Latest Posts by baublowie - Page 2

bugs when you lift up their rock

because they all love and hate each other to varying degrees like patrick loves tennis and tashi and art but art the most and art loves tennis and patrick but he loves tashi the most and tashi loves tennis the most but none of them can have the thing they want most so they use one another to get closer to it and in the aftermath end up resenting each other for what could have been

posting this here bc tiktok sucks and I really like how it turned out

CHALLENGERS (2024) dir. luca guadagnino

boy toys 🎾

okay but what about hotchreid boyfriends during elephants memory and how spencer understands on a personal level everything that happened to owen, and aaron understands spencer in ways deeper than in canon. aaron who dropped him off at the meeting at the top of the episode, proud of how well spencer is doing, who hates how intensely the case is affecting spencer and he can't do anything but find owen and stop him.

hotchreid boyfriends and the micro arguments they have during the case. the personal edge in aarons voice when he says 'reid' after spencer said a sharp comment to one of the leos

hotchreid boyfriends and the 'oh, you're punishing me? 'no, im using you' and how this argument hurts them both, how aaron understands spencer's anger, how he still has to be professional and keep things together, and be hard on spencer too. how spencer feels unheard and frustrated with the one person who's supposed to be in his corner, how he still, under his anger, understands why aaron can't be.

hotchreid boyfriends during the standoff and how aaron's heart stops when spencer walks up to owen, no vest and gun holstered, how fear takes over all of his senses but he still has to be in the situation, the love of his life directly in the line of fire.

hotchreid boyfriends during the standoff and how spencer knows that aaron is right behind him but how he can't think about that, how he can't think of the risk he's put everyone in because he has to believe that he can do this, that he can get through owen, how he'll never forgive himself if this backfires and aaron and everyone on the team end up hurt.

hotchreid boyfriends on the jet home and how they're the first ones on board and aaron immediately pulls spencer into a bone crushing hug, holding him so close he can't take a breath, how he whispers 'don't do that again' and spencer promises not to, how he explains that he didn't want to see a child die in front of him again and aaron tell him that he's keeping count, that he isn't like owen, that he's good at the job.

hotchreid boyfriends who go to sleep that night in each other's arms, aaron staying over at spencers place, how he tucks him against his chest, heartbeat steady under his hand.

Mick Jagger photographed by David Magnus at Associated-Rediffusion Kingsway Studios, January 1965.

I’m watching through the show in order for the first time

saw someone getting mad at people in the fandom for being too pervy... like. This is the Pervert™️ show. Will and Hannibal are capital F Freaks. They are nasty. They are disgusting. They fuck and 10 people are dead-type freak. And that's so fucking hot.

hotchreid fic rec?

idk where u came from but I have SO MANY. I've been waiting for someone to ask.

these are like all one shots but they're all SO GOOD.

kyle maclachlan in twin peaks 1x01, “northwest passage”

“No,” Tony shakes his head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what!?” Peter demands, exasperated, “What is it that we cannot do?”

“This, us,” Tony sighs, “Kid, you have to understand. I’m not made for you. You’re meant to go out and find someone your own age, who doesn’t have drinking problems and isn’t mentally unstable. You deserve better than me, Pete.”

“I don’t want anything better, Tony,” Peter narrows his eyes, his chin jutting up, “There isn’t anyone better out there for me. I want you.”

“Kid–”

“Stop calling me that,” Peter growls, “I’m twenty-five fucking years old. I’m not that sixteen year old you met all those years ago. I’ve grown up and I know what I want. And I know what you want, too.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Peter,” Tony tells him sadly, “And you being twenty-five now doesn’t lessen our age gap.”

“Damn our age gap, then!” Peter cries. He reaches out for the older man’s hands and pulls him closer so that their faces are only inches apart. “Damn what anyone else has to say about us and damn what you think I want. Because I want you. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Until you realize what a mistake that is,” Tony whispers. He grazes his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone and down to the corner of his lip. Peter shudders and closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, “You have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart.”

“I think I do,” Peter smiles lightly, he takes a few steps closer and backs Tony into the wall. And then it all comes stumbling out, “You think I’m adorable when I’m mad. You want me but falsely believe you cannot have me. You feel overwhelmed that I exist.”

Tony blinks, his eyes searching Peter’s face, “What, are you reading my non-existent diary or something?”

Peter laughs breathily. “I know you don’t remember telling me those things. But drunk words <i>are</i> sober thoughts.”

With a deep swallow, Tony sighs, “You got me there, kid.”

“Tony, I said to stop calling me kid,” Peter practically whines.

“Force of habit,” Tony shrugs.

“Okay, then for now on you’ll be Mr. Stark again. I’ll add in a few sirs here and there, too. You know what, maybe I’ll even call you da–”

He’s cut off by an abrupt but welcome crash of the lips. Peter hums and instantly melts into it, his hands finding Tony’s defined biceps. He takes it one step further by pressing Tony closer to the wall and opening his mouth, welcoming the older man’s tongue. Tony seems hesitant at first but doesn’t take too long to start exploring Peter’s mouth as if it’s his last day on earth.

Heat races up and down Peter’s body and everything within him buzzes for more. More of Tony, more of them, together, as one. Involuntarily, his hips thrust into Tony’s, but the pleasure that follows isn’t anything he’d give up.

Tony pulls back just slightly, their foreheads pressed together, “Peter–”

“Shut up,” Peter demands through gritted teeth. He pulls Tony back into the kiss, and Tony lets him. Peter feels Tony’s hands travel down to the back of his thighs before he's suddenly hoisted up so that his legs are wrapped around Tony’s torso.

“Couch,” Peter pants between kisses. Tony obliges and walks him over to the couch, not breaking the kiss even as he sets Peter down onto his back.

Peter uses his legs to squeeze Tony in closer and his hands on the older man’s hips to guide them into steady thrusts. Tony and Peter’s moans are twisted together in a sort of harmony.

“God, kid, you’re perfect,” Tony gasps, “So beautiful. Breathtaking.”

Peter flips them over and Tony is sitting up with Peter on his lap. “Just for you, sir,” Peters smirks, satisfied when Tony’s entire body jerks in pleasure at the title, and dives in for more.

greedy meme // hlvrai

cw: blood, mild (?) gore?, idk Gordon’s hand cut off I guess send tweet

Saw something so VIOLENTLY starker on Pinterest yall have fun with this

I'll pay for your therapy✌

yoonmin at it again ♡ run bts 65

my roman empire 🧍‍♀️ | for @yooboobies ♡ cr. namuspromised

Hotchreid Snippet

I figure since this fic is taking so much longer than i thought it would i may as well post a snippet (that happens to be my favorite scene so far)

Summary: a drunken conversation in a shared cab after a long night

Words: 1.5k

Spencer spots a cab approaching them towards the end of the block, waving his arm until the driver pulls to a stop in front of them. Hotch opens the door for him, always a gentleman, and Spencer slips into the cab as he gives the directions to the driver.

It's only after he’s finished giving his address that he realizes Hotch is still hovering by the open door, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Are you coming?” Spencer asks with a furrowed brow. Hotch scratches at the back of his neck, lingering.

“I could always catch another one…” he trails off uncertainly, and it clicks for Spencer right then that he never answered Hotch’s earlier question.

He’s still waiting for permission.

“Hotch, it's cold and it’s raining and I can hear my duvet crying for me. Get in the cab.”

Hotch doesn’t try to argue with the finality in Spencer’s demand, climbing in next to him and closing the door with a heavy thunk.

The ride is quiet at first. Spencer leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes, listening to the sounds of the raindrops hitting the roof, the wheels hissing as they pass through water pooled on the street below, the wind whipping around the car. It’s peaceful, just enough noise to not be overwhelming but to fill the silence as Spencer adjusts to being away from the overly loud music in the bar.

His limbs feel heavy, his bone marrow interlaced with lead and steel and his legs anchored to the floor like he couldn’t move them if he tried. He can feel the exhaustion of the last case creeping up on him, slowly enveloping him and draining him of his last vestiges of energy.

To avoid falling asleep in the car he opens his eyes and rolls his head to the side, taking in Hotch’s stiff form.

He’s been a little strange all night, rapidly oscillating between relaxed and anxious. He goes from cracking jokes in that dry humor of his- almost flirtatious at times, but Spencer doesn’t allow himself to entertain the thought- to sitting pin straight like he’s got a titanium rod in his spine for seemingly no reason at all.

Spencer thinks that maybe this is just what alcohol does to him; he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Hotch drink quite as much as he had tonight, at least not since he and Haley were together and she’d come along with them on their nights out.

And it’s not like he’s belligerent by any stretch of imagination- he handles his liquor leagues better than Spencer himself- but Spencer’s rarely even seen him tipsy, let alone genuinely drunk. Then again, it’s nigh impossible to resist the all powerful Penelope Garcia when she really sets her mind to something.

Maybe it throws him off kilter, makes him nervous to have less command over his words and his movements. It would certainly make sense. Hotch’s entire life requires him to be alert at all times, always one step ahead, always the leader, always in control. It follows that having that stripped from him, even of his own will, would make him a little jittery.

Spencer can relate, in a way. But he’s always found a little more peace in letting go, smothering his ever racing thoughts til they disappear completely, allowing his overstuffed skull to empty for once.

That yearning for tranquility is why he has to be so careful with his intake, why it's so rare that he affords himself the refuge. That sort of numbing could lead down a dark, winding path faster than he could even realize he’s lost.

A part of him that he doesn't want to acknowledge wonders if Hotch feels that same solicitous temptation, if that’s what’s fueling his unease.

Whatever it is, Spencer doesn’t like seeing him like this. The tension lining his shoulders, the way he’s clenching his jaw as he looks straight forward at the partition, his hands tightly folded in his lap and his brow low, severe. Like a cadet standing at attention.

The passing streetlamps cast animated highlights across his face like a movie projector, the yellow lamplight that kisses his profile cutting the cool blue dark of the cab. Soft against the harsh angles of his features, his furrowed brow, his pursed lips. Illuminating his eyes for just a second, just long enough to catch the worried glint hidden by those thick eyelashes. A portrait against the scene of raindrops hitting the window beside him.

In a spur of confidence more fueled by liquor than logic Spencer reaches out to the other side of the backseat, his movements slow and intentional like he’s walking up on an injured stray. He lays his hand gently over Hotch’s, holding steady when he flinches under the touch.

Spencer can feel Hotch’s eyes on him now but he doesn’t look up from his task, slowly wiggling his fingers between Hotch’s joined hands until the older man catches on and reluctantly releases his hold.

Spencer takes Hotch’s hand in his own and brings it across the space between them to rest over his knees, cradled in both of his hands like something precious. Because the touch, the silent buzz in the air between them, the manufactured intimacy of their own little world behind the partition is precious to Spencer, and right now he wants Hotch to feel that, even if he knows it’s probably a bad idea.

Hotch doesn’t object, silently watching Spencer’s movements with a wary tilt of his head.

“You have an accent,” Spencer murmurs as he stretches Hotch’s fingers out one by one, rubbing his thumbs up each digit methodically with a consistent pressure.

Hotch’s hands are big and wide, long thick fingers and hair tracing down the backs of them. His fingers aren’t much longer than Spencer’s but they make his hands look petite in comparison, his cold, thin and boney where Hotch’s are warm and strong.

“So do you,” Hotch’s voice comes out so soft it’s almost inaudible over the mechanics of the car.

Spencer smiles softly at the deflection, Hotch’s natural instinct to turn the attention away from himself at all times, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, the idea of being known.

“You have a southern accent,” Spencer specifies, because for once he wants to dig deeper, to push Hotch out of his comfort zone, his safety bubble of isolation.

He massages Hotch’s hand now, firmly pressing his thumbs deep into the meat of his palm. Hotch twitches and his hand tenses for just a moment, and Spencer tenderly brushes his thumb across the expanse of Hotch’s palm as an apology before he continues working at the knots under the surface.

“Virginia born and raised,” Hotch offers an attempt at lighthearted banter but it falls flat, his low baritone laced with apprehension, strained.

“Grow out of it?” Spencer prods, turning Hotch’s hand in his lap to trace over his knuckles, the outline of intricate veins beneath thin skin, the bones below them.

He can see Hotch shake his head out of the corner of his eye, can hear the fabric of his shirt and jacket rustling at the movement, but he doesn’t respond right away.

“No, I uhm…” he clears his throat, shifting in his seat uncomfortably, “I had it trained out of me, in law school. Learned pretty quickly that no one takes a prosecutor with a southern twang seriously.”

Spencer nods as he explores the planes of Hotch’s hand, thinking about a twenty something Hotch doing his best to fit in, to prove himself. Thinking about Hotch now, almost thirty years later, carrying those lessons with him.

“Do you always change parts of yourself to manage other’s perceptions?” The question trips past his lips before he can think better of it.

Hotch tenses, his hand clenching and unclenching in Spencer’s hold like he wants to pull away from the conversation, from Spencer.

His hand stays in place.

“Doesn’t everyone?” He asks quietly, and something about his tone makes Spencer look up for the first time since he started this bizarre interrogation.

Hotch is looking at him like he truly wants an answer, like he wants reassurance that he’s not the only one with something to hide, an audience to perform for. Like he’s pleading to know if he’s the only one putting on a show.

Spencer almost doesn’t want to break it to him.

“No,” he says, looking back to the hand in his lap and lacing their fingers together for a selfish moment, a breath, “not everyone.”

A rigid silence follows, charged with something combative, a bristling sort of energy that Spencer can feel jolting between their joined hands, static shocks biting his fingertips like little strikes of lightning. Hotch stiffens like he wants to argue, and Spencer waits patiently for the debate.

It never comes.

Spencer looks to his side only to see that odd look in Hotch’s eyes again, like he’s searching Spencer for something he’s not even sure of himself.

And then he nods, subtly at first and then firmer, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Spencer. He turns away to look out the window, raindrops casting long shadows down his cheeks and below his eyes as they race to the bottom of the glass, and Spencer feels it in his chest when the moment breaks.

Hotch never pulls his hand away. Spencer draws shapes across his knuckles.

forever is the sweetest con: chapter one

Chapter One: Genesis

A/N: hello there. glad to have you. I've got this posted on Ao3 already, but I've decided to crosspost here. Here we go.

Summary:

If asked now, he’d see it clearly. Where it started, how it started, and why. It all comes back to Tobias Hankel.

OR

Hotch/Reid through the years and what happens when things are left unsaid.

~000~

If asked now, he’d say it was obvious. Where things were going- where they’d always been going since that day in February, when the sharp chill of the Georgia air hardly touched the team when compared to the way fear turned their blood to ice in their veins.

In Aaron Hotchner’s veins, when the call came in.

JJ was gone, no one could reach her.

And Reid- Spencer- was gone, still, when they did eventually find her.

If asked now, he’d see it clearly. Where it started, how it started, and why.

It all comes back to Tobias Hankel.

“I choose-” He watched on in desperate fear, eyes never leaving the screen. He couldn’t bring himself to move, to look away, to close his eyes when he knew any second how that trigger could be pulled and Spencer Reid would disappear in front of him. “I choose Aaron Hotchner.”

All eyes turned to him, but he remained frozen. He heard the sharp intake of breath from his left, felt JJ’s eyes slide over his expression. His face remained neutral, schooled thanks to years in this role. He, despite what Reid might say, had the best poker face of them all.

“He’s a classic narcissist.” Hotch watched intently as Reid continued, looking for any slight of hand, any tell Reid could be giving. It was a message, and he knew that. He just needed the cipher. Come on, Reid, he thought. I need more than that. You’ve got to give me more than that.

“He thinks he’s better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4-” He burned the words into his memory. He needed to remember that, he knew it. He knew Reid. “Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, falseness, vanity, and futility. For these shall be his recompense-”

Thank you, Reid, his eyes finally, finally slid shut as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. Thank you.

He turned on his heel, exiting the room. Out in the living room of that old, dank house, Hotch retrieved the bible left on the side table.

“I’m not a narcissist-” He started, ready to start translating Reid’s message.

“Come on, Aaron, you can’t take anything he said personally-”

“No, Gideon, stop, stop-” He snapped, frustrated. That’s not the point, how do you not get it? His mind raced, and he briefly wondered if this was how Reid felt every moment of the day. “Everybody right now, what’s my worst quality?”

The team stared at him blankly, and the wild streak of anger and impatience he worked so hard to control flared again. That’s not the fucking point, he wanted to scream at them. It’s right in front of you and you’re all missing it. “Stop worrying about hurting my fucking feelings- tell me, now. My worst quality. I’ll start. I have no sense of humor. Prentiss?”

“You trust men more than women.”

“Okay, JJ?”

“You’re a bully.”

“Alright, I’m a bully. Morgan, go.”

“You can be a drill sergeant sometimes.”

“Good, I’m all of those things,” And he was, he wasn’t blind to his own faults. Everything they had said was true, but- “Yet, none of you said I put myself above the team because I don’t. Ever.” Still, they didn’t get it, and he groaned in frustration. “Reid and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism on the way here. He knew that I would remember that.”

“Hotch, we know you’re not a narcissist, man-”

“That’s not the point.” He finally snapped. “That’s not the fucking point, listen-” He looked up and finally, finally, he had their attention. “He quoted it wrong. Genesis chapter 23, verse 4, look-” He lifted the scripture into the light and read the correct quotation aloud. “I am a stranger and a sojourner with you, give me property for a burial place among you, that I might bury my dead out of my sight.” It registered with Gideon first, and Aaron could breathe a bit easier. “He wouldn’t get it wrong unless it was on purpose.” He insisted, holding eye contact. “He wouldn’t.”

“He’s in a cemetery.” Morgan muttered, and now Hotch could take a real breath.

The rest moved quickly. He did it, he found Reid, they were there and he just had to find where in the cemetery-

Then the shot rang out from just over the hill Aaron’s own two feet were standing on, and everything slowed down again as he ran towards it. “Reid!” He shouted. “Spencer!”

Not like this. Please, just not like this.

“Hotch?!” He doesn’t remember getting there. He doesn’t remember his path from the top of the hill down to the bottom, or who was following in his wake. He just remembers the relief flooding his chest as he pulled Spencer Reid off the earth and into his arms.

“You okay?” He muttered, one hand wrapped firmly around Reid’s waist while the other cradled his head.

“I knew you’d understand.” Spencer choked on a sob and tightened his hold, tears staining the collar of Hotch’s shirt. “I knew you’d understand.”

And so it began.

【Criminal Minds】 HotchReid Log

_Film school got me stuck in a painful artblock… but thank GOD winter break’s here and I finally got to binge CM!!

I love Hotch and Spencer so much Spencer is so baby and Aaron is the perfect man for him🫨🫨🫨

Listening to Humbug and Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino on a snowy afternoon

My favorite Arctic Monkeys albums are the ones that follow Last Shadow Puppets albums. These albums are my gems. My weird ones, the ones that people didn't understand, the ones where we get at least 50% lovesick Alex trying to navigate his situationship with Miles Kane after coming down from the rush of tour. These are the dreamy albums, packed with songs are about escaping and being haunted and being far away. These are the albums where the music lifts the words in ways we hadn't heard them play previously.

Humbug, with few song exceptions (Cornerstone I love you forever but you feel like you belong somewhere else), sounds like it was recorded underwater. The drums thud. The rough edges are smoothed off Alex’s voice and the songs are sinking into an unknown.

And nine years later Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino flips the narrative. It's the sound of a place that doesn't exist and can't exist. It's the mirror of Humbug, where Alex's lyrics float in a galaxy of shimmering reverb. The production is polished and layered and he's crooning high above the Earth.

I think as a fandom we spend a lot of time having fun with the conversations betwen Alex and Miles via their songs and albums. But I haven't spent as much time thinking about how Alex’s songs and albums are a conversation with himself.

I think I really fell in love with Miles’s songwriting because I saw it thru Alex’s eyes. I also had a lot of fun playing around with THEIR shared influences as songwriters (Marc Bolan, we love you). But I suspect I grew to love Miles’s work because I see the traces of him in Arctic Monkeys songs. This is ESPECIALLY SO on the post TLSP projects.

I'm going to have some fun, and I'd love your thoughts. I've intertwined portions of AM3 and AM6 albums and b sides in this playlist. Are these songs from 2009 / 2018 having a conversation? How would we as a fan community arrange this list?

spencer reid + sleeping

This has me curling my toes rn… the belt off in his hand his hair everywhere… oh my god oh my god

his puppy eyes got me on my knees

matthew gray gubler as russell in the great buck howard

ancient greek sculptors are crying, knowing they didn't have him as a model back then