whereas the sun caresses the dragons' mother's silhouette, it seems to completely avoid the witch's alabaster skin. one swims in sunshine while the other seems content to entice shadows. "a bold claim," she answers, and with that her tone seems to shift ; the syllables become old valyrian steel, lethal in their sharpness. how different to speak the language you have been birthed with, compared to all others. "and a bold programme." the oracle hums, as if contemplating whatever bodes in the horizon.

    𝐭𝐨   𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡   𝐨𝐟   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦’𝐬   𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧   𝐚𝐧𝐝   endless   teasing,   spencer   enjoys   these   days.   when   they   are   able   to   come   back   to   the   office   and   enclose   themselves   with   papers   upon   stacks   of   papers.   it’s   a   good   way   to   unwind,   to   smooth   out   the   bundled   nerves   in   his   jaw   or   fingers,   by   just   skimming   over   a   phrase   and   writing   the   next   just   as   effortlessly.   yes,   it   was   strange   that   this   was   therapeutic   to   him   instead   of   going   home,   flipping   the   television   to   a   random   channel   (   perhaps   the   discovery   channel,   there   was   always   time   to   learn   new   things   )   and   fall   asleep   on   the   couch   with   a   book   on   his   chest.   

    he   will   not   mention   when   he’s   completed   the   task   because   it   was   about   an   hour   ago—and   he’s   more   humble   than   that—when   he   knew   juno   was   scribbling   her   edits   in   the   red   pen   she   favored   so.   while   he   noticed   ishtar   spinning   in   her   chair,   pencil   poking   out   from   her   hair.   spencer   would   stare   up   from   his   writing,   freshly   printed   copy   paperclipped   together   and   lying   flat,   ready   for   hotch’s   approval.   when   it’s   evident   he’ll   have   to   wait   moments   longer   before   either   of   them   are   ready   to   leave;   he   steals   a   book   from   his   satchel   and   flips   it   open   to   the   page   he’d   remained   on   in   the   jet.   he   would   have   finished   it   earlier,   much   earlier   because   it   was   just   another   reread,   if   it   were   not   for   ishtar   and   the   deck   of   cards   she’d   newly   acquired.   attempting   to   play   goldfish   with   emily   and   juno.   there   was   no   need   for   words   to   express   his   .   .   .   momentary   dislike   for   the   new   hire.   

perhaps if reid had paid more attention to the whispers that have been going around the office, he would known that belonging to a family is of no interest for the girl who saw her mother murder each and every member of her cursed tribe. families are easy wounds to probe & she is not keen on repeating the process. oh, she remembers : even as a child, she understood that bodies were sacrificed at the altar of a wicked god and that her mother would blame her for it. rossi told hotch early on ; that girl is something else. he took it as a warning for her personality. in truth, it had and still has more to do with her abilities : it is that same shapeshifting trick that got her out of the village. visage bleeding from rock-inflicted wounds, “i’ll draw the devil’s mark on ya. ugly ugly daughter o’ mine.” walking across the soil that saw her bleed twice ; once as a girl & once as a corpse. there, the child attempted to make a promise ; found ungodly ways to keep it. child became woman and found that sex tastes like love if you keep it sweet & short. woman found that less personality means less affection, and so she became it ; cool girl, pretty girl, ditzy girl. never the one you’d imagine at the altar, never the one you’d find to symbolize home. oh, what terrible choices did she make, just so she wouldn’t suffer the same loss twice. but even that was not enough, for malborne’s body found its way to a casket and ishtar discovered that grief still tasted the same way as it did all these years ago : muddy & acrid. the lord god formed the man of dust from the ground & breathed into his nostrils the breath of life – ishtar throwed up all that dirt on her way out of the cemetery and vowed to never endure the same enchantment again.

perhaps if reid had paid more attention, he would have realized that she wants to replace him even less that he himself wants her to. all she desires is to get her hands on them so that she can learn the angles & curves of their beings. an easy way to learn how to make clay dolls of her memories, so that wherever she goes next she won’t have to go alone. it is difficult to be a living corpse. one must fill oneself to the rim with moments. only heavy memories keep you tethered – and ditzy girls aren’t the kind to get heavy.  

for the gift of her full attention, juno gets a toothy grin that curves around the pen. it is not rare for ishtar to suggest games ; riddles & dares that usually do not warrant any attention from the team. in quite the same manner as reid’s tangents, ishtar’s attempts at distraction tend to remain ignored. the few who play (penelope, derek, sometimes juno) usually get something for their gracious participation. be it files off their shoulders, gifts sent to their houses, or other gracious acts of service that remain anonymous, all is good as long as it gives them pleasure. her last deed was paying a month worth of penelope’s favorite treats & having them delivered to her house. the dare had been worth it : whatever she said in that phone got derek morgan so hot and bothered that he wasn't quick enough to avoid ishtar’s phone as she was taking pictures. with that kind of leverage on her phone, she was bound to get a few favours for the next month at least. so yes, ishtar was mischievous, but she was fair : and if juno was willing to play, then ishtar would make sure that there was something to win.

“good girl”, she murmurs. her gaze is unwavering, while her pen points at suarez, same as a sword would point at the anointed knight. “junie baby, my lap’s all lonely. come warm it up.” and without hesitation she taps her thighs three singular times, all perfectly timed for her palm to fall on her jeans as a new second ticks on the clock. there are details like that, few and scattered, that remind spencer of the fact that ishtar is not all she pretends to be. behind the chaotic everything, there is a small space for rigidity that he has never truly seen anywhere but in himself.

ELLE FANNING

    𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥   𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐝   𝐛𝐲   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐭𝐰𝐨   -   𝐰𝐚𝐲   𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬,   the   mesh   wire,   and   the   overhead   lights,   juno’s   big   eyes   are   glued   to   the   pale   limbs   inside   that   room.   a   girl,   really.   a   girl   just   her   age   and   still,   so   much   more   capable   than   juno   had   ever   been.   bearing   pearly   teeth   and   soft   blond   curls,   yet   leaving   bits   and   pieces   of   her   all   around   america   for   juno   to   find.   tucking   away   into   the   pocket   of   her   jacket,   some   pieces   too   sacred   to   turn   in   and   others   carefully   handled.   running   her   fingers   over   postcards   and   trinkets,   letters   with   teeny   tiny   writing   or   words   taking   up   the   whole   page.   how   ishtar   knew   about   certain   things   ──   even   things   about   juno   only   gideon   had   known   of   ──   she   didn’t   know.   part   of   her   didn’t   want   to   know,   but   she   remembers   the   forensic   telling   her   the   particles   of   dirt   matching   each   scene.   would   she   really   follow   her   across   the   country?   was   juno   to   blame,   had   she   jeopardized   the   safety   of   her   team?   she   did   not   enjoy   being   so   many   steps   behind,   so   many   moves   lost   on   a   wooden   board.   being   strung   along   like   a   toy   piece.   

    with   ishtar,   beckoning   for   her   move,   taunting   her   with   knees   so   far   apart.   they   were   both   very   vulnerable   in   this   moment.   

    juno’s   fingers   dig   into   her   arm   and   the   words   fall   from   her   mouth   without   much   vindication   behind   them.   like   tossing   the   dice   and   hoping   for   whatever   comes   your   way.   hotch’s   stone   -   cold   composure   flickers   and   it’s   morgan’s   voice   speaking.   you   don’t   have   to.   but   there’s   a   twenty   -   four   hour   time   constraint.   

    “   yes,   i   do.   ”   seventeen   seconds   pass   before   hotch   agrees   and   with   the   chip   in   his   shoulder   she   knows   it’s   begrudgingly   so.   she   can’t   convince   all   of   them,   though.   weak,   hesitant   fingers   reaching   out   but   never   quite   latching   on.   she’s   out   the   door   and   through   another.   in   the   next   minute,   face   to   face   with   ishtar   atta   isil.   after   what?   a   year,   had   it   been   so   long   or   even   longer?   

ah, most certainly because juno said she would do it & one thing a father wants more than anything is that, when push comes to shove, his child is able to stand their ground in the middle of the storm. & so here she comes! juno suarez, still as delicious as she was a year ago. not that ishtar hasn't seen her since : she is meticulous in her affection, and would not dare letting june forget about her. but they have not known each other to be in the same room ever since last year's encounter. whatever tingle ishtar got from making herself known, it had to be through pieces of a puzzle & trinkets left behind. though, considering the pallor of juno's skin, she'd say the agent found most of her gifts without any issue.

"mmmmh, depends on wha' ya'd call better, love." her tongue rasps against the top of her palate before speaking again, as if giving juno time to feign whatever expression she wishes to. on the other hand, her body is completely nonchalant ; nothing fake about it either. no tension on her shoulders, no hesitation in the spreading of her legs. a girl pretty enough to savage, all there for the taking. "agent suarez!" there, not quite surprise but counterfeited dismay. "yunno they film these kinda things, right?" a grin, pretty & bright, "wouldn't want yer team to know what ya feel 'bout lil' old me."

if her voice has yet to admit how many hours she spent thinking about agent suarez, her eyes have no issue betraying her interest : they unravel her without shame. the lines of her legs. hips & waist. toned stomach, full breasts. the dip between her collar bones where ishtar knows she could easily dip her tongue if she got close enough to touch. throat, carotid artery pulsating with precious blood. sharp jaw, and of course her beautiful face, with lips that ishtar has yet to taste. she imagines it to be intoxicating, like strong liquor with some ice. the way your body shivers both because of the assault & the reprieve.