what even is this emily

Voltron AU where everything is the same except the Blade of Marmora episode is basically the RING OF FIRE!!! scene from Finding Nemo

Kolivan: Brother Antok, proceed.
Antok: Keith! Newcomer of red and white! You have been called forth to the space between spaces to join us in the fraternal bonds of bladehood!
Keith: … huh?
Thace: We want you in our club, kid.

There are far too many people who misinterpret Wuthering Heights as something to be seen as romantic when it is the farthest thing from it. Jane Austen and her novels, those are romantic. Emily Bronte’s novel is Gothic and is meant to depict horrifying, unlikeable characters. We’re meant to see Heathcliff as a big giant asshole so irredeemable that he dies an asshole and never receives forgiveness from anyone nor does he ever ask for it. His love for Catherine can’t even be considered his redeeming point because it is borderline obsessive and way too unhealthy. We are not meant to sympathize with him nor really anyone in this novel. If you go into it thinking it will be some sort of great romance, you will be severely disappointed. This novel explores just how truly selfish and evil we can be as humans, the depths one can go in the name of love (a misplaced sense of purpose), and just truly the ugly side of human nature. It’s not supposed to be pretty. It was meant to be ugly in every form and that’s what makes it so great. 

Dance Dads // A Phan One-Shot

Genre: family fluff, domestic fluff, just fluff in general, parent!phan, jealous!dan

Words: 3.0k

Relationship status: Married

Warnings: none

Summary: At Emily Lester’s dance classes, she notices that some of her classmates’ mums like to compliment her papa, who always comes with her to rehearsals. Don’t they know that’s her daddy’s thing to do to her papa?

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5

Behind the scenes of the Back to the Future Part ll (1989) “2015” set.

Nicknames I've Given The Agents

- Founding Father (Rossi)
- Foxy Grandpa (Rossi)
- Soccer Mom (Hotch)
- Adorable Little Bunny That Must Be Protected At All Costs (Reid)
- Princess Peach (Reid)
- Awkward Asexual Dork (Reid)
- Big Buff Chocolate Creme Puff (Morgan)
- Mother Grizzly (J.J.)
- FBIsexual (J.J.)
- SSA Agent KEEP EVERYTHING A SECRET FROM HER FRIENDS (Prentiss)
- RAGING ((literally raging)) LESBIAN (Prentiss)
- Goddess of Technology (Garcia)
- My Wife (Garcia)
- Ray of Beautiful, Brilliant Sunshine (Garcia)
- WHOVIAN TRASH (Garcia + Reid)
- “Gal Pals” (J.J. + Prentiss)
- “Just Really Good Friends” (J.J. + Prentiss)
- Eye Sex Addicts (Morgan + Reid)
- Old Man Husbands/Old Married Couple (Hotch + Rossi)
- The Dead Lovers Club (Hotch + Rossi + Reid)

Emily climbs on a chair, standing on her tip toes to reach the metal shutters in the dusty dark corridor of the dormitory, as there are no windows in her room. The girls just keep bringing in more candles, more matches to light them up, a single oil lamp with a crack in its glass that keeps burning down. The air here is stifling and burnt, her eyes itch from the mixed scents of the candles giving out their last and her eyes are droopy. She can’t remember ever feeling this sleepy, ever struggling so much to take in a breath.

They bring her some fruits to chew on, some tartlets and cold tea, twice a day, and she thinks she can hear some commotion, more chatter and laughter and arguing downstairs, reaching her through the cold wooden floor along with the chilly draft biting at her toes - so it could be evening. More people coming along, and the girls from the other rooms, her neighbours, are always gone on these hours. Or it could be not. She once overheard one of the girls in the washroom say, the madame avoids keeping clocks around here on purpose.

The shutters are heavy and dusty and dirty, and she can’t fight back the urge to wipe her hands on her white jacket before trying again. Once she presses her foot into the wall to pull harder, it finally gives in, and Emily gasps at the chilly air billowing in her face. The sounds of the street, the birds, the idle chatter of the guards in the garden, the dull sound of someone beating the dust out of carpet hanging outside, a seagull crying out in the distance - all spilling onto her like water from a broken glass. 

She still has no idea where she is. 

The shallow, momentary relief fades away, a new dread bites at her stomach, and her feet get wobbly and unsteady from standing on her toes for too long. Even if she does run away, where would she go? The houses crowded around the Golden Cat all seem worn and unfamiliar, black with dirt, the windows dull and unwashed for years. Nothing like the estate district, nothing like anything she’d seen before. 

A new gush of wind brings the rotten, moist scent towards her, along with a whaling ship horn from the distance. The river, then. But the river is huge, it runs through the entire city, dividing it in half. She could be anywhere. She had a huge map of Dunwall hanging on her wall, with every street and the smallest of houses drawn to create an entire pattern of neighborhoods upon neighborhoods piling next to each other, but only now does she realise she doesn’t know her city at all. 

The place itself is unlike anything she’d seen before, too. She’d seen dozens of estates and royal residences in her short life, and they were all blurry and the same in her memory. All grey stone, dark wood cabinets and parlours, all green lamps and deer heads above the fireplaces, glass cabinets, excessively ornamented painting frames, worn rugs on the wooden stairs, heavy white tablecloths and silver cutlery. She can barely tell them apart these days, sitting with her head stuck in between her bony knees like in a vise, pretending to be somewhere else. 

This place is nothing like them. Fancy and yet, upon closer inspection, not. The candelabra in her room, covered with golden paint, but all worn and scratched around the edges. The wallpapers, bright red and dark green, depicting lush flowers and exotic birds, growing faint and curling in like petals as they came apart from the walls, and Emily having to fight down the urge to tear them down all the way and use for her drawings. The folding partitions with intricate carvings on the top, faded and covered with scratches. The steps on the staircase for the personnel, chipped and missing. The huge, wide-leaved potted plants at the bottom of the staircase, withered and neglected. The bright, tacky bright rugs downstairs in the parlour, covered with stains and dark burnt circles, from all the cigarettes dropped on them and all the drinks spilled. The girl who brought her a vase of fruits yesterday, sheepish and avoiding her eyes, with hair curled, but with a pale knee poking out of her torn stocking. 

Pretending to be something it is not seems to be at the core of this place. Pretending to be a palace when it isn’t one, and never was, Emily thinks, as she remembers Prudence, this terrible, terrible woman, tell her that the girls here are princesses, visited to be admired.

A cracking sound of the wooden door opened and slammed against the stone wall echoes its way up to her. The footsteps, after that. The honeyed greetings fading into the hall, as Emily curls her hands around the metal railings and bends to look down. The draft from the door not fully closed numbs her fingers, and she realizes she has no overcoat, not even a scarf. She waits a few heartbeats more, and there is nothing, not a single door shutting, no chatter, no keys turning in the locks. Mindful of the sound of her laquered shoes on the wooden staircase and trying her best to soften her steps, like she was taught, she makes her way down and down, the draft from the door not fully closed welcoming her.

Gone - Pt. 3

Part One  Part Two

Pairing: Hothner x Reader

Word Count: 1,778

Request:  yes!  Thank you for the amazing feedback!

@zugzwangcm-comment-account:  Omg you should do a third part 😭 this was so good!

@ncis-cm-hp-sherlock-imagines:  I’ve loved part one and I love part 2 even more! The way the team and the reader interact was just lovely. I’d really enjoy a third part if there are any plans for one?

@marvelfanlife:  Please say that there will be a part 3 to gone?! Like I said before Aaron needs to know! And what happens if Scratch makes an appearance! 😬😊💕

@dkbksbcobk:  Hey, I was wondering if you could make a part 3 to “Gone” when you have the time, you’re an amazing writer

@louisespecter:  It was beautifully written but yet so sad. My heart can’t handle this. I literally have tears in my eyes as I’m typing this message. Please please pleaaasssee can there be a part 3?

Warnings: none

Summary: Aaron Jack Hotchner was born.  The reader has an incredibly close-knit relationship with the team, making it easier to raise her son, but his father has no clue he exists... Or does he?  I’m actually so excited that this fic is getting such amazing feedback, it’s makes me happy to know that there are people who want to read something that I’m very proud of creating.  Without further ado, here is the third part to ‘Gone’.  Enjoy!!

A/N: AJ is Aaron Jack’s nickname for Aaron Jack and Aaron Junior, just in case that confused anyone.

Originally posted by prettyboygoobler

Previously on…

His dad was not here, but Aaron Jack Hotchner was surrounded by the people who love him and will go to the ends of the earth for him, and that was all that mattered.

Aaron was out in the world somewhere with Jack hopefully safe, but wherever he was, he had no knowledge of the baby boy just born with his name.  He didn’t know that you thought about him every day, and probably didn’t know that since he left, you spent every night crying yourself to sleep.  He didn’t know any of this because he was gone.


“AJ, I’m not going to tell you again,” you scolded your son.  He was stubborn as always, trying to play with the toys that weren’t his without permission. 

“No, no, he’s fine!  He’s so cute.  How old is he?” the mother of the child whose toys Aaron Jr. kept playing with asked.

“He’s turned three today,” you replied, looking at the boy who looked too much like his father.  His smile resembled that of Aaron’s, and every time you saw it, your heart seemed to skip a beat, not only for the memories of your beloved boyfriend, but for the tiny child that was yours. 

The playground was mainly vacated, only a few mothers and their children enjoying the beautiful outdoors that day.

“Mine’s four.  Nearly time to start school,” the mother replied with a sigh.

“That’s a scary thought,” you replied.  And it was.  There was no telling whether or not your son was even safe in any schools.   You hadn’t really thought about sending your son to school, yet anyways.  Your focus was raising him and keeping him safe.  As far as you were concerned, he would be home schooled.  Maybe Penelope would be willing to help out.  

As if the computer genius could hear your thoughts, your phone began to ring with her name flashing on the screen.

“Hello,” you said after pressing answer.

“Alright, muffin.  I picked up AJ’s prescriptions and set up an appointment for a follow up in a month.  He’s also set on piano lessons courtesy of a one Spencer Reid.  Oh, and birthday party is set up.  We’re ready for you,” she said.

“Jeez, Penny, you didn’t have to do all that,” you told her with a smile.

“Oh, stop.  I’m happy to.  Now get both of your cute butts over here, we’re ready!” she said.

“Alright, thanks, Penelope,” you replied with a smile.  You motioned to AJ to come to you.

“No problem!  And happy birthday, love,” she finished before hanging up the phone.

“Happy birthday, little man!” the mom next to you said to your son as he approached the bench you were sitting on.

“Mommy’s birthday,” AJ said, pointing up at you.

“Your’s as well?” she asked, smiling.

“Mine was yesterday, but we celebrate them together,” you said, standing up and picking up Aaron.  “It was nice to meet you-”

“Shelby,” she said, sticking out her hand to shake.  

“Y/N,” you replied.  “And this is Aaron Jack.”  Your son shyly waved at Shelby.

“Nice to meet you Aaron,” she replied with a smile.  “Hope to see you again,” she told you.

“You too.  Sorry about the toys,” you said sheepishly.

“Again, don’t worry about it.  My son Kale and I come here every Wednesday afternoon if Aaron would ever want to have a buddy to play with.”

“Thank you, that would actually be really nice,” you said honestly.  With the life you two had, another little boy in AJ’s life didn’t sound like a bad idea at all.  “Say bye, AJ,” you said to your son.

He waved again, letting out a tiny ‘bye’ before you walked away from your new friend.  You knew having someone his age to play with would be good for him.  JJ’s boys were always happy to play with your son, but Henry was in school and they were busy most of the time.  Kale would be a blessing.

You walked to the car with AJ on your hip.  Once he was secured in his car seat, you grinned down at him.

“Ready to see everyone?” you asked.  You’d told him about his ‘surprise’ party.  You were never really any good at keeping secrets.  AJ nodded excitedly at you, his smile sending butterflies throughout your body.  “Let’s go then.”


“Surprise!” the team shouted as you walked through the door.  You playfully gasped and looked down at AJ.

He slapped his hands onto his cheeks, opening his mouth in fake shock.  To a room full of profilers, it was obvious you gave up their secret surprise party.

“You told him, didn’t you?” Alvez asked, unable to keep a smile off his face at the sight of your son.

“Sorry, he begged to know if we were surprising him, and how can you say no to that face?” you said in a baby voice, picking AJ up.

“Hey, buddy!  Uncle Spence got you a present,” Reid said, taking him from your arms.  He walked over to the desk that was full of presents, the team, apart from JJ, in tow. 

“He’s starting to look so much more like his father,” she admitted to you.

“I know,” you said, watching AJ’s family show him his new toys.  Your heart was soaring at the sight of it.  Despite the heartbreak you’d experienced almost four years ago, there was so much happiness that came to you and so much love surrounded you and your son every day, and you were so grateful for it.

“What are you thinking about?” JJ asked you.  

“Just about how damn luck AJ and I are,” you replied, leaning into her side.  She pulled you in close for a warm hug, admiring the vision of her sons with yours.  It was a perfectly cliched moment, but it was all you ever wanted.

Emily stepped away from the group, slowly making her way towards you.  A look passed between the two agents, some kind of silent communication.  You dated a profiler for well over two years, so you knew a thing or two about reading a look.

“What?” you asked.

“What?” Emily asked back, acting nonchalant.  

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” you told her, knowing you were right.

“Tell me about the woman you met today at the park,” she said suddenly, catching you off guard.

“Excuse me?” you asked, not understanding what she meant.  “What woman?”

“Y/N, you have a protective detail on you 24/7, and it’s their job to report to me.  They told me about the woman you talked to at the park,” Emily replied.

“So?  I’m aware you keep an all too watchful eye on me and AJ at all times, but why are you suddenly interrogating me on who I happen to converse with?”  you asked, your voice raising a bit. 

“I’m just following protocol,” she tried, but you were too annoyed to listen.

“I don’t give a damn about protocol, what is this about?” you asked.  Emily looked at JJ, as if she was silently asking for help.

“We just want to know if you’re trying…” JJ started, but she couldn’t find the words.

“Trying to what?” you asked, skepticism clear in your voice.

“Strauss is worried you’re trying to contact Hotch,” Emily said.  What, you thought.

“How is me talking to a random mom at the park me trying to contact him?” you asked, vocalizing your confusion.

“Are you?” Emily asked sternly, clearly wanting a straight answer.

“No!  Of course not.  Why would she think that?” you said, still unable to understand what talking to a woman at the park meant about Aaron.  JJ looked at Emily, another strange look passing between them.  “What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s on need-to-know basis, Y/N,” Emily told you, as if that explained everything.

“It’s about Aaron?” you blurted out.  Tears began to form in your eyes.  “If it’s about him then I need to know.”

“Y/N,” JJ started, but you cut her off.

“Do you know where he is?” you asked, your heart beginning to speed up.  The agents at the present table started to quiet down, looking over at you.  You were fixing to go into hysterics, it was obvious.

“No, I don’t.” Emily said.  Her voice was strong.  She wasn’t lying.

“Then what?  Does Shelby know where he is?” you asked, recalling the mom from the park’s name.

“We figured that’s why you were talking to her,” Emily finally admitted.  You furrowed your brows, even more confused than before.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, knowing Emily was probably not going to be able to keep whatever this secret was from you any longer.  She sighed and looked at the other agents, silently telling them all to distract AJ and not listen to what she was about to say.

“Shelby Madison is the woman you talked to today.  She has a son named Kale, that’s who AJ was playing with,” she said.

“I know all this,” you replied, wanting her to spill.

“Shelby Madison is a private investigator,” she finished.  “Strauss thinks you hired her.”

“I didn’t.  I’d only met her today,” you said.

“What did she tell you at the park?  Try to remember the conversation you had with her,” Emily said, not as a friend, but as an agent.

“She asked me how old AJ was, she mentioned her son was four and about to start school,” you recited, slowly trying to remember the words she’d told you.

“What else?”

“She introduced herself as Shelby and asked to see AJ and I again.  That’s it.”

“When?”

“On Wednesdays.  She mentioned her and her son go to the park every Wednesday,” you said, realizing why Emily was asking these questions.  “I’ve never seen her before today.  AJ and I are at the park every Wednesday, too, she was lying,” you said.  “What does that mean?”

“It means someone hired her to find you,” Emily said.

Your heart sped up, your palms became increasingly sweaty.

“Someone like Scratch?” you whispered, the name feeling hot on your tongue.  It’d been two years since you said that name, and although he was out of your thoughts most nights, it was a name that still haunted you.

“No,” a voice said behind you.  The look on Emily’s face said it all.  You knew exactly who that voice belonged to.  It was a voice you hadn’t heard in three and a half years.  A voice you never thought you’d hear again.

It was the only voice in the world you ever wanted to hear, but knew you never could.

You turned to face Aaron Hotchner

“Someone like me.”

It’s bathing day again, and it’s how Emily knows another couple of weeks has passed, give or take. 

Her sense of time is still a blur, but there’s the unmistakable flow crisp of icy air replacing the moist scent of rotting leaves, and the chilled metal of her doorhandle bites at her fingers as she grabs it. And she knows it must be the Month of High Cold.

And she would climb up and push the metal shutters in the dusty corridors to see if the snow has covered the metal cat outside, if it has covered the roofs and the gardens and the round terrace on her right, or if it’s a windy, dry, snowless kind of winter, but a woman in dusty overalls and a heavy little suitcase came in with the madame some weeks before that, and fiddled with the old broken lock, and before Emily could even move to get up, the door slammed and the rusty old key turned, scraping at her spine.

Today one of the girls turns the key inside the lock, sheepishly, a stack of towels under her arms, and against the darkness of the freezing hall Emily sees the faint glow of the girl’s breath, a ghostly little cloud around her mouth. Emily sways, getting up from her spot, and feels a dull hit of embarrassment against her throat, at the aching weakness of her knees, of moving around so little when she used to be running around the Tower’s gardens for hours and could climb the hightest tree if only her governesses would let her. Could run and run and get scratches on her laquered shoes from running so much, almost as fast as Corvo, and she would be chastised for returning back to her studies all sweaty and red-faced and her voice hoarse and raw from the chilly air outside, and now she could barely get herself to follow the girl down the stairs, each step echoing painfully through her soles.

She wonders, briefly, if she could be so weak because she’s falling sick. 

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