his shirt feels on your skin, the way his arm seems to fit so perfectly around you. In return, you move the blanket a bit, readjusting it until it covers him and you. Again, both of you still.

He is the one to break the silence this time.

“ Vázquez can suck my dick.”

He thinks he can still hear you giggling as you're drifting off to sleep.

____________________________________________

hermosa - beautiful

dormilona - sleepyhead

vamos - let's go

te llevo a casa - i am taking you home

no quieres ir a casa - you don't want to go home

me quedaré - i'm staying

querida - dear

cariño - honey (romantic nickname)

estoy cansada - i am tired

_________________________________

thank you for reading, subscribe on ao3 if you like and maybe leave a comment? <3

[g0kud0ll]

SPLATOON GIRLFIRENDS!!?! ?

[thatgirlstrawberry]

💛Sunshine💛 pt. 13 - The Search pt. 1

In which you all read about Spencer and his family life

Warnings: cursing, angst, sadness, angry/rogue Reid, lmk if I missed anything!

Spencer Reid x fem!oc

Spencer watched his children sleep when they got back to their home. He knew it would probably be creepy if it were anyone else but he just wanted to watch them breathe. After not thinking they were alive for 24 hours he thought it was fitting to watch them be alive.

It took a while to get Sadie to sleep but eventually, the exhaustion set in and she fell asleep across Joey's lap. He fell asleep soon after and Spencer stayed awake, his phone in hand in case the team found something that could help with finding Audrey and Charlie.

He hated the feeling of his house without Audrey or Charlie. He hated the coldness and how his heart skipped a few beats every time his phone screen lit up. It was never an update about his wife and child, it was always just the latest headlines and news reports that repeated old information.

AUDREY REID AND CHARLIE REID: FEDERAL AGENT FAMILY MISSING— HOW LONG DO THEY HAVE LEFT?

Spencer sighed and tossed his phone to the side, getting up from his chair and giving Sadie and Joey one last look before exiting the room. He walked towards his own bedroom. It was strange to not smell his wife's perfume as soon as he stepped in.

It was like she had never been there in the first place. The air felt thick, it felt hard to breathe. Little reminders of Audrey were everywhere.

Her stack of hair ties sat on the dresser. Her t-shirts that she had yet to fold from the last load of laundry. Her little notebook on the bedside table on her side and papers from her last case she took on sat neatly underneath. He imagined her sitting there on the bed with her legs pulled up under her, reading glasses perched perfectly on her nose and her bottom lip between her teeth. He imagined that she looked up from her little notebook like she had many times before and smiled at him. Then she'd set it down and scurry off the bed. She approach him and stand on her tippy toes, wrap her arms around his neck and kiss all over his face. She'd ask how his day was, barley giving him a chance to answer before playfully kissing his lips, knowing it drove him crazy.

A ghost of a smile disappeared from his face when he snapped back to reality. He was standing there alone. A shiver ran up and down his spine.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he went and sat on the edge of the bed. He sighed and took his phone out. There was a message from and unknown number and an image.

He furrowed his brows, heart skipping a beat.

He tapped on the message reading it in less than half a second.

Unknown Number

shus run u ine 2/19

open image...

Spencer was confused and opened the image. It was just a tan colored screen. He looked closer, tiny little reflective specs dotted the screen. It looked almost like sand.

He closed the image and looked at the meaningless letters. But the numbers. He would recognize what that meant any time, any place.

February 19, Charlie's birthday. 

He sat up straight and looked up at the ceiling, the letters un scrambling and doing it all over again.

It took him forty-three seconds to understand.

u r my sunshine. 2/19

It was a code and it was from Audrey. Only she would send that as a code.

He thought about calling Hotch. But the one thing that popped into his brain when he began to type in his number was the fact that Hotch threw him off the case. It angered him.

He will only slow me down.

Spencer had to stop and think for a second; something he didn't do well when he was panicked.

So, he quietly woke Joey and Sadie up. He got them in the car. It was dark out by this time. It was raining. Where was he going? He didn't know. Did the sand mean she wasn't in Virginia anymore? He didn't know. Was the code a trap? He hoped it wasn't.

"Daddy, where are we going?" Sadie asked with sleepiness in her voice.

Spencer glanced at her through the rear view mirror. "I'm taking you to your aunt JJ's for a little bit. She misses you."

Charlie scoffed. "What about mom and Charlie?" He sounded angry. "We're just gonna leave them with uncle Marcus?"

The father sighed, knuckles turning white against the steering wheel. "No, Joey. We're still working on it, okay. Just... stay calm."

"I thought Mr. Hotch said you can't help anymore." He fired back.

Spencer shook his head. "Mr. Hotch changed his mind, Joey." He lied, glancing back at him.

“I know you're lying, dad." He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer chose to stay quiet and pay attention to the road.

When they pulled into the driveway, he only saw Will's car. He was hoping that was the case. A few minutes later, Sadie was running up the pathway. She loved Will and JJ's house because she got to play with the boys.

The door opened and Will stepped out. "Spencer?" He furrowed his brows. "What are you doing here?" He asked, smiling down at Sadie. He bent to pick her up and tickled her side.

"Oh, JJ didn't tell you?" He tilted his head to the side and moved so Joey could walk past him.

"No...?"

"I need to focus on finding Audrey and Charlie. So, JJ offered your house up for my kids tonight." He lied. He didn't care if this plan fell apart as long as he got away before Will figured it out.

Will sighed. "Oh... right. Uh, they can come in but the boys are already asleep. Hey— are you sure JJ said this was okay?"

Just need enough time to get away.

“Yep. Did you want me to show you the messages? I mean, come on, Will. I can't— I need my wife back. I need my child back. I'm working on this case and I need—"

"Okay, okay. Spencer, go on. I have to get to work by 3 tomorrow so..."

"Yeah." He smiled. "I'll be back before then." He nodded. He didn't know when or if he'd be back.

"Bye daddy." Sadie yawned. "I love you."

"I love you, Sadie."

Joey sent him a nod and crossed his arms. "Love you, dad."

He watched as they disappeared behind the front door and waited a few seconds before turning and hurrying to his car.

He used one hand to call the number he'd received the message from and using the other to buckle himself and start the car. The phone  connected to the car and the line clicked.

"Marcus, I know you have my family." He didn't even give the person on the other line the chance to say hello.

A short gasp followed. It was a familiar noise and his heart plummeted.

“D-. —ease, h-hel—" The voice was muffled and staticy. If he wasn't Spencer Reid, he wouldn't be able to tell who's voice it was.

He furrowed his brows. "Wait— Charlie?"

"Dad— m... needs h—"

"Charlie can you tell me where you are!?" He shouted. As he entered the main road, his foot mashed down on the gas pedal. Did he know where exactly he was going? No. But, he was gonna get far away from Will before he figured out his lie.

"... house. I think— big ware—"

"A warehouse? Charlie, are you in a warehouse?" He asked, already beginning to think of a new plan.

"Yes— mom needs—" There was a moment of deafening silence. "...bleeding! I th— something wrong—"

Spencer felt the pressure in his chest increase as he fled down the street, going the only place he knew to go.

"Char— he's... coming! We have to—"

That wasn't Audrey. But before he could ask who it was, the line disconnected. "Shit!" He cried, pulling into the parking garage of the BAU.

He dialed Garcia's number. She picked up on the second ring. "Reid, oh sweetie. I've been meaning to get away to call you but—"

"Garcia, I'm coming to you so you can listen to this call I just got. I need you to trace it."

The woman was silent for a moment. "Reid, you know that's a difficult thing to do. I have to go through your entire chip to reach old calls. I'm gonna need time."

His knuckles turned white against the steering wheel as he parked. "I'll get you time."

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

HEY YALL

GUYS IN SO SORRY ABOUT THE LONG ASS BREAK I TOOK WITH NO WARNING ON THIS BOOK.

It was not Intentional, school is kicking my ass. I'm having a very hard time being a college student and I just never found the time to get back to writing with all the things I'm doing other than being a student as well. I'm so truly sorry again. I'm also sorry this chapter is short but I felt bad and didn't want to keep tal waiting anymore.

Love y'all so much ❤️❤️❤️

[splatoonpolls]

SPLATOON OC TOURNEY ROUND 3 BATTLE 7

Static & Specter by @princess--bongwater vs Talia Yareli by @gingergari

BACKSTORY/PROPAGANDA

STATIC & SPECTER

Static and Specter are a frankenstein monster/scientist idol duo. Specter is really a zombie, and really was brought back to life by Static with the power of the big zapfish. It caused a power outage. Specter came from the Deep Sea Metro and was actually one of Tartar's subjects, and would've passed, but she was such an asshole he just decided to cut her up into little tiny pieces and throw her out a chute instead into the streets because he worried if he actually got her in there she'd make everyone else assholes too.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/10Zd33Rdz9J1g36O8GyOqq?si=NtTsWDvkQuWH0sYnaim3Ww that's their Spotify playlist for you

TALIA

Talia (age 24 (~16 in splat1), pronouns he/her) is from Calamari County! Her family consists of her mother, her older sister Moselle (28, a firefighter) that she looks up to a lot, and her younger sister Ren (18). He originally moved to Inkopolis to make a living as a pro battler, which he did for a few years with his roommate turned girlfriend Peri, maining both Dynamos depending on the kits given. Then Grizzco opened for business, and it turned out that they paid pretty well all things considered, and that they were both *really* good at it. (They also thought it was fun for the most part) Since they were consistently hitting the upper ranks of Profreshional, when Grizzco expanded to the Splatlands the pair were invited to relocate as Eggsecutive VPs to help support the branch and to help train up some new recruits. That's how Victoria (Eggs) and Fiorello (Safety) ended up joining them :] Speaking of nicknames, Talia has the worst name memory in the world and has a lot of trouble remembering the names of people and occasionally objects, so he gives them a nickname she remembers a lot better. (Peri is a nickname! But sometimes Talia falls back on pet names until he remembers either her nickname or actual name) He is very worried that he comes across as rude for it (or anything in general) so tries to be as friendly as possible. He was the one that gave Safety the life preserver gear as a gift! Talia is a huge fan of Big Man (finds that he relates to him the most) and did cry when he lost the leader splatfest :( Also cried when he was homesick and tried to get her favorite dish, clam mochi, at a Splatlands restaurant which turned out as you would expect. His favorite splatband is Sashimori. Talia is friends with my Agent 3, but does not know the truth about Grizzco.

[chasingmidnights]

Tiger, Tiger

Title: Tiger, Tiger

Summary: Red John has captured you and he’s given Patrick 24 hours to find you. 

Warnings: Patrick Jane (I feel like he deserves his own warning label); angst, angst, angst; mentions of being assaulted/battered; mentions of blood; brief character death; C.P.R.; mentions of guns/weapons; with a tiny bit of fluff at the end. I believe I’ve listed all of the warnings and I apologize if I missed anything but you are responsible for what you read. If any of the listed warnings make you uncomfortable please do not read. 

A/N: This is my story for the week one writing challenge, I Spy, for the @the-slumberparty event. I used a generator to come up with my theme and setting. The theme I got was ‘serial killer’ and the setting I got was ‘modern day’. So naturally, the Mentalist, ‘Red John’ serial killer popped into my head and I loved how this turned out! I hope you enjoy it! 

Wordcount: 2,893

Patrick Jane had just finished making his fresh cup of tea and as he lifted the cup to his mouth, he took a deep breath in. He loved starting the work day off with a cup of tea, it helped him relax. As he took a couple of drinks from his cup he watched the other agents as they rushed by the small kitchen. They were always in such a hurry. He stole another minute to himself before he glanced down at his watch and a smile started to work its way onto his lips. You should be here any minute. He took another drink from his cup before he turned around to grab another cup for you. You loved tea just as much as he did, which was just one of the many things he liked about you. While he prepared your cup, he thought back to the day that he met you. 

He had just walked into the small kitchen to fix himself some tea when he spotted you. You were using his favorite cup and before he could say anything, you were walking past him. He shook his head and snapped out of his thoughts before he called out to you. 

“Excuse me, that’s my cup.” 

You paused and turned around to face the person who had just spoken. “‘Scuse me?” 

Patrick couldn’t lie, you were quite beautiful and he could easily get lost in your eyes. He took a couple of steps towards you, he pointed at you as he did. “That’s my cup.” 

You took a drink from the cup before you examined it. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t see your name on it.” 

Patrick narrowed his eyes at you as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Who are you anyway?” 

You smirked at his question before you took a sip of tea and walked away, putting a little bounce in your step as you did. Patrick was in awe and all he could do was watch. 

“Patrick!” 

Patrick was brought out of his thoughts when he heard his name being called and groaned. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was Theresa who was calling for him, he would probably just ignore the person. He rubbed the back of his neck before he set down the cup he had gotten out for you. When he got to the bullpen workplace, he noticed how his coworkers stopped what they were doing and turned to face him. The once light and airy atmosphere that was just there a minute ago turned into a more constricted one. Something was going on, he could tell. He was about to ask his team members what was going on until he noticed it. How he had missed it was beyond him because he swore when he walked in just a bit ago it wasn’t there. He was frozen in his spot at the sight of the funeral bouquet sitting there on an easel. It sat there taunting him as if he should know better than to love again. “No, it couldn’t be,” Patrick thought to himself. He approached the display with caution as if it would out and attack him. When he reached the display, he took in a sharp breath at the words that were written on the sash, ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. Patrick could feel his whole body go numb and he knew exactly what this meant. Red John had gotten to you. 

“Jane?” Theresa inquired as she gently placed her hand on his upper arm and paused, waiting for him to reply. She glanced over her shoulder to her other coworkers, concern written all over her face before she returned her attention back to Patrick. “Jane?” 

At the second ‘Jane’, he finally turned his attention towards the others and demanded a question. “When did this get here?” 

Grace, Kimball, and Wayne all shook their heads in response, not sure when the flowers were delivered. Before anyone could answer Patrick’s question, his phone started to ring. He pulled out his phone from his pant’s pocket and answered it instantly. 

“Hello?” Patrick did his best to remain calm. 

“Hello Patrick, did you miss me?” A high-pitched, male’s voice came through the receiver. 

Patrick’s blood ran cold, it was just as he had thought: His worst nightmare had come to life. 

“Where is she?” Patrick informed, his voice firm and doing his best to keep it even. 

“She is rather pretty, isn’t she? I can tell you have a type.” Red John commented, completely ignoring Patrick’s question. 

Patrick aimlessly took a few steps forward as he heard you whimper in the background. “If you do anything to her at all, I will find you and I will kill you.” 

Red John chuckled at Patrick’s threat and even though he knew Patrick couldn’t see it, he smirked. “You have twenty-four hours to find her. Good luck.” 

With that, Red John hung up the phone and a curse slipped from Grace’s mouth. She had quickly moved from her spot next to Wayne and over to her desk when the phone call was answered. She had typed furiously to try and trace where the phone call was coming from. “Damn it! I almost had it!” 

Theresa and Patrick went over to Grace’s desk to see what she was talking about. A grid map was pulled up onto her computer screen and there were mapped out cell phone towers. She let out a frustrated sigh before she spoke up again. 

“Sorry, I almost had him. I was only able to narrow it down to a certain area but it’s rather big.” Grace explained as she made a few clicks with her computer mouse and zoomed in on the area she was talking about. 

“Good work, Van Pelt.” Theresa reassured her colleague. Theresa then took a deep breath before she walked to the center of the bullpen. She tucked her thumbs into her front belt loops before she started talking and giving orders. “Alright, everyone, we have a fellow agent in danger. Whatever you’re working on, I want you to bury it until further notice. We need all hands on decks. Let’s get a move on people, we have twenty-four hours!” Theresa then looked back at Patrick who gave her an appreciative nod. “We’re going to find her Jane.” Theresa did her best to be confident with her reassurance. This was Red John after all. 

“I need some air.” Patrick excused himself and he was out of the building before anyone could stop him. 

Kimball and Wayne exchanged looks, worry was etched onto their features. They knew what you meant to not just Patrick but Theresa as well. When you first started, Theresa had introduced you as her best friend and with a proud smile on her face. They quickly changed their demeanor as they nodded at one another and started to get busy trying to find you. They didn’t want to get told twice. 

You grunted as you pulled against the leather cuffs that had you strapped to an uncomfortable wooden chair. It took a minute for your vision to become clear, you don’t remember passing out. Although, with all of the torture that you’ve endured within the past several hours, it was bound to have happened. You tried to get a good look at your surroundings again but it was nearly impossible. The only light source that the room provided was a singular, hanging overhead light. It was probably on purpose though, your captor didn’t want to be seen or to know where you were. You could feel goosebumps start to rise over your skin as you heard footsteps coming towards you. Your breath hitched when your kidnapper was finally in front of you. From what you could tell, he was wearing a mask and a hideous one at that. 

“Good, I’m glad you’re awake. For a moment there I thought I had lost you. I can tell you’re a strong one though. A fighter.” Red John said, his high-pitched voice sent a cold chill through your body. 

You balled up your hands and flexed them as you gritted your teeth. You needed to pick and choose your battles. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

Red John stopped his pacing before he began to click his tongue. “You see, I know a lot more about you than you yourself know. But we don’t have time for that.” He paused and looked down at his watch before his shrill voice continued to pierce your ears. “After all, I only have a limited time with you and I want to have more fun.” 

You tried not to wince when his gloved finger caressed the side of your face and you did your best to try and pull away. He chuckled at your attempt as his finger continued to trail down the column of your neck. Your eyes began to fill with water as Red John picked up the necklace around your neck. It felt like an eternity as Red John stood there and examined the quaint diamond necklace. Patrick had given it to you as an anniversary present. It was simple really, a single diamond on a white gold chain but you cherished it and wore it every day. A gasp escaped from you when Red John tore the necklace from your neck and pocketed it. Just as you thought he was about to walk away and leave your battered body, he turned back around and a harsh smack met your cheek. 

“Boss, I’ve got something!” Grace called out, she was sure that she found your location. Not just sure but she would stake her job on it. 

Just as Theresa and Patrick rushed over to Grace’s desk, Kimball and Wayne were walking back into the office. They had gone to your apartment to see if they could find anything out of place. When Patrick noticed them, he looked at them with a small bit of hope. But when they shook their heads no, Patrick returned his attention back to Grace. Kimball and Wayne immediately joined them to see what was going on. 

“Alright, so I was able to do a little more digging based off of the incomplete trace from earlier. You see this satellite point,” Grace pointed to a small dot on the screen before she continued. “It was one of the ones that was blinking earlier. I checked that area and it’s nothing but woods and cabins up there. So, I ran the names of people who owned them and there’s one that stands out. A fellow by the name of Dr. Roy.” 

“That’s it, it’s gotta be. Great job Grace!” Patrick confirmed before he went over to grab his jacket. 

“Alright, let's move it people! Cho, I want you to call for a S.W.A.T. team and meet us there, also let them know there’s a hostage! Van Pelt, forward that address to the S.W.A.T. team and to me. Jane, you’re with me. Rigsby, I want you to call Sac. P.D. and let them know that we have a hostage situation on our hands. Let them both know that the suspect is considered armed and dangerous.” Theresa barked out orders as she double checked her gun and she received multiple ‘yes boss’s’ from her team. 

When they finally got to the cabin, the teams approached with caution and they had their weapons ready. Theresa motioned for one of the teams to go around back and they did as they were told. They moved swiftly and quietly to the back of the cabin. The team in front breached the door within a matter of minutes and they immediately crossed the threshold to begin their search for you. Once they cleared the house with no sign of you, Patrick went outside to catch his breath and think. He placed his hands on his hips and just as he turned around, he noticed something in the distance. 

“Theresa! I think I’ve found something!” Patrick called out to his colleague. He motioned for her to come over to him when he noticed her coming out of the cabin. 

“What is it Jane?” She asked as she arched an eyebrow at him. 

Patrick pulled her over to the side a few inches and he pointed to a spot in between two trees. “What do you see Lisbon?” 

Theresa squinted her eyes through the narrow tree line. “Is that a barn?” 

“I believe it is and I bet that’s where he’s keeping her.” Patrick confirmed and just before he could take off towards the barn, Theresa grabbed ahold of him. 

“Hey, we’re doing this the right way and we’re gonna be smart about this.” Theresa ordered, her face as serious as her tone. 

Patrick looked taken aback before he became just as serious as his partner. “How can you just stand there and say that?! I thought you cared about her?!” 

Now it was Theresa’s turn to be the one taken aback. “That is my best friend in there and I’m worried sick about her! So, don’t for one second think that I don’t care. But this is Red John we’re talking about so we have to be smart.” 

Patrick took a deep breath before he exhaled. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” 

Just then Kimball had walked up to them with his bolt-action rifle in hand. “Cabin’s empty boss. What’s our next move?” 

“Alright, get the S.W.A.T. team ready, we have another building to look through.” Theresa commanded and without saying another word, Cho walked away. 

The S.W.A.T. and Sac. P.D. teams were ready to go and were waiting for command within minutes. Just as before, there was one team that waited at the back of the barn while one remained at the front. One of the S.W.A.T. team members stood across from Theresa and Patrick as he listened for any sign of movement. Once he was satisfied, he gave Theresa a short nod who wasted no time in signaling to him the okay. A loud bang filled the intense silence as the battering ram met the wooden door, causing the door to splinter. Theresa led the team inside with her gun and flashlight aimed as she called out a ‘clear’ after every turn. 

When they reached the center of the large barn, Theresa scanned the room before her light landed on you. A horrified gasp escaped her as she saw the state of your battered body. Your head was hung low and you were still strapped to the chair. You were still, too still for Theresa’s liking. She took a few steps towards you but before she could get to you, Patrick had forced his way into the barn. When he caught the sight of you, he froze in his spot. Theresa tried to keep Patrick back but wasn’t able to. He easily pulled out of her grasp and rushed over to you with Theresa hot on his heels. The pair of them quickly began to remove the leather cuffs that kept you restrained. Once they had you freed from the restraints, Patrick carefully moved you from the chair and to the ground. He immediately checked for a pulse and when he couldn’t find one, he started C.P.R. right away. 

After a few minutes, Patrick leaned back onto his heels as he sat on his knees. He gulped in deep deep breaths as he waited for what seemed like an eternity. The air was thick around him and he barely felt Theresa place her hand on his shoulder. Tears began to well up in his eye but before one could escape, you jolted forward and started to gasp for air. Patrick quickly scooped you up into his arms and held onto you tightly. 

“Patty, I need to breathe.” You struggled to say in between deep breaths. 

Patrick let out a weak chuckle before he loosened up his grip on you. “Sorry sweetheart, you had me so worried.” 

You tried to laugh but ended up coughing instead. You took a deep breath before you continued. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily Patty.” 

Patrick smirked in response. “Oh, I know, you’re too stubborn. Theresa on the other hand was about to give up on you.” 

You did your best not to laugh as Theresa smacked Jane on the shoulder. “I was not. I’m gonna go see if the ambulance is here.” Theresa gave you a small smile before she got up and left. 

Patrick then cupped your cheek and gently started to caress the bloodied skin. He leaned down and gave you a meaningful kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes and relished at the feeling. You weren’t sure if you were ever going to experience this again. When you opened your eyes, you took in Patrick’s face and pulled him in for a kiss. When you pulled apart, you paused to catch your breath and a weak smile curled up on your face. 

“I love you Patrick.” You said in between each breath. 

Patrick’s face brightened up and he grinned from ear to ear. “Hey, I wanted to say that first.” 

He then leaned down and kissed you again before the paramedics came to wheel you away.

[oldworldwidgets]

DELILAH TIME DELILAH TIME

here she is. officially. my beloved fallout 4 oc delilah !!!! first piece done by @zetobii and the second by @leavingautumn13

i dont draw so all art of delilah comes from my dear friends who draw her for me/with their ocs and tell me i can post it OR from commissions. what i can do, however, is write <3 and make playlists and pinterest boards for visuals <3 so prepare urself <3

speaking of which, you can find her playlist here and her pinterest board here!! theyre chronological, so listening/scrolling in order should more or less tell her story too

ok so: her appearance, personality, stats, story, and some fun facts are here under the cut (its a lot fyi ok i just love her so much) pls enjoy

delilah lore (delilore?) be upon ye:

appearance:

24 years old, 5’10”

very fair skinned with bright green eyes and jet black hair

her hair is wavy and flows down to the middle of her back. she has one small braid behind her right ear

covered in freckles, from her nose to her knees. she has a tiny scar above her mouth from a past split lip and a slit in her opposite eyebrow from a past black eye

midriff is heavily discolored from past bruises - the pigmentation never fully went away - and marred with keloid scars from deep cuts from things she refuses to talk about. if her dress has a high enough slit, bruises can peek out near the very tops of her legs

large black kingsnake tattoo wrapping up a her left arm with its head near her shoulder and its tail near/on her hand

she can almost always be found in her wine-colored silk dress that reaches only about mid-thigh, nails manicured and lips painted to match. it has spaghetti straps and is loosely bodycon.

she wears stacks of gold rings (as many as possible, really) and dangly gold snake earrings

the only things she keeps on her person are the dagger and the gun strapped to her thighs under her dress. her gun was a gift from KL-E-0. it is a custom gold-plated, silenced 10mm. lilah named it "Mine"

stats:

if fo4 had a karma slider, lilah would land pretty firmly on evil. on a dnd alignment chart, think chaotic neutral or neutral evil

SPECIAL: 2, 8, 2, 10, 7, 4, 3

she's not strong nor has much endurance, but when you're as smart, perceptive, and charismatic as she is, you can charm people into carrying your stuff for you anyway.

her perks are party girl (alcohol/chem resistance), black widow (damage/persuasion against men), night person (higher int at night), and intimidation (pacify, instruct, and force opponents to attack). and deacon's cloak and dagger, of course.

personality:

cold, calculated, distant

cares about very, very few people (and even fewer things) but is fiercely loyal to those people. she's a railroad agent, but only because deacon cares about the cause and she begrudgingly cares about deacon

she and deacon clash. he refused to even vouch for her admission to the railroad. she gets along much better with glory, but she still gets assigned to run jobs with deacon because they keep each other in check and are deadly efficient as a pair (theyre also in love but they keep it a secret from everyone including each other)

she cares about very very few people but it fiercely loyal to those people. she is a railroad agent, but only because deacon cares about the cause and she "begrudgingly" cares about deacon (she cares literally so much do not let her fool u)

her moral compass is not magnetic. right and wrong is whatever she wants it to be. she takes no issue killing people if they wrong her. sexual harassment or subterfuge/targeted deception send marks to the top of her hit list.

her story:

her birth name is allie eden

she is not a sole survivor; she was born into the capital wasteland chapter of the brotherhood of steel. despite sentinel lyons' best efforts, delilah responded far better to scribe training than to combat training

she and arthur maxson were the only two kids in the citadel, and they became fast friends, even after the lyons pride crumbled and maxson was appointed elder.

he appointed her his sentinel, second in command, which she embraced until she saw how terribly the wasteland was faring under his leadership.

she promptly absconded and, because she had been so sheltered until that day, quickly lost herself to chems and alcohol.

months passed in, thanks to all the blackouts, what felt like hours. one night, allie woke up in a warm bed that she did not fall asleep in. a man named dante deangelo had pulled her body from a D.C. gutter and made sure she was safe.

in no time, they fell in love and decided to escape to the commonwealth. they found a small, basement apartment in goodneighbor and allie began tending bar at the third rail.

dante, slowly but surely, became more abusive. he left bruises and deep cuts on her body anywhere her third rail uniform would cover. she stayed, though, because she'd been raised by the brotherhood to believe that love was harsh and painful. to obey without question. to submit to authority.

eventually, she tired of that life and snapped, killing dante before he could leave any more marks on her. something... shifted. maybe it was allie eden who entered their apartment that morning, but it was delilah who left it that night.

KL-E-0, who was quite fond of allie and is far fonder of delilah, fitted her with pistol, Mine.

instead of hiding behind the bar like she had when she was with dante, she began to use it to her advantage. every dusty drifter with full pockets full of caps left her bar empty handed. but it wasnt enough.

she began targeting triggermen, who she knew were peddling chems for... someone in goodneighbor. the moment a man started flirting with her (which she hated), it was like a red dot sight appeared on their foreheads. she'd seduce them, take them back to her apartment, get her caps and chems and information, and the men would never be seen again.

morowski, goodneighbor kingpin, eventually approached her at work about his shrinking pool of chem peddlers. they struck a deal: he would slip her into his operation as his newest arm candy, and she would peddle his chems at her bar.

it worked flawlessly until morowski actually fell in love with her. go figure. unless, of course, that was lilah's plan all along...

while she's still participating in this farce with morowski, she meets drummer boy, who she ends up truly enjoying the company of even despite her general distaste for men. eventually, he convinces her to join the railroad with him

because morowski is in love with delilah, she has no issue squeezing information out of him when deacon asks her to: morowski is an institute informant. lilah quickly, uh, deals with that problem, and the next days, morowski is found dead in his office at the rexford. cause of death: self inflicted gunshot wound. what a tragedy.

because delilah was his "other half," his unofficial widow, she inherited morowski's whole chem operation

now, she happily spends her days directing the triggermen and tending her bar - for fun and for information, at this point, because she certainly doesnt need the caps. when she needs to run for the railroad or her beloved friends need her professional black widow skills, whitechapel charlie is "happy" to cover for her. as happy as he can manage, anyway.

fun facts:

she is terrified of storms, heights, and violent outbursts from people she trusts

her name comes from the bible story of sampson and delilah, where delilah is paid by the government to seduce sampson (a man of god) and tempt him to sin by telling her what gives him his inhuman strength. after three attempts, she is successful. sampson tells her that god gives him his strength through his hair. she then cuts his hair, which ultimately leads to his death. i mean what a bad bitch

she is still deeply unhappy even after she wraps goodneighbor around her finger because she still doesnt know who she is

she's skeptical of maxson's move to the commonwealth. she is very much on the run from him (and the bortherhood as a whole), and ham happily vets drifters for her to ensure theyre not undercover brotherhood before letting them into the bar.

she and maccready arent exactly "friends" but they harbor mutual respect for each other since they spend so much time together. mac had to call her off like a guard dog when winlock and barnes paid him a visit, so shes confident he would do the same if the brotherhood ever came knocking.

[carefulfears]

speak more about closure (the episode)!!

oh my god literally always. i could talk about sein und zeit & closure every day and never run out of things to say.

(i've talked about it a bit before, here and here.)

i was thinking about recently, this final shot of sein und zeit. how devastating it is. how empty and brutal and mortal it is. how representative it is of what this episode has to say.

mulder has spent his whole life believing that children who go missing from their homes do not die, wanting to believe. he spends this whole episode clinging to that belief.

in the end, he stands alone, separated slightly from the others, over 24 tiny graves. there's no easy out, there's no groundbreaking conspiracy or mythos. there's nothing but dirt and bones and a man in blue jeans.

this is the same conclusion that he had faced the day before, in regards to his mother's death. he walked in with the most hopeful answer, spun up an explanation that would make sense, and in the end, was wrong.

in the end, sometimes it's pills and fumes. sometimes it's purely corporeal, sometimes there's nothing to find solace in.

and so closure opens on the graves of 24 children. teams of men unearthing them, digging in the dirt. one of them with tears streaming down his face.

after seven seasons, we're nearing the end of the road, and there is none of mulder's perfectly reassuring celestial faith in sight.

in the midst of all of this, scully is ever-steady in her facts, and she takes a deep breath before calmly relaying information about the murders to mulder, who doesn't look up from studying the footage of the kids.

when conversation turns to samantha, he sits back to confess that he had badly wanted to find her in one of those graves. he admits, "i guess i just want it to be over."

a long way from "nothing else matters to me" in bellefleur, from shaky relief over fabric hearts, from letters written about goals of reunification, there's resignation before acceptance.

one of my favorite moments of the series is towards the end of sein und zeit when mulder says that they should just go home. that they are not going to find those people's daughter alive, despite the days he had spent insisting to anyone who would listen that they could.

when he says that he is too close to the case, and he wants to take some time away from work.

seven years after scully chased him into the street and yelled for him to stop running after his sister, the morning after she followed him into a hallway to tell him not to go looking for something that he does not want to find, the person whose "relentlessness" has kept him searching for nearly 30 years, just wants to go home.

after mulder says that he just wants it all to stop, and a brief wavering confrontation immediately after, scully heads back to DC and begins her search.

i think it's so important that it took nearly a decade of this "search" for scully to ever even see the file.

despite what they might tell you, this journey has never been the search for samantha. it's why so many leads were left unfollowed, so many questions remained unasked, so many misdirects were accepted without inquiry.

this has never been a search for samantha, it has been a quest to keep searching. a desire to believe, a grasp for hope.

scully has always understood this, so seven years after joining the pursuit, only after mulder said he's ready to stop, she starts looking.

i love this scene between her and agent schoniger, going over mulder's old therapy tapes and seeking expert opinion.

closure spells out in plain terms what has been explicit since the pilot, that aliens and x-files and spectral theory, are all a means to an end.

schoniger tells scully that the "garden-variety compensatory abduction fantasy," is just that, a fantasy that allows for hope, allows for pursuit.

when she asks what he thinks happened to samantha, he shows her the FBI's file. how the treasury department was involved. how much effort went into an investigation, due to bill mulder's status in the government. how nothing was ever found.

he offers the FBI theory. she was kidnapped in the house. body disposed of. never found. it was 1973, predatory crime wasn't as evolved at the bureau.

he asks why she would bring this back up now, and she tells him that it is what mulder is owed. that this wound has never healed, and mulder deserves closure.

back in sacramento, mulder is asleep while planet of the apes plays on the motel television ("there's got to be an answer." "don't look for it, taylor. you may not like what you find," the dialogue that plays through the room.)

as the film rolls, there's a knock at the door, and mulder wakes up to let his friendly neighborhood psychic harold in, and continue their journey.

"what are you afraid of?" mulder is asked outside a military base, continuing the theme of vulnerability in pursuit. of how precarious it is to really seek, when you don't know where you'll end up.

meanwhile, scully returns to tena's house, searching through the remains of what she burned at the end of her life, and finds a document in the garbage signed "C.G.B.S."

she identifies the report as the original copy of the form that effectively ended the FBI's investigation into samantha's disappearance, and the initials as belonging to c.g.b. spender, an alias of the cigarette smoking man.

when she calls mulder to tell him what she found, he's dismissive, and against questioning CSM, but a confrontation at her apartment leads to a warning to stop looking.

you may not like what you find.

as mulder and harold make their way to albatross street.

where they find handprints in cement marked "samantha," in the yard outside of military housing. next to a matching set marked with the name of CSM's son, jeffrey.

scully flies back to sacramento, remaining steadfast, just as she was in the beginning, as she tells mulder about her conversation with CSM. as she tells him that she was told samantha is dead.

mulder, however, is eternally going in "an endless line, two steps forward and three steps back," like she said years ago. miles from his own position at the start, just wanting it to be over is easier said than done, and he's reverting back to the previous theories and fantasies that he's always fallen back on.

though scully tries, this is ultimately not her burden, and she joins mulder and harold as they make their way back to albatross street, where a trip to the house uncovers a journal left behind by samantha.

"she tells him, after his mother dies and his sister writes to them from beyond her adolescent grave, that she’s not going to leave him. she means it as an argument." - tracklist by audries

it is so much easier to live in delusion of our choosing. it is so much easier to look away, to take three steps back, to mask the suffering of the world and of the people we love. it's so much easier to seek comfort in innocence.

but it means something to bear witness. it means something that this little girl was playing a game with her brother one moment, and the next was not, and she was not unharmed and abducted by aliens. it means something that someone knows that.

mulder and scully sit in an empty diner together, two untouched cups of coffee in front of them, and they bear witness.

they read, in her own words, about the tests that were being performed on her. about how she wasn't even treated like a person. about how much she hated it, and how they didn't care.

if you pause on samantha's diary, you can see phrases that mulder doesn't read aloud, like "more tests. more pain. will it ever end?"

"..dream of being with my family. sitting on the beach, playing volleyball...instead, i'm trapped in this cold dark room"

"why can't it all just go away? i'm too young. i didn't do anything wrong."

after so many years of a name in a file, a picture on a desk, a hopeful dream; they sit and they cry and they take in her own words and her own experience.

they read about how she planned on running away. how she just couldn't take it anymore, but she was sure they would kill her if she tried. how she didn't care, she just wanted it to stop. "no more."

they read about how her memories were altered, but she thought she had a brother, and she just wished she could see him. how she hoped he would read this someday and know that.

at the end of the road, there is no closure. there is no "beyond the sea."

there is only mulder and scully looking up at stars, a familiar sight to tie in the mythology of this two-parter.

referencing the theory that was posited in sein und zeit, and then again later by harold, mulder says that maybe they are souls. traveling through time in the starlight.

when scully tells him to "go get some sleep," he laughs; in the same way he did when she said those words years earlier, over scraps of fabric and nightmares of missing girls.

but unlike paper hearts, he complies, and the next scene opens on him asleep back at the motel. the television off and silent, for possibly the first time in the series.

scully wakes him up the next morning, with the police report of a 14-year-old hostage runaway from 1979 in her hand.

"i got it, mulder. i couldn't believe it when i found it. it's like it was looking for me."

following the lead to the hospital records, this is so reminiscent of their early adventure days. back when they were running around searching, back before they were afraid of what they'd find.

mulder uncovers the medical report, a 14-year-old girl who wouldn't give a name and exhibited signs of paranoia. the records note "evidence of probable self-inflicted abuse," small scars on her knees, wrists, and chest from the tests that were being done on her.

once again, sometimes answers are flesh and blood.

"i have this...powerful feeling and i can't explain it, that this is the end of the road."

at the home of the nurse who signed the intake form, mulder hangs back by the car, and scully asks if he's ready, if he wants her to go herself.

this is the moment that makes me emotional the most, i feel like. when scully in all of that steadfast logic and reason goes up alone, to speak to the last person who ever saw samantha alive.

and after seven years of countering every theory, of reigning in blind hope, of skepticism and science, you can tell that part of her stands on that porch and just prays for aliens. prays to have been wrong.

she listens as the nurse describes the young teenager that you remember for how frightened she was, "scared for her sweet life."

and the man who came for her, who would not put out his cigarette.

and that she just disappeared out of a locked room, after the nurse had seen a vision of her dead. an experience in line with that of the parents in sein und zeit, and the theory of children transported in starlight, spared from violent deaths.

this story is not without grace, and there is something to offer mulder in the end, as he's lead to a forest where many souls are waiting. including harold's son, amber lynn lapierre, and a young girl who starts running to him.

i love the tone of this scene. disparate from the original script, which called for them to be crying, they are overjoyed. this is something, after all these years and all this pain. this is holographic, inadequate, reunification. and it is too much and not enough at the same time.

returning from the woods, scully asks where he went, and he answers, "end of the road."

he turns to harold, and tells him that they're all dead. his son, amber lynn, samantha. and it's okay.

"we both have to let go, harold."

but it's not everyone's time to put down the search, and harold still wants to believe, insisting that he will keep looking.

where this episode opened in dirt and bones, it closes in starlight and freedom, the end of the road a balance between realism and hope.

between the mortal evil of "the truth" and the faith that allows you to survive what you find; it's not somewhere you can go alone, or before you're ready.

there is no closure. but there's acceptance, and there's the relief that comes with knowing that someone will always be remembered, even if you go home and get some sleep.

[fashiondisastertournament]

🎉The bracket is here! Round 1 Group D concluded! + Round 1 Masterlist

The 64 fictional characters who will compete for the title of the Worst Dressed have been now selected. Thank you once more for your nominations! ALL VOTING WITHIN ROUND 1 HAS NOW CONCLUDED

The bracket is super tiny on Tumblr, so here are the matchups in text format, divided into 4 groups (A, B, C, D). Groups A & C have all the frequently nominated characters in them, while groups B & D exist to give a chance to those characters who were nominated only once but in a particularly convincing way or who just look exceptionally Disastrous! All matches have been randomized - but I made sure to put the two most frequently nominated characters on two different sides of the bracket, not to worry ❤️

ROUND 1: MATCHUPS & MASTERLIST

Group A (popular nominees; top left of bracket) VOTING CONCLUDED

Matchup #1: Taako (The Adventure Zone) vs Trexel Geistman (Stellar Firma) -> Trexel wins!

Matchup #2: Sanji (One Piece) vs Franky (One Piece) -> Sanji wins!

Matchup #3: Hunter (The Owl House) vs Harrier du Bois (Disco Elysium) -> Harrier wins!

Matchup #4: Raikou Shimizu (Nabari no Ou) vs Goro Akechi (Persona 5) -> Raikou wins!

Matchup #5: Kanatsun (Entropic Float) vs Leon (Pokémon) -> Leon wins!

Matchup #6: Konoha (Kagerou Project) vs Rui Kamishiro (Project Sekai) -> Rui wins!

Matchup #7: Pannacotta Fugo (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure) vs Sora (Kingdom Hearts) -> Fugo wins!

Matchup #8: Sock (Welcome to Hell) vs Midoriya Izuku (My Hero Academia) -> Sock wins!

Matchup #9: Shigeo Kageyama (Mob Psycho 100) vs Cecil Gershwin Palmer (Welcome to Night Vale) -> Cecil wins!

Group B (special chance; bottom left of bracket) VOTING CONCLUDED

Matchup #10: Gamzee (Homestuck) vs Tidus (Final Fantasy X) -> Tidus wins!

Matchup #11: Pico (Newsgrounds Museum 2 version) vs Hecatia Lapislazuli (Touhou Project) -> Pico wins!

Matchup #12: Alear (Fire Emblem: Engage) vs Captain Agent 3 (Splatoon 3) -> Alear wins!

Matchup #13: Mineta Minoru (My Hero Academia) vs Dr. Andre (Inside Job) -> Minoru wins!

Matchup #14: Wiggle Wigglebottom (Bugsnax) vs Tighnari (Genshin Impact) -> Wiggle wins!

Matchup #15: Daredevil/Matt Murdock (Marvel 616) vs Tingle (Zelda) -> Tingle wins!

Matchup #16: Lesley (Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared) vs Shouta Aizawa (My Hero Academia) -> Lesley wins!

Group C (popular nominees; top right of bracket) VOTING CONCLUDED

Matchup #17: Gabriel Agreste (Miraculous Ladybug) vs DIO (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure) -> Gabriel wins!

Matchup #18: Satan (Obey Me!) vs Naruto (Naruto) -> Satan wins!

Matchup #19: Teru Hanazawa (Mob Psycho 100) vs Leonardo (Rise of the TMNT) -> Teru wins!

Matchup #20: Neku Sakuraba (The World Ends with You) vs Julian Bashir (Star Trek) -> Julian wins!

Matchup #21: Nanashi (Shin Megami Tensei IV: Apocalypse) vs Rex (Xenoblade Chronicles 2) -> Rex wins!

Matchup #22: Ex (Puyo Puyo Tetris) vs The Sixth Doctor (Doctor Who) -> Sixth Doctor wins!

Matchup #23: Quark (Star Trek) vs Harper Finkle (Wizards of Waverly Place) -> Harper wins!

Matchup #24: Kusuo Saiki (The Disastrous Life of Saiki K) vs Zaphod Beeblebrox (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy) -> Zaphod wins!

Group D (special chance; bottom right of bracket)  VOTING CONCLUDED

Matchup #25: Ryu Natsume (Paradox Live) vs Lu Yi (Dislyte) -> Ryu wins!

Matchup #26: Hannah Montana (Hannah Montana) vs Willy Wonka (Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) -> Hannah wins!

Matchup #27: Miuccia Miuller (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure) vs Gonzo (The Muppet Show) -> Miuccia wins!

Matchup #28: Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way (My Immortal) vs Leviathan (Obey Me!) -> Ebony wins!

Matchup #29: Haiji Senri (Len’en) vs Dick Grayson (DC) -> Dick wins!

Matchup #30: Raizou (One Piece) vs Serizawa Katsuya (Mob Psycho 100) -> Raizou wins!

Matchup #31: Blue Sargent (The Raven Cycle) vs Ghetsis Harmonia (Pokémon Black and White) -> Ghetsis wins!

Matchup #32: Jake Sisko (Star Trek) vs Condiment King (Batman: The Animated Series) -> Jake wins!

Questions? Concerns? Complaints? Please check the FAQ under read-more for answers!

And as always... may the Worst Dressed win!

FAQ

~"How is [x] character a fashion disaster? I like their look/ they're iconic/ they look alright/ etc. etc." First of all, this is a very lighthearted competition that doesn't mean to be negative or judgmental! A Fashion Disaster can sometimes be (affectionate): in some cases there's nothing more iconic than a bit of this pizazz. I like quite a few of the looks on this list (and sometimes dress much worse) but if they have been included, this means that either: 1) they have been nominated multiple times 2) they have been nominated at least once and whoever nominated them provided a very convincing or funny explanation of why they were a Fashion Disaster (for example by pointing out one particularly bad outfit - not necessarily their main outfit!) 3) they have been nominated at least once and upon looking them up, I noticed that they tick many of the boxes that were described repeatedly in other people's explanations of what they consider disastrous: e.g. clashing patterns, excessive accessories, crocs, bad haircuts, etc. etc. In any case, every poll will come with a brief explanation of why people have been nominating a certain character! To make sure that people vote informed ❤️ ~"Why are you randomizing matchups instead of seeding?" I totally see the value of seeding for most competitions, but this one here is largely unpredictable - a lot of characters got the same amount of nominations, and how Disastrous they are is entirely subjective. The competition is also quite visual-based - it's about looks rather than knowing a character, so it's more likely that people will vote for an unknown character than in other competitions, which risk becoming popularity polls quite quickly. Basically: I'd simply have no idea how to determine the ranking of most contestants here for proper seeding! That's why I opt for randomized matches - but I did make sure to put the two most nominated characters on the opposing sides of the bracket. ~"Why is [x] character not included?" There was a total of 174 unique characters nominated to this tournament! If the one you were rooting for did not make it, I'm sorry! One or more of the following was likely the cause: 1) they have not been nominated more than once 2) they have not ticked as many boxes for what other people considered disastrous as some other characters with a single nomination did 3) a lot of characters have been submitted from the same source. After choosing 3 most nominated ones, I couldn't include more! The rule is max. 3 characters per source. ~"Is propaganda encouraged?"

More than encouraged! Please tag me if you make any posters/posts/try to support your faves in another way throughout the tournament, I'd love to see and reblog it! ❤️

[kajaono]

I think the big difference between The Night Agent and Reacher is that in Reacher two people get into a case of murder unexpected but are very well equipped for it, have the skills and are solving the case

While in TNA two people get into a case of murder unexpected and are not all at all equipped for it and try to solve the case while everything around them goes to hell

Meaning: If you want a more classic crime solving and “Me and my tiny girlfriend and the coolest here” you watch reacher

If you want a more messy “Help, we have no clue what we are doing here, i look like a wet cat 24/7 but my tiny girlfriend is the coolest here” you watch TNA

I think both are appealing in their own ways, but because Reacher has less “we are running from the police” it is more calm and tidy, having more room for the case... while I definitly get the wet cat hurt/comfort aspect

[sugartitstownley]

The fevers, the heartaches (Trikey)

Prompt: A tiny glimpse of Michael’s first night after Ludendorff. Honestly, this is just angst. :,)

Warnings: small depictions of blood, vomit, and other gta-esque things.

I listened to this classic for the story.

The soft rumbling of cars driving by is barley noticeable over the radio being tuned in the corner. Dave Norton sits on the brown leather motel chair — a motel right off the main road in Ludendorff that he brought Michael to so both men could lay low until it was safe to relocate him and his family to Los Santos.

“Now, why won’t this stupid radio work? All I’m getting is static.”

Michael faintly hears Dave’s voice call out from his spot on the bed, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he keeps his eyes straight ahead, watching as a fly makes its way off the small boxed TV to the once-white walls that are now stained yellow and brown from ware.

“Townley, you listening?”

Michael forces himself to look at Dave, who’s now frowning in his direction. “What?”

“I don’t like that look,” Dave says. “There’s no backing out now. It’s too late. Philips is long gone. And we will be too in a few days.”

Michael gives a noncommittal hum. “And do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

“Michael — I think this is the only right thing you’ve done.”

At that, Michael just turns back to the wall, his eyes following the fly as it walks, buzzing and flying every so often. Life was so fucking easy for some creatures, he thinks.

After a few minutes have gone by, he lets his quiet voice wash over the room. “What’s going to happen to Trevor?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Yeah, Christ,” Michael huffs. “I mean — I guess. Shit, I don’t know. Are you going to go after him?”

“I don’t think so,” Dave shrugs, his voice quiet too. “There’s not really a point. He thinks you’re dead.”

“Yeah,” he shakily breathes out. “I think I’m gonna go shower.”

Dave barley spares him a glance, continuing to poke and prod at the radio while Michael slides off the bed, grabbing his duffle bag and making his way to the bathroom.

Once the door is closed and locked, and he’s a safe distance away from the agent, he leans back against the door. The almost numb feeling he was experiencing mere moments ago vanishes in the silence of the four walls, and the events of the past 24 hours slam into him.

Michael’s face suddenly burns with a mix of anger and overwhelming regret. Trevor’s face — his words — ring through the air like the man is standing right next to him, screaming in his ear.

“T, you gotta get out of here!”

“Ain’t gonna leave you, Mikey!”

He knows Trevor is loyal, almost to a fault. And the only reason he ended up running was because Michael pleaded at him to go, yelling that he was dying and Trevor, if he stayed, would only be next.

He has been trying with everything in him to convince himself for months that his friend was a liability — someone that would end up killing him, Amanda, and their kids. Trevor’s reckless and irresponsible behavior only worsened as Brad pushed his way into the group, and it was becoming too much to deal with.

Even now, Michael knows that Trevor would never hurt Tracey or Jimmy on purpose. And if he was being really honest — truly, truly honest — he might even admit that his disdain for Brad’s integration into their little two-man posse was mostly driven by jealously at Trevor’s infatuation with him, even if it was friendly.

It was no secret that he and Trevor were more than friends themselves. It wasn’t uncommon for Michael to find himself kissing him after a successful score or leaning up against him during a movie just to be close. Which is why, as utterly fucked up as it is, Michael told Trevor to run.

But now, as his vision swims with unshed tears, he isn’t sure if his last minute decision will bring Trevor more torment than even death would have.

Michael tries to grab the towel off the broken rack, determined to forget the mess he’s created for himself. But as Trevor’s last words to him swirl in his mind, his hand grips at the rack too forcefully, leaving a bleeding gouge from the protruding metal as he pulls his arm back .

“Fucking shit!” Michael curses, watching the blood drip to the floor beneath him.

Michael grips the towel rack that’s already pealing off the wall from use and poor upkeep and yanks on it until the paint is falling to pieces at his feet and the bar is tearing off the wall.

“Fuck you,” he spits, throwing the bar into the corner of the small bathroom, the harsh sound of metal hitting tile echoing through the otherwise quiet room. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Feeling himself losing control, something he so desperately craves, he can no longer keep the tears that threatened to fall earlier at bay.

As his muffled cries fill the room, he slumps until his back is against the wall and shoulders are hunched as if the weight of his guilt is physically pushing him down.

The silence in the bathroom suddenly feels suffocating, and Michael can’t help but clench his fists as his heart pounds so loudly that he’s surprised he can’t hear it.

Grappling with the onslaught of his sudden panic, he tries to wipe his tears, only to smear blood down his face from the open wound on his hand.

“Damn it,” he hisses.

Usually unbothered by the sight of blood, he’s not sure why the metallic smell filtering through his nose is all of a sudden becoming unbearable. Queasiness twists in his stomach, leaving him trembling and lightheaded as he pushes himself off the floor, barely making it to the toilet before he was emptying what little dinner he had.

He takes a few shallow breaths at the end, trying to get his body back in his control.

“God, I don’t know if you’re there,” Michael’s raspy voice forces out, raising his head — eyelids half open. “But please.”

Michael doesn’t know what he’s begging for. The vomiting to stop. The tears to stop. Trevor’s crushing last words to him to vanish from his mind. Or, maybe, just for God to kill him right then and there.

A man is better off dead if he’s just going to cry and whine to God every time he sins, his mom used to say. How fucking ironic.

He flushes and then lays back against the tile floor. “I’m so sorry.”

He’s not sure if he’s talking to himself, to God, or to Trevor. He briefly allows himself to wonder what the other man is doing right now. Probably, if Michael has to guess, he’s somewhere a few towns over, creating upheaval in a dingy motel — quite like Michael is now. He and Trevor can be alike in that way at times.

He grabs at the toilet paper and dabs at his blood-dried hand before pulling out his phone and looking through the last couple texts between him and Trevor.

Dont forget the beer M. Need it to celebrate after the score.

Got it already. Be back soon.

K

Michael hits ‘reply’ and runs his fingers over the keys, typing slowly.

Please take care of yourself. Delete.

I’m sorry. I’ll always love you. Delete.

I wish I could forget you. Delete.

Michael drops the phone on to the tile beside him, knowing he can’t send any messages, and moves to stand up. His legs feel like jelly as he starts to pull his shirt over his head and unbuckle his pants for the shower he was supposed to take fifteen minutes ago.

Reaching for the metal handle, he turns on the hot water and steps inside, reveling in the steam that nearly burns his skin.

He knows San Andreas is waiting for him, and it’s too late to back out now. It’s too late.

When Michael finally does emerge from the bathroom — clean from blood, tears, and vomit — he finds Dave still toying with the radio, pretending not to watch as Michael lays down in the motel bed.

But just as his eyes start to feel heavy and the events of the day briefly begin to fade from memory, Dave’s voice sounds softly from the other side of the room.

“Los Santos will make it easier. Forgetting will get easier.”

And, God, Michael hopes that’s true.