This Is Gonna Be Fun - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

YALL IM SEEING SUPERM IN LIKE TWO DAYS IM FREAKING OUT SHZAHFKSHFKSHF

BRUH IM GONNA SEE TAEMIN AKA LITERAL PERFECTION WTF AND HEARING BAEKHYUNS ANGELIC VOICE AND SEEING KAI AND LUCAS AND MARK AGFJSHDK

IMMA GET TO SEE TEN AND TAEYONG PERFORM BABY DONT STOP IN PERSON WITH MY BEST FRIEND WHO’S JUST AS KINKY AND HORNY FOR NCT AS I AM

i’m gonna die :)

....Gruncle Stan?

You are trapped in an elevator with the person on your lockscreen. Who is it?

Reblog with who you get stuck with~

I want MORE OF THIS

Rantaro: cute older brother type

Kaito: (jealous) Silly space man

Shuichi: I like them super supportive

Definitely middle-eastern vibes, I like 👍🏻

Burning spice content is here yall (credit to CRKLEAKS_33 on Twitter)

As it Seems - One

Masterlist |  As it Seems Masterlist

Summary: The BAU is accustomed to change – different cases every day, agents coming and going, roles changing – so the addition of a new member, an Administrative Liaison, should be no different. But the moment you arrive, everything changes for the better (Hotch just doesn’t realize it at first)…

(A/N: And so it begins! As I mentioned in the preview, this Hotch series will feature dual POV, team dynamics, enemies(ish) to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, romance, smut, family fluff, and oh so much more. There’s a long road ahead with this story, so I hope you’ll stick with me – even through the slowest burn I’ve written so far. I’m so excited to share this journey with you!)

First days are always the same. Obviously the “first” is different every time – first day of school, first day living away from home, first day of a new job – but each one brings the same energy. There’s worry and hope combining into anticipation, there’s possibility and expectation creating excitement. 

You feel all that anticipation and excitement and a bit of determination as you walk into the F.B.I. Headquarters at Quantico. 

Quantico is different from the F.B.I. offices at the J. Edgar Hoover Building in downtown D.C. It’s farther away, for one thing, turning your five-minute commute into closer to a forty-five minute one. It was a strange switch, leaving the apartment before Jay. He was barely up and getting ready to go to the gym by the time you were out the door. It’s also strange to know you won’t see him until you’re home again this evening. After years of working in the same building, he was pretty resistant to the newfound daytime separation. 

“Don’t leave me, babe.” He pleaded as you prepped some vegetables for dinner. 

“We’re not breaking up, Jay. I’m just taking a new job.” 

“A new job away from me.” He argued, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing his face into your neck. “Who am I going to bother on my lunch break?”

“You can still bother me,” You reminded him, “Just over the phone instead of face to face.” 

He sighed. “I’ll miss you, babe.” 

You turned in his arms, wrapping your own around him in a hug. 

“I’ll miss you too,” You admitted. “But I need to do this.” 

Quantico is also larger than the Hoover building, spanning acres and acres in the middle of rural Virginia, complete with a fourteen-story building, sprawling training grounds for the academy, and a small airfield for private jets and helicopters to come and go. Still, you don’t find it as intimidating as the downtown headquarters. Granted, when you first entered the angular stone fortress that is the Hoover Building, you were just a college intern, young and wide-eyed, still thinking F.B.I. agents were just like the movies– cool and collected and capable. Now, you know better. F.B.I. agents are people just like anyone else, and they need help just like anyone else. 

That’s where you come in. 

Holding your box of photographs, pens, sticky notes, paper clips, and about ten pounds of case files that had been delivered to your apartment last night, you nod in thanks as an agent holds the door for you. Walking into the entry-level, there’s not much to see except a security desk and a window-lined corridor leading to a large elevator bank. 

A man, probably in his early-thirties, with a gray suit and a nervous disposition, approaches you from where he’d been waiting by the desk. 

“Ms. L/N?” 

“That’s me,” You smile. “But you can call me Y/N.” 

“Grant Anderson,” He says, holding out his hand, “I’m the inter-department coordinator for Section 4.” 

You shift your hold on the box, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Agent Anderson.” 

“Grant is fine,” He says, “Or Anderson. Most people call me Anderson.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Grant.” You smile. 

He smiles back, seeming a little surprised at your choice, but not unpleasantly so. 

“Well, Y/N,” He nods a few times, fumbling with his pockets, “You’ve been cleared and authorized…ah, here it is.” 

He pulls a laminated card out of his breast pocket, moving to hand it to your first, and then deciding to place it in your box. 

“This will give you access to everywhere you’ll need to go.” He explains, “I can take you up now, if you like?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Grant walks with you to the elevator, holding the door as you step inside and pushing the button for the eleventh floor. 

“You’re coming from downtown, right?” Grant asks, “The CCRS Branch?” 

“I was the administrative assistant to the Criminal Investigative Division for the last five years.” 

“Cool,” Grant nods, “You must have been brushing shoulders with the brass a lot.” 

“Not as much as you might think.” You say, “I prepped my department for meetings with the higher-ups, but I never met any of them personally. The directors like branch leaders to come to them, and assistants aren’t usually invited along.” 

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.” Grant says quickly, seeming a little embarrassed. 

The elevator doors open with a ding, and you step out onto the eleventh floor. Grant walks you across the hallway to a set of tall, glass doors, holding one side open for you. You enter the bullpen, a wide space with high ceilings and a lot of desks and low cubicles. 

Grant leads you to an empty desk by a short set of steps leading to a raised walkway. “This is you.” 

You set the box down and turn more freely to look around the bullpen. The walkway next to you has two offices along the way and what looks like a large round conference room at the end. There are a few staffers moving in and out from the hallway, leaving paperwork and making copies and using the small kitchen at the back, but the bullpen is mostly empty. 

“So, um, that’s Agent Rossi’s office,” Grant points to the first door on the walkway, “And that’s Agent Hotchner’s. He’s the unit chief. Penelope Garcia, the technical analyst, is down the hall to the right. The rest of the team have desks in the bullpen since Agent Jareau became a profiler.” 

“Great,” You nod, committing each detail to memory. “Thanks, Grant.”

“The team will be here soon,” Grant says, “Agent Hotchner is usually here early too, but, you know, not quite this early.” 

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