Emily & Hotch

Prentiss: All of these killings… the work of just one man?
Gideon: Most prolific serial killer ever.
Prentiss: These wind chimes are made of bone. I think it's human rib bones.
Prentiss: [watching morgan dance between two women] Hey, Morgan, be careful. The one in the back could steal your wallet!
Morgan: That's all right; I'll be a broke, happy man!
Hotchner: [construction work in the background] What's that?
JJ: [with mouth full] One of the detectives' wives made us cookies.
Emily: Wow, homemade cookies!?
JJ: Yeah I guess that's what they mean kwa 'southern hospitality'.
Reid: What are you...

Written kwa Hidge.
Story: What could have happened if Prentiss had carried her baby to term but decided to give her up for adoption. 23 years later, her daughter is determined to get some answers.


Just like you

“Abby, I don’t get it,” Darryl stated quietly as he sat up in kitanda and watched his fiancé fret.

“What’s not to get Darryl? I want to know who my birth parents are,” she replied, annoyed kwa his reaction.

“But why now?” He asked in confusion. Abby hardly ever brought up the fact that she was adopted.

“Because we’re getting married in three months and I don’t know where I...

A Fanfic written kwa triciabyrne1978 on brewster_a_week on livejournal.com.
Spoilers for Demonology!

Emily wipes the blood from her nose and stares up at the church before her. This is the closest she's come to a church -- on her own when it wasn't krisimasi au Easter -- in years. She's hardly a devout Catholic anymore. She considers herself zaidi a woman of faith -- in what though, she's sometimes unsure.

Her feet slowly climb the steps, and she almost has to laugh at the irony of how royally fucked up this entire situation is. In large part, a priest uigizaji like an asshole twenty years zamani drove...

Written kwa Auraya-of-the-White.



Watching the Time

Emily brushed a strand of dark hair aside with the back of her hand. She rested her arms on her legs, leaning mbele in the hard, plastic chair. She stared intently at the prone man before her. His face displayed a false sense of calm, the tightly gripped kitanda sheet in his left hand revealing his inner turmoil.

Emily sighed lightly, careful not to wake the slumbering Hotch. Anyone who had been stabbed nine times would need their rest. She shook her head in disbelief, nine times! Foyet had precisely put Hotch through the same wounds he had self-inflicted...