Summary: Anon requested: Spencer imagine where the reader (and team) has to save Spencer after he gets captured by the unsub and he is seriously injured when they save him? Fluff? Thanks!
“Garcia we need a location,” Hotch demanded again. His FBI vest was already strapped on tightly. He was ready to find Reid.
“I-I’m trying my hardest sir,” Penelope stuttered in panic. Tears were rolling down her cheeks in agony of not knowing where her boy wonder was.
But you felt the worst of everyone. Not only was Spencer your boyfriend, but you felt as if it was your fault he had been taken by the unsub. You were supposed to keep a close eye on him and now he was gone, probably being tortured somewhere unknown.
“The phone he was using must’ve been destroyed because it’s signal is completely gone, I can’t even see which towers it’s been near,” Garcia said. Her finger were typing furiously at the keyboard.
You thought back to the phone conversation Hotch had with the unsub. He told you all something you knew was important, but all you could think about at the time was making sure Spencer was okay, so your mind tuned out the deep hollow sound of his voice.
Suddenly, Hotch’s phone began to ring for the third time that night. He looked over at you, seeing the pain evident in your eyes and decided to answer, setting the phone on the table and putting it on speaker without saying a word.
“How’s my friend Aaron Hotchner doing?” the unsub said.
Hotchner nodded his head at you, signalling you to speak. You wiped furiously at your tears and steadied your voice, knowing you didn’t want to show this scumbag any kind of fear.
“Tell me where you are,” you said in a stern tone.
“Well, well, looks like we have a feisty one. If you’re smart, young lady, you will let me speak to Aaron.”
“I will let you speak to him as soon as you tell me where you are,” you replied. There were still tears pouring from your eyes, but your voice remained elevated, not giving away your broken demeanor. You looked at Penelope, who was working to get any sort of signal on the new phone number. She was good at her job, all you needed to do was buy her time.
“You must be Y/N.” He dragged out your name, giving it an eerie emphasis. You channeled your inner Spencer and tried to recall what it was the unsub had said to Hotch on their previous phone call. As your mind raced, he continued to speak. “I know all about you. Yes, the youngest member of the BAU, moved in from Utah, what, seven years ago? You used to work as a lawyer but moved up to the FBI to follow in your father’s footsteps since he died in action.”
His words were supposed to hurt, but you felt nothing but the sudden feeling of realization. He knew too much about you, there was no doubt on who you were speaking to.
“Richard Barkley,” you said. That name haunted you forever, and this unsub didn’t match his M.O. But with the way the unsub stopped talking, you knew you were right. “Richard. Barkley,” you repeated, putting emphasis on his name.
“Well done, my dove,” the voice said on the line. You looked over at Penelope, who stopped looking for the phone signal. Instead, she pulled up his address, but you knew that he wasn’t there. “I guess you’re smarter than I thought, but I just don’t think you’re smart enough.”
“’I just love to sit here in the Spring’,” you said, repeating the words you’d heard him say over the phone earlier. “’The sight is lovely, don’t you think, Dr. Reid? Quite the sight indeed’,” you finished, hanging up the phone without hesitation. “I know where Spence is,” you said while rushing out the door, the rest of the team close behind you.
You knew you had to move fast. Richard wasn’t one to hesitate, and you knew you would die thinking about what he might do to Spencer.
Police cars were already surrounding the gazebo, and as soon as the SUV you were in pulled up, you were out of your seat and running to the steps.
“It’s underneath it somewhere,” you told the team. Suddenly, gunshots rang out from below the ground, and Morgan was running to a hidden door, opening it and running down the steps. Prentiss, you, and Hotch followed close behind, guns up and ready to take fire if necessary.
Once you were on the hard floor of the cellar, you saw Spencer’s lifeless body in the corner, a pool of blood underneath him, pouring from his chest. Another shot rang out, followed by a few more, but you didn’t care. You ran to Spencer feeling every inch of you collapse at the sight.
When you reached him, you held his face so gently as if one wrong move, he would break.
“We need paramedics, now!” Rossi yelled, kneeling beside you. You had no clue when he showed up. “Y/N, he is alive, okay? He’s breathing.”
The sounds around you drowned out as your heart ached for your boyfriend. Your tears began to mix with the blood on his shirt.
“Spencer, please oh my god,” you started to say as the paramedics kneeled next to you and Hotch tried to pull you away, but you kicked and screamed trying to escape his grasp.
“Y/N stop!” he yelled, tightening his grip on you.
“Clear,” you heard a medic say, and Spencer’s body jolted.
“Please!” you screamed, still struggling against Hotch. The room was spinning.
“Y/N!” Morgan shouted, helping Hotch hold you.
“We need to get him out of here,” one of the medics said, laying out the stretcher.
You finally stopped struggling and fell into your boss’s arms, your legs completely failing you. As you sobbed into his chest, you saw JJ and Emily crying in the corner while Rossi talked to the medics.
Your world felt like it was slowly falling apart.
Spencer was in surgery for almost two hours, and your foot didn’t stop bouncing the entire time. Emily sat next to you, holding your hand. Morgan was out of his seat for the millionth time, pacing again. Hotch was behind you, holding firmly onto your shoulders to keep you from trying to get up anymore. Rossi was sitting across from you, reading a magazine. JJ was sitting with Henry and trying to explain to Will what happened without breaking down. Penelope was on the other side of you, crying just as hard as you were.
They were all scared about Spencer, but they were mostly scared about you.
“Dr. Spencer Reid?” you all heard from the door. Morgan was the first to the doctor, followed by everyone else.
“Tell me you’ve got some food news,” he said to him.
“I do. Your agent lost a lot of blood, but the bullet was only about an inch deep. We were able to get it out without losing much more blood. He’s in recovery, but he may not wake up for another hour or so. The receptionist will give you the room number.”
The amount of relief you felt was overwhelming, enough to knock you off your feet once again, causing you to fall back into your chair.
“Thank you,” Hotch said to the doctor. He turned back to you and watched as you ran your hands through your hair. Your eye were bloodshot and your nose was runny, and he couldn’t help but wonder what you would’ve looked like if things ended up differently.
“How about you stay here overnight?” he asked you. You just nodded knowing you wanted to be the one to see him when he woke up. Morgan, Garcia, Prentiss, JJ, Will, and Henry all made their way to Spencer’s room while you sat. Rossi sat next to you, not really wanting to take you out of his sight.
“Why don’t you go with them? I’ll go when she does,” he told Hotch. Hotch nodded and walked towards the elevator to catch up with the rest of them.
“I love him,” you suddenly admitted. It wasn’t a secret or anything but it was all you could think to say.
“I know,” was all Rossi replied.
“Barkley killed my dad,” you said.
“Barkley is dead.”
“He’s had it out for me ever since he went to prison. I was the one who put him behind bars,” you said. All this information was old news to Rossi.
“Richard Barkley is dead, y/n,” he repeated.
“He changed his M.O. to throw us off,” you replied.
“He’s dead.” Hearing him repeat it over and over again was reassuring.
“I love Spencer so damn much,” you said again, another tear making its way down your cheek.
“I know,” he repeated again.
An hour and a half later, it was Henry’s bedtime, so JJ and Will left to get him home. The rest of the team aside from Rossi decided to call it a night as well.
“You can go home, you know,” you told him while reading a book next to Spencer’s bed.
“I think I’ll stay here a bit longer. I’ll be in the lobby. Take care of her, Spence,” he said, causing you to look up immediately hearing your boyfriend shuffle beside you.
“Oh my god, Spencer,” you practically shouted. His eyes fluttered open, a warm smile appearing on his face. Careful not to hurt him, you gave him a hug. “Babe,” you breathed.
“You know, our plant at home is gonna die,” he said, causing you to crack a smile.
“I’m so happy you’re okay,” you told him, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
“I’ve been shot before. I guess I’m just used to it by now,” he said.
You two sat, watching each other. His eyes were full of light looking into yours and you felt your heart flutter at the thought of how much you loved this man. He was your lifeline.
“I don’t know what I would do without you,” you said, a single tear falling from your eye. He reached up to brush the tear away with his thumb, holding your face so tenderly as if you were the one who had been shot and he didn’t want to break you.
“I love you y/n,” he replied, continuing to brush his thumb against your cheek.
“I love you, too Spencer,” you replied. You grabbed his hand and leaned in to press your lips against his.
You spent the rest of the night reading your book to Spencer and sharing sweet kisses every now and then, attempting to make up for the time he was asleep. You truly felt so warm in his presence, and you know you would do anything for him, and he for you.
sleepinthegardn 169 years ago a woman named Elizabeth Cady Stanton asked some of her female friends (and some women she didn’t know, she advertised the meeting in the local paper) to join her for tea to discuss “women’s rights in America,” their conversation in Seneca Falls was one of the first of its kind in the country and it sparked a revolution. After all America had fought hard for its independence and for its citizens to have their rights, but these rights were only being extended to a portion of its inhabitants, white males. What about the women? What about their right to vote, own land, get an education and have their INTERESTS REPRESENTED BY THEIR GOVERNMENT. From the suffragettes to the civil rights movement, and still today we march. Still today we must be vigilant and demand to be taken seriously. To be heard. To be recognized. To the women and men around the world who marched (because this is not only an American issue but a global one): thank you. I am with you in spirit. WOMEN’S RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS. #powertothepeople 👊🏻👊🏼👊🏽👊🏾👊🏿
Stop hating on cishets? Like, seriously. You talk about how the LGBTQA+ community should be treated as equal and then don’t show the same kind of respect you’re demanding. Of COURSE you aren’t taken seriously.
Rating: M (no actual hanky-panky but discussion of it, some vulgar language and foreplay) Imagine: The imagine about Hotch overhearing you telling your friend his serious expression is a turnon Notes: Hotch hears you talking about how much his seriousness turns you on. He decides to do something about this new found knowledge. Towards the end could be taken as a little bit of dom!Hotch or him just being serious and intense as that is the “turn-on” Either way read with caution. It is of a sexual nature.
She attributed most of America’s problem to an ill-advised liberalism. “Oh, dear Lena, if only there had never been that ‘progressive education’ fad; if only they hadn’t laughed off the Communist plot to destroy the American educational system and pervert the younger generation, but taken it seriously when they should have; if only Timothy O’Leary had been prosecuted as a criminal,” read one 1969 Levin dispatch. Were the letter not in Russian—and in prerevolutionary orthography—its sentiments would have read very differently. Vladimir had just declined an invitation to return to Cornell; the day after doing so the newspaper had arrived with a photo of student protesters leaving the Ithaca administration building, where they had pressed their demands at gunpoint. “We didn’t regret that we’d declined,” Véra reported. She was immovable in these convictions, not that she often encountered anyone willing to argue with her. […] “We are the senior authorities in judging the Communist utopia, and nobody is going to tell us anything new,” Véra swore to Elena Levin, who all the same remained a more open-minded senior authority. Vladimir too was more subtle in his thinking, but did not entirely live in this world. He routinely asked after the fuss over Wintergate. What had “that Watergate fellow” done to get himself into such a scrape? As Arthur Schlesinger Jr. saw it, VN simply did not have a political mind at all.
Stacy Schiff, Véra: Mrs. Vladimir Nabokov (p. 336-7)
I think one of a handful of reasons Batman v Superman was so immedeately threatening to the status quo that it needed to be rejected was because it not just asks but demands that we, as geeks, as fans, be taken seriously.
There’s been a lot of people pushing the idea that nerd is mainstream now, or generally acceptable, that this is the era of the nerd, but this acceptability is kept within tight parameters. One needs only to watch a single episode of The Big Bang Theory in order to arrive at that conclusion.
We are allowed in the mainstream of the culture so long as we are self-deprecating, as long as we don’t take ourselves too seriously. The MCU has been getting great reviews by doing just that, by embracing a Whedon-flavor of nerd self-shame and groveling to the people who may not be willing to suspend their disbelief about aliens or demi-gods. It’s for this same reason that Thor has been edged further and further out of the spotlight, representing something other-worldly that audiences MUST decide to take seriously in order for the story to work.
They don’t want to take us seriously, and the critical reaction to Batman v Superman proves as much. That should worry you no matter what your fandom allegiance is. We’re hitting the ceiling of what they want to allow us to do, we’re hitting a ceiling of anti-intellectualism and anti-art, and I really believe that the DCEU’s success will be a determining factor in how serious we are allowed to get, how much progress we are allowed to make.
Hamilton’s defenders might not realize this, but what they’re actually trying to protect Hamilton against is being taken seriously. Regardless of whether each historian quoted in various interviews is right—how could they be, when they disagree with each other?—it’s a good thing that we’re having this debate. A great work of art demands robust, free-wheeling, critical engagement. For the most part, we’ve instead relied on Hamilton’s creators, its die-hard fans, and its PR team to define the show. But if Hamilton is as great as we think it is (and I do think it’s a generationally great work of art) there should be an ongoing critical conversation about it, one that crosses disciplines, and stretches for years, or decades, or perhaps—as has happened with Shakespeare, the Greeks, Ibsen, and others—centuries.
Besides, Hamilton isn’t exactly a work of fiction, or of fan fiction. It’s fan nonfiction, occupying that odd based-on-a-true-story space that we as a culture still don’t really know what to do with. Obviously, works of art have the right to take liberties with the facts, but that doesn’t mean discussing those liberties is off the table, particularly with Hamilton, which is deeply and explicitly invested in questions of historical storytelling. It returns to this theme again and again. Hamilton is obsessed with how history will view him, as, ultimately, is Burr. At one point Hamilton—that is, the show’s writer, Miranda—breaks the fourth wall to tell the audience that a particularly juicy allegation is true. Gaps in the historical record form the basis of “The Room Where It Happens,” one of the show’s strongest songs, and “Burn,” one of its weakest. The show’s final song features the cast repeating its title over and over. That title—“Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story,”—was also Hamilton’s marketing tagline when it bowed at the Public Theatre. Ignoring how the show approaches history, and the choices that create this approach, and what those choices mean, would be like arguing that no one should talk about the politics of Angels in America, or the ways in which The Force Awakens is in conversation with A New Hope.
What’s remarkable about the criticism of Hamilton—and basically unique in the history of American theater—is that even the most vocal critics of Hamilton share with its fans a love for the show. Pulitzer-prize winning historian Annette Gordon-Reed, who wrote that “The genius of black music and black performance styles is used [by Hamilton] to sell a picture of the founding era that has been largely rejected in history books,” also told the Times she listens to the soundtrack every day. Loving a work of art involves advocacy and championship, but it also demands of us that we question it, interrogate it, work to see it for what it is honestly, and with clear eyes. Dismissing this line of inquiry entirely and demanding that Hamilton be uncritically celebrated is against what Hamilton itself is doing, and what it asks of all of us. Hamilton is a great play. It’s time to treat it like one.
A/N: Based on this request. I’m sorry its taken me so long to write this- I’ve been seriously low on inspiration lately. I hope it turned out the way you wanted it anon.
Summary/Preview: Reader and Bucky were lovers in the 40s. Reader is a mutant and one of her mutations is immortality.
“What is all this? How do we know each other?” he demands
harshly, gesturing towards the bed with his free hand. And yet you can see past
the cold metal of his fingers pressing into your throat and the icy sharpness
of his gaze to the hidden vulnerability.
“Some things never change, James,” you tell him, voice as
soft as if you were lying content in his arms and whispering confessions of
love against bare skin, and his eyes soften almost involuntarily, “all of
this—you and me—is one of those things.”
PRESS RELEASE: No Pride in Prisons celebrates successful action
No Pride in Prisons has just received word that trans prisoner, Jade Follett, has had her transfer request to a women’s facility approved.
‘We have exclusive word from Jade herself that she was moved today just after lunch,’ says spokesperson Jennifer Katherine Shields.
‘We are absolutely thrilled that Corrections has taken our demands seriously. They can no longer ignore the very real danger that Jade was in.’
‘We hope that now that Jade has been officially transferred, she will be able to serve out the rest of her sentence in a far safer environment.’
The group says this is the start of a much longer conversation about the treatment of trans people inside and outside of prison.
‘The fact that the policy places trans women almost always in men’s prisons by default shows how much needs to be changed.’
The current process, which requires a change of ‘sex’ on a birth certificate is thoroughly inadequate. ‘Many trans people, who already experience discrimination in the workplace and from family, do not have the resources to fund such an expensive change.’
‘What Corrections has demonstrated today is both their bureaucratic incompetence, in that they took two months to approve this request, and their institutional transphobia.’
In Corrections’ statement today they said, ‘We are very much aware and sympathetic to the particular needs of transgender prisoners including issues surrounding their placement and safety.’
In response, Shields says that ‘if this were true, Jade would never have been placed in a men’s prison for 9 months.’
Corrections also detailed in their statement the number of prisoners who have had their transfer requests approved. However, when members of No Pride in Prisons submitted Official Information Act requests, Corrections denied the availability of any such information.
‘It is incredibly important that the Department of Corrections be transparent about the way trans prisoners are being treated.’
‘Corrections is currently refusing to collect and release data on the number of trans prisoners and where they are being placed, the number of transfer requests and the number of incidences of violence against trans prisoners.’
‘That it took a hunger strike to get Corrections’ attention to this urgent issue indicates just how little regard they have for prisoners’ safety.’
‘If it emerges that other trans prisoners have been treated in a similar manner, we will not hesitate to take action.’
No Pride in Prisons is organising a public forum on trans issues and prison abolition next Friday at the University of Auckland.