#And we murder poor innocent women daily

[st-dionysus]

.

[dukeofdelirium]

Imagine working your whole life to be remembered as the greatest artist of all time and you’re forced to be remembered as the most infamous pedophile of all time. That’s a damn shame.

It’s fucked up what they did to Michael, but we can still advocate for his innocence even though he’s gone, now. Truth and Justice shouldn’t die when you die. That’s why it’s important that we still fight for him. If we don’t, no one will.

Michael dedicated his life to helping children and saved millions of lives through his humanitarian efforts. Over 500 million donated in his name, and that was just publicly. He did more anonymously. His nephew said he easily doubled that number. MJ didn’t draw attention to his charity work. He felt it was wrong to do so, and a lot of the stuff he did for others didn’t become known until he died.

He was an amazing artist, yes. The greatest to ever live. But under that, he was an amazing human being. He was a good man who truly cared for other people. He was not like other celebrities who just say they love their fans and shit to keep up an image. Michael truly did love his fans, genuinely.

He hung out with his fans. He kept in communication with his fans and knew many of them by name. His security guards even commented on how shocked they were when they’d be out somewhere and MJ would point at fans and tell them their names and when he’d met them, etc.

He would bring food and blankets and pillows to his fans that camped outside his hotels and shows. He even let fans come up to his hotel rooms and sleep in there. He also let fans come to his house and hang out at his house. He ran Neverland Ranch for a loss of over 3 million each year. There were regular, almost daily trips from make a wish or other programs that helped sick or dying children who wanted to spend the day with MJ or at his ranch as a last wish. He had bus loads of underprivileged kids brought to the ranch too so they could experience a zoo or amusement park because these children were too poor to do so otherwise.

He would walk around on the street and just give people hundreds of dollars in cash. He would also have his ppl drive him around and donate to the homeless very regularly. And he always made a point to especially help the homeless women.

Every city and country he visited, he would go to orphanages, hospitals, nursing homes etc. He would pay for everyone’s treatment and would continue to pay for their treatment for years afterward. He would also buy tons of presents for the kids at these orphanages and hospitals. All the money he made from tours, he also donated. While on tour, actually, he decided to build a burn ward for burn victims bc he himself was one.

For his last tour, what would’ve been This Is It, all he talked about was building a children’s hospital…. There are audio recordings of it that his murderer recorded very soon before he killed Michael. In these recordings, MJ is heavily drugged, but even while being drugged against his will, he was still talking about what he could do for others.

“When people leave this show, when people leave my show, I want them to say ‘I’ve never seen nothing like this in my life! Go! Go! I’ve never seen nothing like this. Go! He’s the greatest entertainer in the world!’ I’m taking that money, a million children… children’s hospital. The biggest in the world. Michael Jackson’s children’s hospital. Gonna have a movie theater, game room. Children are depressed. The- in those hospitals. No movie theater, no game room. They’re sick because they’re depressed. Their mind is depressing them. I want to give them that. I care about them, them angels. God wants me to do it. God wants me to do it.”

He continues with “That will be remembered more than my performances. My performances will be up there helping my children and always be my dream. I love them. I love them because I didn’t have a childhood. I had no childhood, I feel their pain.” And “I feel their hurt, I can deal with it. ‘Heal the World.’ ‘We Are the World.’ ‘Will You Be There.’ ‘The Lost Children.’ These are the songs I’ve written because I hurt, you know, I hurt.”

It breaks my heart what they did to this man. He was the closest thing we’ll ever get to an Angel. And they killed him.

[mightyflamethrower]

Hamas terrorists, father and son, admit raping before murdering women on Oct. 7 - Daily Mail

The father described how he raped a crying woman at gunpoint, and the son described how his father murdered the woman "after we finished raping her." The father admitted to raping multiple women.

By JERUSALEM POST STAFFMAY 23, 2024 17:49Updated: MAY 25, 2024 10:27

 

 

 

Two Hamas terrorists, a father and son, confessed to raping innocent Israeli civilians before killing them on October 7, the Daily Mail reported Thursday.

Jamal Hussein Ahmad Radi, a 47-year-old Palestinian from Gaza, was described as shameless, and his 18-year-old son, Abdallah, was called evil in the report.

The report focused on a video in which the two terrorists described murdering civilians in their homes, kidnapping victims, and raping women before murdering them.

The report described how the two terrorists confessed to invading Israel and infiltrating Kibbutz Nir Oz, where “in each house where [they] found someone, [they] either killed them or kidnapped them.”

According to the son’s confession, however, his father did not provide the investigators with the entire truth. The son said his father had killed the woman after she was raped by multiple people, including himself, the report said.

“My father raped her, then I did, and then my cousin did, and then we left,” he was quoted as saying. “But my father killed the woman after we finished raping her.”

Another woman was raped by the two terrorists, as well as two more people who were raped by the father, the report said, saying he had confessed to having “raped another girl as well,” and that he “broke into five houses.”

Father and son are both in custody

According to the IDF, both the father and son are in custody in Israel and awaiting trial.

The testimonies arrived two months after a report concerning sexual-violence incidents on October 7 delivered by Pramila Patten, special representative of the UN secretary-general, the report said.

Patten’s report was based on interviews with multiple October 7 victims and survivors, as well as investigating the bodies of victims at different morgues.

“It was a catalog of the most extreme and inhumane forms of killing, torture, and other horrors,” the Daily Mail quoted Patten as saying.

Some women who were at the Supernova music festival on October 7 were also victims of Hamas’s use of sexual violence as a weapon, the report said.

The report ended with an IDF spokesperson being quoted as saying in a video: “Over the past months, we’ve seen countless evidence of the brutal violence used by Hamas on October 7, including harrowing acts of gender-based and sexual violence. These confessions further prove that any attempt to deny the horrors of October 7, and discredit the testimonies of witnesses, survivors, and freed hostages, is part of a campaign to delegitimize Israel and to promote the justification of terrorism.”

Wow....!!!! Such courage. (sarcasm) Gang raping a poor woman with her hands tied behind her back. You can't get any braver than that.

At this point anyone who supports the Hamas Terrorist has to admit they are as fascist as any SS trooper in 1941.

[localgenius]

The Romance of the Pear 

Sorry I’ve been mia for the last couple of months! I’ve just finished high school so that has been taking up most of my focus, but in the meantime I’ve been working on this! I don’t really know what it is tbh, but I’ve enjoyed writing it and I hope that you’ll enjoy reading it!

A story about Spencer being in love with the reader, and the reader being in love with Spencer 

tw: mentions of rape, murder, horrific actions towards women, swearing

Spencer Reid x fem!reader (13.2k) (the app might crash, so it can be an idea to read on a browser!)

The sky outside of the windows was painted a gloomy grey, raindrops falling and hitting the glass of the windows, making them the only noise in the otherwise quiet office.

Y/N was sitting at her desk, her hand fiddling idly with one of her pens as she read over one of the cases she was designated to counsel on. The knitted cardigan around her shoulder helped her to not feel the impending chill from the poor weather, and her feet had abandoned the heels and had found purchase under her body on her chair.

“Good morning sunshine,” a voice pulled her eyes away from the details of horrific killings of prostitutes in the case files.

“Morning Emily,” she smiled back, feeling her mood brighten just the slightest.

“Why are you in so early on a Monday?” Emily asked as she dropped her things down by her already cluttered desk, before she made her way over to take a seat on the edge of Y/N’s desk.

“Oh, I had to talk with Knightly down at sex crimes about this case,” she pointed down at the open case file, not protesting when Emily moved to lift it up to have a look. “And he’s going to Texas at nine, so I had to come in earlier.”

“He carves hearts into their chests?” Emily asked with disgust in her voice after she placed the file back down on the desk.

“Yeah,” Y/N dragged out the word, as she leaned forward to rest her face in her hands. “But not before he rapes and sexually mutilates them. Charming fella.”

“Sounds like a real prince charming,” Emily laughed before she moved to the kitchenette.

“Good morning Prentiss, Y/L/N,” a third voice entered the conversation as Hotch made his way through the glass double doors, rain droplets decking his coat, in a way that reminded Y/N of the way flower petals looked after a storm.

“Morning sir,” Y/N smiled at him and watched him close himself into his office for the day. 

“Why hearts though,” Emily said as she came back to reclaim her spot on the edge of the desk.

“I really don’t know,” Y/N grumbled while she leaned back in her chair, “there’s the obvious correlation with love, but the way he treats them screams anything but love and affection. So, my guess is that it has something to do with the view of prostitutes and sex. You know, maybe he believes that sex is a sin, and the only right way to have sex is in marriage, and these prostitutes just throw out their love every time they’re with a new john. But I’m honestly as lost as you are.”

“That’s a good theory,” Emily bounced back, “many people do call it ‘making love’, so if the unsub thinks that the prostitutes are just selling their bodies without a care about love, he might do it to symbolize the love that they could never have.”

“Right,” Y/N was quick to scribble it down on the page as a possible motive for the signature, “thanks Em.”

“Did you know that the shape of the symbolic heart as we know it today originated in the bottom corner of a manuscript called ‘The Romance of Alexander’ dated around 1340?” a voice spoke behind them, as it moved across the room.

“Good morning Spencer,” both Y/N and Emily said, Y/N’s eyes still locked on the file she was scribbling in. “And no, I didn’t know that” Y/N said when she was done writing, letting her eyes meet his across the divider between their desks, as Emily scurried back to her own desk to avoid being a part of the incoming info dump.

“Yeah, and the first illustration of the amorous heart was in 1250 in a picture called ‘The Romance of the Pear’, where a pear, eggplant or pinecone, there is some debate, is an allegory for the heart,” he continued as he dropped his satchel by his desk and sat in his chair before turning on his monitor.

“A pear?” Y/N asked softly, letting her fingers start to mess with the pen again.

“Hm,” Spencer continued, his honey eyes meeting hers. “In western culture the pear is also a symbol of female erotic.”

“Ooh,” Derek’s voice interrupted the quiet moment, breaking the sweet gaze between the two profilers. “Female erotic, my field of expertise.” 

“Jesus,” Y/N laughed and turned away from Spencer to face Derek as he draped his jacket over the back of his swirly chair. “Have you just dropped chivalry all together now, or what?” 

“What?” Derek asked, as Emily joined in Y/N’s laughter, “I’m just being honest. What are you and pretty boy doing speaking about female erotic at 8:30 on a Monday morning anyway?”

“I was just telling Y/N the symbolism of pears,” Spencer said, not removing his eyes from the monitor, where he was checking his emails against his will.

A smile tugged on Y/N’s lips when she remembered him coming back from being called to Hotch’s office and telling her that he was being forced to get an email account by the bureau. Both Y/N and Penelope had helped him set it up, and he had countless times sheepishly asked Y/N to help him write out a reply.

“Ah yes,” Derek teased as he took a seat in his chair, “symbolism of pears. Just a regular conversation topic on this gloomy Monday morning.”

“I don’t even want to know how on earth you got around to that topic,” Rossi added when he came walking past the clutter of desks.

“It was just-“ Y/N started to explain the obscure conversation topic as Rossi moved up the short flight of stairs.

“No! Don’t wanna hear it,” Rossi called back as he closed his office door.

The four agents shared a look of amusement as they all started on their designated work for the day, the raindrops still trailing down the planes of glass of the windows.

After an hour of silence, only occasionally being interrupted by an agent coming or going or a phone call, Y/N felt herself becoming more and more disheartened by the case on her desk. After having worked at the BAU for approximately a year now, she would have thought that she would have gotten used to the evil the team faced on a daily basis. But something about this guy, ruthlessly raping and killing innocent women, hit her a bit different than she had anticipated.

Letting her feet down from her chair she put them back in her shoes before walking over to the kitchenette to make herself a cup of tea as a comforting hug.

As she stood idly twirling the spoon around in the hot water while waiting for the sugar to dissolve, she heard the signature sound of heels thumping against the floor.

“Good morning my dear angel,” Penelope greeted cheerfully as she came in with her pink octopus mug. Penelope had seemingly decided to take it upon herself to be the sun on the gloomy day; her bright yellow dress making Y/N smile and momentarily forget the case that was patiently waiting for her back at her desk.

“Good morning Pen,” Y/N said and leaned against one of the cupboards as she watched Penelope make her daily green tea. “How was your weekend?”

“Oh, it was lovely,” she exclaimed as she poured hot water into the mug, “I babysat Henry which is always a blast, and then I went shopping and I found the cutest earrings in this small shop. I have to take you at some point!” Penelope said, letting her words come out a mile a minute, only making Y/N’s heart grow lighter. 

“I would love that Pen,” Y/N said as they started to make their way back to Y/N’s desk.

“Morning baby girl,” Derek said as he swirled his chair to look at the two girls coming back.

“Morning chocolate thunder,” Penelope said as she perched herself on the edge of his desk. “What did my wonderful Captain America replica do this weekend?” 

As the two of them lost themselves in their daily flirtations Y/N made her way back to her desk, only to find the dreaded file missing from its place. She looked around confused, before seeing the familiar pictures over on Spencer’s desk, where he was writing at lightning speed.

“Spence?” Y/N asked softly, but before she could continue, he closed the file and handed it back over to her. He simply gave her a quick, tight-lipped smile before he turned back to his own mountain of paperwork.

Slowly, not taking her eyes from the genius across from her, she opened the file, and saw how he had completed the file for her. His chicken scratches took over where her handwriting had stopped. The time pressure he had been under was clear in the simple short sentences he had scrawled down at the bottom.

Before she could exclaim her gratitude, a bimble came from Penelope’s cell phone and she let out a sad sigh before getting up from her seat on Derek’s desk.

“Duty calls avengers,” she said as she moved to Hotch’s office, while the others started to go to the briefing room. 

Before Y/N could get up, Spencer had already bounced up the flight of stairs and was quickly making his way to the briefing room.

-

“We have an icky case on our hands this time, my dear crime fighters,” Penelope said as she stood by the screen, remote ready in her hand. “Last night, a civilian found a leg wrapped in garbage bags when she took out the trash in central Indianapolis. The leg belonged to Louise Obsen, a 28 year old accountant. The remaining parts of her body were found wrapped in a similar way, dumped in various dumpsters around the block.”

The silence stretched across the briefing room as everyone took in the gruesome details of the murder.

“The dismemberment could be a forensic countermeasure,” Spencer said as he glanced over the file, “it’s easier to hide parts of the body than a whole body.”

“Do we know how the unsub dismembered the bodies?” Emily asked as she flipped through the pictures.

“Yes,” Penelope said as she swallowed harshly as she pressed a button on the remote. “The coroner says the limbs were removed with a standard saw, nothing special. But all of this happened postmortem, the COD was a gunshot to the back of the head.”

“Execution style,” JJ mumbled, “is this the only victim?”

“No,” Hotch said, eyes focused on the case file, “two weeks ago the Indianapolis PD found a young woman, Emma Day, dismembered and discarded in the same way. She was 29”

Penelope clicked on her remote, but she kept her eyes looking straight ahead. Y/N noticed the clear look of discomfort in her eyes, and silently reached down under the conference table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze of comfort.

“They certainly look alike,” Derek chimed in as he looked at the two women on the screen. “Pretty girls with black hair in their late twenties; they’re probably surrogates for the unsubs' real target.”

“What did Emma do for a living Pen?” Y/N asked, her hand still wrapped around Penelope’s.

“She worked as a caretaker at a residential facility, by all accounts she was very well liked there. Both of them were, in fact.” 

“Both low-risk victims,” Rossi pondered as he closed his file, “that means that he probably doesn’t appear as a threat.”

“Which makes him all the more dangerous,” Hotch said as he collected his files, “wheels up in 30.” 

- 

The plane ride was mostly silent after the team had gone over the case once more.

Y/N was sitting by the window, book laying open in her lap, but her mind was flying with the fluffy clouds outside of the window.

One of her hands was fiddling with the pendant of her necklace as she observed the way the ground was moving underneath the jet.

“Metamorphoses,” a gentle voice pulled her out from her reveries, and her eyes drifted away from the window to see Spencer take the seat across from her, holding a cup of strawberry tea out to her.

“Excuse me?” she asked softly, still a tad too lost in her own head to be able to catch up with him.

“Your book,” he said, gesturing to the book in her lap. “You’re reading Metamorphoses.”

“Oh yeah,” she laughed, moving to shut the book and rest it on the table in between them. “I uh,” she started as she straightened up in her seat, “I took a class in classics at university, and I found my notes a few weeks back, and I remembered how much I loved Ovid’s writing and his stories, so I went and bought it this weekend.”

“Which one is your favourite?” Spencer asked softly, taking a sip from his own mug, undoubtedly filled to the brim with a concussion of coffee and sugar.

“Do you promise you’re not going to judge me?” Y/N asked, as she teasingly raised her eyebrows as she also took a sip of her mug.

“I promise,” Spencer laughed incredulously, “I would never judge anyone who voluntarily reads Ovid.”

“Okay fair enough,” she said and let both of her hands wrap around the mug to get some heat into her hands. “It’s probably ‘Apollo and Daphne’, very unoriginal, I know.”

“No, no uh-,” Spencer was quick to sit up straighter and lean on over the table while I cleared his throat, “that one’s really good. I love it too actually.”

“You do?” Y/N asked, unconsciously leaning in closer to Spencer.

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly, “I find that there’s something beautiful in loving someone who will never love you back.”

“Beautiful?”

“Yeah, you see, it’s kind of like the oldest story known to man. Unrequited love. And I don’t know, I guess I just know the feeling. To love something that’s so far out of my reach,” he explained softly, letting his eyes fall to the coffee in his mug.

“Spencer,” Y/N mumbled softly, letting her hand creep closer to where he was gripping his mug tightly. “Nothing will ever-“

But before she could finish her sentence Emily popped up and interrupted the two of them.

“We’re landing in ten, Y/N you’re with me, we’re going to go to the different dumpsites.”

“Yeah, okay,” Y/N said breathlessly, as she watched Spencer quickly regain his posture and leaned back in his seat as he fastened his seatbelt, pretending that he hadn’t just shared something that would now be permanently engraved into Y/N’s brain.

-

“What were you and Reid talking about on the jet?”

The question pulled Y/N out of her thoughts as she was reading over the case fil once more before they arrived at the first dumpsite.

“Huh?”

Emily turned her head to quickly glance at the younger agent next to her, her sunglasses covering her mischievous eyes.

“On the jet,” she further went on, “you both looked like you were seconds away from imploding from feelings.”

“Oh,” Y/N laughed awkwardly, straightening up her back, trying to square up a bit unconsciously. “We were just talking about this book I’m reading. He just gave an interesting input on one of my favourite stories.”

“Really,” Emily teased, carefully driving into the parking space next to the alley. 

“Yeah, just talking about books,” Y/N said as she jumped out of the SUV, shutting the heavy door behind her.

The gloomy weather had thankfully stayed behind in D.C., leaving the team to soak up the lovely spring sun that shined overhead in them in Indianapolis.

“What was that about unrequited love then?” Emily continued to press on as they walked over to the group of policemen standing by the dumpsters.

“It’s the theme of the story,” Y/N grumbled before swiftly putting on a smile as a young man headed towards them.

“You must be with the BAU,” the man started as he held out his hand for the two of them to shake. 

“Yes, agents Prentiss and Y/L/N,” Emily said as she shook his hand, “Are you the lead detective on the case?”

“Yes, detective Michaels,” he said as he lifted the yellow police tape for the three of them to step under.

“Nice to meet you,” Y/N said softly smiling at him, while Emily softly laughed and shook her head to herself at the young agent when she saw Michaels already developing what the team had dubbed ‘Y/N eyes’.

One of the things that the team noticed when Y/N Y/L/N had joined the team was her extreme kindness. It challenged even Penelope’s something that they hadn’t thought was possible. When they all first had been introduced to each other Y/N had made sure to look at each individual team member like they were the sun, her attention focused solely on the profiler in question. On every case the team had worked Emily hadn’t once experienced Y/N kindly greet the detectives working on the case, and often gave them her sweet smile that made everyone melt in their spot – often resulting in them giving her ‘Y/N eyes’ the rest of the case.

Her kindness had especially seemed to do a trick on the resident genius of the BAU; a fact abundantly clear for all of the team members except for the two of them. While the remainder of the team never was rude or unkind to him, they never seemed to engage with him the same way she did. There was a willingness to hear him ramble on about the most obscure things, a gleam in both of their eyes when they would talk about their favourite books in hushed voices on the jet when they thought everyone else was asleep.

“How long had the leg been out here before it was found?” Emily asked, breaking the detective out of his gaze locked on Y/N.

“Uh,” he said as he started to fumble with the notepad as Emily and Y/N shared a quick smile as they survived the dumpsters littering the area. “The coroner says about 24 hours.”

“So he dumped it in the evening the previous day,” Y/N said as she glanced around the alley. “How many buildings have access to the alley?”

“Three, these two facing this street,” the detective said as he pointed to the street Emily and Y/N had come from, “and then the other one facing that one,” he said as he pointed down the alley to the street at the other end.

“There’s a good chance that he owns a van,” Y/N said as she moved her sunglasses to the top of her head as they got deeper into the alley where her vision wasn’t obscured by the sunlight. “He could back in, get out, take the limbs out from the back and discard them quickly before being on the move again. It would just look like a guy throwing out trash for anyone passing by at that hour.”

“You’re right,” Emily said as she walked back over to Michaels and Y/N. “He discards them like trash, no signs of remorse of any kind.”

“What does that mean?” Michaels asked as they walked out of the alley and on their way to the next dumpsite.

“That he hates women,” Emily and Y/N said in unison, as they continued their tread down the silent street.

-

“It would be a good idea to have your officers make a door to door on the surrounding buildings of the two dumpsites,” Y/N said as she and detective Michaels walked into the precinct. 

“Why?” He asked while holding the door open for her.

She shot him a small grateful smile as they made their way to the conference room the team had made their office for the coming time. “There’s a chance that some of the residents saw or heard something without knowing its importance, so just have them ask if they remember seeing or hearing anything on the evening of the 15th.”

“Will do agent,” he smiled back at her, and held the door to the conference room open for her as well. 

As they walked into the room, they saw the entire team sitting around it, all with their heads deep buried in their case files, or in Spencer’s case, a map, and a plethora of coffee cups covering the table. 

“What did you get from the dump sites?” JJ asked when she lifted her head to take a generous sip of her coffee. 

At the sound of JJ speaking the entire team turned their heads to see who had joined them in their small room.

Y/N smiled and moved to take a seat in the chair between Rossi and Spencer. “We think he might own a van; the alleys are big enough for a van to back in there and block the view from the street. Emily stayed back to interview a woman that said she remembered a loud noise that evening.”

“That’s good,” Hotch said without lifting his eyes from the case file. “He might work as a carpenter, if he has a van and that his preferred method of dismemberment is with a saw.”

“But wouldn’t that still be a huge number?” Morgan asked as he sat back in his chair while twirling a pen between his fingers. “In a city like Indianapolis the number of carpenters must be quite significant.”

“You’re right,” Rossi mumbled before pulling his phone out, before pressing the familiar buttons.

“The oracle of Quantico at your service sir,” the chipper voice of Penelope blasted through the speakers of the phone, making everyone around the table break out a small smile.

“Garcia, how many carpenters are there in the hunting zone of the unsub?” Rossi asked.

“Uh, quite a bit sir,” Penelope said as she typed her fingers off on her end. “Do you have any other parameters so I can narrow this down?”

“Based on victimology he would be in his late twenties to early thirties, white and would own a dark van.”

“I will do my best sir,” she said as adieu, before she hung up.

The team went back to looking over the case files after Hotch directed Michaels to start door-to-door, silence taking over the room as they all looked over the clues hidden in the papers.

“Guys,” Emily said when she hurried into the room half an hour later, “I talked to a woman who said that she heard a noise the night the unsub dumped Louise’s leg, and she said she saw a dark van just like Y/N theorized, and she said there was a logo on it. So, I called Garcia and she tracked down the carpenter firm to be ‘Better Builders’.”

“Okay,” Hotch said, going up the board before looking over the collected evidence. “Reid, Y/L/N could you go talk to the owner of the firm? Go see if there are any employees that match the profile.”

“Yes sir,” they both said in unison as they started getting up from their chairs. 

Spencer held the door open for Y/N when they walked out of the room, shy smiles exchanged between them as they moved through the precinct. The sun was still shining bright when the two of them exited the station, silence stretching thin between them, leaving them trapped in the space of their own minds.

“Have you gotten something from the geographic profile?” Y/N asked to break the silence between them as Spencer turned on the car and started to drive away from the station.

“Huh?” Spencer asked, seemingly too lost in his own head to having registered that he had been asked a question.

“The geographical profile?” she asked softly, letting her eyes trail over his profile.

“Right,” he exclaimed softly, “and no, not really. Just uh, that he probably lives or works in the area between the two dumpsites, but unfortunately-”

“We won’t be able to be more specific until we have another victim,” Y/N finished for him, letting out a sigh before turning her gaze out of the windshield. 

“Yeah,” Spencer said softly, letting them drive in silence for a while.

Y/N sat with her head leaning against the headrest as she saw the city of Indianapolis pass them by, visions of mutilated women flying through her mind. She thought that after a year of working at the BAU she would have developed a thicker skin, just like the rest of the team. But she was still feeling nauseous every time she saw women being brutally mutilated and felt her heart break and tears press on when a child fell victim to the horrible desires of adults.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked softly when he noticed how silent she had become on the drive. 

“Yeah,” she mumbled back softly, mind still sifting through the awful images haunting her mind. “Just thinking about what kind of monster could do this to innocent women.”

“That’s the question that keeps us in business,” Spencer joked light-heartedly, trying to get rid of the tension inside of the SUV.

“You’re right,” she joked along, “as always.” She felt the corners of her lips twist upwards when he barked out a laugh. “And I guess,” she continued softly, “I’m just wondering when I will stop being so soft.”

“What do you mean?” he asked genuinely when they stopped at a red light, cars piling behind them.

“It’s just,” she tried to gather her thoughts to the best of her abilities, feeling the pressure of his gaze on the side of her face. “I’ve been with this team for almost a year, and I still feel sick on cases like this. I still sometimes cry in the bathroom,” she laughed, hoping to reduce the melancholy air in the car. “I wonder if I’ll ever develop thicker skin like the rest of you guys.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment too long for her liking, before Spencer cleared his throat.

“Y/N,” he started softly, gently starting to step on the gas again, “you don’t have to develop thicker skin. You don’t have to do anything. Your gentleness and kindness are great virtues, that makes you who you are. Your empathy and love for everyone around you makes you the wonderful person that you are, and I think that they make you such a good profiler,” he explained, never letting his eyes stray away from the road. “I think sometimes the rest of us become immune to the monstrosities that we see, but you, and Penelope,” he interjected quickly, making a burst out a small laugh while her eyes glazed over with tears, “reminds us what it’s like to be human. To just want to make the world beautiful for everyone else.”

She kept her eyes fixed on him as he spoke. His gentle eyes still fixated on the road before them, his hair curling delicately around his ears. His lips had formed a kind smile as he spoke, and his hands were gripping tightly on the steering wheel as he navigated through the foreign city.

“That’s very nice of you Spence,” she whispered softly, “thank you.”

“There’s no shame in being soft,” he continued while he drove around to find a parking spot. “It’s a gentle reminder that you’re human, that we’re all human. And I’m very happy that you are the way you are, and I wouldn’t want you to change yourself for anything.”

He parked the car and the two agents just sat in the car for a moment longer. Each one basking in the softness of the love filled moment, each pair cheeks flushed red and fingers tingling with amorous sparks.

“Can I hug you?” Y/N asked gently, breaking the delicate silence.

“Uh,” Spencer cleared his throat before nodding his head, “yeah, yeah you can.”

She slowly undid her seatbelt before cautiously moving over the centre console and let her arms wrap around his shoulders.

She felt his arms slowly but surely slither their way around her waist, before he let his head fall and rest in the crook of her neck. His hazel curls were tickling her soft cheek, emitting a small giggle from her from the joyous sensation. He started to giggle softly along with her, their laughs dancing together in the vast space of the SUV.

“Thank you for finishing my consultation,” she whispered into the fabric of his cardigan, letting the scratchiness bring her comfort. She felt him scrunch up the fabric of her cardigan, before he nodded against her shoulder.

“Of course,” he mumbled before starting to release her from his grip, “any time.”

“We should go out there,” she said when they had pulled away, dopey smiles painting both of their faces. “And find that monster.”

“Yeah,” he said and opened his side door, “let’s get him.”

-

“It turned out that there weren’t any carpenters working for ‘Better Builders’ that matched the preliminary profile, yet the owner of the firm could confirm that one of their vans had been stolen about two weeks prior to the first murder,” Spencer said as he and Y/N walked into the room where Hotch and Morgan was sitting. 

“Did they report it?” asked Morgan with his hands resting on the back of his head as he leaned back in his chair. 

“Yeah,” Y/N said, as she took a seat on one of the swirly chairs, “I asked Michaels if he could pull up the report to see if there are any leads.”

“Good,” Hotch said before the sound of his ringtone cut the conversation short, “what do you have Garcia.” 

“Sir,” she started, the sound of her clicking on the keyboard clear through the mic, “I found something funky regarding the two victims. So at first I couldn’t find any connection between Louise and Emma, but then I did some sleuthing and I found out that in the days leading up to their deaths day had both gone on a date. Not so weird you probably say, I say it’s weird when the date is with the same person, and from the looks of it they both met him on a dating app.”

Silence took over the room as the four team members processed the information. 

“Can you find out who the prince charming is, baby girl?” Derek asked as he leaned on closer to the phone. 

“Oh, I’m already ten steps ahead of you sugar, and the prince charming is Sheldon Green, but here’s the kicker. It’s not Sheldon Green.” 

The room was once again silent, the puzzle pieces laying spread all around them, refusing to be put together. The silence was broken when an officer came in and handed Spencer the case file on the stolen van. 

“What do you mean Pen,” Y/N asked, confusion clear in her voice. 

“I’ll tell you what I mean sweetums,” Penelope continued, the tapping stopping on her end of the call, “I did my thing and pulled up the profile from Louise’s phone and quickly matched the person on the profile to Mr. Green, but the actual Mr. Green has a very legit alibi for both times because the first time he was at his boyfriend’s parent’s house for family dinner and the second time he was at a work conference two towns over.” 

“So someone has used Green’s identity to lure the victims onto a date?” Y/N asked, still confused.

“It would appear so. I have successfully hacked into the account, and I have tried to track down the phone the creep has used but have come up blank. He is using some weird firewall, incognito thing that I have trouble working my way around it but trust me I’m trying.”

“Okay,” Hotch mumbled, deep lost within his own head. “Can you see if he’s arranged any upcoming dates on the app?”

“I can’t see any based on the messages he has on this app, but sir he could be on a lot, there’s so many dating apps and websites out there, and I have no way of knowing if he uses Sheldon Green as an identity on those as well, or if he uses another one,” she said already back to tapping away. “And by the way, all the women he has matched with look very similar to both Louise and Emma, so he definitely has a type. They were just the unlucky ones,” she said with sadness seeping clearly through the speaker

“Keep taps on the Sheldon Green profile and let us know if he starts to talk to anyone on there.”

“Aye aye captain,” she said before hanging up, leaving the room in silence once more.

“Fucking creep,” Y/N mumbled before standing up and abruptly leaving the room, an uncomfortable chill running down her back. The precinct was buzzing with phone calls and voices trying to talk over each other. Y/N was quick to move in and out through the clutter of desks and officers milling around, before she finally got outside.

The sun had set, in its place the moon was shining bright over head of her, a few stars visible from the bright lights of the big city. There were cars zooming by; fathers desperate to make it home and kiss their babies goodnight, mothers tired from an evening of soccer matches, husbands buzzing with flowers in the front seat and wives crying searching for refuge at their friends’ houses.

All so blissfully unaware of the monsters hiding out in the night. A blessing she didn’t have anymore.

She let her back rest against the cinderblock wall behind her and let her eyes drift shut for just a moment, letting her pretend she wasn’t in the midst of hunting down a monster. Pretending that she was 19 again, somewhere, still like the rest. Still so wonderfully naïve.

“You okay?” a voice pulled her from her silent reveries, and she quickly opened her eyes to see JJ, Rossi and Emily before her, all three of them with concern in their eyes. 

“Oh yeah,” she brushed their concern off with a swift, dismissive wave of her hand. “Just tired.”

“Well,” Rossi started, moving forward to get a good grip on one of her shoulders, “it’s been a long day, hopefully we can all head back to the hotel soon.”

“That would be great,” Emily said as she and Rossi opened the door to the station, leaving Y/N and JJ out in the open air.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” JJ asked, leaning against the wall as well, hands folded together in front of her. 

Y/N let out a deep sigh before letting her eyes fall shut again. “Penelope discovered that he uses a guy’s identity to get them to go on dates with him via dating apps,” she started to explain. “And she has no way of knowing if he uses the same identity on other dating sites, so we basically don’t have any way of getting to him.”

“But we will,” JJ encouraged softly, her hand rubbing up and down Y/N’s shoulder softly, “just like we always do.”

“You’re right,” Y/N smiled gratefully, before quickly taking her phone out of her pocket and checking the time. “If you hurry, I bet you have enough time to call Henry and Will and read a bedtime story.”

They profilers shared a small laugh before JJ took her leave and moved inside, already pulling Will’s number up on her phone.

She let herself close her eyes for the third time, feeling how exhaustion was slowly making its home in all of her limbs.

“I brought you some tea,” a voice said gently, as if careful to not startle her too much. 

She peeked one of her eyes open to see Spencer standing bashfully by her side, a paper cup filled with tea in one hand, and his worn, wool blazer in the other.

“They don’t have strawberry tea, so it’s just earl grey,” he said carefully as he carefully handed it over to her, making sure she didn’t spill any in the transfer.

“Thank you, Spence,” Y/N smiled sweetly, before giving the beverage a gentle blow before taking a sip. 

“And uh,” he continued, looking down at his converse that seemed to try to bury themselves in the cement beneath them, “Emily said it was pretty chilly so I thought you might like a coat, and I know that you’ve said that yours isn’t very practical for chilly nights so I thought you might like mine, but it’s totally fine if you don’t, I just didn’t want you to be cold-“ he said, his mouth running 100 miles a minute, flustered cheeks blazing under the pale moonlight. 

“Spencer,” she said, laying a careful hand on his forearm, “that’s very sweet of you. I would love to borrow your jacket if that’s okay with you.” 

“Of course,” he was quick to exchange the jacket in his hand for the cup in hers so that she could put on the coat. He handed her back the cup silently, letting himself loose himself in the vision of her standing under a combination of streetlight and the gentle glow of the moon, all the while wearing his coat.

“Did you get anything from the police report?” she asked gently before moving to sit on the curb, he knees up to her chest and the cup resting on one of her kneecaps.

Spencer followed, looking apprehensively at the curb before joining her by her side, with his knees in the same position but his arms wrapped around his legs and his hands clapped together in front of his shins.

“There was a witness that had said that they saw a man lurking around the street for about an hour or so in the time frame of when the van was stolen,” he explained looking at her as she took sips of the tea while looking at the passing cars. “They gave a description, so we have turned that over to Garcia.”

“That’s good,” Y/N mumbled before taking another swig of her tea.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, scooting an inch closer to her on the dirty curb.

“Yeah,” she sighed, her eyes meeting his gentle ones, “this case is just hitting a bit close to home, I guess. No idea why though.”

“We all get those,” he said, letting his eyes rise up to look at the mighty moon.

“Thank you for bringing me a cup of tea Spence,” she mumbled, scooting an inch closer to him on the dirty curb.

“It helps you calm down,” he mumbled, eyes now no longer on the moon but rather at the shrinking space between their bodies.

“It does?” she asked, breath caught in her throat.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes flickering up to her face, “every time you drink tea you become calmer, and generally when you hold a warm cup, no matter the beverage, you pulse slows down.” 

“I didn’t know that,” she said, letting her eyes flicker over his face. 

Spencer just shrugged with a small smile before letting his eyes fly down to briefly take a glimpse at her lips before they went back to her eyes.

“Is that why you always bring me tea?” she inquired, letting her own eyes fly down to his lips, where his tongue is gently poking out.

“Yeah,” he laughed gently, subconsciously leaning into the heat that was radiating off of her.

She leaned into him as well, their noses barely brushing, their soft breaths mixing together, “that’s incredibly thoughtful.”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat before he dared to speak, “it’s what you do for the people you care about.”

They both leaned in closer, their noses now brushing up against one another, lips only a breath away from touching, “it’s what you do for the people you lo-“

His words were caught short from the sound of the door to the station bursting open, resulting in them pulling away from the moment in time they had created together. The team came bustling out, all of them looking mere minutes away from collapsing on the pavement from exhaustion.

“Y/L/N, Reid we’re done for the night, we all need to get some rest,” Hotch said when he noticed the two young agents sitting together on the curb.

“Oh,” they both said, hurrying to stand up and brush away any dirt from their time on the ground.

“I need to go grab my satch-“ Spencer started to say, already moving towards the door, but Derek was quick to lift up the worn satchel that he was carrying in his hand.

“Nope,” he said, turning Reid around and directing him to one of the SUVs as Emily linked her arm through Y/N’s and led her to the other one holding a bit further down.

“Nice coat,” Emily mumbled into Y/N’s ear, laughing quietly when the young agent’s ears started to turn red.

“Shut up,” Y/N said, hiding her smile behind the paper cup of lukewarm tea, as she watched Spencer pile into the black after Derek, a small smile shared between them, only for them to know about. 

-

Her boots were clicking against the floor of the station as she made the first stop of the day at the coffee station. A few officers and detectives were there at the early morning hour, and the team was already setting up in the conference room, bracing themselves for the day to come.

She poured four packs of sugar into a cup, quickly dozing it in the hot coffee stirring it as she started to walk through the room to get to the team.

The weight of a blazer was heavy on her arm and the heat from the coffee cup warmed her entire body in the early morning hour as she discreetly opened the door and moved to take a seat next to Spencer as Hotch was talking.

“We need to go over victimology again,” Hotch started, and the team started to list all of the facts of the two victims.

“Here,” Y/N whispered softly, sliding the paper cup over to Spencer.

He averted his eyes away from where Emily was talking about the unsub having had a relationship with a woman that bore a resemblance to the victims.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his eyes drifting over her still sleepy features.

She nodded down to the paper cup between them, steam flying up and dancing between them. “Don’t worry,” she smiled at him, still keeping her voice low, “I made sure to put loads of sugar in.” 

He smiled softly down at the cup, before looking up at her again with his lips pressed tightly together in a smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled back, finally letting the conversation between the rest of the team get her attention.

Unlike Y/N, Spencer’s attention was now nowhere near the conversation about who knows what. All he could focus on was the warmth radiating from the cup between his slender fingers and from the person sitting next to him.

He could still perfectly see her face and her sleepy morning smile as he stared down in the coffee. He could feel a smile pull at the corners of his lips as he went over the sweet interaction multiple times in his head.

An elbow to the ribs from his other side was what brought him out of his daydreams, and he lifted his head to see the entire team staring him down.

“What?” he asked, taking a sip of the steaming brew.

“Have you come further with the geo profile?” Hotch asked from where he stood by the bulletin board.

“No,” Spencer said, sitting up straighter in his chair, “I’m waiting for Garcia to look into the night where the van was stolen.”

Hotch made a sound of approval before he started to give out orders for the team. Y/N and Emily were to go join the officers in the door to door rounds along with the local officers, Morgan and Reid would go and take a look at the crime scenes and visit the morgue to see if they had missed anything and JJ, Rossi and Hotch would stay put and look through the details again.

Spencer caught the eyes of Derek over the table as they all started to move around, a teasing glint in the older agent’s eyes and a mischievous smile on his lips. 

Spencer furrowed his brows in question, which only deepened when Derek nodded to the coffee in Spencer’s hand. Derek simply shook his head and laughed silently to himself as he shared a quick glance with Emily, who was sitting on the other side of Spencer. She also simply just laughed and waited for Y/N to finish the conversation she was in the midst of with JJ.

Derek was quick to walk around the table, grab Spencer around the shoulders and direct him out of the stuffy conference room and out of the station.

“Now,” Derek said as they had made it halfway through the precinct, “is there a reason why Y/N brought you, and only you, a cup of coffee?”

“Uh,” Spencer fumbled over his words as he stopped in the midst of a step at Derek’s words. “What do you mean?” 

Derek simply laughed as he took a stance in front of Spencer, efficiently blocking Spencer’s only escape route. “Now don’t get me wrong, Y/N is a very sweet girl, but in the year that she’s been on the team, she has never brought a coffee for just me, if you know what I’m saying.”

“I don’t.”

“Of course not,” Derek just laughed again, and nodded his head to a thing over Spencer’s shoulder. When Spencer turned his head to look, he was met with the sight of Y/N that was still talking to JJ. “Did anything happen between the two of you last night?” Derek tried to reiterate his question when Spencer turned his eyes back to his friends after a moment off blatantly staring at Y/N.

“No,” Spencer said, brows deeply furrowed.

“Are you sure?” Derek continued, “there was nothing going on between the two of you when we went home last night? When you were sitting on the curb?”

“Oh, that,” Spencer said, a red flush covering his cheeks and ears at the fact that the rest of the team had witnessed the intimate moment that he had thought had been strictly between the two of them. 

“Yeah,” Derek laughed and clapped his hand down on Spencer’s shoulder as he started to guide the younger agent out of the doors.

“She was just feeling a bit out of it, so I brought her some tea,” Spencer started, his mind running faster than his mouth could compete with, “she calms down significantly when she drinks tea, or just generally has a warm beverage in her hands. Actually a study has shown-“ Spencer started to ramble on as they got out of the precinct, the early morning sun shining down on them.

But before he could distract Derek any further, a voice called out behind them, cutting Spencer short.

“Spence!” she called as she hurried out of the double doors, with Emily tailing behind her with a smirk on her face.

“Yeah?” Spencer said and both he and Derek turned towards the other two agents. 

“I uhm,” she started, slightly fumbling over her words, anxiously glancing from Reid to Morgan, who was also standing with a big smirk on his face. “I forgot to give this back to you yesterday.”

She reached her arm out between them, offering him the battered blazer. Spencer looked down at it for a minute before slowly taking it into his hand that wasn’t holding the coffee, images of her wearing it the prior evening flying through his mind. 

“Right,” Spencer said, nodding his head.

“And I just wanted to,” she trailed off, quickly looking at Derek before looking back at Spencer.

Derek seemed to get the hint, because he silently made his adieu and joined Emily, who was standing and waiting by the parked SUVs.

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday,” she said, her voice light and feathery in the spring morning. “You were very sweet, and it made me feel a lot better.” 

“Oh, it was no problem,” Spencer said, the blush returning to his face.

“Still,” she continues, taking a miniscule step towards him, “it meant a lot to me.”

“You’re my friend,” Spencer said softly, letting his eyes glide over her face, letting himself bask in the way the sun made her eyes gleam. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am,” she was quick to reply, sparing a quick look over to the two older agents that were watching them like hawks.

“I’m glad,” Spencer smiled down at her, tightening his grip on the blazer in his hands. 

The spring wind was ruffling his hair around, making locks fall into his eyes. Before he could let a hand run through his curls, an unfamiliar hand beat him to it. 

Her hand ran gently through his hair, making the curls fall back into the righteous place. She let the hand glide down to the side of his face, holding gently onto his soft cheek. Before he could fully grasp what was happening, she was throwing her arms around his shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. She pressed a quick kiss to the cheek she had previously been caressing, before she pulled away from his body, his arms still hanging rigidly by his sides.

“Thank you,” she whispered again, before hurrying over to Emily.

Spencer watched her walk away, eyes following her retreating form as she dragged Emily into one of the SUVs, flipping Derek the bird when he called out a comment after her that Spencer didn’t hear because of the ringing in his ears.

“Pretty boy,” Derek called out, a know-it-all look painted all over his face, as he watched the young agent standing baffled in the middle of the sidewalk. “Are you sure nothing happened?”

Spencer could still feel the ghost of her arms around his neck, could still feel the pressure of her body against his and the softness of her lips against his cheek. His ears, that were a colour of red that challenged roses, were ringing, and his eyes were firmly locked in the place she had previously been.

“Reid!” Derek called out again, a loud laugh on the verge of spilling from his lips.

“Huh?” Spencer was finally pulled out from his reveries, making him acutely aware of the fact that Derek and Emily, and potentially many others, had witnessed the small moment between the two of them.

“Nothing happened between the two of you huh?”

“Shut up,” Spencer mumbled as he quickly walked over to the car, hopelessly hoping for a silent car ride, his mind already drifting back to just a moment before.

- 

The room was cold. 

She could feel her colleagues’ eyes on her from behind the one-way mirror behind her as she leaned back in her chair.

Her heels were clicking on the floor as she tapped her foot as she kept a firm gaze on the man in front of her.

Emily was sitting beside her, flipping through a folder as she was repeating the rights to the person in front of the two of them.

“Do you understand?” she finished, and her eyes joined Y/N’s and looked at the man on the other side of the table.

The silence stretched across the room, the only sound being Y/N’s heels and Emily’s ruffling through the file. 

“Do you understand your rights?” Y/N repeated, brows furrowing as she stared down the man. 

He continued to stay silent, his gaze locked on where his hands were cuffed to the table. His dirty-blonde hair was a mess and the glasses on his face were slightly broken from the run-in he had had with Morgan.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Emily sighed and let the folder drop down onto the table surface. 

“So, Elliott, do you know Louise Obsen?” Y/N asked, her hands folding together in her lap. 

He continued to stay silent, eyes never drifting away from their safe spot as the two agents continued to stare him down. 

His baby blue button-down was wrinkled and the more Y/N continued to observe him the more she thought about how un-special he was. Nothing about him was noteworthy and she wouldn’t give him a second glance if he were to pass her in the street.

A murderer hiding in plain sight.

“What about Emma Day?” Emily took over and leaned across the table to get closer to him. She slid two pictures across the table to him; the faces of the two young, beautiful women staring back at him from where he cowered within himself.

“Nothing?” Y/N asked and stood up to get rid of the restlessness that was starting to sink into her bones and started to walk around the room slowly. 

“Never heard of them before,” he finally grumbled but his eyes remained downcast. 

Emily and Y/N’s eyes met from across the room, both pairs of eyebrows lifting in disbelief.

“Oh really?” Emily prodded.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, and Y/N moved to stand behind him and glanced over his shoulder at the two pictures.

“That’s a shame huh,” Y/N said with her arms crossed across her chest, “they’re two very beautiful women.”

“Oh yeah,” Emily agreed as she leaned back in her chair.

“Actually,” Y/N said as if the thought had just hit her, “they kind of look like you Em.”

“Yeah,” Emily laughed a bit, “they kind of do.”

They waited for Elliott to react. From where Y/N was standing she could see the tenseness in his shoulders. His leg was bouncing up and down with a rapid pace and she was sure she could see a small bead of sweat trail down his temple.

Y/N glanced up at the one-way mirror that was behind Emily and could almost feel Spencer’s eyes catching her from the other side.

“But it doesn’t really surprise me,” Y/N continued and moved from her place behind him to lean up against the chair that she had previously been sitting on, “that you don’t know them I mean.”

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly, taking the bait just like she had hoped.

“Oh, you know,” she sighed, lifting her head up to glance at the ceiling quickly before letting them fall back to the man in front of her. “Why would two young, beautiful women know you? You’re just an engineer at a random tech company.”

“You’re right Y/N,” Emily continued and looked up at her colleague.

“Like, would you pay him any mind Emily? If he came up to you in a bar or something?”

“No,” Emily laughed loudly and glanced at the man that was slowly starting to simmer in his own anger. 

“Not even entertain him for the fun of it?” Y/N continued, knowingly rubbing salt in the newly created wound.

“I have standards Y/N,” she played along, her eyes also locked on the man.

“That’s a shame,” Y/N said as she moved to sit down again, “I think you’re his type.” 

From across the table the two agents could see the way he was gritting his teeth together and how his hands were wringing together in anger. 

“I bet you would love nothing more than to take agent Prentiss home,” she continued slowly leaning across the table to get into his personal space. “Lure her with the promise of a good time.”

“And, when I would turn him down,” Emily started to participate and mirrored Y/N’s pose, “he would spend the rest of the night watching from afar.”

Elliott finally lifted his gaze and was met with two agents fake smiling at him from the other side of the table.

“He would wait until you were alone,” Y/N continued, making sure to maintain the eye contact that she’d finally established.

“But he wouldn’t have the guts to confront me,” Emily drawled on, fiddling with the many papers in the file. 

“So he would attack you from behind,” Y/N took over, “like a coward”

“And he would put me in a car,” Emily said as she pulled out a photo of the ‘Better Builders’ van, “one that wouldn’t be able to be connected to him, because despite being a coward, he isn’t stupid.”

“Then he would take you somewhere isolated,” the other agent mumbled, letting her hands run through her hair. “Like a cabin or something.”

“Something like this?” Emily asked and pulled out another photo, this one of an isolated cabin they had been able to connect with Elliott.

“Yeah, exactly,” Y/N laughed and pushed the picture towards him. “Do you recognize this place, Elliott?”

“No,” he grumbled, eyes refusing to look at the pictures in front of him.

“Are you sure?” Emily asked, “because that cabin belonged to your father, and from what we have been able to find, said cabin now belongs to you.”

He just shook his head as Emily talked, eyes burning holes in the table beneath his hands.

“So he would take you somewhere isolated,” Y/N tried to get the conversation back on the prior path, “somewhere no one would hear you scream.”

“And then he would play around, terrorising me for God knows how long,” any kind of playfulness or teasing had left Emily’s voice and a sadness and anger had taken their place.

“And then, to finish it off,” Y/N said, her voice low and sad, “he would shoot you in the back of the head.”

“But he knows a body is too difficult to get rid of and even though the cabin is isolated the body would be found if he were to just dump it,” Emily continued, hard eyes looking at the suspect. 

“So he would have to cut you up,” Y/N mumbled, “and discard the limbs and only hope that they won’t be found.”

Silence stretched across the room again. The two agents staring down the man before them. The man, who was shaking and whose face had become beat red.

“See Elliott,” Emily said, starting to collect the pictures that were laid out on the table before them, “that’s what we think you did to Louise Obsen and Emma Day.”

“And when we get a search warrant for your cabin, which is in the process, we will find something in there that confirms that you did this.” Y/N said moving to lean back in her chair. “A hair, a piece of a nail or a little drop of blood that confirms that you killed two innocent women.”

“And when that happens,” Emily continued, “you will get locked away for a long time. And trust me,” she paused and leaned in closer to him, “you won’t survive long in a federal prison.”

“But,” Y/N drawled out, “if you cooperate we could do something for you.”

He continued to stay quiet, eyes still not looking at them.

“Well,” Emily sighed and moved to stand up, Y/N following suit, “suit yourself.” 

The two agents moved to walk out of the interrogation room, before a voice stopped them. 

“I’ll tell you,” he said slowly, causing them to turn around and look back at him staring at the two of them. “But only you,” he stared at Emily with intent.

Y/N glanced at her co-worker and was met with a confident nod as she moved to take a seat once again. 

Y/N looked back at the pair one final time before leaving the room to watch from behind the glass. 

Once she stepped out into the hallway she was met with Rossi and Spencer shifting their gazes from the interrogation room to her as she closed the door behind her. 

“Good work kiddo,” Rossi said, walking away from the glass and clapping her gently on the shoulder before moving past her, probably to find Hotch and inform him of Elliot being willing to cooperate.

“Thank you, sir,” Y/N mumbled as she watched him walk back into the hectic precinct.

“You did really well,” Spencer said as she moved to stand beside him and watch Elliott talk with Emily.

“Thanks Spence,” Y/N said, looking up at him as he looked down at her at the same time.

They stood there for a while, just listening to the confession that was pouring out of Elliott. From where she stood beside him Y/N could feel the heat radiating from Spencer. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his dark purple tie matched the light purple shirt perfectly.

Y/N shifted her eyes back to the interrogation but could still feel his eyes on the side of her face. As they stood side by side Y/N could feel a soft motion of a finger slowly moving across the back of her hand.

As she glanced down, she saw Spencer’s pinkie moving slowly across the plain of the back of her hand; she could feel the heat slowly spread across her face.

She slowly manoeuvred her hand around so she could rub her finger against his as well, before a loud voice forced their hands apart.

“Y/L/N,” Derek called from behind them, walking across the precinct and the two other agents turned around to see him approach them. “Rossi said that you got him to cooperate.”

“Yeah,” Y/N coughed as she cleared her throat and moved to fold her arms across her chest to try to delete the prior moment from Derek’s mind.

“How’d you do it?” he said as he moved closer to the pair and stood between Y/N and Spencer as he spied into the room with a knowing grin on his face. 

“We just tried to get under his skin,” Y/N explained as she looked back into the interrogation room again and saw Emily scribbling down notes as Elliott spoke. “Showed him how much of a coward he is.”

Derek laughed and laid an arm around her shoulders and gave her arm an affectionate clap.

“Well, at least this one went pretty smoothly.”

Both Spencer and Y/N hummed their agreement, two pairs of cheeks burning from an erased moment in time.

-

“Garcia said that you were hungry,” Spencer said, making Y/N’s attention divert from the case file in front of her to the genius standing with a paper towel in his hand, “so I thought you would like this.”

He gently placed the paper towel on her desk, making sure that it didn’t land on one of the many files that were scattered on the desk. The paper unfolded and inside was a pear, cut up in four pieces, just waiting to be eaten.

All the while she gathered the pieces of fruit and tugged the paper towel closer to her, Spencer was standing, more like hovering over her, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. His hands were tangled together in front of his body, eyes following her every move as she started to munch on the cut-up fruit. 

“Thank you, Spence,” she said, half a piece of pear already in her mouth, “this is just what I needed.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said with a big smile on his face, before he gathered a case file from his desk and bounced up the stairs to Hotch’s office.

“He’s never brought me a pear,” a voice pulled Y/N’s attention away from the now closed door, a smile ever so present on her lips as she slowly chewed on the piece of fruit.

“What?” Y/N asked, confused, turning to see Derek and Emily sitting with shit eating grins on their faces.

“Pretty boy,” Derek elaborated gesturing to Hotch’s office, “in the many years I’ve known him, he has never brought me a sliced-up pear.”

“Me neither,” Emily said as she twirled around in her chair.

“Well,” Y/N started to say, very much confused at where the direction of this conversation was going, “maybe he doesn’t know that you guys like pears.”

“I don’t think that’s why,” Derek laughed, throwing the pen he had been playing with in his hand down on his desk.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked unconsciously, reaching for another piece hidden in the paper towel.

“What are we discussing?” Penelope broke into the conversation, a happy smile on her pink painted lips. 

“Nothing,” Y/N was quick to say as she turned her chair back to face her desk, in hopes of ending the conversation before it even began.

“Pretty Ricky had heard from you that dear Y/N was hungry, so he cut up a pear for her,” Derek said, and even with her back to them she could practically hear the smiles on all of their faces.

“I haven’t talked to Reid all day,” Penelope said, happiness practically radiating off of her by the news.

“You haven’t?” At this revelation Y/N was quick to turn her chair around, confusion clear on her face.

“No,” she dragged out the word, letting a giggle slip out at the end.

“Then why would he say that?” Y/N asked as she chewed on another piece, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Because,” Emily dragged out as she got up and moved to sit on Y/N’s desk, “he needs a middleman.”

“A middleman?” Y/N asked, even more confused.

“Someone to make it seem like he wasn’t noticing that you were hungry based on your behaviour,” Derek explained, sliding his chair closer to Y/N’s desk.

“He’s a profiler,” Y/N mumbled to the rest, “if my behaviour was showing that I was hungry, why would he be embarrassed to just give me something to eat. We’re friends.”

“Actually,” Penelope piped up, finally seeing it as her time to make an input into the conversation, “giving snacks to someone is something many consider a love language.”

Y/N choked on the last piece of pear in her throat and turned around to cough down into the paper towel that was still laying on her desk. Emily laughed as she clapped her between the shoulder blades.

“Guys!” she exclaimed once she had gotten everything under control again, “he just gave me a pear. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Emily sighed as she shrugged her shoulders up to her ears as she looked down at the younger, oblivious agent. “I remember a guy saying that once the pear was an allegory for the heart.”

Silence took its place between the four agents. Three of them with giant smiles on their faces as the fourth was simply staring out in space, trying to solve a puzzle that she didn’t even know existed. Her ears were ringing from the realisation, cheeks heating under the scrutiny from the three others as her mind slowly started to fill to the brim of all of her shared moments with Spencer. 

“You think he likes me?” she asked quietly, only daring to let her eyes fall on Penelope, whose face was almost splitting in half from the giant smile on her face. 

“Oh, I think ‘like’,” Penelope said as she brought her hands up and made citation quotes around the word, “is an understatement.”

“He said,” Y/N started, keeping her eyes locked with Penelope’s as she started to fiddle with her hands that were resting in her lap, “He said that he knows what it’s like to love something that’s out of reach.”

The group fell silent as they took in the revelation, the three of them waiting for Y/N to continue. “Do you think he was talking about me?”

“Duh!” Penelope practically yelled, which gained the attention of the agents dutifully working around the quartet. “That boy has been in love with you since you first joined the team. And I may not be a profiler,” she continued making her way over to stand next to the chair Y/N was sitting on, “but I think that his feelings are reciprocated.”

Before Y/N had the chance to say anything, the sound of a door slamming shut brought them all out of the small moment they had created between themselves. As she looked up to the landing, she saw Spencer walking down the stairs again. 

“What’s going on?” he asked curiously, letting his eyes flicker from Derek’s smirk, to Penelope’s sparkling eyes, to Emily’s suppressed grin and finally to Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Oh nothing,” Penelope was quick to say, “just talking about the upcoming weekend.”

“Oh,” Spencer said as he took a seat in his chair, and let the folder he had with him drop to the desk, “do you have any special plans Garcia?”

“Uh,” she sputtered, clearly not ready to talk herself out of her lie, “yes, I’m going to go antique shopping with Emily.”

“We are?” Emily was quick to but in, disdain clear in her voice from the mere thought of going antiquing.

“Yes! Remember we talked about it a while ago,” Penelope mumbled before dramatically gesturing to the watch hanging on the wall, “would you look at that, I have to go back to my office to do,” she dragged out the words, as the four profilers looked at her with amusement on their faces, “to do hacking things. Bye!”

And before they knew she had hurried out of their eyesight, her blonde hair bobbing up and down as she moved as fast as her heels allowed her to.

“Weird,” Spencer said, sharing a quick smile with Y/N before they all went back to their work. Or, three of them went back to their work. 

Y/N spend the rest of her afternoon sifting through every interaction she had ever had with the young doctor, from the moment they had met in this very bullpen, to the first time she had made him laugh over a joke, to the time she had successfully dragged him out to celebrate a successful case with the rest of the team. In the small year they had known each other they had created so many small moments together, so many fond memories that lived in her heart.

And at some point, in the small year, Spencer had managed to worm himself into a part of her heart that she herself didn’t even know existed. Sparks flew out of her finger tips every time they gently touched him. Her heart started to beat faster every time he would smile at her or she would hear his joyous laughter. She started to get lost in the depth of his warm eyes every time they made eye contact, drowning in a sea of honey that she refused to get saved from.

And, unknown to her, she had made herself a home in Spencer’s heart. Her gentle touch seemed to light a fire in him, making him burn to the bone every time her delicate fingers grazed his skin. His smile had become more frequent, and his laughter more boisterous ever since she had joined the team; her mere presence lightening up any gloomy day.

So, there they sat the rest of the sunny afternoon; a boy and a girl so oblivious about the love that flowed so effortlessly between them. She could still taste the lingering taste of the fruit, and she swore her heart fluttered in her chest every time. He could still see the joyful look she had given him when he had handed her the folded-up paper towel, and his heart sang every time it flowed through his mind.

And without either of them noticing, the sunny day ticked by minute for minute. The bullpen had started to empty out for the day, leaving them some of the few agents left.

She could still hear Derek and Emily typing away on their monitors and have occasional chit chat, and out of the corner of her eye she could still see Hotch and Rossi in their respective offices.

As she was finishing up one of her last files, she noticed how Spencer slowly started to pack up for the day.

After a year she had learned his routine for when he would start to head home. Firstly, he would turn off his computer, secondly, he would stack all of his files into a neat pile, ready for when he came in tomorrow, thirdly he would start to pack his bag, double checking he had everything, before finally rising from his chair, putting on his coat and saying goodbye to those who stayed longer than him.

He was in the midst of the fourth step, coat being ready to be put on when they made eye contact over the divider between their desks.

He slowed his actions, taking his time to adjust the lapels on his jacket and picking up his satchel. It was as if everything that had been left unsaid by the two exploded in that moment. All of the gentle touches and the burning fires. All of the loud laughter and the timid smiles. A year worth of love combined into just a five second glance.

“Have a good night,” she said softly, eyes firmly locked with his.

“You too,” he said as he slowly walked by her desk, “see you tomorrow.”

She smiled at him, feeling all of the air leave her lungs when he smiled back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow as well genius,” Morgan called after him loudly, making Spencer walk faster out of the bullpen, and even from where Y/N was sitting, she could see the tips of his ears turn red.

“Y/N,” Emily said firmly when Spencer was out of ear shot. 

“Emily,” Y/N said back, refusing to give the two cocky agents what they wanted from her. 

“Go after that boy,” she said, walking over and hovering over her with her hands on her hips.

“What?” Y/N asked, still looking down at the paperwork in front of her.

“Are you kidding me? I just saw the two of you practically declaring your love for each other with just one look! And for some reason, you refuse to accept the fact that you two are in love with each other,” she said, one of her hands coming down on the younger agent’s shoulder. “Look, okay, I’m no expert at love or anything, but what the two of you have is something special. And I get it, okay. Love is scary, and with our job we see how easily our loved ones can be torn away from us, so I get it more than anyone that it’s scary to succumb to it. But, and this is just my opinion, it would be foolish to let a love like the one the two of you have go to waste.”

After her monologue Emily made her way back over to her own desk, eyes locked with Morgan, desperate to get him to help him. But before he got the chance, Y/N spoke up timidly.

“If I don’t come back will you finish my paperwork?”

“Yes,” both Emily and Derek said without hesitation, smiles spreading wider and wider when they saw the girl hurrying to grab her back and coat before quickly walking out of the office. 

“Fucking finally,” Derek mumbled, letting his eyes follow the young agent out of the double glass doors.

Y/N stood by the elevator, repeatedly pressing the button in hopes of making the machine work any faster. When the doors finally opened, she was greeted by an out of breath Spencer, who looked like he had just run across the parking lot.

“Hi,” he mumbled softly, slowly stepping out of the box as she took a few steps back.

“Hi,” she said, “did you forget something?”

A moment of silence hung between them, both unsure of how to approach the inevitable conversation.

“I-“ he cleared his throat into his fist before continuing, “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling the burning stare of two pairs of eyes on her back.

“I,” he started, his hands hidden in his coat pockets and shoes shuffling around nervously on the floor, but she was quick to interrupt him before he could go on. 

“Emily just reminded me of something,” she said, her voice small but confident. “Someone once told me that the pear was an allegory for the heart.”

At her words Spencer’s eyes widened the slightest, and a pretty blush started to paint over his cheekbones.

“That someone would be correct,” his voice was low but clear, intending to keep the conversation strictly between them.

“And you gave me a pear,” she continued, her hands wringing together in front of her. “And someone would say that means that you, in some way, gave me your heart.” 

They both stared at each other, oblivious to the gathering that was happening in the bullpen behind them. Emily and Derek had now been joined by Penelope and JJ, all eyes set on the two of them, and even from their distance they could feel the tension between the two almost lovers.

“That’s one way to understand it,” he said, taking a miniscule step closer to her.

“Is it the right way?” she asked, mimicking him and tipping a millimetre closer.

“I think,” he started, letting his hands come up from his coat pockets and let them slowly intertwine with hers. “I think that I gave my heart to you a long time ago.” 

“Really?” she moved closer towards him, letting her fingertips spark at the feeling of his gentle touch.

“Yeah,” he nodded, curls falling into his gentle eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” she whispered, squeezing his hands before removing them from his when he nodded his head nervously. 

She let them slide up his arms before they found their place on his jaw, soft skin meeting her cold fingers. His arms found their purpose around her soft waist, giving him the opportunity to pull her in closer. She let her eyes roam his face for a second, before she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. His nose was cold against hers, his lips chapped from the colder weather, but none of it mattered. They stood no comparison to the way his hands were grasping at her waist, or the way she could feel a smile on his lips against hers.

They pulled apart slowly, both of their eyes still closed, both of them just existing in the moment they had created between them.

“I gave you my heart a long time ago too,” she whispered to him, letting her arms wrap around his neck and gave him a tight hug. “But I will be happy to give you a pear as well.” 

He laughed at her comment, before he pulled her into another kiss, letting himself taste the sweet taste of pear that lingered on her lips.

“Pears cannot ripen alone. So we ripened together” - Meridel Le Sueur 

[secret-rendezvous1d]

“i need a hug”

hello, hi!

i definitely don’t think this is a one-off thing anymore and this blog may be on the way to merging into a harry styles + matthew gray gubler blog so i’d like to think that that is a new exciting venture people will . i’m really enjoying writing about a new scene, a new character and a new life to plan out and write about. the stories don’t essentially follow each other so they can be read anyhow and in any way but i’d like to think they all follow the same storyline/timeline so they link in that way.

like, reblog and give me some feedback. it’s greatly appreciated and it helps me work out what you want to see and what you are after. 

thank you. enjoy.

-

“i need a hug” spencer reid x female reader (reader insert imagine) word count; 1.7k.

summary; eventually, the emotions of working a case gets to yn and she needs an escape after a briefing in the form of her boyfriend, spencer.

-

There are moments in YN’s job as a secondary communications liaison that she loves.

She got to work alongside a team of agents who were funny and smart and trusting and kept her safe in situations out in the field and they brightened her mood whenever she felt a little down in the dumps from a long day, especially a case that was vigorous and vicious in its attacks; she got to work with a woman, who was a mother to the sweetest little boy she’d ever graced and held and loved in her life, who shared the same emotions as her when they read through case file after case file and took in some of the most heart-wrenching information from an unsub’s killing; she got to work in an office with her boyfriend, sitting opposite him as he worked on his reports or involuntarily played a game of Chess with whoever walked passed and saw a potential move, sharing secret glances and meeting in the kitchenette for a cuddle before work and Hotch had them back to their desks in a rush.

She loved her job and she loved what she did in the field.

Knowing she was saving lives and saving a town from a sadistic killer, protecting people from another unsolicited attack on the vulnerable and the innocent, putting someone behind bars because they deserved it. Feeling the sense of euphoria washing over her every time she managed to catch a killer, hairs raising when they finally admitted to what they’d done for years without ever getting caught, ending someone’s narcissistic trait because they could no longer show the ego they’d been growing by thinking they were subtle enough to hide from their crimes. The looks on the faces of the known unsub, when she bashed out fact after fact that they’d worked out by not only fishing on his background but by the evidence and the profile they gave to themselves with how and who they killed, made her feel proud to catch them; they could no longer do what they long to achieve.

But there were some moments of her job that she hated.

Having to read about the brutal killings of women her age or women who were tortured before they died was enough to have her head reeling in all kinds of situations and possibilities of it still happening somewhere in the world because they’d yet to find another serial killer to arrest, because these women had no safety in their death and they were tortured long before the incessant torturing came to an end; having to read over and see crime-scene pictures of innocent children and teenagers who had died in the crossfire of a criminal’s poor psychological behaviour, where they never thought about the consequences, and never had an inch of remorse or sympathy running through their veins because they were never given the love and the compassion from a parent as they grew older; having to read such heartbreaking backstories on why someone had turned from the purest of children to such a evil person who forced a vendetta upon anyone that passed them or did them wrong and learning that broken families weren’t always so well worked out.

“You can show emotion on the job, you know? You don’t have to hide behind a coffee cup,” Spencer suggested, standing beside YN as she leaned against the kitchenette counter, a warm mug of steaming coffee in her hands and held to her lips as if she were taking a lengthy sip. Partly so the rim could cover her eyes, because she was sure tears would escape any given minute, and partly so she could keep her hands warm on the chilly day it was outside. He followed her as soon as she left the briefing room, a wave of concern swallowing him as he watched her rush down the stairs and disappear, a finger swiping her cheek that she assumed went ignored. “You don’t think I’ve seen any of the team shed a tear over something brutal?”

“Rule number one, Spence; no crying on the job. Hotch’s suggestion,” she hummed, looking in the direction of the briefing room and seeing everyone packing up their belongings from the table and carrying their own case files under their arms as they walked back to their desks to prep for whenever the wheels were due up on the jet, “it never gets any easier, no matter how many times I give those briefings and read the notes and see the photos.”

By it, he assumed, was coming into a room full of people who were waiting for what next dreadful thing had come their way and having to speak about a murder that she had to think about, in depth, in order to gain some understanding as to what direction she needed to take the briefing into, so she could explain exactly what they were expecting to do upon their arrival to the scene, reliving the killings in her head like it was something she saw with her own eyes. That, alone, was enough to drive someone off a job that they loved if it was something they had to speak about on a daily basis, thinking about death as soon as they stepped foot out of their front door in the morning.

“Kids, Spencer. I can just about cope with the cases on murdered prostitutes and the drug addicts and the sex workers but kids,” she sighed in diselief and looked at him with forlorn eyes and felt her bottom lip quiver behind the white ceramic resting against her mouth, “there are children going missing every day and there’s someone doing that to them. A grown adult. Someone walks the street with the purpose of taking children from their families like they could treat them any better.”

Spencer ignored all protocol of ‘romance in the workplace’ and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to his side and nuzzling his nose into her hairline, the baby hairs growing beneath her fringe tickling her nostrils but the smell of her shampoo made it all the much better; strawberry-scented and sweet and it smelt like home. Home was the smell of strawberry, the presence of his girlfriend and a bubble that only they were in. His palm resting on the curve of her shoulder, fingers rubbing up and down on the bare skin of her upper arm showing from the short-sleeved blouse she wore to work that day, lips pressed against her temple in a reassuring manner. He could feel the eyes of Prentiss and JJ watching them, no doubt cooing and guffawing over the sweet sight they rarely saw, but he chose to ignore them and instead let his cheeks flush a hot pink. Let them stare; he felt content and that’s all that mattered in the moment.

“Working a case and having a good outcome is great. To see that child when we solve the case, albeit seeing them beaten and dirty and naivety, it feels amazing to know they’re reunited with those who vow to keep them safe from that moment on and who never stopped looking for them, not an inch of hope given up,” YN sighed, tilting her head to the touch of his lips and closing her eyes, content with the bubble they’d blown around themselves in that moment, his eyes soft and scanning her features, “I don’t know how you throw yourself into it and not struggle with the aftermath or the before of it all.”

The silence lingered in the kitchenette and, even though there was a sense of being watched, neither of them cared. One day or another, Spencer knew there would be a specific case that tore his girlfriend to the ground and made her show her true feelings towards something she was expected to work on, a case that made her struggle to contain her emotions and that one day had come, much quicker than he expected but he knew it was . All he needed to do was reassure her that, no matter what happens, they’d do the best they can in situations that should have them panicked.

“I question that myself sometimes,” he admitted. Inhaling deeply, he got a proper scent of the coffee wafting from the cup still held into her hands, before he breathed out a sigh and felt a little weight lift from his shoulders. “You’ll be okay. You help us out more than you think you do in cases that mean a lot more to you.”

“Do I?”

“Of course,” he craned his body away from her so he could look down and give her the sweetest, warmest smile he could muster up, “I always feel so proud of you when you give us a huge lead over something we missed. Especially the leads that take us to the right place. They call me the genius but you,” he tapped her on the nose with his index finger and grinned, “you can be the genius better than me sometimes.”

She blushed and looked down at the milky contents of her coffee, the steam hitting her face and adding the heat of her face, a sheepish smile permanent on her lips that she tried to hide as she took a sip and swallowed the hot liquid and allowed it to burn her throat. Burning in a warming way rather than just to hurt herself.

“C’mon, wheels for the jet go up in thirty. I need to pack my desk up and you need to grab your go-bag,” he reminded her, pulling away from her and removing his arm from around her shoulders, taking a step towards the doorway and turning his back to her, “try not to let the briefing bother you until we touch ground. We’re not there yet so we can’t base any confirmations for anything on anything.”

He could hear her chug the rest of the coffee from her mug, shaking his head in disbelief because now she was bound to be bouncing off the walls in a tight-spaced jet for over an hour, making a mental note to keep her off the coffee on the plane and to have her drinking water. His hand touched the door handle and, as he pushed his weight down to open the door, she spoke up and gathered his attention.

“I need a hug,” she said before he left the room, Spencer spinning around on his heels to look at her, a coffee-stained mustache clinging to her upper lip that her tongue peeked out to collect and a bright spark behind her eyes, “before we get plunged into work and we can’t show romance or anything, I just- I need a hug.”

[kazz-brekker]

arcane

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most)

Jinx, because one of my favorite character tropes is Nerds Behaving Badly and she fits into that perfectly. I also just think that the show did an excellent job with the tragic progression of her character from an innocent girl to a traumatized murderer.

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped)

This is mostly because I want him to be happy and not suffering, but Viktor. I think he deserves only good things, actually, and I would like to give him a hug.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave)

Ambassador Medarda–she's only in like 3 episodes of the show but I find her relationship with Mel SO interesting and I hope we see more of her in season 2. I think more middle-aged women should advocate for murder sometimes.

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week)

I wouldn't necessarily say that Ekko is obscure because he's in the 3rd act more, but I thought he was interesting character in the 1st act even though he didn't have much screen time and was really hoping he'd turn up again, so I was very happy when he did. The whole time they were showing what characters were like after the time skip I was like "what happened to Ekko???"

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave)

I know that Silco is an awful person and also a terrible parent but I think he's a fascinating character because they did such a good job of making it clear what drives him and why he believes what he does. Also I think about the line "Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?" on practically a daily basis.

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason)

Jayce, mostly because I think it would be funny. I spent most of the council meeting where he was trying to defend his research being amused because I wanted to know how he would get out of his punishment.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell)

This going to be mean but Heimerdinger because I'm still mad at him for that part where he was willing to let Viktor die instead of doing research into hextech that might save his life.

[totally-not-deacon]

Fallout OCs as a Companion

Saw that @megatontiddies had filled this ask meme out in full, then remembered that I did as well! Hell, I’m still adding to it and honestly, it makes me really wanna turn Asher into a proper companion mod some day.

Under the cut-off, cause it’s loooong.

what perk would they give the player?

Anatomy Lessons: Through years of medical practice, Asher has learned the weakest points of the human body and knows both how to treat them as well as how to cause maximum damage, granting you 30% extra limb damage to enemies.

how do you recruit them? are there multiple methods? 

Asher is in desperate need for medical supplies to keep up with demand in Goodneighbor. Donating either 10 stimpaks, 5 Rad-X, 5 Rad-Away, or 3 Addictol will allow you to ask them to come with you. Initially they will refuse, saying people need them there, but an easy speech check will convince them that they’ve taught enough people the basics to handle themselves for a while. It doesn’t hurt that they’ve been itching for the open road for months now. Goodneighbor doesn’t get much in the way of fresh air.

what raises and lowers their affinity?

Raises: Generous and peaceful dialogue options, boarding a vertibird, helping the Railroad, hacking

Lowers: Mean and violent dialogue options, addiction, theft, asking for more caps, joining/helping the Brotherhood or the Institute

how do they react to certain things? what do they say?

Entering combat:

(resigned) “Here we go again.”

“So no talking about our problems? So much for Therapy Thursdays.”

(sarcastic) “Violence, just what the doctor ordered.”

Lockpicking: 

"Huh, you've got some steady hands."

"I'd ask for a try, but I'd probably just jam the lock."

Stepping on a landmine:

“Ah jeez! How are you still standing?”

“Usually we try to avoid those. Hold still, let me get my kit.”

Jumping from a high place:

"If you thought that was a good idea, you need more than just a physical exam."

Taking radiation damage:

“Uh, I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be able to taste static. Let’s get indoors.”

“Your complexion’s absolutely glowing! And not in a good way.”

“I like my hair attached to my head, thank you very much. It’s time to go.”

Seeing the Prydwen arrive:

“You know, I thought coming here meant I wouldn’t have to deal with those assholes. Just my luck, I guess.”

Boarding a vertibird:

“I’ve always wanted to ride one of these!”

“Man, this would have made my trip so much faster.”

“Don’t look down!”

Cannibalism:

“Oh. Oh no. That is… yikes.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got some Cram in my pack…”

“So there’s this interesting disease I read about once called Kuru. Let me know if you start shaking.”

Junk:

"Just so you know, I'm a doctor, not a chiropractor."

"Are you up to date on your tetanus vaccinations?"

"Where I come from, they call that prospecting. Me? I call it hoarding."

Killing/Murder an innocent:

"Who the hell do you think you are? What makes you think you have the right to do something like that? No, you know what? I'm out of here. I'm not going to be a part of this." - this makes them immediately leave.

do they periodically give the player items? what kind of items?

Occasional Rad-X and Rad-Away. Don't need you getting sick on them and making their job harder.

would they be able to do specialized task? (eg. repairs, hacking)

Hacking both owned and unowned terminals up to Expert level

would they be romancable?

Yes, provided their personal quest has been completed.

    Lover’s embrace quotes:

    “Well, that’s one way to get our daily exercise.”

    “But the bed is so warm…”

    “(yawn) I’ll get the coffee going.”

    “Mornin’ sleepyhead.”

do they have a unique outfit or weapon?

A Followers Lab Coat – unique to the Commonwealth

what would be their personal quest, if they have one?

Attachment Theory: Asher’s brother Dusty died at the hands of the Legion in 2281, on Asher’s operating table no less. They’ve never gotten over the loss, and it’s also left them with utter contempt for slavers or any group that acts in a similar manner. Recently, Asher has heard rumors of a group abducting and selling synths into slavery, and wants your help investigating what’s happening. The two of you hunt for clues, and eventually discover it’s the Gunners that are responsible. You find that they’re holding the synths in the Gunner’s Plaza for transport. Getting in, destroying the Gunners inside, rescuing the synths, and getting back out alive won’t be easy. In the end, Asher is happy with the good the two of you have done. It won’t bring their brother back, but they know they can make a difference to others in need.

what are their opinions on certain factions? (eg. brotherhood, NCR)

Railroad: Very high, is actually a member, but will only reveal this if the player is as well.

Brotherhood: Heavily disliked for how they treat non-humans as well as anyone they deem beneath them

Minutemen: Liked, thinks their goal is noble and likes seeing settlements helped

Institute: Hated, for their use of synths as slaves to the way the Commonwealth has been terrorized by them. Laments such poor uses for such high tech that could save lives.

NCR: Not a fan, due to how they force communities to join them against their will, how they treated the Followers, and that they somewhat blame them for their brother’s death.

Legion: Deep seated hatred. From slavery, conquest, treatment of women, there’s absolutely nothing they see redeemable about them. Also the ones to murder their brother, so it’s also personal.

general voice lines? (in reaction to companion wheel selections)

Your thoughts?

“I don’t know how you people do it. The cold, the mud. Snow! Who’s idea was it to settle in a place like this?”

“All this walking. Damn, my feet hurt, and for me to say that? Let’s just say I’ve logged my cardio for the day.”

“Next time you see Deacon, please tell him to stop calling me Doc-In-The-Box. I don’t even know what that means!”

“What I wouldn’t do for a Sunset Sarsaparilla right now. Ah, I’m making myself homesick.”

“I’d take a Mojave sunburn over all this rain. I feel like I’m going to mildew.”

“Is it just me or are there a lot fewer books here in the Commonwealth than out west?”

where would you find them in the world?

Goodneighbor, the bottom floor of the State House where one room has been converted into a small clinic.

which game would they be from?

Fallout 4, though they were born in The Hub and were in the Mojave during Fallout New Vegas

miscellaneous facts?

They have terrible eyesight and always have spare eyeglasses in their inventory

Railroad code name is Fixer, unless the player has picked that. Then they’ll be referred to as Wanderer

Their plasma rifle was a going away gift from a certain blond doctor back at the Old Mormon Fort

ABSOLUTELY had a one sided crush on said doctor as well.

[nymphigeon]

From me, to you || 01

♤ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

♤ Genre: fluff, angst, romance, hybrid au, hybrid!Taehyung, detective!reader

♤ Words: 2.1k

♤ Rating: PG-13

♤ Warnings (for this chapter): swearing, crime, a sex club, mentions of murder, blood, mentions of hybrid abuse, mentions of drugs, mentions of the mafia.

Synopsis: A story in which he has never known love, so you'll give it to him.

Series masterlist

01 02

The weather has been terrible lately. The summer heat has been replaced by cold days full of rain and wind. The sky is constantly grey with now and then a flash of light caused by the thunderbolt that decided to say hi. Leaves have turned brown, dying as the trees don’t have the resources to take care of them anymore.

The flock of people on the streets has all but disappeared, giving shops an opportunity to adjust their opening times. Animals feel the need to hide away more and leave to their homes underground or high up. Some even completely move to places where the sun shines brighter. Of course, because where the sun shines there is warmth.

Now sometimes autumn is associated with warm chocolate milk in front of the fire place wrapped up in a blanket. A slow song is playing in the background on low volume while you’re playing cards on the floor, or well most likely on a rug. Seated comfortably, your back against the sofa and your knees raised, nicely cuddled up into yourself, or perhaps someone else.

The sound of rain hitting the windows acts as a lullaby during your time inside. And if you do forcefully need to get out for a short time, the pleasant petrichor will softly welcome you. Or maybe this sounds more like winter? What does it matter, both seasons are cold.

At the time mother nature decided to shift it’s warmth to other places on earth, a thick layer of unease seemed to settle over the city. Like all the fun the sunrays brought were traded for despair. Awfully noticeable in how the amount of cases for the local police have risen dramatically.

People are staying at home so everyone who was hired during the busy summer has to be fired. There is too much staff otherwise. People in this particular town already aren’t the richest in the world, imagine what happens when employment rates drop.

Crimes have been a regular subject for the news. The few that did go outside, now stay at home out of fear. Curtains closed, lights out, please don’t enter my house. Or curtains opened, lights on, there is someone at home.

Most offenders have yet to been caught. Everyone is your enemy now. Don’t trust the neighbour who came home late last night. The sound of your glass falling is the window being broken. I’m calling the police.

While jewellery is being stolen at one side, someone will use the opportunity of the police being busy to kill the innocent. Or maybe they didn’t pay back the money they got from some sketchy dude in an alleyway down the street. Not so innocent anymore.

The only workers making bank at the moment are those with a career in law enforcement. Oh and those criminals were talking about. That includes hybrid dealers and unlicensed sex clubs.

When my boss called me to work, I didn’t expect to hear about a hybrid deal gone wrong inside said unlicensed sex club. Just for your information, treating hybrids like slaves has been long forbidden. You can own them, show off your wealth all you want, but the instant you hurt the half-animal you can see your money out the door. In return, you can expect expensive fines and imprisonment. At least that’s what is supposed to happen.

Still a blind eye is often turned to incidents involving hybrids by both the general public and law enforcements. You can also be fined for not turning in the information you have of a possible abuser, but say that’s also ignored, there is no other law backing the poor hybrid up.

The laws were originally established because the half-animals are also half-humans, created by some crazy scientist who perished years ago. Some rogue failed experiment turned on him. A warning for humans not to take in wild animal hybrids, not that anyone listened. Those wild animal hybrids are sometimes worth more money than the diamond necklace your mafia-boss husband got you.

The second I agreed to meet my colleagues at the crime scene I was hung up on, the beeping tone at my ear notifying me. I love the work I need to do, but I hate the people involved. It pays the bills though, so you won’t see me complaining. I get my stuff together and head out the house. It’s dark outside, raining too. The darkness might be explained by the fact that it’s 11 pm at night. Not the greatest time to be out. Luckily my job has provided me with a car, so you won’t see me walking.

During the ride the radio plays reports of different crimes throughout the city. Some happened at the exact same time, others had no connection whatsoever, yet they ended up being executed by the same group. Tv shows like CSI have been stuffing these sinners with the confidence to rob a place. The average criminal is luckily stupid enough not to know these shows don’t show the entire picture. However, that didn’t make them any easier to catch according to this radio report. On the other hand, what radio stations don’t know is that police won’t show them the entire picture either. Well they’re just there to spread panic, fact checking isn’t a job requirement.

The rain makes the view basically non-existent. Coming down like the angels are just throwing buckets of water over our heads, everything in the distance is blurry. Or maybe they just drank a lot, who knows. Weather reports have been warning for slippery roads, albeit I think they forgot to mention anything about nature made swimming pools outside of our houses.

Seeing as there is nothing good to report on the news they might as well downplay everything to give viewers their daily dose of good news. There is no good news though, and pretending that there is, is dangerous. Hope will only crush future expectations of being safe. Not that they care, they just need high ratings.

Seeing blurry blue and red lights in the distance is my indication that I’m getting close. I’ve never been to this part of town, if I had this so called sex club would’ve already been long gone. Don’t underestimate me, I can sense law breaking acts from a mile away. The fact that I don’t live too far away from addresses where everyone looks to be a drug addict just makes me better at my job.

I park my car next to the others at the side of the road and uncomfortably bend myself to take my bag from the backseat. I do not want to stand in this rain for longer than needed. I mentally prepare myself to get inside as fast as possible. I won’t worry about the sight inside too much, I’m used to it. 

I get out of the car and lock it, before walking over to the barricade tape. The outside of the club looks the same as any other sexual fantasy indulging club. Pink lights and posters of men and women in nothing but flimsy underwear plaster the windows. If it wasn’t for the bunch of officers behind the barricade tape, nobody would’ve known there was somebody murdered inside.

Reporters collect themselves in front of officers close to the tape, trying to get any kind of information out of them. They’re not getting any, so they keep trying, foolishly believing we know any more than they do. Well maybe a little more.

Anyways, without proper investigation we are just as clueless as they are. I’ll applaud their dedication though, as not all reporters have brought an umbrella with them. Imagine getting soaking wet just to ask a few questions. They might not have a raincoat, but they’re all somehow protecting their camera’s one way or another.

As I get closer to the tape blocking outsiders from entering, reporters notice me approaching. If it wasn’t for my uniform they wouldn’t even have batted a lash in my direction. Right now apparently, I’m the most interesting human being on earth. Remembering my trainings I keep my head low and ignore every question thrown my way, until I reach the officer waiting for me.

“Ah, detective Y/F/N Y/L/N, we have been expecting you.” He allows me to duck under the tape, fore shaking my hand and placing a gentle hand on my lower back. The umbrella he’s holding protects me from arriving inside looking like I just had a shower with my clothes on. Like this, I get escorted inside, leaving the flashing camera’s behind me.

“Good evening, Miss Y/L/N.” Another female detective greets me immediately once I step inside. The male officer gives me a nod ere disappearing back into the front garden of the club. Probably going to spend his time listening to silly questions and being blinded by light. At least he might make in on the front page of tomorrow’s newspapers. Maybe he’ll get scouted by some modelling agency just to appear on more front pages.

“David Brown, mid-thirties, and an employee at the club, Mia Labell, 23, both got killed after Brown tried to buy a hybrid of another man we can’t identify from the security footage. Both the hybrid and man wore a hood. We don’t know what went down inside the room as there are no camera’s inside and the walls are soundproof.” The woman, whose name is apparently Blair Miller as shown on the name badge on her chest, explains the situation while she leads me to the room.

“For an illegal sex club they are awfully professional.” I note, having paid close attention to her words. “Well if you don’t want to get outed by a customer I guess that’s the right thing to do. People value anonymity.” I  add as the other female holds up a key card against a control panel to the right of a metal door.

The door slides open after a beep of confirmation. A young girl laying on the large bed in the middle is the first thing I lay my eyes on. The bed sheets are tainted completely red with her blood. Next to the bed lies a man, drowning in a puddle of his own blood. The bodies of the two still look like they could stand up at any moment. “Time of death?”

I walk further into the room, looking around for any other clues I should note. “Approximately 10.38 pm for both of them.” Blair answers, meekly standing in the door opening. “How did they rent the room?” I put on a pair of white latex gloves, before gently expecting the girl on the bed, without moving her from her position. Her hands are tied together, thick ropes cutting into her skin. A gag in her mouth, a blindfold covering her eyes and some lingerie complete the look.

“They wanted one girl for the three of them, paid, then took this room as any other customer would.” Dangerous, there is no way to keep these girls safe. No camera’s, just selling them off to multiple men at the same time. Is there any security around here? The two bodies contain multiple stab marks in their chest and stomach area. There are no signs of any strangling or poisoning. Cause of death for now is bleeding to death, but we’ll have to wait for the autopsy.

“Three?” I don’t look at Blair as I voice my questions. I’m good at multitasking, no need to focus on one thing only. “Mister Brown, the unnamed man and the hybrid.” They rented the girl as normal, then tied her up and proceeded to use the room for their business. Seeing as both died around the same time, the girl was alive during their exchange. We can’t exactly ask her anything right now though.

“How did the culprit leave?” You take a swab from under the fingernails of both bodies, hoping they might have scratched whoever did this. “Leisurely strolled outside the front door with the hybrid on a leash.” The poor hybrid must have witnessed everything. There was never a reason for this to happen. “These two were found by a cleaner going in not even a minute or two later.” It’s not my job to care. It’s not my job to ask either, but I’m not heartless, I am able to feel sympathetic.

“How are they doing?” I look at Blair for this one. Maybe because it’s a different type of question. “Shocked at first of course. They’ve calmed down now.” That makes me feel better. I’ve been doing this for over 2 years, and never will I be able to understand how someone could do this. Then again, the reason for becoming a criminal investigator was not to understand anyway, but to serve, to protect. And protect I will.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Down By The Lake - Part 2

Summary: It was only meant to be a stolen moment between you and your lover Daehyun and ended with him framed for murdering your best friend. With the assistance of your aloof friend Inspector Bang, could you find the real culprit called The Pauper, in time to clear Daehyun’s name?

Pairing: Jung Daehyun x reader ft. Bang Yongguk

Genre: murder mystery / periodic au / horror-ish

Warnings: murder / death / dark content given the nature of the storyline

Down By The Lake will be shared daily at 10am NZST.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

It didn’t take long for the scene to turn into complete chaos.

Your scream had alerted those within earshot and before you could ask Daehyun to help you remove Lucy from the lake, there were multiple people before you shouting different commands. You were grabbed suddenly and you struggled within their grip, reaching out for Daehyun who was being dragged off in the opposite direction.

“Wait, no! What are you doing?!”

“Calm down, my Lady!”

“How did you get into this state?!”

“You’re safe now!”

“I was safe a moment ago!” you stated, shivering with the cold seeping into your undergarments. “Let him go! He was with me!”

“Precisely and we need to protect you from him!”

“No, I mean! Oh, this is ridiculous, let me go and listen!” you exclaimed, shoving a man off of you roughly and dashing out of the water after Daehyun struggling against his four captors. “Let him go this instance! That is an order!”

“Y/N!” a voice called sternly and you whipped about, bursting into another wave of emotions. Rushing to your father’s side, you took his hand and shook it rapidly. “Father, they are taking away an innocent man!”

“Where are your clothes?!” he breathed, looking around at all the men who quickly darted their attention to the ground. “Find my daughter something to cover up with!”

“Father!”

“Y/N, are you hurt? Come with me, this is a dangerous place!”

“WHY WILL YOU NOT LISTEN?!”

“Now, my dear, you are growing hysterical. Someone, fetch a doctor! My daughter has fallen ill!”

Despite the apparent shiver coursing throughout your body, you grew desperate to be heard. “Please Daddy, Daehyun and I overheard the—and Lucy struggled and—”

You choked on your distraught sobs, clasping a hand to your mouth in hopes to settle them, only noticing the blood upon your skin when you pulled away. It all became too much for you and you stumbled, unseeing from that moment as everything turned dark.    

“Daehyun!”

You sat up with a start, blinking rapidly as your private chambers came into focus. Looking to the right where you heard movement, you groaned when your lady maid rushed to your side. “Oh no, my Lady. Please lie back down, you are awfully pale.”

“I am perfectly well, Clare,” you corrected, gently pushing her encouraging hand away. “I need to get ready at once.”

“Your father insists you rest until the doctor is back later today. It’s only been three days since-”                                                                                        

“Three days?!” you echoed in horror, throwing the blankets aside and ignoring Clare’s whimpering protests. “Why have I been in here for so long?! I need to go to the station immediately! What have you of the stable hand that was with me that night?”

“I fear I have no information to give you, my Lady. Investigators have been here every day, eager for you to wake up.”

“Send word that I am now alert and ready to communicate,” you instructed, approaching the mirror across the room and stared at your reflection. You folded your arms across your bosom, determined to rectify the situation immediately.

However, it appeared no one was ready to listen to you seriously. Investigator Moore nodded apathetically in your direction once you were done explaining what happened that evening.

“Yes, about the young man you were found with, how long have you been acquainted?”

You frowned. “Well, some weeks. I believe he arrived here just before spring.”

“And how long has he courted you?”

Your father gasped into a handkerchief. “Investigator!”

“Apologies, my Lord, it must be spoken of. Your daughter just admitted to grave connections with the man. I fear he may have corrupted her.”

“Honestly!” you remarked, shaking your head incredulously at the pair. “Corrupted?!”

“Has he taken from your body?”

“Sir,” the companying officer breathed and the older man nodded gruffly. “Just answer the question.”

“I approached him!” you confessed, trying not to look in the direction of your father now heaving visibly. “It was I, not him, who made the first move.”

“Y/N, enough. She is not of the right mind-”

“I am perfectly sane right now. I demand to see Daehyun at once.”

“Afraid not, my Lady, he’s not in an area where visitations are allowed.”

“You have convicted him of a crime he has not done!”

“He is the only suspect we have. This is the fourth killing this year of young women from the upper-class society. Surely, you have suspicions.”

“Yes, that there is a killer who walked right by Daehyun and I. He was with me at the time! I heard it all! Did you not listen when I expressed this the first time?!”

Investigator Moore nodded once more, mumbling to himself. “Perhaps she’s right.”

“I am!”

“If you heard it then, why did you do nothing to help the poor girl? Why, you could be an accomplice!”

“I am nothing of the sort! I went to and then…”

“And then?” your father prompted as you stilled, trying to wrap your mind around it.

“And Daehyun held me back. I believe for my safety!”

“So you could have stopped the killer from murdering your best friend, could you have not?”

You gripped at your skirt, blinking rapidly to replay the scene. Daehyun had definitely looked troubled as he held you back. But why? You were certain it was to protect you, to keep you from seeing something so ghastly in person. Not that seeing Lucy after had been any easier on your wits but at least, you hadn’t been put at risk either.

Your life wasn’t any more valuable than hers and had you known, you would have leapt in front to save her. Was Daehyun aware of this and that was why he stopped you?

Or could he have seen what was happening and… chosen to allow it to continue?

You struggled with this new thought process, tears welling in your round eyes. You had believed him to be honest, hard-working, humble and much more fun than the boring over-exaggerative Viscounts and Earls you were used to spending time with.

But could he have been more dangerous than a simple stable hand? Your hand rose to your mouth as you began to tremble.

Investigator Moore grinned. “Well, my Lady, that will be all for today, don’t you think?”

You were now seen as the living victim of Lucy’s murder. You went from being someone people talked about with envy to that of the girl they pitied, and rumours began to mill around. Most pointing that you would be next to meet The Pauper. It should have filled you with chills and have you barricaded within your house until he was captured.

And yet, the fact that you had too many questions and not enough answers had you knocking on the door of an aloof inspector’s house desperately until an old man swung it open midway, clearing his throat disapprovingly. “It is Sunday, madam.”

“I am aware of the day; however, I am in need of speaking with Inspector Bang today if it is alright. Please, I sent word ahead of my visit.”

“And surely you would have received notice if he had been inclined to an intrusion today.”

“It is quite alright, Percy,” a deep voice called from within and you smiled with relief. The owner of the house stepped into view and gave you a half-smile. “Y/N will never leave us be unless we let her in. Come, I am sure you have much to inform me of.”

“Have you seen him by chance?” you asked when you were done explaining all you knew to Yongguk, his expression unreadable. You took a distracted sip from the teacup you had held onto as if your life depended on it this entire time. Yongguk remained unmoving and you placed it down with a jostle, tea sloshing over into the saucer. “Stop with this silence! I know if there is anyone in this world who will listen to me right now, it is you. Everyone else sees me as a mere woman who has gone particularly mad after seeing a dead body.”

He finally smirked. “Anyone who knows you personally will understand you have been mad for much longer.”

“I am not here for your amusement, dearest,” you muttered though it did relieve your nerves having Yongguk respond like that. It meant he was listening and taking what you said seriously.

Unlike everyone else.

“He is alive. For how long, I do not know. The commissioner wants to label Daehyun as The Pauper. He fits the bill. He is a mere stable hand. The weapon used by the killer is a tool found in most stables. And so far all he has done is attack daughters of the elite. Being found with one of the most influential unwedded young women in our county makes it even more suspicious.”

“Except, if he was the killer why am I still alive and who murdered Lucy whilst I was with him?” you questioned and Yongguk smiled.

“He could have lured you and hired an accomplice for the evening so he could kill you next. Or there’s a copycat and you were always the main prey.”

“Perhaps we could also consider Daehyun as innocent!” you demanded and Yongguk nodded easily.

“Yes, yes, innocent until proven guilty. However, how many of the lower class gets that privilege? He’ll have a week left at most.”

“A week?! Surely we can find proof in the meantime! Please, Yongguk, I swear to you, I know he is innocent. I had my suspicions for only a moment and I simply cannot believe someone I got to know intimately could be a killer!”

Yongguk’s eyes popped and he coughed a couple of times, your gaze darting to your lap at how he had taken your words. With cheeks blazing, you shook your head. “I am not meaning in that manner!”

“No, I would expect nothing of the sort,” he responded, strained with embarrassment.

“I have already been labelled as tainted and yet no one believes me for the words I speak that are truthful, just those that lead them to think I have sullied my family name all because I was found in my undergarments.”

“I believe in you, Y/N,” Yongguk announced sincerely, leaning forward in his chair to catch your gaze. He smiled determinedly. “I want to catch the killer myself as well, so shall we join hands in solving this case together?”

You nodded, holding out your hand in agreement. “I will assist in any way I can so long as we can clear Daehyun’s name.”

_________________

Part 3

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Lore Episode 31: Lost and Found (Transcript) - 4th April 2016

tw: murder, gore, blood, human remains, cannibalism

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

Teenagers have a tendency to get up to mischief when they’re bored, that’s as true today as it ever has been. So, when four teenage boys found themselves with a spring afternoon on their hands, they did what any English lad might have done in 1943 – they went poaching. They were only hunting birds’ nests, really. It was April and spring meant nests full of eggs, so they went exploring in their area of Stourbridge, there in the midlands of England. Over the course of that afternoon, their search brought them to a private park known as Hegley Woods, and that’s where they saw the tree. It was a massive elm with an overgrown trunk that looked more like a hedgehog than a plant, with thin, whispy branches that stuck out toward the sky. Locals called it the “Wych Elm”. It was strong, it was climbable, and most importantly it was perfect for nesting, so one of the boys scaled up the side. When he reached the top and began to look for nests, he found something entirely different – a skull was staring up at him from the hollow centre of the tree. The boy assumed it was from an animal and plucked it free from the branches. That’s when he noticed how large it was, and the patches of hair that were still attached to it – human hair. The grisly discovery kicked off one of the biggest unsolved mysteries in modern England. Beneath the skull, lodged in the hollow centre of the tree, was a complete skeleton. It belonged to a young woman of unknown origin and unknown identity. No one stepped forward to claim the body, no killer was ever found, but the public fell in love, and named her, and to this day people still wonder: who put Bella in the wych tree? Humans, you see, are fascinated by dead bodies. They’re the centrepiece of countless mystery stories and a vivid reminder of our own mortality. We can see that fascination in both the innocent wonder of films like Stand by Me and the gruesome realism of CSI. Real life, though, is more complex, it’s more dark than we’d care to admit, and while the odds are good that most people won’t ever stumble upon a dead body, it’s a lot more common than you’d expect. Corpses should be hard to come by, but unfortunately that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m Aaron Mahnke and this is Lore.

In February of 2013, a number of guests at the Cecil Hotel in Los Angeles called down to the front desk to complain about the water in their rooms. Some described how their shower would run black before clearing up, others complained of the odd taste and odour, and that age-old compaint that we all know and love, poor water pressure, popped up time and time again. So, the maintenance crew was sent up to the roof where the hotel kept water tanks used to supply the rooms, and it’s one of the tanks that they discovered a body. A human body, no less, and it had been there for weeks. It turned out to be a missing woman named Elisa Lam. Her parents had reported her missing in early February, but she had been seen last there in the hotel on the 31st of January, and it had been her decomposing body that had been altering the hotel’s water supply. Finding bodies in unusual places isn’t a new thing, though, and it’s not uncommon, either. In January of 1984, three students from Columbia University were walking home to their dorm when they passed an old carpet, rolled up and discarded on the side of the street. Now, like a lot of you, I’ve been to college, so I think we can all agree that curbside discoveries are frequently wonderful. A random desk, or that ugly couch that’s way too comfortable to be ignored. So, it’s hard to blame these three students for bringing the rug home. When they unrolled it, though, they found a body inside. The man, roughly 20 years old, had been shot to death, as was evident from the bullet holes in his forehead. Needless to say, they didn’t keep the rug and the police were brought in to do a full investigation. In December of 1982, staff were called to a room in a hotel in New Burgen, New Jersey. Occupants complained of a powerful odour in the room, and they weren’t the first. For a number of days leading up to the call, each guest had complained of the same thing, and it seemed to be getting worse. The motel staff finally discovered why: it was the body of Gary Smith, who had been killed by his autotheft partners and stuffed beneath the bed in the room. They had poisoned his hamburger then strangled him when waiting got too hard, and finally hid the evidence beneath the mattress.

In 2011, Abbeville National Bank in Louisiana began renovations to their second floor, an area they had used for storage for decades. Running between the storage area and the active bank facilities was a chimney, and it was just inside the first floor fireplace where workers discovered a few small bones. Climbing inside the fireplace and looking up, they found the source. A body, now little more than a skeleton, had been lodged in the flue. Dental records connected the skeleton to a man reported missing 27 years earlier, in 1984. The man had a criminal record and had been in trouble with the law shortly before his disappearance. Police can’t prove why he was in the chimney, but given the proximity to the bank I feel its safe to guess that he’d been trying to rob it, Santa Claus style. In November of 2011, Russian police raided the home of a historian named Anatoly Moskvin. Inside, they found 29 life-sized dolls, all women, all dressed in fancy clothing. But they weren’t dolls at all. Moskvin, it turns out, was a graverobber with a fetish. For years, the historian had been visiting cemeteries all over western Russia, as many as 750 by some counts, and occasionally brought home corpses that “interested” him. All were females between the ages of 15 and 30, and all had been dead for a very long time. It seems, if we’re to believe the newspapers and media outlets, that stumbling upon a corpse isn’t as rare a thing as we might expect. Maybe it’s a product of the times – with more and more people on the planet, I suppose the odds keep going up that we’ll eventually open a wall or dig a garden bed and find a body. But some bodies are intentionally harder to find. Some killers go to great lengths to hide the evidence of their dirty deeds, and that’s really the core of these stories, isn’t it? Because hiding a body is about more than just making an object disappear. It’s about concealing a crime and escaping the consequences. The trouble is, when those hidden bodies are found, their stories often reveal the greatest horrors of all.

She wasn’t always known as Kate Webster. Sure, when she gave birth to her son in 1874, that was the surname she passed on to him. She claimed to have married a sailor named Webster, but he had died. A decade earlier, though, she had been someone else entirely. Kate Webster had been born Katherine Lawler to a poor family in a small, Irish village in 1849. While most children might have helped out at home or perhaps played with toys, Katherine grew up fast. She spent her childhood learning to pickpocket, and judging by the way the rest of her life played out, it’s a skill she’d been born with. At the age of 15 she was caught and imprisoned for a short time, but by 17, she managed to steal enough money to secure herself passage on a boat to England. But she didn’t use her journey as a chance to make a fresh start. No, Katherine Lawler just kept upping her game. Within a year of arriving in Liverpool, she was caught stealing and sentenced to four years in prison. Once released, she found work cleaning houses in London, as well as working as a prostitute – and then she became pregnant. The father, according to Kate, was a man she called “Mr. Strong”. He’d been her friend, her lover, and her partner in crime for many months, but when he learnt of the pregnancy he abandoned her. Her son, John Webster, was born in April of 1874, and those who knew her couldn’t help but wonder: would this help Kate change her ways? The answer, it turns out, was a clear and obvious no.

Rather than seek reform, Kate simply evolved. She would rent a room in a boarding house and once there, she would begin to sell off the furnishings in her room. When everything was gone, she’d move on and repeat the crime elsewhere. Another thing she repeated, sadly, was prison time. In 1875, while her son John was only a year old, Kate began serving an 18 month term in Wandsworth Prison there in London. It was one of the many stints in police custody, even though she moved around a lot and used various aliases to disguise herself. And all the while, her friend, Sarah Crease, helped by watching and caring for young John. Some think Sarah was an enabler, that she gave Kate the freedom to live her life of crime without the burden of parenthood, but others view Sarah as a hopeful friend. She saw a young boy who needed looking after and she did her best to help out. She also tried to get Kate a real, honest job, something that had the potential to turn the woman’s life around.

In 1879, Sarah’s employer asked if there was someone who could do some house cleaning for a friend of hers, a woman named Julia Martha Thomas. Mrs. Thomas lived in the Richmond area of London, she was a widow in her mid-50s, and had a reputation for being a little strict and prone to anger. But it was a job, and Sarah immidiately suggested Kate Webster. The relationship between Webster and Mrs. Thomas began cordially enough, but quickly devolved into daily arguments. Webster claimed that Mrs. Thomas would follow her around and criticise her work, while Mrs. Thomas claimed Webster came to work drunk most of the time. Needless to say, it wasn’t a match made in heaven, but the two women tried hard to make it work. After a little over a month, Julia Thomas decided it was time to cut Webster loose. Kate, to her credit, tried to change. She begged for just a few more days of employment and, for some unknown reason, Thomas agreed to the terms, but the relationship was eating at her like an ulser, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She thought that Kate was stealing from her, but she didn’t have proof yet, and she feared for her life. On March 2nd of 1879, Mrs. Thomas showed up at church clearly upset. She’d just had another argument with Webster, and it had shaken her deeply. Her friends claimed that Thomas seemed distracted and agitated, and she left early to go attend to matters at home. But Kate was waiting for her there, and this time, they would trade more than angry words.

Julia Thomas thought the house was empty, but went searching for Kate Webster anyway. They had unfinished business, and it was time Kate found some place else to work. It was settled – as far as she was concerned, at least. While Thomas was upstairs in the hallway, Webster stepped out of a dark room and attacked her employer. The two women struggled for a moment, and then Kate gave the older woman a shove. Thomas stumbled down the staircase where she slammed into the floor below. Her skull now fractured and bloody, she began to scream where she lay. Kate was immidiately concerned that the neighbours might hear. There was a busy pub right next door, and if someone happened to hear the shouting, Kate was sure to be discovered and arrested. Launching herself down the stairs, she sat upon the injured woman’s chest and began to squeeze her throat with both hands. She wanted the screaming to stop. She needed it to stop, and after a few tense moments, it did. Julia Thomas lay dead on the floor of her own home, and Kate Webster had graduated from theft to murder in the course of just a few heartbeats. But Kate was stronger than her fears, and she knew she had to act fast. She grabbed a razor, a meat saw and a carving knife and set about cutting Thomas’ body into pieces. Later  Webster would admit that, while she believed she had always had a strong stomach, this work in particular tested her limits. There had just been so much blood, she later told the police. Webster put the pieces into a large copper kettle and then boiled them in an attempt to reduce them to a more managable state. It was essentially rendering, a process where meat is cooked until the fat and protein separate. Witnesses would later come forward and talk of the stench coming from the home, but no one complained at the time. This was London in the late 19th century, perhaps people were just a little more forgiving of odd odours back then.

When the boiling was complete, Webster fished out each part from the remaining lard and placed them all into a box she found in the home – most of it, that is. She couldn’t seem to fit the head and one of the feet, so she had to get creative. She tossed the foot into a local trash heap, but the head was more problematic. In the end, she found a Gladstone bag, something like an old physician’s handbag, and stashed the head inside there. And then she cleaned the house, removing as much of the evidence as she could that something horrible had taken place there. It took her two full days to do it, but when she was finished, she put on a dress from her employer’s wardrobe and went to the pub next door to meet a friend for drinks. This friend, a Mrs. Porter, later told police that Webster arrived at the pub carrying a large, black bag. She kept it with her almost the entire evening, as if it contained something very valuable to her. Oddly, though, Webster excused herself from the table at one point, and when she returned a short while later, the bag was gone. Webster’s next order of business was to get rid of the box that contained what remained of Mrs. Thomas, so she enlisted the help of Mrs. Porter’s son to carry it out of the house and to nearby Barns Bridge. He carried the heavy box all the way to the bridge, and then she sent him home, claiming that a friend was on the way to meet her there. This boy would later tell police that, as he was walking away, he heard a large splash. It was as if something heavy had been tossed into the river. Webster had disposed of the body, and I can’t help but wonder if she perhaps sighed with relief when the box finally dipped beneath the surface of the Thames and vanished from sight. The following day, though, things got more complicated. Unware that the box containing Mrs. Thomas had actually floated to the surface and drifted to shore over night, Kate Webster dug in deeper. She took on the identity of her former employer while beginning to sell off all the items in the house. Old habits die hard, apparently. And it was about this time, according to a later witness, that Webster stepped outside and spoke to a pair of neighbourhood boys. She had two bowls in her hand, and they were steaming hot. She told them it was lard – from a pig, she added – and they were welcome to have it for free, if they wanted it. The boys ate two bowls each.

While the police were investigating the discovery of the box full of body parts, they had no clues that might point them to the killer responsible. It even took them a bit of time to figure out that the parts were actually human rather than butcher cast-offs, but even then, all they could be sure of was that the victim had been a middle-aged woman. Kate Webster, meanwhile, was making money hand over fist. She sold off the smaller items first – the jewellery, the knick-knacks, even her victim’s gold teeth – and then began to spread word that the furniture was for sale as well. And that lead to an agreement with a local man, who arrived on March 9th with a small group of men to help him carry the items out of the house. A neighbour woman saw the activity and approached one of the remaining men. “Who ordered the removal of these items?” she asked him. The man simply turned and pointed to Kate Webster, who stood on the front steps of the house. “She did,” he replied, “Mrs. Thomas.” When the police finally arrived, they entered the house and immidiately found signs of something tragic: a charred finger bone in the fireplace, bloodstains on the floor, splatters of grease – or lard – around the copper kettle. But the one thing they wanted to find, a killer, was nowhere to be seen. Kate Webster had skipped town. In the end, the authorities tracked her down in Ireland. She’d taken her son and made her way back to her hometown as fast as she could. When she arrived, she did so while still wearing clothing and jewellery taken from Mrs. Thomas. But her stay there was short-lived – the local police chief, the man who 15 years earlier had put her in jail for the first time, recognised her in the bulletin from Scotland Yard and quickly took her into custody. Everything after that moved quickly. Webster was transported back to England, and at every train stop between Liverpool and London, crowds gathered to jeer and shout at her. By March 30th, she had been formally charged with murder.

Of course, she tried to lie her way out of it. This was the woman who had changed her name dozens of times to outsmart the police, who had moved into room after room and sold off the possessions inside. She was a thief and a liar, so it was only natural for her to try and talk her away out of this too. First, she blamed the murder on Henry Porter, the husband of her friend from the pub, but when his alibi held up she shifted the blame to the man who had come to buy the furniture from the Thomas house. He too was easily dismissed. When it appeared that she wouldn’t be able to squirm out from under the charge of murder, she took credit for the crime, but claimed that she only did it because others told her to. In the end, none of it worked. The formal trial began on July 2nd of 1879, and just six days later, the jury declared her guilty. The judge, a man named Justice Denman, sentenced her to be executed. Yes, Judge Justice – I can’t make these things up. When asked if there was any reason why she should not be executed, Webster told the judge yes, insisting that she was in fact pregnant. A new jury of women were gathered together along with a physician, and after examining Webster they declared that the pregnancy, like everything else the woman had said, was also a lie. She returned to Wandsworth Prison, where she had served time before working for Mrs. Thomas, and it was there that she wrote her formal confession. She described all of the details of the murder, right down to how she burned the internal organs to get rid of them, how she chose her tools, and even how she removed the head. On July 29th, Kate Webster stepped onto the platform inside the prison’s execution chamber, a building that was ironically nicknamed “The Cold Meatshed”. A governer announced the time, a priest administered last rights, and then she was guided onto the trapdoors with a sack over her head. Afterward, she was buried in an unmarked grave, right there at the prison. The records of Wandsworth Prison contain the names of 134 people who were executed over the span of 110 years. Kate Webster was the only woman on that list.

It’s hard to nail down the real reason behind our fascination with death, but it’s safe to at least make a guess. Death puts our mortality on display. No matter how hard we try to avoid it as a topic, to ignore its slow, steady approach from the distance, we can’t seem to get away from it. Whether we want it or not, death will come for us all one day, and the dead body stands as that singular, visceral reminder of our death. In the horror movies, it’s the clue that’s dropped into our laps early on in the film. It highlights the danger our heroes find themselves in, it represents what’s at stake, what could happen if they fail and the true power of the killer. When the London police pulled the box containing the remains of a women from the cold waters of the Thames, they didn’t know a lot, but they did know one thing. There was a killer in London, and whoever it was needed to be stopped. Thankfully, they managed to do just that, but in a wild twist of irony, the body of Julia Thomas has been lost. It might have been a result of the way evidence was handled in the late 19th century, or the state of decay when the remains were found. Whatever the reason, there’s no grave for Julia Thomas, no tombstone with her name etched into the surface. Her body was lost, and then found, and then finally lost again. Well, most of it. As luck would have it, the neighbourhood where her house once stood has gone through some renevation. In October of 2010, a wealthy London homeowner was having an addition built in his backyard, when the work crew unearthed something small and white. It was a skull. The teeth were missing, but there was a fracture at the back of the head, and after doing a bit more research, investigators determined that the structure that once stood in the homeowner’s backyard was a stable – a stable behind the pub that stood next door to Julia Thomas. Her body might be lost forever into the pages of history, but the head that Kate Webster had tried so hard to get rid of has finally been recovered. Oh, and the wealthy homeowner who stumbled upon the skull? None other than English naturalist, Sir David Attenborough.

[Closing statements]

[melanieratford]

I swear... If one more Christian customer preaches at me at my work, I'm gonna scream....

I am not a Christian. I have nothing against the Christian faith itself... I just can't stand the vast majority of the people within the faith. I am sick and tired of customers at my work thinking it's okay to preach to me over various things... "The Bible helps with depression." this... "What does God want" that... "You need Jesus."...

No. I don't need Jesus. In fact, you do. Jesus Christ was a carpenter from Galilee. He was a poor man who helped those in need and told people to be kind to each other. The BASIC PREMISE of the Bible is telling people "Be kind to each other.". Hell, that's the basic premise of the Bible, the Torah, the Quran, the Hindu doctrine and the Buddhist doctrine. At this point, if the basic belief of a "Holy system" isn't "Don't be a dick.", then the "Holy system" is a cult. Seriously? How is it that Venom has a better grasp on the phrase "Don't be a dick." than people who consider themselves religious?

Christians have committed horrific acts of murder, attempted genocide, tortured people, sent children to their deaths during crusades, taken rights away from people, enslaved people, attempted to destroy countries, and have COMPLETELY DISREGARDED the teachings of the Bible itself. They have even warped the image of Jesus Christ himself into a false idol.

Seriously? Do you think Jesus would approve of ANY of this? Of megachurches that preach hate and discrimination? That his teachings have become tools of oppression? Where people are trying to make the church into state in a country where not the entire population is Christian? Of wealthy Christians believing the poor and hungry should die? Where we allow innocent people to suffer and die in cages? Where people who claim to follow his name OPENLY inflict their will onto others as if they're the authority? Where people who boast about following his name harm others and believe that anyone who doesn't follow him should be harmed or killed? Where they frequently cherry pick the pieces of the Bible they believe fit their own racist, sexist, homophobic, hateful, beliefs?

NEWS FLASH, Jesus was a poor carpenter from a Middle Eastern country! He was NOT WHITE, he was KIND TO OTHERS, and IT DIDN'T MATTER WHAT RACE, RELIGION, GENDER, CLASS, OR SEXUALITY YOU WERE, because if he met you, he would be kind to you.

And God? God has a UNIVERSE to care for! Do you think they care if a couple lives together or has sex before marriage? Do you think they care if someone likes Harry Potter? Do you think they care if two men or two women love each other, have sex and get married? Because, I don't. I don't think they'd care one bit.

The Bible has been manipulated by MAN since it's inception! And seriously, when The Simpsons make one of the best points about it... There's an issue. Because Reverend Lovejoy points out to Marge and says “Marge, just about everything is a sin. [holds up a Bible] You ever sat down and read this thing? Technically we’re not allowed to go to the bathroom.” And, he's right. We're sinning daily simply by wearing mixed fabrics, and doing various other things that our society sees as "Basic".

So when my family basically got chased out of Friendship Baptist Church for not giving everything we had to them... When I got nasty looks as a child at a Fall Festival for dressing up as an Ice Princess (long before Frozen)... When random people at my work ask me if I'm living with my boyfriend yet and then preach to me that it's wrong to do it before marriage (despite statistics and cold hard facts stating that it's best do do that)... When my boyfriend feels the need to question his faith because of all the hatred he's witnessed.... When I feel the need to tell him to not give up on his faith because a group of Christians have told him that he's just a lazy millennial who doesn't wanna work after getting permission to talk on the pulpit at a church and preaching basic kindness... When I witnessed Christians from Friendship Baptist commit sins that are far worse than anything I've ever committed all while chastising me for what I like... When I felt ostracized from church when I was in High School BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY, when I desperately needed church because I was going through an existential crisis... When I saw Christians on this very site make awful comments about Stephen Hawking being atheist when he died, despite his fantastic contributions to science.... And every other terrible thing I saw them do...

How could I not leave the religion?

Yes, my family is mostly Christian, my boyfriend and his family are Christian... I don't mind my wedding being a Christian wedding... I love Christmas and Easter... I don't mind anyone praying for my family, friends, and me... Hell, I've told Marshal, I don't mind him taking any kids we might have to church...

But, my relationship with God is an interesting one. I don't pray, I do my best to hope. If I fall back in line with the church, then so be it. That's my business. Preaching at me will only make me more adamant about my belief system.

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I posted this to Facebook on December 9th. Since then, my boyfriend’s mother has yelled at him and lectured him bitching about how what I’ve said about the Bible and Jesus are inaccurate. She blamed the Democrats for everything I said was wrong, and said the phrase “But Jesus was the Messiah.” when it came to me talking about his humility. She is now questioning my boyfriend about whether he’s sure he wants to be with me, and is making us feel like she wants us to break up. Yes, I accidentally betrayed his trust by talking about him in this. I have deeply apologized to him about mentioning him. He knows this was more about me.... But, his mother still thinks that I’m just being a pathetic, anti-religious, Libtard. This was not about politics. This was about why I left Christianity and why I have no intentions of ever going back.

But, my boyfriend’s mother is psychotic and does her best to control his life. She thinks he has control over my actions. What she hasn’t realized is that he sees her as a burden and can’t wait to get away from her.

[mininky]

Tainted Souls (Taehyung)

Summary: Vampires were no longer a myth, the world knew that they were very very real. The world wasn’t ready for it, and they really weren’t ready to find out that all those whacky conspiracy theorists finally got something right. A lot of celebrities were, in fact, undead. Including BTS. Touring constantly, always on the move it was painfully difficult to ensure that they received their meals. Until their manager learned of a business that specialized in vampire fine dining.

Pairing: Vampire!Taehyung x Reader

Warnings: Oral sex (female/male receiving), biting, multiple orgasms, swallowing of bodily fluids, no condoms (don’t do that!)

Word count: 6.3K

Series list: Prologue, Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook

   "What book are you reading?" You look behind you on the plane to see Taehyung standing up at an awkward angle so he can peer over your shoulder.    "Dracula." You move your sights back to the book in front of you, trying not to smile at the laughter ringing out above you.    "Dracula, really? So, does that make you my Mina?"    "If I was your Mina then I would have gathered a group of men who would have become so completely infatuated with my kind, sincere, and oh-so-innocent character that they would murder you for me. Well, technically for her fiance, but let's be honest they all did it for Mina." You try to go back to reading but close the book when you realize your eyes have been dancing over the same page for the last few minutes. You put your bookmark in and look up again to see Tae giving you a boxy grin.    "Yeah, well I suppose in a sense you are Mina. You could definitely have a bunch of dudes do your bidding."    "Is that so?"    "Yup." You watch Tae whip his head back around and can barely hear Namjoon saying something about 'sit down' over the hum of the engine. Tae, however, stays up anyways. It can't be comfortable, he's having to stand at an obscure angle/crouch in order to avoid banging his head on the overhead. "But I appreciate that you aren't trying to kill the vampire and you aren't really Mina. Besides, cute and innocent gets boring really fast, doesn't it (y/n)?"    You watch Jin's hand clasp around Taehyung's collar and jerk him back into the seat before you can even respond. So instead you have to settle on pulling up your KKT (and paying the outrageous WIFI fee) so you can have the last word. "Why kill the vampire when it's so much more fun to fuck them?" You wait a few moments, praying that Tae also paid for in-flight WIFI before you hear him sputter and cough behind you. Checkmate.    You and Tae have been playing a game of cat and mouse from the moment you met. It's hard not to be drawn to him. He's charismatic, handsome, sweet, and he has this air of unflappable confidence that comes close but never fully crosses the line into arrogance. And you...well you've found your new favorite past time but you never thought about the implications it would bring about later in time. You and Tae flirt back and forth with each other constantly, but you've never crossed the line. Come close, dipped a toe over, sure...but you refuse to be the first one to break. Oh no, Tae will be the one to break.    He's not like the normal fuck boy type, you'll give him that. In fact, he's not even really a fuck boy, he just has the tendencies. He's got this really sweet, sensitive, kind side to him. He's also very intuitive, the type of person to know exactly what you need or want before you ever say it. But he's also the type that's unapologetically himself and it's naturally an easy attractant for women. He could have any pick of the litter, and he knows it. He walks like he knows it, talks like he knows it, but he never actually comes out and says it. And the thought of conquering him, of being the one that he begs for. The one that gets the cocky side of him to bow down before your feet. Oh yes, you'll break him. Unlike Tae, who flirts shamelessly possibly just for the fun of it, you do it for more perverse and personal reasons.    You're attracted to him. More than you'd care to admit too. You want him, you want all of him. You're not sure where in the game that started happening, but you know it's far earlier on than you care to admit to yourself. But he doesn't need to know that. Not until he's worshiping you, and then you'll bare your heart and soul. But he needs to break first. You want to wash off that cocky grin from his face, you want to see him vulnerable and bare to you. And as much as you'd like to pretend it was just a game of conquering the man who can conquer all it was now much more than that. So you've been pushing harder than ever, trying to get him to cross the finish line. You think he probably understands what you're doing. And it seems to you that he's drawing it out to see if you'll break first instead. You've had to slow back down in retaliation. Well, that and the fact that you had been so caught up in the thrill of the chase that you've had witnesses. Technically just one witness actually, just on a few occasions.    Unfortunately, poor Jungkook has been caught in the crossfires of your little 'chases' a few times now. So now you have to be a little bit more careful. Poor Jungkook. The last time he walked in on the two of you had been the worst. He'd found Taehyung feeding from your thigh when he came over to see if Taehyung wanted to play a video game of some sort with him. As if it wasn't bad enough of a position with your dress hiked up and your expensive black lace and chiffon underwear on full display it of course just had to happen right when he finally started looking you in your eyes after he accidentally saw the racy photo you'd sent Tae a few weeks prior. It wasn't that bad, but you're pretty sure that he's maybe seen boobs in real life a handful of times and that didn't help anything. He's a shy, innocent thing under all that bravado he puts on stage. Jungkook still refuses to talk around you, he just turns into an awkward statue and runs away which has caused his blood type endless entertainment recently. She's been using you just to chase away Jungkook, and it's only made you tread more lightly in your game with Taehyung.    Your thoughts are brought back to the present when you hear your phone buzz. You glance over at Jungkook's blood type on your right and Jin's blood type on your left to see both of them sound asleep before pulling up the text. It wasn't a dick pic per say. It alluded to it, but the angle cut off right after the thatch of well-groomed pubic hair. Interesting, so he doesn't shave completely. Somehow, you kind of anticipated him to be an all or nothing kind of guy. Not that you're complaining. The real question is how to respond?    You take a moment to ponder your options before a text pops up.

[Tae-Tae] Speechless? [you] No, I'm just debating if you shave and trim or just trim.    What a cocky little shit. You'll break him one day, you swear it. [Tae-Tae] Care to find out? [you] Hmm... [Tae-Tae] I'll show you if you ask me. ;) [you] Nah, I think my own imagination is probably better. [Tae-Tae] :( It's not tho [you] Whatever you say, babe. [Tae-Tae] babe? I get nicknames now? What can I call you? How about baby doll? [you] Gross, veto. [Tae-Tae] Princess? [you]...I can work with that one, but it's not my favorite. [Tae-Tae] My queen? [you] Much better. I accept from you my humble servant.

   You try to stifle your laughter as Taehyung suddenly appears down the aisle. He shoots you another boxy grin and leans over for a moment to whisper in your ear.    "See, I told you. You can get guys to do their bidding. All you have to ask and your wish is my command. My queen." You look at him for a moment before staring back straight ahead.    "I'd rather hear you beg." You watch his pupils dilate for a moment when you spare a short glance back his way, his head cocked to the side before he finally moves back over to his seat when a stewardess starts walking by.

---------------------------------

   A few days later and you're finally back in the comfort of your own home. In a strange way, you aren't actually that happy with it. Being out and exploring and...being with Tae...well it's fun. But meanwhile back at the ranch you just go through tedious monotonous tasks of daily life. Not that it's that bad, it's really nice to be able to catch up on all your favorite shows and finish a book in your favorite spot on the couch. It's just...well it's boring.    You've been going and traveling nonstop for the last couple of months, and sure it could be stressful. Especially trying to get through an airport while not being caught with BTS and the constant reminder of 'no scandals, we hired you to be discrete' from the ever so lovely management. (Honestly, with some of the stunts you've seen the other girls pull you're surprised that there hasn't been a scandal yet. It's not that they aren't discrete, it's more that...well there's zero tolerance for bullshit from some of the other girls when fans get out of hand.) But with all its rules the job is still worth it. You got to explore museums and sites and food all over the world. Your bank account is certainly not a concern any time soon. But more importantly...with Tae. And when you're back at home...well you're just a regular old girl again. When you're with Tae it's like everything is an adventure, his optimistic boyish charm is infectious. When it's back to just you in your apartment though it's like everything is slightly muted.    Your thoughts wander back to Taehyung for a moment. The tour had ended with things getting...slightly awkward between the two of you. You're pretty sure that both of you are getting tired of this little game, but both of you are too stubborn to try for something more. Each conversation with him lately has kept you on edge, both of you seem to be daring the other person to just say it first. You know you're in deep shit, you don't just like him...you love him. And that puts you in an odd spot. This is after all your job. And he is after all famous and under a microscope constantly. And then there's his personality. It's almost like there are two sides to him. The flirty grand charismatic face he shows the world and then the much more serious, sometimes stoic side he'll occasionally give you a glimpse of. But what's real with him? You can't help but wonder if he actually likes you, or if he more just enjoys teasing you. And this dilemma really isn't his fault, it's yours. You started this. You were the one challenging him, instead of just coming forward and being honest. But being honest is scary. Rejection is a serious possibility, and you're not sure if you'll ever be able to recover from it. I mean, sure you will, but...man it won't be easy. And let's say he does reject you, do you have to go back to your old routine at Tainted Souls all over again?    You're in the middle of a deep True Blood binge under the confines of the pillow fort you've made when a knock at the door interrupts your thoughts and has you pausing the show. You have no clue who it could possibly be. Your friends rarely show up unannounced and all of them have day jobs so considering that it's only 1:00 in the afternoon it couldn't possibly be them. And you didn't order any food, you actually forced yourself to cook for once just a little while ago. You peak your head out the pillow fort and squint at the door (not that it's helpful in any way but you're hoping you can somehow will the person away if you do this long enough.) Another round of knocks, louder this time, ring through the apartment before the doorbell is rung no less than five times in under thirty seconds.    You grunt as you crawl out of the fort before marching over to the door. Swinging it open you're ready to give an earful at your intruder before seeing that damn boxy grin.    "Tae?"    "Hiya, my queen. I was just bored and in the area and-"    "How do you know where I live?" Taehyung stops for a moment and you see a mischevious glint in his eye.    "I have my ways. Are you going to invite me in?"    "What is this, some old-timey vamp shit? Yes, please, I invite you in oh undead one." Tae chuckles as he steps in, his shoulders brushing against yours momentarily before he steps aside to take off his shoes. "You aren't off the hook that easy though. How did you find out where I live?"    "It's on your resume, duh." You watch him survey your small apartment before his eyes light. "Is that a pillow fort???" He skips with glee over to the area, a childlike innocence and enthusiasm taking over as he crawls down and shuffles into the area. "What are we watching?"    "We're not watching anything. I was watching..." You stop yourself short. How do you explain to a vampire that you're basically watching a vampire porn show that got a disturbing amount of things about vampires right? I mean, the Dracula thing was already a bit embarrassing enough but hey, it's a classic!    "What, cat got your tongue? Come on, come join me in the fort, my queen!" You glance over to see him patting at the side next to him before finally giving in with a reluctant sigh. You didn't exactly make enough space for two people though, so you're squeezed rather tightly next to his side. "So...were you watching porn?"    "...no..." No that would almost be less embarrassing, unfortunately.    "That...that wasn't the answer I was expecting. Oh...oh my god. You WERE weren't you?" You're struck with horror as he moves to press play. Why god? Why you? Why didn't you destroy all the evidence before opening the door? Why didn't you hide the remote? Why couldn't you have been watching anything else other than-    The sounds of moaning fills the room. Of fucking course, this just had to be the worst possible scene for it to start on. And of course you just haaaad to watch the whole series over from the beginning and this is the part where they find the tape of the girl who died after sleeping with a vampire who chains her up has very rough sex with her and then drains her.    "Holy shit, this is...this is really kinky. It feels like I'm watching some of Hobi-hyung's stash, but worse. Wow. It's always the ones you least expect I guess." His eyes are glued to the screen as it finally cuts back to the police.    "No!!!! No, no no no no no no no!!!" You're smacking Tae repeatedly on his arm, hoping that you're somehow making your illiterate rant get across to him. "No, it's a TV show. It's called True Blood! It's about vampires and okay it's honestly trashy and kind of awful but I mean, they got so much right. A lot of it wrong, but so much right too! Like synthetic blood, and vampires coming out of the coffin! And and and..." You stop at the sound of Taehyung laughing maniacally at your outburst. "Oh fuck off Tae. Even if I was watching porn I'm allowed to do so! Who died and made you my dad? Also, what ARE you even doing here? Don't think I bought that 'I was in the area' bullshit! You're not getting off that easy mister!"    "Mister, really?" Tae sighs before cuddling closer into your side, his face pressing into your shoulder. "I just missed you, if you really must know."    "Oh." What does that admission mean? Does it mean...no he couldn't possibly be throwing in the towel.    "Oh?"    You glance down to see Tae looking up at you through his messy fringe. You hadn't really paid attention when he first came in, but he looks paler, tired. "OH, you're hungry." He rolls his eyes before he cuddles even closer and throws a leg over you. You pray that your heart will stop thundering soon because you know for a fact he can hear it.    "Not really. I still have two more days before I need to eat. I told you, I just missed you. Is that such a crime?"    "You look hungry. Tae, you don't need to lie. If you just came because you need to eat that's fine, I'm sure you've been working harder now that you're back and-"    "I told you that's not why I'm here!" His face snaps up, and you're suddenly reminded by his inhuman speed that he is indeed a creature not to take lightly as he's straddling you. His eyes bore into yours, flickers of annoyance tracing over his features. "Why don't you believe me?"    "What?"    "Why, why do you do all these games? You fuck with me, and you play these games, and god I can't get you out of my fucking head. Your taste, your smell, your laugh fuck it's like they're just running through my mind all god damn day. And then you have the audacity to act surprised? How could I not miss you? Is this all it is to you, just some game? Because I swear to fucking god if it is I'm-"    "It's not just a game. I mean, it kind of started that way but..." You trail off, your eyes refusing to look up at him for longer than a few seconds.    Tae relaxes at your admission, but his gaze never wavers. He's clearly waiting for you to continue, but you're too stubborn. After a minute of the two of you daring the other to speak first, he finally gives a small chuckle before throwing his face into your neck. "God, you just really want to make me say it first, don't you?"    "Yes." Your words come out tiny and small, and you suddenly feel incomprehensibly stupid for just not being honest with him sooner.    "Why?"    "Because you're you. You could get anything, anyone. And...I don't know at first it was just to get someone as great of a catch as you to look at me and I was kind of bored with having just one client. But then...it just morphed into something more. The more time I spent with you the more I wanted you to really like me. Like really really like me, not just want me...you know? But...I guess...I'm also just really afraid of rejection. A game of cat and mouse keeps things easy and light-hearted, feelings don't really have to be involved."    "I fell for you so long ago it's ridiculous. I just figured it was all just fun and games for you so I didn't admit anything. We're both idiots aren't we?"    You find yourself grinning up at his words. "Yeah but...we can be idiots together."    "I like the sound of that, a lot." For a minute silence just fills the room, although it's not uncomfortable. It's more the two of you basking in the realization that there are no more games. Both of you are finally being honest with one another. And then after that warm and fuzzy glow starts to ebb away do you realize the rather compromising position you're in. He's still straddled over your hips, his hair falling down and eye's just barely peeking out, his hands resting on the side of your head and face just a few inches away. You're not sure what to do in this situation. Do you ask him to move? Do you kiss him? Do you touch him? What would be the most proper? Because really all you want is to feel his lips, but you're not sure if that's what he wants.    You're pretty sure he can see each thought playing out based off of the way he cocks his head to the side and lifts an eyebrow. You've never been very good at concealing your inner thoughts. (Note to self, work on your poker face.) So you steel your nerves and finally say in a voice you hope doesn't give away your anxiety, "Tae?" When he hums in response you finally lift your eyes to him. "Tae, can I kiss you?" His smile stirs something in you, a frenzy of joy and something slightly more carnal caused by his fangs shining down at you.    "Of course, my queen." He doesn't however budge. Clearly, he's going to make you work for it, and your stubborn side is starting to roll back in. You weave your hands into his hair (you'd like to note that it's oddly soft for all the chemical damage it's taken and you really should find out what shampoo he uses) to bring his lips down onto yours. The force of the movement causes a rather awkward clash of teeth, but neither of you seems to pay any mind. There's been too much build up, too much tension, to really care about little details like that.    His lips are slightly chapped and he tastes faintly like mint. It's not long before the kiss deepens into something less chaste, tongues roaming and exploring and hunger starts to drive both of you. Your hands untangle from his hair and move to his arms before snaking around his waist to flip him over. There's something so euphoric about seeing him under you, at seeing the shift as his eyes start to shine red and the way his breathing starts to stagger under your touch. And it hits you, really hits you then, that he's yours. Maybe the world gets a lot of him, but right now you get a side of him that they don't. Your lips trail down his neck as your hands slide up his shirt to feel the cool skin underneath. The way his muscles clench under your touch coupled with his soft panting has desire pooling into your underwear.    "You look so pretty like this." You grin as you peel his shirt off before leaving a wet trail of kisses down his torso.    "Pretty, really? Wouldn't handsome be a more apt description?" His hands are wound into your hair, pushing you slightly further down as you get steadily closer to the waistband of his sweats.    "Well, you are plenty handsome. But...I think you look pretty right now. Delectably pretty. Like a perfect meal presented to me." You linger at his pants, hands resting on the button before your attention flickers back to his face. "May I?"    "Please. But I mean, really? If anyone is the meal here it's you."    "The big bad vampire routine is unbecoming of you. Be a good boy though and you might just get a treat." The glare he levels at you has a giggle of elation bubbling up in your throat.    "Really, still with the games?"    "Do you want me to suck your dick or not Tae?" His head whips up as you slide down his pants and boxers, freeing his rapidly hardening cock only a mere few inches from your face. You'd like to note that he does, in fact, shave and groom. Guess the question is finally answered now that you're finally seeing the perfectly shaped triangle of hair in person.    "Fuck, no I do."    "Then just lie back down and be a good boy." He groans as he throws his head back, biting on his lip to stay quiet. You've always wanted to be the one to get under his skin, to make him fall apart, and now that you're finally here it's better than you ever imagined. You take a moment to just enjoy the site of him laying under you, twitching with barely controlled impatience. Your fingers ghost over his dick, lips coming down to pepper small kisses up along his thigh before halting right at his balls. His hips flex and shake the closer you get, precum beading up and falling onto his stomach.    "Jesus, please (Y/N), please just fucking touch me. This is just torture, cruel and unusual punishment. I'll do whatever you want just please, please just touch me."    "Whatever I want?" A cheshire cat grin is on your lips as you look at him. You get that technically you guys already agreed to be together, but hey you've been thinking for a long time about just what you would do when he finally breaks. And right now you're finally about to get what you've always wanted.    "Fuck, yes, just please fucking touch me."    "Hmm, okay, since you begged so nicely." You finally grasp his dick in your hand, tongue snaking along his balls before trailing up and enveloping his velvety head. The tangy precum smears over your lips as you lock eye contact with him, your smile growing wider at the long musical moan that falls out of him. Oh-ho, if Tae is already moaning he might just not be able to handle what you have prepared for him. You give him just a moment to calm down as you keep him resting in your mouth before finally sliding down to the base in one go.    "Oh, holy fuck. Fuck, fuck, oh god. You weren't fucking kidding when you said you were a pro at sucking dick, oh my god." You stay stationed at the base for a moment before working up, setting an easy rhythm for yourself to breath in as you go up and exhale slowly as he reaches past your molars. The dull ache in your jaw is worth it for the sweet sounds he's gracing you with. You can feel your panties clinging onto you, your own need beginning to cause a different dull ache. But that's not important, what's important right now is staying in charge. You aren't about to pass up this opportunity that you've worked so hard to finally get. "(Y/N), if you don't stop I'm going to ah fuck!" Your hands massage his balls gently before his hips buck with force into your throat and his cum is filling your mouth in hot white ropes.    His eyes are locked on yours as you finally pull away from him, giving small licks to clean up anything left behind before opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue.    "All clean, my what a good girl you are." You can't help but preen a bit under the praise. There's something about hearing the words from Tae that make the (honestly almost unbearable) taste worth it. "But it's not fair, I'm almost completely undressed, and you're still in all of your clothes." His words come out whiney as he tries to grab the hem of your shirt, but you're quicker than him. You scooch your way out of the pillow fort, ignoring his whines of protests.    "Come on Tae, you promised that you'd do whatever it is that I ask." You glance behind you to see Taehyung behind you, a deviant smirk plastered to his face as he tugs his pants back up.    "Well, my queen, I'm hoping that your wish is for me to eat you out like a five-course meal."    "No, but nice try. No no, I'd like something far less sexual, sorry to burst your bubble." You wrap your hands around his neck, fingers curling into the soft hair at his nape. "I'd like for you to take me shopping."    "What?"    "Shopping, I want to go shopping with you. More specifically I'd like to go out on a date with you. I think it would be fun to pick out some clothes with you. Oh, but I suppose I should tack on that I'd like to go to the new exhibit at the museum with you too if you have the time this month. It's not a permanent collection so I suppose that might have to take priority if you can manage the time."    "You...you could have me do anything and you choose a date? I thought for sure you'd have me sit there and beg for you or something, or literally kiss your ass, or make me do something really embarrassing. But you...choose a date?" His shoulders are shaking with poorly contained laughter before he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. "Just when I think I've got you all figured out you pull something like this. You're a weird one, you know that?"    "Well at first I thought about making you beg, in fact, that was my original goal. But the plan changed a long time ago. I realized I didn't want to make you beg, I would never want to hear something like that forced out of you. I want to hear that you want me because you want me, not for any other reason. So then I started thinking about what I really wanted, and I realized that even though it's selfish and even though you can't technically go out on dates or be seen in public with me I'd still really like to go out on a date with you. I understand though if it's not really possible." You say the last words quietly as you reflect back on your contract and the firm words from management. Dating and scandals were absolutely not allowed, and while you wanted nothing more to be with Tae you also understood the precarious place dating would put him in.    "Hey, don't worry about it. We can definitely go on a date. I can wear like a fake beard or something."    "What?"    "Ooh, or maybe I'll learn how to do some special effects makeup and turn myself into an old man. With a big beard." Tae is talking animatedly, his hands smoothing down his imaginary beard.    "No fake beard, please."    "Why not, I thought girls like beards."    "Yes well I don't. Especially not fake ones. That's just weird. But I'm sure we'll figure something...less...abstract out." You watch his gaze flicker back down to you, his fingers tracing over your jaw before dipping lower until they finally grip at the soft flesh of your ass.    "Well, I suppose that we can figure it out some other time. I don't have enough time for a date tonight, I still have to be back for practice in a couple of hours. But that does leave me with enough time to continue where we left off. What do you say?" His breath is warm on your neck and the fire that had begun to calm down is roaring back. That familiar ache, the need to finally be one with him begins driving all action again. You try leading him to the bedroom, but his hands pull your hips back flush to him. "Always so impatient. Let me take my time with you."         His tongue trails slowly down your neck, over the prominent vein before he nips down slightly on your collarbone. Each movement is slow, precise, and it already has you wanting more. You're not normally so greedy, you usually enjoy dragging things out more. But Taehyung is masterful at this slow, erotic torture and it's quickly becoming too much for you. Each touch to your skin tingles and burns, his hands lazily roaming and groping has your hips rutting into his. "Tae, don't be a fucking tease."    "Oh please, you've spent enough time torturing me let me have some fun." His eyes lock onto yours before he finally strips your shirt off of you before his mouth latches onto a nipple. His tongue swirls around the bud before he's tugging it in between his teeth with enough force to have you cry out. His mouth twitches into a grin at your moan and suddenly he's off of your breast and picking you up. He doesn't, however, take you down the hall into your bedroom as you initially guessed. No, instead he's leading you into the kitchen and placing you on the counter. He just gives a small chuckle at your cocked eyebrow before explaining. "Listen, this might sound ridiculous to you but I've always wanted to have sex in a kitchen but considering that I live in the dorm or I'm always in hotels I don't exactly get that chance often. Also, I really want to fuck you in a bathtub while we're on the subject. Honestly just about every surface of this apartment, but the kitchen is a good place to start. Don't you think?"    Before you can respond his hands drag your ass to the edge of the counter and his mouth is on your thighs. Each wet kiss, each small nip, closer to your clothed and dripping core has you shaking with want. "Tae, please. Please, come on baby, please." You're not sure if it's the begging, or the use of the pet name, or just his own desires that finally cause him to peel away your panties but you really don't care. You just care that you're finally getting relief.    "God, look at you. You're dripping all over the counter. What a pretty fucking pussy, and it smells so sweet." He licks one long stripe over your folds before clamping down on your throbbing clit. Before you can even react he has two fingers slipping into you, strangled moans bubbling out at the dual sensations. With each loud suck on your clit, his fingers prod deeper inside you, scissoring and stretching in all the right ways. You can feel that familiar coil tighten and lurch at his ministrations. Each time his tongue brushes against you, each time his fingers prod in just the right spot, you can feel yourself start to unravel. You want to tell him how good it feels, how amazing he is, but words get lost in your throaty moans. "You're going to cum already? You gonna cum all over my fingers? Come on (y/n), cum for me." That's all it takes to have you finally fall into your orgasm. Thighs clenching, abdomen tightening, toes curling. Faintly you know you're screaming his name loudly, but you're too far gone in bliss to fully register that it's you who's making those noises.    By the time your opening your eyes back up he's finally pulled away from you. His mouth is still shining with your release and you can't help but groan at the sight of him slowly fisting his leaking cock. His mouth is on yours in an instant, both of you groaning at the taste of both your orgasms. Your hips jut into his, the desire to feel filled by him is starting to drive you into a frenzy. You need to feel him, one orgasm isn't enough. Never really has been for you, but especially not when it's finally with Tae. "Tae, come on, please fuck me."    The way he groans low and sweet has you clenching around nothing and desire trickling out of you once again. You watch, entirely entranced, as he finally enters. You're well prepped enough that there's no burn, just sweet sweet satisfaction. His head rested in the crook of your neck, peppering small kisses along the vein as he stayed still before slowly pulling back out. His hands wrap your thighs around his waist before he starts moving rhythmically. Each movement is harsher, faster than the last. Each thrust has both of you groaning at the sensation. You can feel him everywhere, so utterly full as he prods away at the right spot that has nerves on fire.    "God, you're so fucking tight. And wet, holy shit. Can I...can I feed from you?" You can't help but moan at his words again. He looks so perfect, almost like a sculpture has come to life. The sweat is making his hair cling to his face, casting a glow to his tan skin. "You have to say yes, I'm not taking a moan for an answer."    "Yes, please Tae." At the green light, he nuzzled back into your neck, his tongue snaking along the pulsing vein before his fangs sunk in. There's something about the mix of pain and pleasure that almost feels like a high each time. Sinful, dirty, perfect. And it has you tumbling into another orgasm around him. Clenching, moaning, milking Tae to finally come to his own. His tongue laps up the last of the blood, seeling away the bite as his hips begin to rut sloppily through his own completion. He stays lodged inside as he starts to soften and presses a few soft kisses on your lips. You feel not just satisfied, but somewhere into a place of warm and fuzzy bliss.    "You know, it was worth the wait." He sighs at the sound of his phone going off and grimaces as he finally pulls out to look at his phone. "I have to leave now so I won't be late to practice. Can I...come back over tomorrow? I don't have the day off, but I do have a break in the afternoon."    "Of course, just text me when you're on your way over. Don't push yourself too hard."    Tae gives a boxy grin as he pulls on his clothes before weaving his fingers into your hair and pulling you into a heated kiss. "As much as I love seeing you naked, you should probably put on some clothes so you don't catch a cold. I'll see you tomorrow, my queen."    You watch him leave silently, a smile plastered to your face. You certainly weren't expecting for this to happen when you took on the job. You weren't expecting these blossoming feelings of love to take over when you started to first tease Tae. But the world works in mysterious ways, and you couldn't be happier with the results.

[rickyriddle]

AnR characters mental issues

Hi there! I made several AnR analysis and for most characters, I ended up diagnosing them a mental disorder or illness. So I decided to do the same for each character. Keep in mind that I’m not a psychiatrist so I might be wrong on certain stuff, but I tried my best to be accurate.

Azuma Tokaku - Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)

In the series, Tokaku showed signs of having a PTSD. She went through a traumatic event as a child, which is to witness the murder of her aunt by the hand of her grandmother. It mixed with the words her aunt told her before dying, that she can’t kill because her mother is watching her. The traumatic events mixed with those words and are both parts of her PTSD, which is being triggered by the thought of killing. When she tried to kill Isuke the first time, she froze. When she threatened to kill Kouko, she started shaking. But when she finally remember and understood the cause of it, Tokaku managed to overcome it. Another thing Tokaku might have is Schizoid Personality Disorder, which would explain her emotionless nature and lack of social interest.

Inukai Isuke - Childhood trauma

Isuke experience trauma in her childhood that still has an effect on her behaviour as an adult. As a child, she was highly neglected and have to witness her brother died due to this. Her family was poor and nearly died because of the lack of money. It explains why Isuke is so obsessed with money, it isn’t just because she’s greedy, but because to her money is literally a matter of life and death. Behind that greedy and selfish attitude, Isuke simply wants to not be in the same situation as before or see another person she cares about suffering the same fate as her brother (reasons why she wants to offer money to her adoptive parents). A lot of people think that Isuke is a narcissist, but she isn’t. Narcissistic people care about their image, the way people view them. Isuke doesn’t care about what others think of her. She’s simply a self-centred person who have a high esteem of herself.

If you’re interested in more information, here’s an Isuke analysis I made.

Kaminaga Kouko - Inferiority complex

Kouko’s past and behaviour indicated a potential inferiority complex. As a child, she was bullied and made fun of, and her group treat her as a failure. As a teenager, Kouko seeks positions of power, she wants to be the class representative and even call herself “leader of everything”. This could be a way to cope with her feeling of inferiority (so like a superiority complex hiding an inferiority complex). Her group made her felt like she worth less than the other members, giving her a feeling of being inferior and the need to prove it isn’t the case by asserting her authority and proclaiming herself as the leader. It’s her way to deal with the feeling of inferiority. She could also have a form of survivor guilt, feeling that she should be the one of having died instead of Irena, feeling guilty over her death and again, related to her inferiority complex, believing that Irena was superior to her and deserved to live more than her.

Kirigaya Hitsugi - Pathological liar

Hitsugi lies on a daily basis. Her entire persona is a lie. Acting like an innocent child just to deceive others. We don’t know for how long Hitsugi is an assassin, but since’s the ace of an organization at such a young age, we can assume she was one since an early age. So she was raised and train to be a liar, someone who can trick others. Lying is part of her life, it’s natural for her. She usually doesn’t feel guilty for lying, but she did with Chitaru since she loves her. But it didn’t stop her from lying to her for such a long time. And even after the series, if we view the official doujins KnR as canon, Hitsugi continues to lie to Chitaru to keep her by her side. Hitsugi is a liar by nature and would be really hard for her to stop. Also show low self-esteem after meeting Chitaru, who made her realize how terrible she is, even comparing herself to a bug.

Kenmochi Shiena - Low self-esteem

I’ll start by saying that I think Shiena had absent parents in her life, and that’s the reason why instead of seeking help from them when she was bullied, she seeks help from people she met on the internet. If you don’t feel loved by your parents, chances are that will screw your esteem of yourself. But that’s more of a headcanon so let’s go with canon facts. When she was being bullied, Shiena kind of blame herself, wondering if she did something wrong. Bullying can cause someone to have low self-esteem. If we view KnR as canon, then Shiena isn’t an actual assassin. So we have a normal girl entering a deadly competition with real assassins. Looks like a desperate tentative to feel useful and have validation from her group. Why? To give herself more self-esteem because she lacks it. After being poisoned by Hitsugi and failed Class Black in KnR epilogue, Shiena showed a lot of self-hatred, viewing herself as a failure. It could only be because she failed, but that seemed pretty intense and might be how she usually feel when she doesn’t have her source of validation and self-worth (Collective Dismissal).

If you’re interested in more information, I made a Shiena analysis. It’s kind of old but it explains my headcanon regarding her past with her parents.

Sagae Haruki - Self-Sacrificing

This is not an actual personality disorder, but this is still an issue. Haruki is extremely self-sacrificing when it comes to her family. She put there well being before her, is ready to do anything for them, even committing murder, someone Haruki doesn’t like. She’s sacrificing her integrity for their sake. And it went as far as planning to die for them. But she seems to get better after the series, having a normal job and planning to send her siblings to school, so it’s possible that she overcame this issue. Maybe it’s because of what Haru told her after she failed, and her relationship with Isuke. Isuke could have taught her to be more selfish sometimes and give her a reason to stay alive and take care of herself.

Shutou Suzu - Melancholia

After living such a long life in which she lost all her love and is condemned to continue losing anyone she gets attached to, it would make sense for Suzu to have melancholic tendencies. A depressed state in which she’s sadly dreamy. Missing the past, wishing to be with her loved ones again, keep playing shogi which reminded her of her past lover. Suzu is not suicidal but she does wish to die. She wants to be cured of her illness and dies a natural death like her past lover did. I wouldn’t say Suzu is in deep depression, but she does strike me as someone melancholic. The fact she wishes for death is an indicator of it and the fact she was forced to outlive everyone she cared about.

Takechi Otoya - Psychopathy

Oh boy, this one… I’ll try to not be too long since I’m actually obsessed with that. So, Otoya exhibits a lot of psychopathic traits. Lack of empathy, charismatic, pathological liar, remorseless, deceitful, a bully. I actually don’t think someone who acts the way she does and commit the actions she made can be something other than a psychopath. May also possess psychotic tendencies, which would explain why she’s unstable and impulsive than a regular psychopath. Ah, and also a sadist and erotophonophile (lust murder, the sexual arousal when committing murder).

If you’re interested in more information, I made an analysis of Otoya’s mental condition.

Namatame Chitaru - White Knight Syndrome

Took me a while to diagnosed her something. So WKS, more common in men but can also affect women. Chitaru is a really chivalrous person who naturally wants to help and protect the weak. Just look at how she stuck to Hitsugi, who physically looks like the weakest of Class Black. She also said that she was worried about Haru. Chitaru is taking extreme measure to avenge a person whom she met only once, for the sake of her teacher (to avenge her daughter). Chitaru is a person of justice, chivalrous, who protect the weak and fight bad people (not sure but I think she’s a vigilante assassin). She probably can’t help protecting those she views as more vulnerable and is ready to go as far as murder to achieve that.

Hashiri Nio - Sociopathy

Do not be mixed with psychopathy. Psychopaths are born that way, sociopaths are made. A rough childhood and being used to criminality at a young age can cause someone to grow as a sociopath. Considering that Nio was raised to be an assassin and how she was treated, it does make sense. She also displays sociopathic traits such as lack of empathy, cruelty, deceitful, hatred for others, fake persona. Sounds awfully similar to psychopathy uh? Well, both are actually the same disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder. The mains differences being the source and the fact sociopaths are capable of genuine love and bonding with others, like with Yuri.

If you’re interested in more information, I made a Nio analysis. 

Hanabusa Sumireko - Megalomania

We have here a girl who is obsessed with power an being a queen. Good recipe for a megalomaniac. It's also known as grandiose delusion. People with this delusions often overestimate their own capacities, and have an immoderate desire for power. Can be caused by a lack of affection and low self-esteem, and given Sumireko’s past, she probably felt those two as a child, being constantly attacked and feeling weak enough to make the doctor cut off her limbs to replace them with cybernetic limbs. Sumireko doesn’t want to feel weak ever again thus is seeking for power, which developed into megalomania and the idea that she’s a queen.

If you’re interested in more information, I made a Sumireko analysis.

Banba Mahiru/Shinya - Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID)

This one is actually 100% canon. Dissociative Identity Disorder, also known as split personality. I mean, there’s no need to really debate on it, it clearly shows in the series she has that. DID can be caused by childhood trauma, which Banba suffered. DID can also come with other illnesses and disorders, such as PTSD, psychosis, schizophrenia, anxiety. And through the series, Banba showed signs to possess them all. She has a PTSD triggered by light, she’s disconnected from reality, she hears voices in her head (when one can hear the other personality), and is always showed to be nervous and anxious. This character is the only one I’m certain the author actually made researches about DID to create her because this is just so realistic and spot on.

If you’re interested in more information, I made a Banba analysis.

Ichinose Haru - Autism Spectrum Disorder

This one may surprise depending on your knowledge of autism. I’m autistic myself and I believe Haru is on the autistic spectrum. Most autistic people are introvert, but it doesn’t mean that extrovert autist doesn’t exist. I know a few IRL that are quite extrovert and really social. Autistic people are often naive and incapable of being malicious. It’s also hard for them to mix emotion and rationality. When Haru is being emotional she often acts irrationally, but when she’s being colder and less emotional she can be quite rational. Autistic people can also more easily deal with trauma, and Haru, despite her really traumatic past is still optimistic and positive. She also seems to lack basic social skills which make her kind of socially awkward, like she’s trying too hard. Like she’s being too friendly. Autistic people also often have an obsession, a restricted interest. Haru probably didn’t have the chance to develop one, given her past, but according to her info her hobby is crafting and she did show that she’s fond of that, with the strap she made.

Yuri Meichi - Superiority complex

She may not be in Class Black but I believe she deserves to be on that list. Given her past and how powerful she is (let’s not forget Yuri won her Class Black in 6 days), Yuri probably feel above others, like she’s superior to them. This feeling causes her to have really low empathy for others since she views them as beneath her. She has no sympathy for Haru when she’s having a mental breakdown, she had no issues beating Nio has a child. And if we consider KnR as canon, then she also has a sexual relationship with Nio, which is, considering their ages, illegal. Yuri acts as if she’s above everything, even the law (well she technically is, given the fact her clan control the world) and morality. She also seems to treat others as tools. Some of those are psychopathic traits, but I don’t think she’s a psychopath. She’s most likely the result of her childhood, being a powerful queen bee, she’s just too used to control others which make her feel superior to them and view them as tools.

If you’re interested in more information, I made a Yuri analysis.

That will be all for this analysis. I hope you liked it and thanks for reading. If you have any opinions you want to share with me feel free, either you agree or disagree with me.

[ruminativerabbi]

Poway

At the end of the Yizkor Service last Saturday, I invited the congregation to join me in widening the scope of our prayerful focus as the cantor chanted the twenty-third psalm to include not just our co-religionists murdered while at prayer at the Har Nof synagogue in Jerusalem or in Pittsburgh, but also the members of other faiths who have been similarly killed in their own houses of worship. Foremost in my mind, obviously, were the dead in New Zealand and Sri Lanka. But I also had in mind those poor souls executed in Charleston in 2015 by an individual sufficiently depraved to have been capable of murdering people with whom he had just spent an hour—his victims’ last hour on earth—studying Scripture, as well as the twenty-six innocents murdered during Sunday prayers at the church in Sutherland Springs in Texas in 2017 and the six killed at the Sikh Temple in Oak Creek in Wisconsin in 2012. Little did I know that another such outrage would be perpetrated on the Pacific coast in California just a few hours after I was done addressing my own congregation as part of the same Yizkor service at which I was speaking. Or how personal it would feel to me—and neither because Poway is just an hour or so down the road from the town in California in which I used to live nor because Yom Hashoah just happened to be falling this week.

It’s hard to imagine a less likely place for an attack like that than Poway. It’s a quiet place, a suburban/rural community of fewer than 50,000 souls north of San Diego and south of Escondido off of Interstate 15. And although I’m sure many Californians—and certainly most Americans—couldn’t have said exactly where Poway was last Friday, it now joins Sutherland Springs or Oak Creek in our national roster of places people previously hadn’t heard of yet now speak about as though they’ve known where they were all their lives.

Nor was the storyline unfamiliar, at least as the police have pieced it together so far. A disaffected young man, in this case just a teenager, falls under the sway of white supremacist doctrine and concludes that his personal problems—and the problems of his fellow travelers—are being inflicted upon him and them by some identifiable group of others—in this case Jews, but the role also fillable, as we all know all too well, by black people, gay people, Hispanic people, Asian people, or any other recognizable minority. A manifesto—in this case really just a letter—detailing the specifics is composed and posted online or otherwise distributed to the media. And then the young man—almost never a woman although I’m not sure why exactly that is—gets his hands on the kind of gun that can kill a lot of people very quickly. The screed is posted. The die is cast. The killer gets into his car and drives to what he must realize could just as easily turn out to be the site of his own death as well as that of the people he is planning to make into his victims. And then he opens fire and kills none or one or some or many. (For a very interesting analysis posted on the Live Science website regarding the specific theories proposed to explain why so few women become mass killers, click here.)

The next part too feels almost scripted. The police issue a statement and open an investigation. The following day, the front page of America’s newspapers are filled with statements of outrage by public officials of various sorts. A day or a week later, there’s a follow-up piece about the victim’s funeral or the victims’ funerals. The nation shudders for a long moment, then moves on. Except for those who actually knew the victims, the matter dies down and eventually someone shoots up some other place and the cycle of outrage followed by getting over it begins anew. For most, the moving on part feels healthy. And it surely is so that the goal when someone we love or admire dies is precisely to move through the initial shock that almost inevitably comes upon us in the wake of unanticipated loss to a kind of resigned acceptance, and from there to true comfort rooted in a new reality. But can that concept rationally be applied to incidents like the murder of Lori Gilbert-Kaye in Poway last Shabbat?

What surprised me the most about the California shooting is how inevitable it all felt. Indeed, to a certain extent, it felt like we were watching yet another remake of a movie we’d all seen before. There were the expected presidential tweets lauding Rabbi Yisroel Goldstein, whom the President has surely never met, as (of all things) “a great guy.” And there was the expected tongue-clucking by the leaders of Congress and by the chief executive officers of every conceivable Jewish and non-Jewish organization, all of them decrying the fact that this kind of violence directed against houses of worship is slowly—and not that slowly either—taking its place next to school shootings and nightclub shootings and military base shootings and concert-venue shootings and movie theater shootings as part of our American mosaic, and that there doesn’t seem to be anything at all to do about it. The traditional debate about repealing the Second Amendment then ensues. Would such a move prevent this kind of incident? I doubt it—but it’s hardly worth debating, given that the chances of the Second Amendment being repealed in any of our lifetimes are exactly zero.

Last November, after the shooting in Pittsburgh, I wrote about a science experiment I recall from my tenth-grade biology class, one in which our teacher demonstrated that you can actually boil a frog alive without restraining it in any way if you only heat the water slowly enough for the rising temperature to remain unnoticed by the poor frog until it becomes paralyzed and thus unable to hop out of its petri dish to safety. (To revisit those comments, click here.) Is that where we Jewish Americans are, then, in an open-but-slowly-warming petri dish? It hardly feels that way to me…but, of course, it doesn’t feel that way to the frog either. And yet the degree to which we have all become inured to anti-Semitic slurs, including in mainstream media, makes me wonder if we shouldn’t be channeling that poor amphibian’s last thoughts a little more diligently these days.

Just last week, the New York Times published in its international edition a cartoon that could have come straight out of any Nazi newspaper in the 1930s. The cartoon, by a Portuguese cartoonist named António Moreira Antunes, was picked up by a service that the Times uses as a source for political cartoons and apparently approved for publication by a single editor whom the Times has not identified by name. Its publication too triggered a storm of outrage from all the familiar sources, but the response the whole sorry incident provoked in me personally was captured the most eloquently by Bret Stephens, himself an opinion columnist for the Times, who wrote that the cartoon—which features a Jewish dog with Benjamin Netanyahu’s face and wearing a big Star of David necklace leading a blind and obese Donald Trump whose ridiculous black kippah only underscores the extent to which he has become the unwitting slave of his wily Jewish dog-master—came to him (and to most, and surely to me personally) as “a shock but not a surprise.” To read Stephen’s piece, in which he goes on to describe in detail and to deplore his own newspaper’s “routine demonization of Netanyahu,” its “torrential criticism of Israel,” its “mainstreaming of anti-Zionism,” and its “longstanding Jewish problem, dating back to World War II,” click here. You won’t enjoy reading what he has to say. But you should read it anyway.

I’m guilty of unwarranted complacency myself, more than aware that I barely even notice untruths published online or in print about Jews or about Israel. After the Israeli election, for example, I lost track of how many opinion pieces I noticed interpreting the Netanyahu victory as a kind of death knell for the two-state solution. (One example would be the headline of the Daily, the daily New York Times podcast, for April 11: “Netanyahu Won. The Two-State Solution Lost.”) The clear implication is that the Palestinians will only have an independent state in the Middle East when Israel finally decides they can have one. But is that even remotely true? Palestine has been “recognized” by 136 out of the United Nations’ 193 member states. If the Palestinian leadership were to declare their independence today and invite the neighbors in (and not solely the Israelis, but the Jordanians and the Egyptians as well) to settle border issues, and then get down to the business of nation building, who could or would stand in their way? But the Palestinians have specifically not moved in that direction…and surely not because the Israelis haven’t permitted it. That much seems obvious to me, but how many times have I just let it go after seeing that specific notion promulgated as an obvious truth? Too many! Just as I haven’t always responded when I see other ridiculous claims intended solely to degrade Jews or Judaism or to deny historical reality. (When the Times published a piece by one of its own reporters, Eric V. Copage, a few weeks ago in which the author denied that Jesus of Nazareth had been a Jew and suggested instead that he must have been a Palestinian, presumably a Palestinian Arab, I didn’t run to my computer to point out that  there were no Palestinian Arabs in the first century C.E. since the Arab invasion of Palestine only took place six centuries after Jesus lived and died, granting myself the luxury of leaving that work to others. Many did speak up and a week later the Times published a “revised” version of the piece that omitted the offensive reference. But my point is that I personally should have spoken out and now feel embarrassed by my own silence.)

It’s true that the Times published a long self-excoriating editorial about the cartoon episode just this week in which it acknowledged its own responsibility for fomenting anti-Semitism among its readers. (Click here to read it.) That was satisfying to read, but it should remind us that the only useful way to respond to Poway is to resolve to speak out more loudly and more clearly when we see calumnies, lies, or libelous untruths in print about Israel or about the Jewish people…and not to just assume that other people will do the heavy lifting while we remain silent.

[cridhe]

im not like a gender theorist or whatever and like. im gonna be real: i dont really understand any of it. and i will probably never under understand how being trans works cos im like... cis. but im still not an arsehole??? like im gonna treat ppl with respect. i feel like us as lgb, as lesbians we should at the very least, be sympathetic???

i dont understand how there are so many terfs? like i didnt even realise until tumblr started recommending me them every fucking day. like if ur a lesbian or whatever, u should understand how harmful and how hurtful stereotyping is. we've been portrayed as predators preying on the poor straight girl for centuries to the point where ppl still think we're like that. and i just dont understand how you can complain about that but then turn around and do the exact same thing to trans people?? like terfs genuinely believe that all trans women are predatory men who go around raping the poor innocent lesbian woman and try to force them to like dick?? like that just sounds far fetched as is. and then they go and use mentally deranged rapists and murderers as proof like?? there is absolutely no circumstance where negatively stereotyping an entire minority is either true or productive. like? why cant u just be nice???? is it so hard to just be nice people???????? if someone is being shitty and disrespectful, not respecting lesbians boundaries/consent or whatever, its because theyre a shitty person. not because theyre trans. i have never in my life, in my 6 years on this site, seen a trans person try and force lesbians to like dick. telling people that genitals=/=gender is not telling lesbians to like dick. nice respectful people respect boundaries, regardless of their gender, sexuality etc. trans people will not have sex with you without discussing anything that may be unexpected with you first. and a trans person, who fears for their life on a daily basis, will not just go around fucking anyone willy nilly without explaining that they have a dick, because the consequences of discovery like that usually end up in murder. come on, critical thinking is not hard.

and no, i am not new to this site. i do not need to 'look around' because one thing i know about this site is that its full of bullshit and like, dumb people. so i will not base my life views on bullshit ive seen on here. and no i will not look through and read ur terf tags because im not stupid. i know how to recognise bias in sources. i know that its propaganda and i know that opinions require a little more research than that. ive read enough terf shit already to have formed a balanced opinion. and my opinion is fucking be nice to people jesus christ. trans people dont deserve this. negatively stereotyping an entire group is fucked up and lesbians, of all people should fucking realise that. jesus christ

[tommyomalley]

Overstated Harm

I have been thinking lately about harm—when it’s real, and when it’s exaggerated for political reasons. And as harm escalates, at what point does it require us to intervene on behalf of ourselves or others?

Yesterday, I recorded a conversation for my podcast Theater Fag with playwright Isaac Gomez. We met in the offices of Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago, where his new play “La Ruta” is currently finishing a sold-out run. “La Ruta” is about the women of Ciudad Juárez, a Mexican border city that suffers one of the highest crime rates in North America, if not the world. Disproportionately impacted by the violence in Juárez are women, who regularly go missing without any hope of being found.

Obviously the situation in Juárez is an example of real harm. Like gay men with AIDS in the 1980s—like trans women of color in the United States today—the women of Juárez are dying preventable deaths at an insane rate, and nobody in the dominant culture gives enough of a shit to make it stop. Isaac’s play, “La Ruta,” is a tortured cry for mercy, one belonging to a theatrical tradition that includes plays like Larry Kramer’s seminal AIDS polemic “The Normal Heart” and “Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992,” Anna Deveare Smith’s verbatim account of the Los Angeles riots (in which Congresswoman Maxine Waters is a character, by the way).

In our conversation, Isaac and I discussed the roots of violence in Juárez, which Isaac attributed to toxic masculinity and failed US policy. Of the former, Isaac elaborated that he can draw a straight line from small acts of gendered insensitivity—microaggressions such as a man interrupting a woman to explain a point she was in the middle of making—to more grandiose expressions of violence, such as rape or murder. My impulse in the moment was to disagree and question the equivalence I thought Isaac was making. But after a night’s sleep on the matter, I think agree with Isaac’s general point—unchecked privilege corrupts, and if we don’t intervene when violence presents itself, it will escalate.

The women of Juárez are in a daily fight for their lives. The stakes for them could not be higher. That’s why, when people start to talk about feeling “safe” and the stakes fall somewhere short of life or death, it’s important to pause before offering our support and validation. Unfortunately, not all claims of victimhood are intellectually honest, and sometimes, folks who identify as victims are actually perpetrators. These situations require a different kind of intervention.

This week, the boys from Covington Catholic high school in a Kentucky have been all over the news, after a viral video clip in which one boy wearing a MAGA hat—Nick Sandmann—stared down an indigenous veteran named Nathan Phillips, who was seemingly just banging his drum. Since the release of that initial video, dozens more clips have surfaced, some of which show that Mr. Phillips intentionally walked into the Covington Catholic group, and others of which show an unrelated group of Black Israelites screaming nasty shit at every person who passed them, including the Covington Catholic boys and Nathan Phillips.

Some people claim these videos exonerate the Covington Catholic boys. Others say they implicate Nathan Phillips as a provocateur. What’s compelling to me is the immediacy with which reactions split along party lines. Lefties are Team Phillips, righties are Team CovCath. I have way too much trauma surrounding Catholic schoolboys of my youth to be impartial, but what I will argue is that the Covington Catholic boys are not victims here. I don’t want them destroyed, but I want to see some accountability. And when I see a lot of white adults minimizing their actions, I feel compelled to intervene.

The fact remains that Nick Sandmann stood aggressively close to Nathan Phillips, his posture and smirk fixed with a rigidity familiar to anyone who, like me, has been physically threatened or assaulted by a Catholic school meathead. Regardless of the aftermath, this was not a boy who was standing by innocently. He was full of the all the bravado an underdeveloped pre-frontal cortex allows, and that—to my eye—is undeniable in any of the videos I’ve seen so far. It’s an expression of the toxic masculinity Isaac mentioned in our discussion of “La Ruta.”

Part of the PR campaign the Covington Catholic community is waging involves blaming the Black Hebrew Israelites, a group of absolutely wild bigots that stand in public spaces and say naaaaaaaasty stuff about gays, women, etc. The reason for this PR move, I believe, is that Covington Catholic knows on some level that truth seekers will look at Nick Sandmann in those videos and see a young man eager for conflict, not peace. To avoid this murky discussion, they instead point to the Black Israelites as the instigators. “Look, these folks said faggot, that’s way worse.” Unfortunately, these two unrelated wrongs don’t change the interaction between Sandmann and Phillips on that video.

I was once a teenage boy, and I remember what a brutal period of self-discovery those years were for me. I made so many mistakes and treated folks around me with tremendous disrespect. To say the least, I’ve spent a lot of my adulthood making right the wrongs of my youth, and I am so lucky that every single fucking person wasn’t armed with a recording device when I was 16. I share this because I truly wish the best for the Covington Catholic boys—that they may overcome this moment, emerging on the other end with renewed faith and commitment to peace. I don’t see that happening, however, because as Nick Sandmann told the Today Show’s Savannah Guthrie, his only regret is that he didn’t walk away from Nathan Phillips (a subtle suggestion that Phillips was the aggressor), and he does not feel that he has anything for which to be sorry. If the only offense the Covington Catholic boys committed that day was Nick Sandmann glaring disrespectfully at an elder, then that would be enough to warrant an apology. Unfortunately, Nick Sandmann and whatever crisis PR firm is handling his case do not agree. (If you do not think Nick Sandmann’s glare was disrespectful, then let me ask you this: how would you feel if you saw him standing that way before your mother, father, grandparent?)

The problem is not so much the Covington Catholic boys as it is the adults who thrust victimhood on them. (And unrelatedly, I can’t help but imagine, if society cared this much about gay boys as it does about these Catholics then Bryan Singer would’ve been dealt with decades ago. But that’s another story.) The community that has built around Covington Catholic is absolute—the boys were not wrong, and any assertion otherwise is an attempt to ruin children's lives. Their supporters are misrepresenting the stakes in order to argue that MAGA folks are under attack. An attack on these boys gives MAGA supporters a chance to transfer their own feelings of victimhood, and so the amplification of their stories has created a deafening “poor me” echo chamber.

Speaking of poor me, in December I got into a Twitter fight with a playwright named Jeremy O. Harris, whose “Slave Play” was a controversial hit for the New York Theatre Workshop. The controversy wasn’t so much about the play as the playwright himself. I haven’t read or seen Slave Play, so I can’t speak to the piece’s merits, but I can speak to the way Jeremy behaves on social media, which seems to be carefully cultivated.

The initial buzz around “Slave Play” was huuuuge. As Jeremy himself said, the play went viral. The reviews from white NYC theater critics were overwhelmingly positive, with a few notable exceptions. On Twitter, however, criticism began to mount from a surprising corner: other black theater makers took serious issue with the way black women in particular are treated in the play. Some folks went as far as to say that Jeremy’s play was its own sort of violent act against black women, and they used things he’s said and tweeted publicly to support this. I won’t quote any of them, but it’s all there for you to find, if you want to.

All I can honestly say about Jeremy Harris is that I do not believe his social media persona is authentic. While “Slave Play” was enjoying an often sold-out run, he began tweeting about all the death threats he and his cast were receiving. For sure, horrific shit got hurled at Jeremy and his collaborators. At the same time this was happening, producers were looking seriously to bring the show to Broadway. Jeremy took to Twitter and called attention to the tweets and emails, claiming the threats he and others received numbered in the hundreds. I called bullshit on that number, and I wondered whether every mean tweet he received was actually a “death threat.” I suggested Jeremy was performing victimhood to engender sympathy that would distract from his critics and/or help facilitate a transfer, and perhaps that’s a leap too far. But I tweeted what I tweeted: I do not believe Jeremy Harris received “hundreds” of credible death threats over a play at an off-Broadway house. (For the record I never @ mentioned Jeremy on Twitter, he found my tweets on his own.)

In my back-and-forth with Jeremy, I made the mistake of roping critic Elizabeth Vincentelli into the discussion. Wasn’t really fair of me, because I don’t know her. But she was one of the only mainstream dissenting voices in her assessment of “Slave Play,” which she said ripped off better plays like “An Octaroon” and “Underground Railroad Game.” Elizabeth responded on Twitter to tell me that her problem was with the play, not the playwright, and she sort of scolded me for making inferences about Jeremy’s personality based on his tweets. Jeremy, who loves to herd critics on social media, jumped back in after EV’s capitulation, letting her (and me) know that “we stan critics.” The “we” referred only to him. Lol.

The funnier thing is that, two weeks later, on her podcast “Three on the Aisle,” Elizabeth did exactly what she admonished me for doing on Twitter—drawing conclusions about Jeremy the person—and she used much harsher language than anything I tweeted. She doubled down on the derivative nature of “Slave Play,” describing it as “a play that is embarrassing in its self-satisfaction and the way it revels in this empty provocation that is not really provoking, because people are just expecting it.” She elaborated:

“It’s is also written in an incoherent, smug manner that I found really, really annoying. Just the ineptitude of the writing was confounding, I felt. This play should’ve stayed in the oven, it was not ready to be pulled out… Reading the script afterwards, it annoyed me even more. The script is a window into the way this playwright’s mind works that is not really all that interesting.”

She later described anyone who was shocked by an event that happens in Jeremy’s play as “a target sitting still.” Harsh words for an artist and his audience. I wondered why she would be so brazen on a podcast yet conciliatory on Twitter. It made me wonder if she was afraid to bring the full weight of her position to Twitter, in writing, before Jeremy. And if that’s the case, then what positional power does she perceive that he has over her? Could be generational. Jeremy and his social media followers are presumably savvier to the medium than EV, which I imagine she would understand, so perhaps that’s part of the reason. Regardless, my question now, in light of everything, is: do we still stan critics like Elizabeth? (FWIW, I do. EV is one of the greats among NY’s theater critics.)

My beef with Jeremy truly isn’t so personal, although his personality seems challenging based on our Twitter interactions. That’s not real life, though, I know that. Jeremy and I have never met, only battled from our phones. Theater is the art I care most about, and I’m interested in who holds the power to create it.

Jeremy is a power-holder, despite repeatedly trying to position himself as an outsider. As far as I can smell, Jeremy is disingenuous in these claims, as he was when he overstated the number of actual threats he and others received. I believe that doing so helped bring attention to his play. Of course I have absolutely no concept of what it’s like to be a queer black person in America, but I do know that Yale Drama School—where Jeremy is finishing up his MFA—is the nerve center of NYC’s theater establishment. You cannot graduate from Yale Drama School and call yourself a theater outsider. Sorry. It’s just not honest. And when we allow dishonesty, for whatever reason, we allow injustice to escalate. And we stan only what’s just.