a thing I will probably never be over: in the 12 steps job the way eliot’s hand shakes when he reaches into the car to yank the wires out of the bomb
like this is a guy who went up against an entire room of mooks with guns armed with nothing more than a cup of tea and he finished the teafirst like………….very little shakes eliot spencer. he has Seen Some Shit and been though seven kinds of hell. he does what needs to be done, and if he goes out in the course of what’s right, then so be it.
but it’s hardison sitting on the bomb. and that’s a whole different story.
liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike. let’s talk about their reactions here? because i 100% believe in my filthy trash bin of a heart that this episode was the point of no return for parker and eliot both, the point at which they both realised holy shit i am in way over my head.
look at those reactions. like, it’s not simple relief, it’s relief and *total fucking whelm*. and neither eliot nor parker has–allowed themselves, maybe, the relative luxury of just thinking about what someone means to them. because it’s always been a liability. for eliot, caring too much about people would just be something that someone could use against him; for parker, it’s what archie’s cautioned her against a million times: we don’t get involved.
and worse for both of them, really, is that they’re not–not too caught up in a job, not too wrapped up in their own reputations or…or things that could be forgivable, really. things that they could realise and chide themselves for and then pull back from, do better. no, instead they’re both of them way overinvested in another person, in a person who could be hurt, who could be taken from them because they weren’t good enough or fast enough or–or just because sometimes you lose.
parker and eliot have always been aware of when they should cut their losses and get out. but this–this isn’t an acceptable loss. maybe neither of them can say the word love just yet, even to themselves, but this is where they realise it.
hardison doesn’t die, but he comes back to life anyhow, and when he does, the whole world changes.
Okay, so Mona killed Charlotte. I have a lot of problems with how this was presented. Here’s a list:
1. The damn suitcase handle! That was such a huge issue in 6b, with Melissa acting all sketchy about it and someone nearly plowing down Emily in order to get it away from her. What the hell was that all about? Who would want it that badly unless it was the murder weapon?
2. The flowers that Mona had were bright purple. The flowers found with Charlotte’s body were pink and hadn’t bloomed yet. They don’t look marginally the same. And to add to that, why did Mona have those flowers in the first place? And why did they happen to be the same type of flowers that Alison had put out in her house that very evening?
3. Why was Mona trying to recreate the night she murdered Charlotte if she accomplished that the first time? She even says, “You’re not gonna trick me this time.” What does that mean? How did Charlotte trick her that night? That scene in the bell tower implied that Mona hadn’t actually succeeded in killing Charlotte and was trying to do it over.
4. This line makes no sense: “You needed me, just like you needed me to take care of Charlotte after all the terrible things she did. I’m sorry I messed that up. Nothing ever happens the way it’s supposed to with me.” What?! But Mona did kill Charlotte, so she did indeed “take care of her.” What is she talking about?
5. “Not only did you lose the game, but you lost the story,” Charlotte tells Mona. What does that mean? What story?
6. The timeline makes no sense. We know that at some point that night, before Charlotte died, Mona called her from the Two Crows, that was confirmed by Tanner and by a witness at the diner. So how did she know that Charlotte was going to be at the bell tower? Why did Charlotte even go to the bell tower? And what did Mona mean when she said that Charlotte met her there “because she had to”?
7. Charlotte’s body was wiped down before she was thrown from the bell tower, including any DNA under her fingernails. Where would Mona get the materials to do that? And what about that paper Spencer wrote about the woman who was murdered in exactly the same way that Charlotte was? Is that just supposed to be a really specific coincidence?
8. I find it absolutely unbelievable that Mona wouldn’t fess up and turn herself over for Charlotte’s murder in order to save Hanna in 7x01. That is completely uncharacteristic, especially considering she confessed to a murder she didn’t commit back in season four just so Hanna’s mom wouldn’t be convicted.
whisper babe..i’m as good as it gets in this town. whisper babe..i’m a fever you can’t sweat out. these are my deepest thoughts and secrets under a microscope or under a spotlight. forgive me if i’m not quite ready to give them to you. it’s just such a different feeling..when i see you smiling and singing back to me, i’m still playing different pictures in my head that aren’t so pleasant. i’m doing my best now to live in the song and not just the meaning
lil bit of my thoughts here so if you don't care just skip this
but, Matthew has such a distinct and different voice like, its nerdy but not too nerdy and it’s got this deepness to it, but it’s not intimidating and it kind of turns me on like the way he says certain things is just so fucking sexy and I want to shoot myself in the eyeball, thanks.
Summary: You were
always a vagabond, a writer with no real home, going place to place aimlessly.
That is, until you met a one, Spencer Reid.
A/N: I have been
thinking about this plot for a while now and then someone requested this prompt
and it fit really well so I ran with it! Idk if I like this, it feels choppy and forced. Anyways, feedback is always appreciated!!!
Your parents always call you their vagabond. You couldn’t
stay in one place for very long, and as a writer, you didn’t have to. Always
finding short leases and having few large personal belongings, you moved at
least once a year. You grew up in the Midwest but knew you were destined for
bigger things so you worked your way through high school and university and
left the second that degree was in your hand. First you went to California,
writing for a newspaper there and writing your novels when you got home from
work. Before you knew it, you were signed to a big publisher and making Best
Seller lists, so you took off once again. It didn’t really matter where you
went so long as you had your drafts emailed to your editor on time.
met Spencer Reid in New Orleans when he was visiting Ethan. After seeing Ethan
during the Jones’ case, Spencer had made a point to visit his old friend more
often. Him and Ethan had been sitting in the bar Ethan was playing at when you
had come in. You were friends with the musician, he was one of the first people
you met when you first moved to The Big Easy and you were quick friends.
Ethan greeted, standing up and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, “This is
my old friend Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid, this is Y/F/L Y/L/N, with how much
you read I’m sure you recognize the name.”
I’m a big fan of your work.” Spencer said with a bashful smile, standing up to
shake your hand.
thank you,” You grinned at the tall FBI agent before excusing yourself to grab
think about it, she’ll break you in half.” Ethan said with a smirk, noting the
way his friend looked at you as you walked away.
“I don’t know
what you’re talking about.” Spencer said quickly, a bit hurt at his friend’s
told me a lot about you, Spencer,” You say as you sit down with your drink, “How
long are you in town for?”
“A few days,
if I don’t get called in on an emergency case,”
Spencer walks in on the reader pleasuring herself, and smut ensues.
Part 1 of SMUTmas!
It was the end of a case, and you and Reid had
been sharing a room for the last three nights in a lush Las Vegas hotel. Being
in the same room with the object of your affections was hard enough, let alone
having to share a bed with him (a booking “mistake” on the behalf of Penelope
Garcia who was desperate to see her OTP get together).
However, you had made it
to the final night, and tomorrow you could sleep easily, not spending your
nights lying awake staring at Spencer nestled into the pillow beside you.
‘Y/N?’ Spencer said, snapping you out of your
thoughts and holding the door of the room open for you.
You lay in bed the next morning wondering what today would actually bring. Would Spencer actually do what he said? What did the conversation last night even really mean? He couldn’t divorce you but you were right, things needed to change?
Was he suddenly going to start acting as the ever loving husband he’d once been, or at least once pretended to be? Were you going to start playing the part of adoring wife you’d never been? Was this relationship suddently going to become the relationship you’d always wanted, the romantic fairytale love story you’d always written about when you could write?
You knew that at least that much was true. It couldn’t be the love story you’d always wanted because Spencer Reid was not the man you’d always wanted. He was a substitute, and a poor one at that. And for him, you were the vision of something he’d had deep seated into his mind, the perfect woman for him. Neither of you were what the other wanted or even needed, but you had made your choices and endured four years of living (if you could even call it that) with those choices. Perhaps though, that if you both at least acknowledged that you were never going to be what the other desired, then you could muddle through and at least get something from this relationship. Maybe after the conversation last night, things WOULD change. People can change, people CAN suprise you.
After a quick shower you dressed, looking around the room as you did so. If you were going to be staying here perhaps you should at least start to unpack your own things. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror and sighed slightly. You’d lost weight recently, perhaps more than was healthy but back in New York eating hadn’t become a priority, alcohol had. And here, well the last few days hadn’t exactly been a feast of delights, although you were secretly hoping that Emily would make another appearance with some more of her cooking. You quickly dug your make up bag out and dabbed concealer under your eyes and over a spot that was threatening to bloom on your chin, adding a quick swipe of eyeliner and mascara before you left the room and headed down to the kitchen.
Spencer was sat at the table, the grocery bags from last night put away. He glanced up at you, double taking, no doubt at the make up that had graced your face for the first time in months. He always used to tell you that you didn’t need it and the majority of time he was right. You’d been blessed with a decent enough complexion with dark lashes. But your lifestyle of recent had made you looked drained and gaunt, spots that you’d rarely suffered from in your teenage years, appearing and marking your face. Perhaps though, your effort this morning, not that it was a massive effort in the grand scheme of things, but perhaps it would show that you were serious about change.
“There’s fresh coffee in the pot if you want some,” your husband spoke, folding his newspaper into two. You squinted slightly, seeing it was yesterday’s date on it. Noting that his own cup was empty, you went to take it from him.
“Did you want another one?” it had been months since you’d done a simple act of making him a drink and he nodded in surprise. Your back turned from him as you fixed you both drinks, he spoke again.
“Thank you for cleaning the master bedroom out, I slept much better in there last night. And I spoke to my sister, I’ll drop all the old boxes that you’ve filled so far, off at their house later today.”
You nodded, turning back around and holding out his refilled cup. Your fingers brushed against his as he took it from you. The aspiring writer you had once been would have written about moments like these, sparks flying as fingers touched, electricity shooting through you both. It was amazing how easily you used to be able to write trite sentences like that, knowing they’d been used so many times before yet still somehow thinking it was something completely original to you. What would have been even more amazing is if you’d ever actually experienced moments like those with Spencer. You couldn’t remember ever feeling electricity or fire with him. Even the arguments you had with each other seemed to lack passion and interest, the morning of the funeral an exception to that rule. You settled down in the seat opposite him, wiping your hands on your jeans as if you were brushing away the brief touch of him.
“So,” you took a sip of your coffee.
It was like normal conversation was just too hard for you both. Like neither of you knew what to say to each other anymore, but then again if you really asked yourself, was there ever a time where you knew what to say to each other? Sure, Spencer had once whispered sweet nothings to you, telling you how you were his world, his beautiful wife, whom he would treasure and cherish but they were all sentences one could easily find on a greeting card. They’d been words that you’d needed to hear at one stage in your life but not from him in particular, just….well from anyone really. And in the three years after the wedding you’d both kept up the perfectly created dialogue one would expect from a couple going through the things you had been going through. “We’ll get through this,”,“We have options,”, “Everything will be okay, we have each other, that’s what matters,” but actual conversation? No. You closed your eyes briefly, trying to imagine how you’d react if you were a character in one of your old stories. What would a struggling husband and wife say to each other? What needed to be said right now?
“Well, erm, you mentioned a car?” you tried, trying not to sound too optimistic. “So I could get about whilst you’re out doing….well, whatever you’ve been doing these last few days. Where have you been by the way?”
He looked suprised, maybe at your apparent interest or just because he realised that you hadn’t actually known where he had been. At least in New York you knew he’d be at the college, you’d have been able to reach him if you’d ever needed or wanted to.
“I was with my mother and sister for a while and then yesterday I was setting up my new office on the campus. And yes, I did mention a car. So we should really leave soon to go looking. Do you have any idea what sort you’d like?”
“Yes, at the university in the city. My father was friend’s with the dean there, he was at the funeral actually. Once he found out I was intending to stay in town he was only too happy to offer me a position. Apparently their English professor had to leave at the end of last term on short notice. I start there Monday but I still have quite a lot of work there to do with his lessons plans.”
Today was Friday. It amazed you how quickly Spencer was able to find work, it had been the same when you moved to New York. Positions suddenly available to him. Both his own and his father’s name in the literary world seemed to have an awful lot of pull still, despite neither of the pair releasing any new novels in the last four years, mainly contributing essays or articles for papers.
“Oh. Right.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Well one of us needs to be earning a living, Y/N.”
Your eyes snapped to his and you were about to bite back with a remark about not being able to finish your degree because of him when he sighed.
“I didn’t mean that how it sounded. But maybe…. Maybe it would do you good to have something to do.”
He could be right. Something to take your mind off everything and nothing all at the same time. But you had no qualifications and only your brief stint as a waitress as work experience. And although you’d enjoyed redecorating the New York apartment and you’d been good at it, you couldn’t exactly set up an interior design business based on that.
“Maybe you could write again? Try some freelance pieces and submit them to some online papers?”
You shook your head furiously, writing was not an option. You’d tried, after the wedding and again a few times in the years in between. Nothing would come, no inspiration, none of the glorious scenes you’d once been able to conjure up. Nothing. It was like having your heart broken had ripped your ability to write away from you.
“It was just a thought Y/N. You know how good I thought you were, you could have easily been published….” he must have seen your jaw clench as he changed the subject. “So, cars. Shall we head out?”
You nodded, pleased at the change of subject.
Over the next few hours you spent more time in closer proximity to your husband than you had done in the last six months at least. It transpired that he had purchased a vehicle online the day he told you to pack up, Jennifer taking him to pick it up the first day after the funeral, the first day you’d been locked inside. It was a top of the range model, no expense spared which suprised you somewhat. Spencer WAS well off, his novels making him quite the pretty penny as well as having come from two parents who both had high incomes. But he didn’t normally flash it around so obviously. But then again in New York neither of you had needed cars, not seeing the point in it.
He drove you through the long country roads until you reached the town he had grown up in, and for the first time since you’d arrived you actually paid attention to yourself surroundings. The town had everything one might need to exist, a large grocery store, a department store, Greenaway’s, in the central shopping precinct. There was a tech shop, you spying cell phones and laptop’s in the windows, as well as a few banks, cafes and the other amenities you’d expect to see. You spotted signs for the local elementary school, police station, and a clinic. You didn’t think it would be be too hard to find your way around really. Spencer kept driving just outside of the town until he reached a car dealership where you spent the next hour looking around.
“Y/N, you can have any car you want. What about this one?” Spencer seemed to be growing exasperated with you, you didn’t seem able to make a decision. Every car just seemed so expensive and whilst it hadn’t exactly bothered you in the past when it came to spending your husband’s money, it now did. It seemed that it the space of 24 hours the space within your head had rearranged itself. You wanted your relationship with Spencer to change because you simply couldn’t go on living the way you had been for the last…. well really the last four years.
Sure, things had been worse more recently but they’d never really been great. They’d just simply been okay. And okay wasn’t anything to yell from the rooftops about but it was never bad enough to make you consider leaving. Okay had been a means to an end because you felt like you didn’t have any choices at the time, and you’d simply stagnated for the first few years, dealing with what life threw at you both in the best ways you knew how. But now, with everything that had happened, and with Spencer apparently refusing to divorce you for whatever reasons he had, there had to be a turning point. And that turning point had to be you.
“Do you have any used cars?” you asked the salesman, ignoring the frown your husband gave you.
“Yes we do actually. They’ve all been fully reconditioned though and are in perfect working order. If you’d like to comes this way….”
He led you around the back of the dealership and you let out a sigh of relief. The cars here were much more reasonably priced which made you realise that it was the money that bothered you. Because you realised that yet again, you were taking things from him just like you had done for the last four years. You’d taken without giving anything except your name as his wife back, because you hadn’t wanted to give anything back. Because you hadn’t wanted him. And ultimately, you still didn’t, or at least you didn’t think you did. But circumstances had put you here and although you did want to change those circumstances, it had to be slowly.
The issue was, you needed to continue to take things from him to be able to exist. To get back some semblance of you. You couldn’t exist without him right now, even though you didn’t particularly want to exist with him.
You pointed at the blue Ford Fiesta that was in front of you. The price didn’t make you feel like you’d owe Spencer too much and it was a decent enough looking car.