you know that book the velveteen rabbit

Grace Hanson: The Velveteen Rabbit, Character Development and Gay repression

“There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid.” - Margery Williams. 

Season 2 Episode 3: The Negotiation 

Grace brings the book The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams out to her grandchildren, she wants to read it to them, but they are not interested in hearing the story. 

If you have not read it The Velveteen Rabbit is a children’s story about a toy rabbit who through the love of a little boy, becomes real. But it’s so much more than a story about a toy, it’s a story about love, about authenticity, and about the philosophical question: What makes us real?

Keep reading


Hey, I hope your having a good day, do you think you could do an imagine where y/n is part of the Mafia or something and she is sent to spy on the BAU, Spencer falling in love with her in the process, the team find out and you decide from there xxx

(Warning: there are some triggers in here for those who are squeamish about miscarriages and beatings.)

Originally posted by thedeathofapolaroid

Spencer didn’t want to believe it.

As he reads the text message on his phone, your body curled deeply into his as he mindlessly strokes your hair, he reads the text message over and over as document after document whooshes through to his phone, his eyes quickly scanning the miniature proof of your double-life.

Proof of your sympathizing efforts for the Mafia.


You who had come into his life seven months ago.

You, who had taken a bullet for his boss.

You…who had beaten serial killers off of Lewis and babysat for J.J. and Will.

You who was beloved by the entire team…

…was a spy for the Mafia.

As tears brim his eyelids, his heart clenching in his chest as he beings to take shallow breaths, he finally flickers his gaze down towards you…

…and is met with your deadpan stare.

“Y-…Y/N,” he breathes as he slowly watches you sit up.

“Spencer…?” you lull lightly as you sit upright, the sheet falling from your naked body as your bosom lightly bounces with your movements, “What’s that, sweetheart?”

But you knew.

He saw the recognition flicker behind your eyes as he shuts his phone off quickly.

“Is it true…?” Spencer croaks lightly, trying to keep his tears at bay and remain strong in front of the woman who had just shattered his soul.

Another woman he loved…taken from him because of circumstances beyond his control.

“Is what true, honey?” you coo, reaching out for his cheek.

“Stop,” Spencer spits as he scoots back from you.

“You’re better than this,” he whispers desperately.

But all you did was continue to stare at him.


“What is your mission?”

“Wh-…what?” you breathe.

“What.  Is your mission?” Spencer enunciates.

But you knew that if you disclosed that information, you would be killed.

Right now?  You could still struggle to get out of his apartment, and nothing but a stern beating from your boss would befall you.

Spencer saw you losing yourself in your thoughts.

“I can give you a 5-minute head-start…” he lulls as he dips his watery gaze into his naked lap.


“4 minutes and 58 seconds,” Spencer breathes, his hands twisting themselves together in his lap as your eyes slowly rake up and down his naked form, committing his body to memory before you slowly begin to slip out of the bed.

You wanted to tell him that you loved him.

You wanted to reassure him that you never planned on this relationship.

You wanted to kiss him and tell him that, despite your ruse, he was never part of the plan…

…that there would never be another one like him.

“4 minutes and 49 seconds,” Spencer whispers as a tear falls from his cheek into his lap.

And it wasn’t too long after that that he heard his front door slam shut.

Three months.

After three months of looking desperately for you, trying to figure out what the Mafia was doing infiltrating the BAU, a mysterious email appears in Garcia’s inbox before deleting itself from the ethers.

“Guys!” she runs in, breathless as she holds up a printed version of the email.

“Guys!  It’s her!  I-i-it’s Y/N!”

Everyone perks up at the sound of your name.

“Let me see,” Spencer breathes, ripping the paper from her hand as he reads the sentence on the piece of paper.

“’Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’”

“What does that mean?” Morgan asks as he crinkles his nose.

“It’s a line from a book called ‘Velveteen Rabbit’,” Spencer begins, “it originally denotes that the ‘Skin Horse’…or main character that harbors no soul, doesn’t understand the true meaning of love until they experience the love of a child.”

“So this is a children’s book?” Hotch asks.

“But why send us a line from a children’s book?” J.J. asks as she folds her arms around her chest.

She was still frightened over the idea of someone from the Mafia previously watching over her children.

“I don’t know…” Spencer says as he clenches his jaw in frustration.

But soon, Spencer did know.

It was Spencer that figured out that the Mafia wasn’t targeting the BAU, but their children.

It was Spencer who put together that it was also an admission of your sorrow…how you felt lost, like the Skin Horse, until you had come across the love and support of the BAU.

But it was also an admission of your love for Spencer, once he pieced together the fact that you were pregnant.

“Pregnant, Reid?” Rossi breathes as he furrows his brow at his colleague, “Are you sure?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense with this last email,” Spencer says, tears rising to his eyes as he holds up the last email sent from you to the team yesterday.

But little did they know that you had been caught sending that last email.

Little did they know that the boss beat you within an inch of your life before tossing you into the river.

Little did they know that your body, broken and battered and bruised, had washed up onto the shores of an obscure lake in the middle of the woods, barely breathing and carrying a child that now had no pulse.

You just wished that you would die.

That is…until a mountain biker skidded to a stop and stumbled down to the lakeshore…

Coming to in the hospital with your wrist handcuffed to the railing, you watch as a blurry figure begins to unlock your wrist, freeing your arm as it drops to your side.

You were in prison.

“She lost the baby…?” you hear a familiar voice croak.



Feeling your jaw quiver as your hand slowly begins to move, you wince in pain as you slowly drift it over your belly button, your fingertips blue and trembling as tears begin to pour down your face.

That child was the last you had of Spencer.

And you had failed to protect it.

“Are you sure?” an unfamiliar voice says, “We’ve got reports of a woman that fits her exact description with deep ties to the Mafia inner workings up the East Coast.”

“We told you, we thought she was a sympathizer, she fled, then she became a double-agent and warned us through a series of emails that have already been submitted into evidence that saved the lives of our children.”


That voice was Hotch.

How was Hotch in the prison medical facility?

“She could get a massively-reduced sentence, spend a few years in jail instead of you guys having to work around the woman who wanted your children dead.”

It was then that you let out a light sob as tears begin to waft down your cheeks.

“Or she could spend those years working with the BAU to atone for the things she’s done, earning half-pay and sustaining it with volunteer hours on the weekends,” Rossi steps in.


Oh, sweet, resounding Rossi.

Feeling someone squeeze your hand, you jump in pain, letting out a squelched yelp as you feel a pair of lips descend onto your forehead.

“Sssshhhhh…it’s alright.  You’re alive.  You’re in a hospital.  And you’re coming home.”


Someone was taking you home?

Where was home…?

Wait…was that Spencer!?

“You know, Hotch,” you hear Morgan say as footfalls envelope your ears, “if we could get Y/N to talk about who her boss is, and who did this to her, they might be willing to pay her full-pay.”

“They won’t give her benefits, but full-pay might be something they’re willing to negotiate,” J.J. pipes up.


Coughing as more tears rise to you eyes, your jaw aching as Spencer scrambles for some water, he slips the straw in between the wirings of your teeth keeping your jaw closed as you sip the cool liquid down your aching throat.

“Y/N?” Hotch coos as he sits down on the edge of your bedside, “Can you hear me?”

You grunt as Spencer slowly moves the hair back from your stitched forehead.

“You’ve been beaten pretty badly,” he begins, his eyes scanning your body carefully, trying to figure out a way to continue.

How could he tell you that you lost Spencer’s child.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N…” J.J. whispers as her hand descends onto the cast on your leg.

You sniffled hard before letting out a muffled sob.

“I’m sorry,” you say through your wirings, your body beginning to tremble as the true extent of your pain begins to dawn on your conscious mind.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  Please…I’m sorry.  Spencer…I’m sorry.  You guys…please…I’m so sorry.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.”

Chanting the phrase over and over again as you begin to shake from pain, you hear Morgan bellow into the hallway for someone to get in here and give you some relief as Spencer gently lays his forehead into your throbbing temple.

“I’m right here…” he breathes as you finally feel relief course through your system.

“I’m right here,” he whispers, pressing a light kiss to your ear as you instinctively lean into his warm, gentle lips.

“I’m sorry…I’m…sorry…I-…”

“Let her sleep for now,” Rossi says as he hand comes down lightly onto Spencer’s shoulder, tears now pouring down his face as he stares upon the swollen, battered, crushed skin of the woman he never could stop loving.

“We can give her the details when she’s better.  She’s gonna be here a while, and there’s still a lot to figure out.”

“Okay…” Spencer lulls, his eyes dancing along your face one last time before leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to your scabbed, swollen lips.

“We’re gonna find who did this,” Rossi reassures Spencer.

“And we’re gonna build her a life she probably never thought was an option,” Spencer breathes before getting up from your side.

And as the two men exit the room, with Spencer looking back one last time, he watches Garcia slip into your room with her book and her laptop as she perches in the chair beside your head, her legs propping up on the edge of your hospital bed as Spencer furrows his brow and turns his attention towards David.

“What?  Didja think I was gonna leave her alone?”

And Spencer wrapped his arms tightly around the old man in gratitude.

My favorite book, she claims of which I have no memory was about how little kids get one toy that they love more than all the others, and even when its fur has been rubbed off, and it’s gone saggy with bits missing, the little child still thinks it’s the most beautiful toy in the world, and can’t bear to be parted from it.
That’s how it works, when people really love each other, Mum whispered on the way out in the Debenhams lift, as if she was confessing some hideous and embarrassing secret. But, the thing is, darling, it doesn’t happen to ones who have sharp edges, or break if they get dropped, or ones made of silly synthetic stuff that doesn’t last. You have to be brave and let the other person know who you are and what you feel.
—  Helen Fielding, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason

anonymous asked:

♝ matt/foggy i am sorry

Reading a book together, absolutely no need to be sorry. For you. I’m a bit sorry.

“I don’t get why they don’t just use normal letters,” Foggy said, tracing the small dots of the braille book in front of him with his fingers.

“That’s what people usually say,” Matt said, not telling Foggy that his father had used similar words once. “It’s supposed to be faster this way, and easier to distinguish.”

“Yeah, I guess I can see that.”

“I can’t, that’s why I need braille.”

“Stop it, Murdock,” Foggy said and gave him a nudge. “So this is the book you learned to read braille with?”

The Velveteen Rabbit. I think it’s the only one they had handy at the library,” Matt said.

“All right, let’s do this,” Foggy said and put his fingers at the top of the page. They had gone through the braille alphabet every evening for half an hour for the past two weeks. Foggy was intent on learning how Matt made sense of the world. After their break-up (the break-up of their law firm, really, but that seemed just as accurate) they had talked about their issues at length and Foggy had mentioned that he still didn’t know how Matt’s senses worked. What had been pretense and what had been real all those years. Braille was one of the things Matt had to rely on and Foggy had wanted to know how it worked.

Foggy started to read, slowly but surely. “‘There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be.’ The rabbit and I have that in common. You think the book impressed you more than it should?”

Matt laughed. “You’re doing well, go on.”

He had to ask Matt when he wasn’t sure about a letter every now and again but Foggy was a fast learner. Matt left his hand curled in Foggy’s while he focused on Foggy’s voice and how he hadn’t heard nearly enough of it during the months they spent apart, on his body pressed close to his own on the couch.

“‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When someone loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’ ‘Does it hurt?“ asked the Rabbit. ‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.’,” Foggy read, his voice growing thicker. Matt could feel his own eyes welling up with tears. He had forgotten how emotional that stupid children’s book was.   

“‘Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.’” Foggy’s voice was hard to make out at this point, broken by sobs and tears as it was.

He finally put the book down and immediately pulled Matt into a tight hug, both of them sobbing softly. “I’m so glad I’ve got you back, Matt,” Foggy whispered.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Matt whispered back. The library couldn’t have picked a better book for him to learn with all those years ago.