YOU ARE THE REASON
Claire Keane
#extradirty
Cosmic Funnies
shark vs the universe
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Cosimo Galluzzi
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Jules of Nature
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
art blog(derogatory)
we're not kids anymore.
@theartofmadeline
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
blake kathryn
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@georgefoyxt
[ open ]
The man keeps his blade tucked in a thigh holster. His face is scarred, and he keeps himself to the darkness of the night. The most bitter smile unfurls, and he chuckles as he pulls out a cell phone.
Dialing a number with fluid motions across the screen, George's voice is rough, laced with acid when the other person picks up.
“…did you really believe you could kill Death himself?”
“…did you really believe you could K I L L Death?”
-Indie George Foyet. -21+ AU from 5x09: 100. -Canon and OC friendly. -Trigger warnings apply as such. -Para, text, icons (sparingly)
What is your opinion on my portrayal?
You can tell me on or off anon and I happily accept constructive criticism.
“I wanted to break you,” was the simple reply. “And I did.”
It was perfect. Alex barely mattered to Foyet for the time, and he was swinging quietly on the set. Hearing the crack from Aaron was more than enough.
“I have done what no other man could. I have broken you. I have taken your ex. Your son. Your daughter hates you, and your brother barely talks to you. It’s a perfect checkmate I wanted. No one wants you, Aaron.”
He couldn’t help but smile.
“And now that I have such a grip on you… you’re nothing but a puppet. The strings are pulled. And you are just a pitiful shell.”
His voice softened.
“It’s the sweetest revenge I ever wanted.”
Radio silence followed because there was nothing Aaron could say. There was no threat that would pass his lips, no strength to fight.
Foyet was right.
The monster had won.
His eyes slammed shut and the phone slipped from his grip as he held tight to Jack, rocking, shaking, sobbing silently while trying to muster some sort of strength where none existed. He should fight, he should hunt, he should do what he does best but he can’t. The one person who didn’t blame Aaron for Hayley’s death. The one person who still looked at him like he was superman - he failed. His chest tightened as his head bowed. “You won,” he whispered softly, and then again, louder, “You fucking won.”
"Then you know what's left," Foyet replied quietly.
Heh. Just like Shaunessey.
He let it hang in the air, bird chirping softly in the open. And he smiled barely.
"Or I could just finish the job, if you'd like."
Technically Hotch still has his team. just saying
You can tell that to poor, miserable little FBI Agent Badass. I'm sure he'll take that in good stride now that I've made his kid a corpse.
The body had been placed where Haley was, just for effect. Foyet was not anywhere in the house, but he was certainly twirling a third phone in hand. This time, an actual phone and not disposable. Not that Aaron would know.
It had been quick for the boy, but Foyet made it look horrific. Just like how he was when he had been murdered as well. Aaron would surely be reeling in this for days.
Foyet didn’t mind.
After all, this would make him too weakened to think. And it was perfect for one rub in the wound.
He hit the button to call and waited patiently, eyes closed as he gently swung on the swing set.
He answered, not because he wanted to, not because he felt a need to, but because he was terrified of what would happen if he didn’t. He still had another child to think of. Another that wasn’t laying in his arms. Another that would, god willing, wake up tomorrow. Even if she hated him. She would wake up. “Why?” he breathed, his voice soft, broken, rasped. “What do you want from me?” What did he have left that didn’t already hate him? That didn’t already want to get as far from him as possible. A broken sob escaped him. There was no fury in Aaron Hotchner. No anger left to be tapped. There was only exhaustion. Only sadness. Only hopelessness. He’d lost his wife. His son. And surely from the first, would come the loss of his daughter.
“What could you possibly want?”
"I wanted to break you," was the simple reply. "And I did."
It was perfect. Alex barely mattered to Foyet for the time, and he was swinging quietly on the set. Hearing the crack from Aaron was more than enough.
"I have done what no other man could. I have broken you. I have taken your ex. Your son. Your daughter hates you, and your brother barely talks to you. It's a perfect checkmate I wanted. No one wants you, Aaron."
He couldn't help but smile.
"And now that I have such a grip on you… you're nothing but a puppet. The strings are pulled. And you are just a pitiful shell."
His voice softened.
"It's the sweetest revenge I ever wanted."
when your partner decides to angst
“You’re already late, Aaron!” he chirped lightly into the phone, which dropped in a heartbeat.
“Five years too fucking late.”
And the line went dead.
Foyet snapped the device shut and glanced at Jack with lips curling in the grin that Jack would see in nightmares. Five years much too late for any sorts of deals with Death and the devil himself, five years gone entirely after the head collision with the floor repeatedly.
Hands were not covered as he tossed the phone aside, staring at the boy with the frightened eyes, trying so hard to be defiant.
George only grinned viciously at this.
“How much fight have you got, kid?”
And that was all he spoke before Jack saw black.
“Foyet?” Pause. Breathe. Panic. Breathe. “Foyet!?” It took Aaron nine minutes to get to the house, to return to the one place he never wanted to think about again. He didn’t bother with the engine, barely remembered to put the SUV in park as he stumbled out of the truck and raced for the door, raced for Jack. The front door swung open with a loud collision, bouncing off the wall behind it as he barged through, his voice a rasped yell, a pleading sob of sound, “Jack?!” Nothing. No reply. No Sound. Silence. His stomach dropped, his heart shattered as he ran up the steps to the room he’d last seen George Foyet in. The door again swung open, but everything after that came secondary, hesitated, delayed. “Jack…?” This time the boy’s name came softly, came rolling in the voice of a man too broken to comprehend, too gone to speak. He quietly rambled forward only to his knees, brushing away hair from a face almost unrecognizable with tender hands. He should call for back-up. He should have his gun out. He should be hunting Foyet, but all Aaron can see is Hayley. Is Jack. Is the look of shame and blame on Alex’s face. How was he going to tell her? He should be figuring that out too, but all he can think, all he’s ever been able to think, is that he should have taken the deal.
The body had been placed where Haley was, just for effect. Foyet was not anywhere in the house, but he was certainly twirling a third phone in hand. This time, an actual phone and not disposable. Not that Aaron would know.
It had been quick for the boy, but Foyet made it look horrific. Just like how he was when he had been murdered as well. Aaron would surely be reeling in this for days.
Foyet didn't mind.
After all, this would make him too weakened to think. And it was perfect for one rub in the wound.
He hit the button to call and waited patiently, eyes closed as he gently swung on the swing set.
“Heh… my my. A hasty one. And a good little agent too! Never knew you could be so cooperative.”
Foyet’s glee was palpable, but it masked what was still a cold fury. There was no way Jack was walking from this. There was no goddamned way George Foyet was letting Jack Hotchner see his father again.
“A hint. Perhaps… down the road. I see a lot of houses. And they have little kids in their yards. Not to mention a swing and quite the playground…”
Play into his hands. And when he thought he won? Tear that joy away from him. Permanently.
Once upon a time, many years ago, Aaron Hotchner was the kind of FBI agent every supervising agent dreams of. He was unfailing, lawful, straightforward. He didn’t make deals with the devils they came up against. He didn’t throw every law, every rule, every lesson out of the window in a heartbeat.
That seemed like lifetimes ago as he climbed into his SUV, turned the ignition and tried not to choke on each breath.
It was lifetimes ago. When there was still hope with Hayley. When Hayley was still alive. His stomach dropped again at the hint as he nodded, “Fifteen minutes.” The words tumbled out dryly as he tore from the parking garage and darted across traffic. “Ten. I’ll be there in ten minutes, Foyet. Don’t…please. I’ll make you a deal. Me for Jack. You can have me if you just…”
Not my son, he thought silently, pleading with nothing, please not my son.
"You're already late, Aaron!" he chirped lightly into the phone, which dropped in a heartbeat.
"Five years too fucking late."
And the line went dead.
Foyet snapped the device shut and glanced at Jack with lips curling in the grin that Jack would see in nightmares. Five years much too late for any sorts of deals with Death and the devil himself, five years gone entirely after the head collision with the floor repeatedly.
Hands were not covered as he tossed the phone aside, staring at the boy with the frightened eyes, trying so hard to be defiant.
George only grinned viciously at this.
"How much fight have you got, kid?"
And that was all he spoke before Jack saw black.
“I want you to find him. Come find him.”
Foyet just grinned a little and licked his lips. He placed the device on speaker, and he held it up. “Say hi, Jack!”
The muffled whines behind the gag just made the man laugh a little before he walked over to the child. With a swift backhand and a glare, Jack was silenced. And Foyet cleared his throat.
“People change, Aaron. Especially in five years.”
“Okay,” he answered, “Okay. I’ll play. I’ll come-” Blood went cold as his stomach turned. The very recognizable sound of skin on skin had Aaron unable to breathe through his terror and fury, a mixture that had his heart rate through the roof, that had his body shaking visibly. “I know. I’m coming. I’ll find him.” They were past threats. Past typical ‘I’ll kill you if you touch him’ arguments. Aaron refused to say or do anything that would risk Jack, that would push Foyet. His stomach turned, the clock ticked another minute as he grabbed his keys. “Do I get a clue?” he managed breathlessly, already thinking to the last place they met, to the house he had lost so much in.
"Heh… my my. A hasty one. And a good little agent too! Never knew you could be so cooperative."
Foyet's glee was palpable, but it masked what was still a cold fury. There was no way Jack was walking from this. There was no goddamned way George Foyet was letting Jack Hotchner see his father again.
"A hint. Perhaps… down the road. I see a lot of houses. And they have little kids in their yards. Not to mention a swing and quite the playground..."
Play into his hands. And when he thought he won? Tear that joy away from him. Permanently.
[[Please keep your hands, arms, feet, legs, and weeping inside the ride vehicle at all times. This thread will contain violence, language, weepy feelings, death, and the fear of God.
“Do you tell that to every single fucker you speak to?”
The smooth and calculating undertone that once made Foyet such a frightening challenge was almost gone. His tone had now a rough undertone, vicious and dripping with that utter poison that Aaron had heard from others. It was almost a terrifying thing, because that control was almost gone.
At least, that’s what it seemed.
“We play this by my rules. My time. And you’re short on that, Aaron. So’s the boy.”
Fury gave way to cold dread. It was the same voice. The one that had haunted his every dream. The one that preluded every scream, every gun shot. His stomach clneched as the subtle nuances changed, as control gave way to a calculated fury. Hotch inhaled and did what he never did. He played along. For Jack, he would play along. “Your rules. Just tell me what to do. What you want.” Anything for Jack. Anything to for his kids. In the back of his head, he could hear a much younger son murmuring ‘I worked the case’ over and over. His stomach pitched as he leaned forward. Hold on, buddy. Just hold on. I’m coming.
"I want you to find him. Come find him."
Foyet just grinned a little and licked his lips. He placed the device on speaker, and he held it up. "Say hi, Jack!"
The muffled whines behind the gag just made the man laugh a little before he walked over to the child. With a swift backhand and a glare, Jack was silenced. And Foyet cleared his throat.
"People change, Aaron. Especially in five years."
Foyet smirked softly, watching Jack with that infuriating grin. The kid was in a chair, soft and angry noises escaping through the gag he placed on him. One knew he normally wasn’t for this sort of affair at all, but hey.
This kid? Was an exception for once.
Certainly, there was an unmistakable fear in his eyes, but George relished in the rage as well. It was beautiful, like his father.
The button he pressed next was from a different number this time as he walked out of the building. And the words he breathed were laced with acid.
“I can feel that beating fury, Aaron. Just like your little agent.”
When the phone rang, Aaron was back in his office, pacing, itching to do something. The last number had been a dead end and no one had seen who Jack left school with.
He had nothing to work with. When the phone rang, he answered, forced himself to breathe as his grip curled around the edge of his desk, holding tightly. “This is beneath you, Foyet,” he uttered quietly, “You’re better than this. Smarter. You wanted my attention, you have it. Now let Jack, go.” Those words, simple, quiet - words he’d said a million times before - made him sick now.
"Do you tell that to every single fucker you speak to?"
The smooth and calculating undertone that once made Foyet such a frightening challenge was almost gone. His tone had now a rough undertone, vicious and dripping with that utter poison that Aaron had heard from others. It was almost a terrifying thing, because that control was almost gone.
At least, that's what it seemed.
"We play this by my rules. My time. And you're short on that, Aaron. So's the boy."
"I know where Jack is." It was fifteen words or less, and it was a voice mail that preambled with an exhale, followed by the roughened chuckle of a man thought dead.
It was a routine habit. He got home, he pulled out his personal cell phone, and he checked the voicemail. Ever since Garcia had taught him how to properly set specific ring tones, he didn’t need to check it at work. It only rang when it needed to - when his kids needed him. Which is why it was six hours later as he walked through the door that he heard the five words that hollowed a pit in his stomach and had his heart lurching upward, lodging in his throat. The phone was dropped as Aaron ran through the house, his voice carrying, shaking. “Jack? Jack?! Buddy?” Nothing. No answer. No laughter. No reply. His heart raced, pounded in his chest in visible, thrumming beats as he fled down the stairs back to the phone. With his work cell, he dialed Morgan. With his personal, he called Alex. “Baby, where are you?” When that call was through, when Hotch knew she was safe, he called Morgan, hit send and held the phone to his ear with a shaking hand. “He’s back,” he breathed, “Foyet. He’s…He’s got Jack.” His usual stoney calm, the unrbeakable stoicism was shattered with a trembling voice and a slow-burning fury finally coming to surface. He knew better than to try and call the number back. Knew Foyet was too damn smart for that, and so he waited, chest tight, hand clutching his phones. Waited for a call that would potentially ruin what was left of his life.
Foyet smirked softly, watching Jack with that infuriating grin. The kid was in a chair, soft and angry noises escaping through the gag he placed on him. One knew he normally wasn't for this sort of affair at all, but hey.
This kid? Was an exception for once.
Certainly, there was an unmistakable fear in his eyes, but George relished in the rage as well. It was beautiful, like his father.
The button he pressed next was from a different number this time as he walked out of the building. And the words he breathed were laced with acid.
"I can feel that beating fury, Aaron. Just like your little agent."
There is a voice mail on Alex's phone. A rough laugh and a rumbling baritone. "Your mother's grave is beautiful. Simple. Just what I'd expect from your old man."
As she listens to the voicemail, Alex instinctively looks over her shoulder. Who is this person? And how did they get her phone number? Panic sets in as she slowly backs away from where she’s standing and proceeds to walk down the familiar path back to her house.
George Foyet sat in the car across the street from Aaron's apartment, chuckling softly and flipping the phone between his fingers. He could only watch and wait, see who would come or leave.
So Aaron had another child, hm?
Perfect.
[[Yes, but a plot where Foyet is back and he keeps his eye on Hotch by coming into school as a substitute teacher and watches Jack (or even littlemisshotchner ) in some nature, calling Aaron one day and telling him how smart his kids are.
Oh my God. Epic plot is epic.
[[I came up with it in the shower. I really want it. Badly.
[[Yes, but a plot where Foyet is back and he keeps his eye on Hotch by coming into school as a substitute teacher and watches Jack (or even littlemisshotchner ) in some nature, calling Aaron one day and telling him how smart his kids are.
