#and the fbi people try to get them involved and have them help w the investigation

[carcarrot]

sparks set too tragically short. but thank you director of this film for giving us that wonderful glimpse of them

[joanofexys]

here is your reason to talk about emeryk wesninski 👉👈

Emeryk Wesninski my beloved (not really. I also forgot he existed and debated killing him dead again instead of confronting my embarrassing ocs)

If it isn’t obvious he’s intended to be Neil’s brother, which I’m probably gonna skirt around as much as possible due to my own shame lmao

Emeryk Wesninski:

25 years old

he/him

queer idk he’s not gonna sit there long enough to slap a word on it

played striker

was supposed to start on the Ravens lineup with Emiko their freshman year

dropped the sport for academic and familial pursuits (also cause he was not about to major in fucking business)

We’re gonna pretend I know why the hell I decided having an Em (Moriyama) and Em (Wesninski) was a good idea cause I did create them at the same time but honestly? fuck if I know.

Pretending I can do math I think there’s a six year gap between Neil and Emeryk. Or at least it’s around there. So when Mary and Neil went on the run Emeryk was 16 years old and pretty deeply involved in his father’s business. Not that he enjoyed it. He and Mary knew there was a far smaller chance of success survival with three of them instead of two and Neil had the better chance. So he told her to just him and go, with only a little resentment.

Emeryk escapes some of the worst parts of his father’s work through a series of deals with the Moriyama’s, specifically Ichirou. He and Ichirou aren’t far apart in age and now he of course wonders what the hell was doing, but he would rather have indebted himself to Ichirou over Kengo. And he knew one day Ichirou would be in charge, he just didn’t expect it to be quite so soon.

So instead of getting sucked in deeper (to the Wesninski’s business at least), he’s able to somewhat save himself. He enrolls in Edgar Allan University at 18 and doesn’t sign a contract to play with the Ravens. Despite it he and Emiko still become friends and he has some, albeit limited, interaction with Kevin, Riko, and Jean.

He studies criminal justice and goes on to study law. All of it, of course, being put towards working for the Moriyama’s. But at least he’s not actively killing people.

He spends a lot of his time covering up any tracks Mary and Neil leave behind. Whenever he can find them, he knows that means someone else will, and he does his best to remove any sort of paper trail or hint to their existence. Even if it’s just confusing Nathan’s men. Anything that gives them enough time to create a new identity and move.

He’s not exactly happy about it but he does feel like it’s part of what he agreed to years ago. So he lets the resentment build and does it anyway.

And when Neil shows up at Palmetto, seemingly not even trying to be subtle, he is so fucking pissed. Everything’s undone. He can run his mouth and mess things up as much as he wants but he knows it’s only a matter of time.

By the time Baltimore occurs Emeryk is so far removed from the Wesninski’s and so deeply involved with the Moriyama’s that he doesn’t even see it coming. At least not fast enough. When Stuart reaches out to him he reluctantly agrees to work with the FBI, temporarily, to find Nathan.

That’s the first time Neil and Emeryk see each other in years. Emeryk’s pretty sure Neil doesn’t remember half of it, blacked out from pain. And he sure as fuck wasn’t going to stick around to visit him in the hospital. He gets out of there with the intent of talking to the least amount of cops he can.

He forms a bit of a relationship with Neil after that. Mostly “don’t talk to cops”, “seriously get a fucking lawyer”, “have you considered not running your damn mouth?”, and the like. But ultimately he doesn’t give a shit what Neil gets up to. Not his business (though he can’t help but keep a worried eye on him to make sure he’s not getting into too much trouble. He spent too long doing it to stop. And if it has the added benefit of seeing his brother happy and healthy, somewhere he can call home, no one else to needs to know)

While Emeryk didn’t wind up a full blown serial killer he’s still a worse person than like Emiko. He’s very much out to save his own skin. He’ll always go with his best chance of survival. For now that lies with the Moriyama’s. But if a better opportunity ever presented itself he’d take it in a heartbeat.

And idk that’s just a little bit about Em (Wesninski) who I made 4-ish years ago and forgot about until now

[jordanraye47]

Headcanons about my favourite characters (yk who my fav is but whatever stfu /respectfully) [some ANSGT for y’all depressed people] ITS SO MUCH IZZY OMFG

Izzy is Scarlett’s younger sister. Idc if the order of seasons don’t let it make sense. Scarlett has older sister energy so I decide that they are sisters.

Noah has dyslexia. He loves to read and won’t let dyslexia stop him‼️Like his sisters see him with the same book for 3 months bc it takes AGES to read one

did I forget to mention that? He’s the youngest of ALOT of sisters (inspo from @deadmxnsparty on TT from the fic Stakes)

I have SO MUCH on izzy I need one list js for her so I’ll try and put a few on this one.

Her hair gets really really messy and often covers her face. So she ends up having to manually hold up her bangs if she has to look someone in the eyes or smth cause her hair covers up her eyes.

She canonically has psychosis, and being a pretty expressive and hyper person, it’s easy to get overwhelmed with emotions. So regardless of how many psychotic attacks or breakdowns she has, she never gets a full grip on how to handle them. So it ends with her running away from whatever situation she’s in so nobody sees her, and so she doesn’t hurt anyone.

NOAH AND IZZY ARE BEST FRIENDS BC I SAID SO

Just like Duncan, I think Izzy has some family that’s in the police or involved in it. So she’s definitely familiar with law and punishments. But she’s also really good at getting away with it.

Imagne if like Scott Izzy and Scarlett were siblings 😔 izzy would be a farmer lmao

I CANNOT FIND OUT IF SHE IS SCOTTISH OR IRISH ISTG

she wears crocs, attack me

She is not allowed in the kitchen alone. During cooking challenges on TD, she’s either js put to the fucking sidelines or someone it put on duty just to make sure she doesn’t fuck up.

got recruited by the FBI and/or army. She’s smart and strong like ??????

omfg I’m so bloated rn fuck my uterus

COURTZZY HCS (my pookies)

its js criminal x lawyer so she KNOWS the law, she just dgaf

regardless, she tries to help Courtney w work whenever she needs it. She probably has no idea what she’s doing but she tries helping at least, and she’s js happy when Courtney is. So like if Courtney passes an important test or smth, she js goes along w the excitement, even though she has no idea what’s happening.

and speaking of school n shit; Izzy dosent prioritise school, nor focus much on it. Especially compared to Courtney. But shes smart, enough to understand that Courtney is passionate about it. And as much as she likes bothering Courtney and hanging with her, Izzy’s quiet when she thinks Courtney needs silence to study, or just alone time in general.

IOTSSSS😈😈 (the angst is going hard rn. REREADING THIS IT SOUNDS SO DEEP AND LOWJRY POETIC IM PROUD) I wanna make this into a fic😔

Man the survivors guilt is CRAZY‼️🙏

Like she has Eva but the feeling that she had the opportunity to change the outcome still lingers. Like why didn’t she argue with Duncan enough to not let Noah stay

It’s not that she thought Noah wasn’t able to protect himself, but he didn’t. He didn’t exactly know how to fight, and he couldn’t sass his way out of death.

Duncan had to practically force Izzy along when they walked back. The danger of the island hadn’t properly gotten to her then, but if it had, she wouldn’t have let any of her friends out of her sight for a second.

She wasn’t strong enough to protect everyone, but she’s convinced she could’ve done better. And maybe Noah, Courtney, Owen, Lindsay and everyone else could’ve made it.

Like I said, the survivors guilt is pretty rough after a fucking massacre ykwim?

And she was 16 when this happened. And so was everyone else. And regardless of age, nobody should’ve gone though that, alive or not.

Her relationship to things associated with the death of her friends are definitely weird. Like when things like showering and drinking water felt like tasks. Like watching the water from the tap run for 10 minutes cause the image of Noah’s dead body in the water, surrounded by his own blood, wouldn’t leave her alone.

She felt disgusted by herself when she avoided water like the plague. She refused to leave the house, even to just go out with the trash or pick up the mail.

The neighbours across her father’s apartment used to come to her door and ask for her parents. They complained about how loud she was when she was outside by the playground when she was 10. Their jaws would probably drop if they saw how she’d changed.

She found herself on multiple occasions, talking to herself. Just to make sure she still had a voice. She hadn’t talked in ages. And even if she did, it was only to her siblings maybe once a week, and maybe a word or two to her parents if they were lucky.

Even after turning 17, the mentality and maturity stayed the same. The memories of that island never faded. But the others did. She had a few videos and pictures on a digital camera, and that was the best preserved memories of her friends. She was afraid that if she lost these, she’d forget their voice and face.

[rennyji]

How normally, you go about a therapist

So people see a doctor when they have something that bothers them or affects their functioning. Some people delay the visit to the doctor, whichever doctor, whatever the condition, for as long as possible.

It’s an adult choice, for better or for worse.

For some reason, I’m seen as so ill, that my parents, at my 35 years of age, need to get involved, and there this group of orchestrators, consisting of therapists in some shape or form, who see themselves as so saintly that they “just” want to help me- but it’s not through the normal dynamic of face to face contact where there’s mutual conversation. It’s them affecting the therapist you are seeing, and forcing them to convey their viewpoint and treatment.

Does that make sense.

Now that I think of it, yeah, this definitely comes off as a show for troubled kids.

Their input that they output to strangers, literally for entertainment, was from cameras spying on the victim. Now they have the ultimate camera. They can see deep into a persons past, ammo given by the FBI and American government.

So looking into my past, what was my biggest offense, to myself, my family, or others?

Out of their being nothing, are you just cherry picking what’s open to interpretation?

My parents are simply put, weird.

- myMom, not 2 cast spotlight on her, can be so much 2 the point that she’s blunt in a rude way. Conversely, she also has an overly sugar coating way of speaking. She might B talking 2 a customer service rep, and she’ll say U were very helpful, can I get ur name, I’ll remember U-

-when talking 2 Drs in my situation, sure she is a caring mother, but it seems like she’s avatar of orchestrators or trying 2 make a point 2 their benefit in again, an excessively caring mother sugar coated sort of way. resulting psychology is, Drs indirectly see me as trash.-

-rather than, like normal, Drs basing recommendations and treatments on your account of things, especially if ur an adult close to 40, they seem to either 1. Get their info from unlawful peering in2 life, 2. Conveying perspectives from excess info of biased orchestrators or -

- 3. Speaking in defense of their practice out of being put in spotlight, or a psychiatrist giving an explanation of how things R done when mutual conversation w/o every1 talking on top- or over U- becomes norm, or maybe even speaking in ur defense thru explanation/perspective-

u’ll hear the mother, in this absurd way, 16 years ago, & now, when I’m close to 40 years age, that it’s wrong of this country 4 medical professionals 2 see 18+ years olds without parents. Again, in ever growing picture of ur situation, there is theme of show 4 troubled kids.-

- U wonder if she’s coerced to helping to extend reach of troubled kids show, or if she is now in trouble, because of selfish and illegal ambitions of trouble kids show. What the show and other orchestrators in situation cannot accept, is that they’re operating on too much info.-

- there’s too much 2 complicate perspective and truth and objectivity. But if there is a show, they’re ambitions have now expanded to not just going past the age of 18, but also deep into a persons life vs what they saw on a camera for a month or what has to be less than a year.-

I remember an argument that was severe, with my parents when I wanted a part time job in high school. My parents mere furiously opposed because that would mean I have money to possibly do something for what counts as questionable for my parents.

I remember when I wanted to learn to drive. My parents see it as one more thing they need to worry about. They delayed it and gave me an endless hard time, tying in anxiety to the experience. 

Around that time, my mother broke her arm by standing on a tipping-over milk carton in our backyard garden.

My father somehow blamed me for the incident, as God and/or the devil punishing the family for a bad or disobedient son. But what did I do? How was I "disobedient?"

On a related note, at the beginning of my situation, as a testament to his rigid belief system, something had him convinced that he's Abraham and I'm Isaac in relation to the story where the son is almost sacrificed...I guess the takeaway is something is bothering him and this is how he is justifying it...but Isaac was never sacrificed...then he also conveys a notion that seems to be externally brought to his attention from a third party, as its like something from Harry Potter or Greek philosophy, and that's not what he's into: he says you'll be like a phoenix bird and reborn from the ashes. Sounds like foreshadowing. Imagine how horrifying this sounds to me. It means I'm going to be figuratively burned alive in some way, and, yes, I'll come out of it. Sounds like government propaganda after understanding the beliefs and naivety of my parents.

I get angry with my dad because it’s just hard being around him because of his magical thinking.

From his bedroom, recently, I heard him recently talking to someone on the phone, saying:”all we can do is endure, and forgive in these situations. If we make any effort, we risk making it worse.”

This statement is a testament to his beliefs.

Yesterday I addressed how to pray. Prayer is a tool for us to be introspective and understand what our flaws are, and make an explicit effort to ask for help in inhibiting those flaws. But my dad doesn’t want to make the effort to understand flaws, his belief is God knows what flaws are, and we just need to ask to be delivered from Satan. But will my dad ever know what’s wrong? We, as people, need to irritate our brains to sometimes have hard or frustrating conversations, to do our part, to get an understanding of the world around us.

His belief system makes me angry. Is my situation, in part lasting this long, because he’s trying to hide his flaws by pinning the attention on me and my eating habits in a stressful situation? 

Is my situation lasting this long because he doesn’t want to exert himself by trying to help me?

In terms of effort, have you, in your time over me, seen my parents so much as jog or run, even when exercising? They don’t like actual and metaphorical effort. They think all they need to do is tell GOD to do the figuring and work for them, in place of the “doing your part” and then leaving God to do the rest.

My parents mistake their part as throwing money to therapists and meds which they don’t know if works, because they’re told to ignore me when I talk about what I’m experiencing, by orchestrators proxying through and replacing my therapists actual diagnosis and opinions. This is when my parents, maybe rightfully so, feel the responsibility of understanding my concerns and what I know, shifts completely to those they provide payment to or the authority figures who claim they'll take care of everything. My parents naively think that's one less burden on their shoulders, as of course, law enforcement or school officials would neeeevvveer take advantage - considering the heat on them, they will definitely take advantage, maybe even press on negative family dynamics to screw with me...

Regarding a bad family environment, he could try listening to his children or getting to know what they majored in college or what their role was at recent employers. It would help him navigate some circles to contribute to finding a right fit in terms of profession.

He believes Satan is influencing my mother. Regarding satans grip on my mother: what does that even mean? First my mother should realize and accept a problem. My father should pray, with my mother, for divine help, not saying more than what's needed or for help ignoring certain things to avoid conflict in the home, or for a better home environment.

What’s the pattern above? Not asking for evil forces to be lifted, which is vague and not bringing conscious awareness to what actually needs to be corrected. The pattern above is to move from magical thinking and into what human beings can do, through choice and effort, to correct behaviors not conducive to a good home or a good relationship.

In my whole life, as the orchestrators have the record, what is my crime? It’s not because I’m a saint. It’s cause I had a purpose and a goal: to get through school so that I can finally have a life and live a life. I spent hours studying. Never opportunity for something bad.

Did I shoplift, did I beat someone up, did I have sex in high school, did I sneak out of my family's house in grade school/high school at night, did I get bad grades, did I go to bars and party or use fake Ids, was I spending all my time hanging out with friends instead of prioritizing school, did I hit my parents, have I - in my life - done any drugs, have I had more than 10 bears in 'my lifetime' in college or shortly after, did I so much lie to my parents during the period of my youth?

Would my parents claim that I’m somehow mean to parents? What did I say, what did I do?

So the show for troubled kids basically saw an opportunity to extend their reach to 18+ year olds with naive parents that they could manipulate. They saw opportunity to go beyond cameras and into someone’s past. 

The troubled kids show, realizing nothing was wrong,decide to, again from ring over ambitious and concerned:legally, to show how good I am.

But then the strange kids and SUNY Albany get involved.

In every hospitalization that I'm subjected to, you need to look at context before the phone call. On, I believe the 2nd to last, where I call 911, because my parents start an argument with me, stating we're going to throw away your stuff and sell the house, I got scared. My mother had a weird look on her face. When I called 911, I think they called back, reached my parents. Parents tell 911 I'm crazy and my dad helps the police track me by giving them my license plate to my car. They then take me to St. Josephs in I think Riverdale New York. They eventually release me because there is nothing to hold me on.

About my purchases in these latter years or debt: you’ve said we turned off his dominant self or you simply sedate someone to diminish executive functioning which includes prioritizing, and specifically prioritizing finances.

I know I’m going make it rich legally or for my time in this situation. I know they try to show me as a bad child (psychological abuse much?!). I’ll do things to spite it cuz I think those who find joy in my h*ll as losers not to be concerned with. I’ll walk around my boxers while believing something is relaying me. I’ll eat four waffles from a four mini Belgian waffle box.

What you’re doing is so illegal, it delusional to think if you can screw me over, overt ice cream and waffles. I also have a period while in this, where I survive off quinoa and vegetables. I take the extra effort of driving 3 hours back and forth my house from Binghamton, to get quinoa and vegetables from my house.

While diminishing my executive functioning, you want to put me on double antipsychotics and blame me for the side effects of excess hunger that I can’t suppress through the will power diminished through diminished executive functioning.

When on nothing, or on drugs like Vyvanse, and then working where you need to stack up on skills, one’s survival extinct set in. You think, “ i need this job, can’t lose this job, let me go in on even Saturday to train myself.” That survivor mentality helps with finances. 

If I had to get an apartment, which I don’t, because the house is one, I’d be concerned about bills. I’m in a situation where I’m treated like sh*t, I’ll buy what I like to add some flare to my day. It’s gets uncontrolled because prioritization and survival extinct js diminished to point where you glaze over consequences through a high coming from the combination of marijuana, two antipsychotics, an antidepressant, and benzodiazepines. You’d have be brain dead if you think I’m to blame for my one real mistake which is throwing money on overpriced necessities for work setups. It’s not like I’m using the money for cocaine or something. Shelves? Monitors? Keyboards? Questions to ask, what was he buying? Does his specific hair cream cost $30 because that’s the only thing on the market that restores oil to the scalp when shampooing daily from an oily scalp.

The orchestrators are monitoring my home. Do they just focus on me to better the family environment, or do they, alleged experts in their crafts, instead work the detected flaws of my parents to make me look crazy or aggressive?

[notmrskennedy]

Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle 

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy. 

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies. 

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case. 

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him. 

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls. 

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets. 

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured. 

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.” 

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter. 

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.” 

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

#

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns. 

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen. 

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.  

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!” 

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt? 

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this. 

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“ 

 “Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what? 

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude. 

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled. 

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated. 

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere. 

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed. 

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

#

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with. 

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for? 

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands. 

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages. 

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

#

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude. 

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her. 

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler. 

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second.  She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now. 

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening. 

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be. 

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond. 

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin. 

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life. 

 “I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care. 

#

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about her ass. 

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face. 

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks. 

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough. 

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling. 

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

#

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action. 

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people. 

Alive people. 

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done. 

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain. 

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg. 

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids. 

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway. 

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Extreme Aggressor: Part Two

Pairing: Eventual Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst

Summary: Jason Gideon is called back from a six-month leave from the Behavioral Analysis Unit to profile a killer. Meanwhile, the team flies across the country to Seattle when another young woman goes missing at the hands of "The Seattle Strangler," another serial killer.

Author’s Note: Here is it finally! After hard work, it is finally ready for your viewing pleasure! Please, feedback is always appreciated so let me know what you like about it and what you didn’t!

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

So without further ado, please enjoy!

After arriving at the police headquarters, you followed Gideon and the rest of the team inside the building. It still felt awkward between you and the rest of the team which is why you stuck to Gideon’s side the whole time. He walked fast throughout the building, and you did your best to keep up.

“He never stands with his back to a window. When I was between him and a doorway, he asked me to move,” Derek gossiped about your friend.

“That's hypervigilance. It's not uncommon in post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“Just how much disorder are we talking about?”

“Morgan, it's been six months. Everything's okay,” Hotchner calmed him down.

“And he brings along a woman we don’t even know? How do we know we can trust her? I’m sorry, but she doesn’t mean anything to me yet,” Derek asked just as you passed them.

Looking at them over your shoulder, you caught Spencer’s eyes before moving on.

“Give her time. You gave me time,” he said, catching up to you. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. He’s right. I’m a stranger to you guys.”

“Hopefully by the end of this, you won’t be,” he smiled, walking into the main room with you that was crowded with uniforms.

“This is special agent Gideon, special agent Morgan, our expert on obsessional crimes, special agent Reid—”

“Dr. Reid,” Gideon interrupted.

“Dr. Reid, our expert on well, everything, and the newest member of our team, Y/N Y/L/N. And after two years busting my ass in this office, I hope you all remember me,” Hotchner smiled with the laughter that ensured throughout the room.

“He's willing to travel with the body,” Gideon speaks, looking at the map.

“Then he drives a vehicle capable of concealing one,” Hotchner added.

“1 in 7.4 drivers in Seattle owns an SUV,” Spencer spat out.

“But how do we know it's his car? Ted Bundy drove a VW Bug. What about a Jeep Cherokee? Jeeps are more masculine,” Derek voiced his thoughts.

“We all know how an unsub feels about asserting his masculinity,” Gideon chuckled.

“When did the bureau become involved in the case?” Hotchner asked the lead police officer.

“After the fourth body. He dumped that one out of state.”

While everyone was conversing and talking, you walked up the board with the recent pictures of the latest kidnapped victim, Heather. She went missing about a day ago which means she has about 24 hours left until she is dead—and the clock is ticking. Her image and the photos of the abduction site certainly does something for you, but it’s not enough. Reaching up to touch the image of her, you closed your eyes to see if you can get anything from a picture.

A flash of an orange car here, her heart rate increasing while inside the car, but other than that, you got nothing. It would be better if you were touching some of her things since the human body leaves traces wherever they go, whatever they touch. Since she wasn’t murdered, there isn’t a dump site that would give you even more clues and answers.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked when he saw you.

Opening your eyes, you lowered your hand before looking at him.

“I am trying to connect myself with her through a photograph. It’s not that common to get anything, but it does happen. I see an orange car and her fearful expressions, but that’s about it.”

“What do you need in order to get a clearer picture?”

“Her belongings. Every human leaves a spiritual trace wherever they go. It’s stronger with personal items.”

“Agent Gideon, where would you like to start?” one of the policemen asked.

“Let's start at the site of the last murder. Y/N, you coming?”

“I think I’ll get a better read on Heather and whether she’s alive or not if I’m with her things. I’ll go to her house.”

“Reid and I will go with you,” Hotchner announced.

Knowing you wouldn’t go alone, you bit your own tongue and followed the two men out the door. The fact that the Bureau provided government standard SUVs were pretty cool. It didn’t take long to go to Heather’s house, and when you arrived, you met her brother and the dog she owned.

“Sandy, no, no, no. I'm so sorry,” Heather’s brother, David, apologized when the big dog started barking and trying to playfully attack you three. However, when it came to you, the dog just stared at you silently.

“No, it's okay. It's what we call the Reid effect,” Hotchner stated, causing the young doctor to be confused. “I'm agent Hotchner. This is special agent Dr. Reid and Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/N is fine,” you quickly added.

“You two look too young to have gone to medical school,” the man observed.

“They're PhD's. 3 of them. She has two.”

“Spencer,” you whispered softly to get him to shut up about it.

It’s not like you don’t want people to know you have 2 PhDs, but you just didn’t want the attention. Plus, if your dad knew you went to school to be a profiler in the FBI, he’d have your head.

“Are you a genius or something?”

“I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute,” he gushed. The man stared at him like he was crazy, so the young doctor just agreed. “Yes, I'm a genius.”

“Sandy, you get a lot of attention, don't you?” Hotchner asked the dog who just panted.

Instead of being with them, you took a look around the room to see if you can get a feel to the place. Heather’s spirit was here through certain items, but because there are more than one, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from. The conversation went on about her dog until it got back on track.

“David, does your sister drive a Datsun Z?” Spencer asked when he picked up a magazine.

“No, but she's in the market for one. How'd you know?” he asked, and Spencer held it up. David just shook his head and took his dog outside since she was getting antsy.

“There's an immediate relationship established between a buyer and a seller, a certain level of trust. If I want to coax a young woman into my car, I’d offer her a test drive,” you said, causing the two men to stare at you.

Their bodies were emitting tension, and you knew they didn’t trust you at all. You needed to do something to prove to them that you were worthy enough to be on this team.

“Let me show you what I can do, okay?”

“Alright,” Hotch said.

Taking the magazine from Spencer’s hands, you closed your eyes in concentration. A multitude of pictures flashed through your mind due to the residue that Heather left behind, until those pictures turned into film. Heather was seated on the couch right behind Hotch and Spencer, flipping through the magazine happily. When she got to the page she wanted, she grabbed the red marker on the table next to her and circled the orange car a bunch of times. She then grabbed her money and began counting it to see if she had enough money to buy it.

“Heather is sitting on that couch, super excited to buy the orange car I keep seeing. She circles the one she wants with a red marker, and she starts to count her money,” you open your eyes, and began to flip through the magazine until you found the page you were looking for. “If I’m right, it’s this page she was on. She found someone with this exact car, and whoever took her did it because they got her to test drive it.”

The page you landed on was the same exact page with the red marker.

“Nice job,” Hotch complimented.

“That’s amazing,” Spencer muttered.

“Thank you. I just want to help, Agent Hotchner.”

“Please, call me Hotch.”

“Okay, then how about the fact that on one hand, we have paranoid psychosis, but the autopsy protocol says what?” Derek asked.

Back at the office, everyone was talking about the case and how the MO of this unsub didn’t make any sense. Derek was the one who was freaking out about everything since apparently not having a profile ready didn't bode well for him.

“Adhesive residue shows he put layer after layer of duct tape over his victims' eyes,” Spencer answered.

“He knows he wants to kill them, but he still covers their eyes. He doesn't want 'em looking at him, apparently. Okay, but then he takes the body and dumps it right out in the open, murder weapon nearby.”

“Not the MO of a paranoid convinced he's being watched or surveilled,” Spencer added.

Gideon stares at the drawing board while the rest talked about the case. Just by the look of his face, he was drowning out whatever they were saying. Even though you can get a read on his spiritual energy, that didn’t mean you could understand what he is thinking.

“Jason? What’s wrong?” you asked quietly, making sure only he could hear you.

However, he didn’t answer you directly.

“Alright, enough,” he interrupted the chatter in the room. “Let's tell them we're ready.”

“We're ready?” Derek gasped as Gideon left the room. The young genius started to write something down on his notepad, but the older agent wasn’t finished. “Reid, you're good with this? We've got a woman who's only got a few hours left to live, an incomplete profile, and a unit chief on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

“They don't call them nervous breakdowns anymore,” you noted.

“It's called a major depressive episode.”

“I know, Reid,” Derek sighed.

Walking away from the board, you looked at Spencer quickly right before you left the room. Gideon gathered everyone in a conference room to deliver the profile and stood in the middle of the room with the tables blocking him in on three sides like a square. The rest of his team stood off to the side, and while Hotch, Spencer, and Derek were listening, you were watching the reactions of everyone in this room. If your abilities told you anything, it’s how untrustworthy even the most highly respected person could be.

“The unidentified subject is white and in his late 20's. He's someone you wouldn't notice at first. He's someone who'd blend into any crowd. The violent nature of the crime suggests a previous criminal record--petty crimes, maybe auto theft,” Gideon began. Running your eyes over every person in this room, you tapped into their energies to see what the normal eye couldn’t.

“We've classified him as an organized killer—psychopathic as opposed to psychotic. He follows the news, has good hygiene, and he's smart. 'Cause he's smart, the only physical evidence you'll find is what he wants you to find,” Gideon continued. The person right in front of you wanted to pay attention, but all of his focus was centered on his phone. He’s got some private issues at home that you rather not delve into right now.

“He's mobile, and his car in good condition. Our guess is a Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows. The murders have all involved rapes, but rape without penetration is a form of piquerism, and that tells us he's sexually inadequate.”

The person to your right is paying very close attention to what Gideon is saying, but she is focused on his lips and the way he talks which says that she’s attracted to him right now. That made you want to laugh because you knew for a fact that Gideon was seeing someone on the down low.

“What is it?” Spencer whispered when he saw the hint of your smile.

“That woman over there wants to bone Gideon,” you whispered back.

“How do you know?”

“I’m psychic, Spencer. I know more about a person than you think. Want me to do you?”

“No, thank you,” he whispered and got back to what Gideon was saying.

“Psychiatric evaluations will show a history of paranoia stemming from a childhood trauma—death of a parent or family member, and now he feels persecuted and watched. Murder gives him a sense of power. Organized killers have a fascination with law enforcement. They will inject themselves into the investigation. They will even come forward as witnesses to see just how much the police really know. That makes them feel powerful, in control. Which is why I also think in fact, I know you have already interviewed him,” Gideon finished, causing the entire room to feel shocked at the news.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@averyhotchner​

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / Reminders and Reunions

Request: You and Hotch attend his high military school reunion together

Warnings: fluff, some angst, mentions of hotch’s dad, brief mention of what happens in “100,” some harassment by a dude, hotch saving the day, a little possessiveness from reader, 

Word Count: 3.155

“Are you ready yet?” You called from the bedroom, slinging your laptop bag over your shoulder, as you glanced back at the closed bathroom door, "Aaron, just because you stop replying doesn't mean you can trick me into forgetting about the reunion." 

"Are you sure?" You chuckle, turning as the door opened. You raised your eyebrows, watching him adjust his black suit coat, a crisp white button down underneath with a red tie — and you didn't miss the engraved silver tie clip you had bought him on your first anniversary, "because I have other ways of making you forget." He adds, raising an eyebrow at your gaping mouth and lingering stare. 

And yet he can still make your cheeks burn, rolling your eyes, as he faces the mirror giving you a very nice view of his ass, “Nothing could make me forget this — not even your cute ass.” 

He came close enough though. 

He sighs, adjusting his tie in the mirror before you rise, walking around him and taking the tie from his fingers. You make quick work of fixing the knot yourself, a tired habit at this point because even though he was fully capable of doing it himself, he loved to have you do it. His eyes softened as he watched you, his fingers brushing down the length of your sides, pausing at your hips, “Do we have to go? More importantly, do I have to go without you? Can’t I just wait for you?” 

“When you’re being honored at your high school for your service in the FBI? I don’t think so,” you smile up at him, your fingers finding his cheek. He leaned into your touch, despite his growing frown. 

“It’s military school,” he corrected you, lips a thin line now. 

“Yes, because you were a troublemaker — how could I forget?” He covers your hand with his own with a sigh, the corners of his mouths twitching, but still very much in a frown, “come on, I’ll be there soon enough. I just to—” 

“Drop something off to the office, I know,” he finished. You hum, as your arms wrap around his neck, his large palms grasping at your waist, slipping to your lower back. His lips are only a breath away, his lips nearly ghosting your own, your fingers toying with the hair that rested on his neck. 

“Tell me again how you know me so well,” he leans down, pressing a kiss to your now thrumming pulsepoint and he chuckles, the vibration sending a shiver down your neck. Another kiss pressed now to your collarbone, his fingers tug the collar of your shirt back, and he smiles against your skin. 

“Might be the profiling,” he hums, as you tilt his head back up to look at you again, “might be the holy matrimony.” and you don’t miss the way the metal band of his ring grazes your cheek as he cups it. 

“I knew I married you for a reason,” you smile against his lips as he kisses you, lips sliding together, parting as you giggled, “profiling makes being passive-aggressive so much easier.” 

He scoffs, slowly walking you backwards towards the bed, the bag slipping from your shoulder, “And here I thought you married me for my good looks,” 

“That too,” you murmur, as he presses you against the foot of the bed, “you’re doing a good job at that distracting thing,” and his lips find yours again, noses bumping, and your hands find his shoulders, finding it hard to say the next words that reluctantly leave your lips, “but you still have to go.” 

“But we could have our own fun here,” his voice is husky, and you know he’s right — you can think of several examples from this morning alone of ways you two could have fun, several of which involve the very tie around his neck, but— 

“Is there a reason you are so insistent on not going?”  you tilt your head, as his gaze drops, “because we really don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought it would be a nice way to reflect on how far you’ve come.” 

“I’ve come far?” and you roll your eyes, before pulling him onto the bed, your leg over his. You only wished you could really articulate how far he’s really come, how far you’ve seen him grow, how far you know he will grow in the future — but you can’t. Not really. You could list the things he’s done, the things he’s accomplished, the things he’s gained, the things he’s lived through — but nothing would do it service, nothing at all. Because words were incomparable to Aaron Hotchner, and you supposed, your fingers tracing his jaw, that’s why you married him. 

“I know you have — I’ve seen it,” your thumb brushes his chin, brushing his bottom lip and he kisses the pad, “and I can’t wait to see where else you go. But the reunion doesn’t have to be one of them, if you don’t want to. I just thought it might be a good reminder.” 

He sighs, “I haven’t been there since my graduation — did you know that was one of the last time I ever spoke to him?” 

And you purse your lips, watching the muscle in his jaw clenching, his fingers digging into his knee, “I didn’t know that — I knew you hadn’t spoken to him since military school but—”

He gives a bitter chuckle, “I didn’t even invite him — the school did,” he leans over, elbow propped against his knee, “It was the first time in my life I felt like I didn’t have to answer to him. It was the first time I was able to walk away from him and choose something for myself. And I chose to cut him out,” he rubbed at his chin, as your arms winded around his, one arm around his back and the other around his arm, “It wasn’t until he was sick, dying in the hospital that I ever saw him again, and by then...it was too late for words.” The weight of the words pressed against his chest still, a weight that would never ease from him, but your fingers intertwined with his, but one you hoped you could help bear. 

“Aaron—” 

“I don’t regret what I did, to him, at least,” he shook his head, eyes glassy,  “do I regret leaving Sean there? Yes. Do I wish I could have seen my mom more? Of course. But,” his eyes flicker to the dresser, lined with photos of your family — of him, Jack, Haley, you, and the team, and then back to you, “it’s what got me here,” he presses his forehead to yours, “it's what got me to you.” 

“If I have to thank that man for anything, and it’s very, very little,” he chuckles, as your fingers find his cheek again, “I would thank him for you existing, and for whatever he did or didn’t do, because you’re Aaron Hotchner because of it,” and then you shrug before adding, “and then I’d punch him in the face, but that’s besides the point.” 

He laughs, leaning forward to kiss you, pressing both of you into the soft mattress, his lips tasting of the bitter dark roast he preferred dancing in contrast to the sweet taste of something unmistakably him, “I love you,” 

“Right back at you,” you murmur, pulling him to you again. 

~~

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you curse under your breath, a colorful string of expletives that you hope no one caught wind of as you bustled down the street, only two minutes away from the venue, according to your phone. You promised to be there half an hour ago, but of course, someone had to screw up your paperwork, and it took five times longer to fix then it did to actually submit it. 

Lovely. 

And now you were late to the event that you had convinced Aaron to attend. His short, terse text message didn’t bode well of his time there without you, but you would be sure to make it up to him tonight. Trying to even your breath, you found the building, adjusting your hair and your clothes — you barely had enough time to change at the office. You were sure you terrified half the people in that office tonight, but you would apologize tomorrow — it was the only way you could get here on time tonight. 

And you did, pushing the front door open. 

Barely. 

You found your way to the room where the alumni were dining. No signs present — didn’t think that would be helpful would they? 

“Are you looking for the reunion?” a voice asked. You snapped your head to find a man standing beside you, a little too close for comfort. His snarmy voice matched his blonde slicked back hairdo, and his sleazy smile had you w “I couldn’t help but notice you looking utterly lost.” 

“I am,” you take a step back, shoving your disgust away, “can you point me in the right direction?” 

“I can, but I don’t believe I recognize you,” the man’s hands slips into his pockets, tongue darting out to lick his lips. You barely can hide your disgust, “You’re not crashing the party are you? It would very bad of you,” his teeth graze his bottom lip, his fingers running through his slicked back hair, “But I would be willing to teach you a lesson.” 

“I’ll pass on the lesson,” you keep your voice tight, knowing you would catch more flies with sugar then you would with vinegar and right now, you needed this fucking fly to tell you where the reunion was, “I’m not crashing, I just need to know where—” he tilts his head, jerking it towards two double doors down the hall. 

“It’s right through there,” and you head towards the doors, “I’ll see you in there.” he calls after you, and you shudder, right before you push through the double doors. A few eyes flicker to you as the door shuts softly behind you, but none of them Aaron’s. 

You bit your lip, scanning the crowd for him. You hoped you didn’t miss it — not after you had persuaded him to come, not after how hard it was for him to be here. But you didn’t, you know you didn’t when you find him on the stairs to the stage, his presence and posture undeniably too Aaron to miss. 

There’s a tapping on the microphone as the feedback reverberates through the room, “We wanted to honor a certain alumnus tonight,” a man’s voice booms over the microphone, “From here, he went onto George Washington University and then graduated law school summa cum laude. He eventually became one of the finest prosecutors in D.C. before joining the F.B.I.’s behavioral analysis unit, where he catches serial killers for a living. He is upstanding, true to his convictions, and represents the morals we wish our alumni to embody — Aaron Hotchner.” 

He steps onto stage, and you catch his eye despite the flashing cameras and roar of the crowd — he had plenty of practice after all. His lips curl into a small smile when he sees you, a nod, as he steps beside the announcer. 

“We would like to present to you with our distinguished alumni award,” he places the glass award in Aaron’s hand, shaking his hand with the other, as the room erupts into applause, “please, say a few words.” 

He blinks, stepping in front of the podium, clearing his throat before he speaks, “The last time I was here was our graduation. Like many of you, I had been sent here — for one reason or another we all ended up here. And I have a lot of bad memories associated with this place, as do we all. But it was a jumping off point — it took us places, it helped us find the right people,” his eyes find yours again, “and it helped us become the people we are today. It’s a good reminder, a needed one,” he holds the award up again, “Thank you.” 

The applause explodes around you, seats scraping against the floor as several rose to their feet, as he left the stage, walking over to shake his hand. You hang back, smiling as you watched him greet familiar faces. And you knew it was good for him to come here. 

“Still here, huh?” an unwelcome presence finds you again, slicked back hair and all  — he did promise that he would see you again. Persistent, like a rash. But now this rash has turned into a full blown infection, with drink in hand, the aroma of beer wafting with every word he spoke at you, “I still can’t place you.” 

“That’s because you don’t,” you cross your arms, “I didn’t go here.” 

“Oh I can place you,” you could hear the smirk in his voice, “how about in my bed tonight?”

You laugh, “I think you’re hallucinating,” still craning your neck to only find Aaron had disappeared into the throng of people by the stage. 

Irritation begins to creep into his voice, “I think you’d ought to have a little more respect for the alumni here, if there’s one thing they teach you here is to have respect for everyone.” 

“Well I didn’t go here, and the one thing I’ve learned is that people like you don’t deserve an ounce of respect,” you cross your arms, not bothering to look at him, “or acknowledgement. So why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone?” 

A tension began to ebb at your nerves. Logically, you knew you were okay — a crowded room, full of other people, your husband included who was a federal agent and had his gun on him — but still. Still — he was still physically larger than you, and possibly stronger. And if you weren’t in this room full of people, it could be a much different story. 

But I am in this room, you reminded yourself. You are. 

“Come on, who could you have more fun going home with tonight? 

“I have a few ideas,” Aaron slides beside you, his arm curling around your waist, FBI agent voice fully in action, his head ducking to press a kiss to your shoulder, “myself namely, but also every other person on the planet. 

“Hotchner,” the man scoffs, “Hotchner, congrats on the award,” his lips are a thin line, “you gonna put that up on your mantle with all your report cards? I thought you were much too busy to grace me with your presence.” 

“Never too busy for my spouse,” and you lean into Aaron’s touch, “something you should know well, Mason. Aren’t you still married?” as he tilts his head at the now dubbed Mason, who gapes at the two of you, as you grin brightly at him. 

“Nice to meet you, Mason,” you hold out your hand, savoring the slack jawed expression on his face, “You’re married that’s nice. I see it isn’t going too well, and I wonder why that could be.”

“I didn’t know you got married again, Hotchner,” he crosses his arms, “try not to get this one killed—” 

You surge forward, but Aaron holds you back, as you glare daggers at the fucking prick. You clench your jaw, your fingers fisting in the sleeves of his jacket. You needed to let him fight his own battles, and you knew he could — didn’t mean you wanted to punch him any less. 

“You know I’ve dealt with worse bullies than you, Mason, before and after you started shoving my head in a locker, and I’m not scared of you anymore,” you squeezed his hand, and he intertwined his fingers with yours, as he slid beside you, Actually, it’s nice to see some things haven’t changed around here.” 

The man surges forward, red in the face, but Aaron stops him with a firm hand on his shoulder. The room grows silent, and you feel the eyes of at least fifty alums dig into your sides, “Stop clinging to the past, and grow up,” Mason jerks his hand away, heading towards the exit, “I suggest you leave now. Unless you want to leave here in—” 

“Fuck you, Hotchner,” he says as the door slams behind him, and the chatter creeps back into the room. 

You scoff, swallowing the anger sitting on your throat, “Couldn’t even say it to your face,” you face him, his expression inscrutable as ever. Your fingers find his cheek, and he basks in your touch, a sigh on his lips, “you know you need a horse and a cape when you do that.” 

He chuckles, and relief floods you at the small smile on his lips, “I’ll come more prepared next time,” he glances at the door that Mason had just left through, and your fingers find his, squeezing his hand. 

“Are you okay?” 

His eyes flicker back to you, “I should be asking you that.” 

“He didn’t do anything besides make my ears bleed,” you huff, pulling him closer, his face in your hands, his eyes nearly glassy, “Now you didn’t answer my question — are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he shakes his head, rubbing his thumb across your cheek, “I finally have some good memories here, and I feel like I actually shut this chapter of my life closed after all this time. And this place doesn’t seem so scary now — it’s smaller than I remember. And so are the people.” 

“Should we find Mason and see if we can prove that theory?” he snorts, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering for a moment, before he presses his forehead to yours. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, “do you want to stay a little longer or go? If we’re staying, I’m going to need you to say I love you a little louder in front of the group of women currently ogling you.” 

“Jealous?” he laughs, kissing your forehead, tilting your chin up, as your hands slide around his neck. 

“Possessive,” you kiss him, his lips smiling against yours, his fingers twisted in your hair to pull you closer, and your hand drifted to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thud under your touch, “Mine.” 

“I think we’ve made that clear enough now,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your pulse, “Now, I think we should leave because I believe I was promised some fun after this.” 

“Really?” you scrunch your nose, “I don’t recall.” 

And he pulls you through the double doors and out towards the deserted parking lot, pressing you against the car with a kiss, towering over you, as you tugged him closer by his lapels, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, “Let me remind you.” 

[copperpieceharlot]

Bud I’m sorry to swing into your inbox uninvited like this but my soul is having an OOTS renaissance thanks to your content in the tag and did you say Leverage AU

haha holy SHIT this got Long. but yes. i’ve been. Thinking. (also literally Never feel like you have to apologize for sending me messages. i was Hoping someone would ask me about this. now i have an Excuse to share EVERYTHING ive written abt it :3)

Obviously, Roy is the leader/brains of the outfit. He grew up having some Strong Opinions abt what’s Legal versus what’s Right due to tragic backstory involving the death of his little brother which was definitely SOMEONE’S fault for negligence but since there technically wasn’t any illegal behavior, there were no consequences for it. Also he’s still angry at his dad bc he thinks his dad is also partly culpable (and also also just a dick). He’s the Moral Backbone of the team (alongside Durkon, more on that later) in basically the same way Nate was in og Leverage. He’s actually not the best at figuring out what people want (that’s Haley and, shockingly, occasionally Elan), but once he has that info, he is the absolute best at figuring out the ideal plan of attack to use in any given case.

Haley is still a thief. I mean she maps to Parker almost PERFECTLY. Her dad was a thief & a conman, her mom wasn’t but knew about it and mostly accepted it, but she died tragically in a mugging gone wrong or smth, which made Ian crank the paranoia WAY up and taught Haley to do the same in the name of “safety”. Let’s keep the “Ian is in Trouble and Haley needs money, Fast” which is why she signs on to the first job in the first place. She’s less acrobatic than Parker, tending towards finding (or making) weak spots in security, but she can still make a tumble check when she needs to.

Elan is the grifter who is somehow an Idiot but also not???? It baffles everyone. When he’s playing a part for a con, he’s FLAWLESS, but then the rest of the time he’s just. No Thoughts Head Empty. He probably gets lured in initially because he’s decided to try his hand at being part of a full team, rather than the two-man cons he’s been running that invariably end w his partner conning him as well and stealing half of his take. Also he likes the idea of being Crime Friends. He’s that tweet where it’s like, Roy: “after the heist is over, we split up and never communicate again” / Elan: [about to unveil his Crime Buddies Forever Friendship Quilt Puppets]: “never?”

Vaarsuvius is the hacker/gadget person. They have a Vaguely Snobby Yet Unidentifiable accent, dyed(?) purple hair (nobody has ever seen their roots) and nobody knows who they “really” are or where they came from, but they’re good at what they do so everyone just accepts the mystery. They probably got suckered into the team by their initial employer (who I’ll get to Eventually, lol) framing it as a challenge to their intellect, like, “oh, I see, you’re not smart enough to make this team work for you...” to which they were like Fucking Watch Me and also melted his computer. Anyways. They are joined (digitally) by their Intrepid Friend And Co-Conspirator (his words, not theirs), a fellow hacker known only as Blackwing, or, on certain forums, Blackwing_Bird. (In the first season, V only occasionally references him when saying they’re “calling in extra help” or smth for a particularly complex hack job. He starts showing up a little more in s2 and eventually by the start of s4 is a regular & established presence, but only appears as actions in a computer interface or output.) Elan is convinced he’s an AI, Belkar doesn’t think he actually exists, Haley pretends she doesn’t think he exists, and Durkon and Roy try not to think about it too hard, as long as B and V still get the job done.

Belkar is the hitter. He is on the team bc their initial employer got him out of jail for it. He doesn’t have a tragic backstory, he just likes doing violent crimes. As the series progresses, he grows some empathy & stuff, but really only for people who actually deserve it. Assholes still get decked. It’s all very touching. (Also he has dwarfism caused by achondroplasia. It doesn’t actually bother him and is useful in fights bc his opponents frequently have no fucking clue how to approach him, but he likes Pretending to take offense at stupid things just to see how far he can go with it.)

Aaaand last but not least, Durkon is the least involved member of the team. He’s actually a career criminal and Roy’s mentor, and wasn’t a member of the initial team that [redacted, I’ll tell you later, PROMISE] put together for a couple of reasons, the main one being that he’s Officially retired in order to spend more time with his family, which consists of his mom, his friend (not girlfriend) Hilgya, baby Kudzu, and a truly stunning number of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Roy frequently calls or visits him for advice and he Occasionally shows up to help out on local jobs, but generally he avoids doing crime if he can (as part of a deal with Hilgya, who is also a career criminal; basically, they’ve both cut back on the crime in order to provide a more stable home environment for Kudzu. But sometimes, you gotta do a little crime, and in those cases, Sigdi enjoys spending time w her grandson.)

NOW. THE BIG REVEAL YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR. Who got the team together in the first place?!

The answer: Lord Shojo (or whatever Normal Person Name you want to assign him). Now this is where it gets tricky: he had them do a thing that they thought was good, THEN they thought it was BAD, but then when they confronted him he revealed that it Appearing to be bad was actually a test of character and would they consider working as basically internal investigators for him? But then he had a heart attack, so, rip. But THEN it turned out that he’d left them a bunch of money anyway and they were all feeling kind of Inspired so they formed the Order of the Stick, LLC (which, no, i am not coming up with a new name, actually, because I just don’t care. someone else can come up w a justification for that name, tho, i’m sure it’s possible). Also Miko was there and was unhappy abt their actions, and also their general existence.

Moving on. Villains!

Redcloak is the Sterling replacement, because that DEEPLY amuses me.

Xykon is a season-long main villain, probably one that Redcloak finds himself working for but then “teams up with” (read: blackmails) the Order to bring him down bc even Redcloak finds Xykon distasteful. That’s season 3, let’s say.

Tarquin is another season villain, say season 2. Nale probably shows up pretty early in s1, actually, as another recurring antagonist like Sterling but uh. Less good at it. Anyways the s2 final 3 eps deal with them (accidentally) discovering that Tarquin runs some Evil Empire Company, then trying to outplay him and take him down. Idk if Nale still dies in this version tbh.

Tsukiko is a one-off s1 villain who returns briefly in s4 alongside Miko, who has gone well and truly off the rails.

Season 1 finale has to do w Roy finally getting Vengeance for his little brother.

The vampire squad is the s4 finale villain who do smth terrible to Durkon and then get the Mother Of All Revenge served up to them by the Order.

I envision the show as being 5 seasons (like og Leverage) but I’m not going to sketch out s5 because I think it should be based off whatever happens in the current story arc, possibly involving some legacy of the OotSquiggle.

Other stuff!

The Order of the Squiggle is a legendary criminal team from the 60s who stole a BUNCH of famous shit & then proceeded to legendarily implode. This has no bearing on the plot I’ve sketched out, I just think it’s fun.

The Sapphire Guard members should probably be reworked as FBI. I don’t care about most of them but I do think that Lien and O-Chul could be like, FBI agents who Choose to look the other way while the Order does their very-much-not-legal-but-still-fair Justice Crime, and maybe even help them out on occasion.

So, the Final season-by-season outline, based on everything I’ve written so far:

s1 e1: getting the team together, doing a con for Shojo, then at the end he dies and the gang is like “dang what now?" and intend to split up except then they Don’t.

mid-s1: Nale shows up and tries to trick the Order, but then gets beat like a drum.

late s1: Tsukiko is an underling of the Villain Of The Week, winds up in police custody. But She’ll Be Back.

s1 finale: Roy’s Vengeance: The Vengeaning. also we meet Redcloak as an antagonist.

s2 e1: the truth abt Haley’s father comes out

early s2: The Two Live Crews Job but it’s the Order vs the Linear Guild and the Linear Guild ARE all bad guys.

mid-s2: Redcloak returns. ugh.

late s2: the sapphire guard FBI makes its first appearance, hello O-Chul and Lien.

s2 pre-finale: once again they’re in conflict w Nale over smth, he spends the whole episodes making Cryptic Remarks, they basically beat him (like a drum!) but then the stinger at the end is that Tarquin reveals himself and Elan is like “Dad?!”, roll credits.

s2 finale, part 1: Elan is hanging out w Tarquin bc he’s DEEP in Denial, the Rest of the team tries to take Tarquin down, but it doesn’t work.

s2 finale, part 2: Elan finally gets a clue and they manage to beat Tarquin. still haven’t decided if Nale dies or not, but I’m leaning towards yes. also they rescue Haley’s dad.

s3 e1: fuck dude idk.

early s3: Redcloak shows up, AGAIN, everyone groans. he has blackmail on them, he wants them to take Xykon down.

mid s3: The Rashomon Job but it’s about stealing the Talisman of Dorukan and it turns out that Nale was there too (“oh!” Elan says. “I was wondering why I looked so weird in all those mirrors! But it wasn’t my reflection, it was Nale’s!” “Sweetie, that wasn’t Nale’s reflection,” says Haley. “Huh,” says Elan, “so the mirrors were broken?”, cue eye rolling from everyone else.), and the Successful thief was Hilgya, who’d nabbed it from the owner before it even went on display.

s3 finale: they beat Xykon, actually factually, because he deserves to get his ass Thoroughly kicked, even if only in AU form. Lien and O-Chul are there, so are some other less helpful FBI people. There’s a bit where O-Chul Exact Wordses his way out of telling his superiors about the Order’s less legal activities without technically lying. King shit.

s4 e1: doesn’t really matter. maybe smth to do w some legacy of Tarquin’s company to set up the drama w Malack & Durkon later.

early s4: Durkon gets SENT TO PRISON. Malack approaches the Order abt this because sure they have Different Ethics but they’re still Friends. (Roy is surprised and a little hurt that he’s never heard of Malack, but he ignores that in favor of Let’s Get Whatever Fuckers Did This To Our Friend.)

immediately after that: Miko and Tsukiko return as a Team, preventing the Order from working on the Durkon situation

mid s4: Redcloak makes another unexpected & unwelcome appearance but he’s maybe a little less of a dick? the Order collaborates with Malack & his Crime Buddies (hello, Vector Legion) to pull one over on him tho, because “less of a dick” does not mean “a pleasant or decent person”, and also he was mean abt Durkon being in jail, so he totally deserved it. he still gets whatever he wanted tho, just takes a blow to his pride. also prevents the Order from helping Durkon. they’re having a LOT of setbacks wonder why that could be, not to make sure the season fills its whole length or anything, no sirree

s4 finale: something something taking down the organization, headed by Hel (yes that’s her real name), which framed Durkon for their Big Crime. Durkon goes free and Extra Firmly retires, For Good, He Swears, but says he “met someone new” who might be an asset.

s5 e1: minrah joins the team! and the episode is set in like, somewhere really snowy. that’s all i got.

the rest of s5: don’t know, don’t care, it’s open-ended until the comic finishes up.

[anepiphany]

the bau & jury duty: headcanons.

w/ @ellegreenawy​

spencer reid:  mutters under his breath when they get slight details wrong. 

"do you think you know more than the judge or the lawyers?" 

"actually, yes." 

"in what respect?" 

"in all of them.”

corrects people when they don't call him doctor.

"up next we need mr. spencer reid." 

"that's doctor spencer reid." 

shows his fbi badge when they ask him for id. would for sure be correcting the layers’ statistics.

"actually, that's not quite right. did you know..."

penelope garcia:  would "somehow" never get picked for jury duty. in her words, it’s “magic”. she avoids the topic to the best of her ability, though.

“say, garcia, you haven’t had jury duty in a while, haven’t you?”

“o-oh, i guess i’m just l-lucky. it’s magic. oh look, i think that’s hotch calling me. gotta go!”

emily prentiss:  emily would probably convince garcia to do the same thing for her that she does for herself and then once every few months take around 4 days off because of "jury duty".

"emily, you had jury duty this weekend, right?" 

"yeah, i did." 

"then why are you a lot tanner than you were last week?"  

 "...tanning lotion in my hotel bathroom?"  

 "sure, prentiss."

hotch or another bau member questions her about it sometimes, but they didn’t really care enough to actually check. emily was always there for cases and turned her work in on time, so it didn’t matter too much.

“hey emily, you really have jury duty a lot. didn’t you just go like 6 months ago?”

“yeah, must be my bad luck. i should go, gotta pack! yes, need a lot of stuff for the next four days.”

david rossi:  rossi just sits there and does not give a single fuck. he doesn’t want to be there and makes sure that everyone knows that. he knows that his team is doing more important cases at the moment, but he’s stuck in this stupid trial. he’s the least involved with the other jurors.

"um, mr. rossi? what do you have to say for this?"

"hmm?" 

"mr. rossi, are you paying attention?" 

"mhm." 

"well, you have to make a decision, it's a tie. it's all down to you now." 

"well i don't really care. whatever gets me home faster."  

 "mr. rossi, do you know who you're talking to? i'm a judge." 

"no, do YOU know who you're talking to? i founded the behavioral analysis unit of the fbi. and i’m a best-selling author to boot. what have you done besides sit here and be a pompous dick?"  

 "i-" 

he might not be involved with the other jurors, but he’s definitely paying attention to the trial. the jury would be arguing and he’d make one point that ends up making them all stop talking and end up agreeing. he would also totally do the "hush, the adults are talking" thing that jj and emily do in that one episode with morgan’s cousin.

jennifer jareau: jj wins everyone over with pictures of her kids. she’s too pure to use it to influence other jury members (plus her morals wouldn’t let her either) so instead she just uses it to get really nice catering and bathroom breaks whenever she wants. 

"and this is henry, he's 7. the other one is michael." 

*everyone awws* 

"and that tall one is spencer. not biologically my kid, but close enough."

"how old is he?"

"oh he's 32."

bonus points because she also has jack’s picture on her phone.

"so how many of these are your actual children?"

"depends on what ‘actual’ means." 

as the trial goes on, she's complaining about people's incompetence, and the other jurors are so confused. 

“is this the really sweet woman who was just showing us baby pictures?"

jj is also either fully supporting the prosecution or fully supporting the defendant. there's no in between. she listens to the evidence so she can decide it fairly, but once she has a decision she has a decision. 

"i see this happen every day. i'm a profiler, for fuck's sake. can you not see how the defendant’s story was almost the same, word for word, each time he said it? it was clearly rehearsed. plus, he kept on looking to the left as he thought. it’s a possible sign that he was lying."

“the evidence clearly doesn’t add up! the prosecutor is creating a story out of nothing.” *proceeds to poke holes in every part of their argument until the whole jury is nodding along with her*

aaron hotchner: a little like spencer. he would totally be making comments about everything, because he was a prosecutor. they’d be quiet though, under his breath. he never actually corrects anyone, but you can definitely hear him muttering.  sometimes it's a trying-to-be-helpful tone and other times it's a you-dumbass-what-are-you-doing tone.

"no, no. that's not the argument you want to be making."

besides that, he’s pretty much silent. when the jury is discussing, he’ll make one statement and give his opinion and then shut up unless he’s directly talked to. very few times, he’ll get mad or frustrated, like when the case is especially bad or the trial isn’t going well, but he’s still polite about his displeasure.

derek morgan: honestly a lot like jj. decent, upstanding citizen. wins over all the grandmothers. he helps them to their chairs, walks them to their cars, helps them get food, etc.

“hello, i’m derek.”

*cue grandmothers swooning*

he also gets the phone number of every single girl there, regardless of age. but when he starts dating/marries savannah, every time a girl hits on him, he just shows a picture of hank so everyone just simps instead. (he might get those girls' numbers anyway just to offer them dating advice.) 

"look at you, hot stuff!"

*shows his lock screen, which is a picture of sav and hank*

"oh, my bad."

“but if you’re ever in need of dating advice, i’d be happy to help.”

he always makes sure justice is delivered, even if that means going against what most other people think. and he’s very vocal about what he thinks.

[scullysexual]

Time Can Heal

Season Two | Abduction Arc | Canon Divergence | Angst 

Mulder realises that his quest for the truth costs too much.

CHAPTER ONE

I decided to go ahead with this and turn it into a full fic after the response the original post received. I’ve deleted that now. This is the full chapter. Scully’s part is the same as it was but I’ve now added Mulder’s. Factual-wise, this is not going to be perfect and it’s more about improving my writing than it is about being right. Basically Scully’s abduction isn’t dealt with as soon as it should have been and my plan is to do that and to deal with the repercussion of that from the get-go. I’ve always wanted to write early msr too but I could never figure it out but I think I’ve done it. This isn’t going to be a happy fic for the most part, if you read the original you know the angst involved but I really want to write this no matter what and I hope you want to read it just as much. Let me know what you think having been given the full chapter now and I’m happy to continue. I don’t usually ask for comments but with this it would help so much. 

- - -

Her apartment was up for sale. There were promises made to get it back. Scully didn’t want it back. They could sell it on for all she cared. She didn’t think she wanted to step a foot back into the place.

Right now she only cared about this bed. This blanket of safety she had made for herself. Up here, she could listen to the faint noise of the radio downstairs, her mother puttering about, a spoon clanging against a mug. The sounds made her feel protected, a promise that nothing would happen to her so long as she stayed here and that was much better than a soundless, empty apartment made for one.

And what exactly was she afraid of?

There was nothing in her memory beyond Duane Barry dragging her up that mountain.

Maybe that is what she’s afraid of. Perhaps those memories are worse than not remembering. Not remembering has it perks, right? Well, that would be if it wasn’t for the ache in her abdomen, for how tired she feels every day, for the feeling that something is missing yet she can’t place what, like knowing you had forgotten to do something but not knowing what that was exactly.

The question remained: Why her? Why did Duane Barry come after her? All she did was ask questions about the implant, look for answers to help him if not anything else. So why take her?

She guesses that would Mulder’s new obsession. Find answers for Samantha. Find answers for Scully.  She wants to tell him to stop, that more people will get hurt if he continues but she doesn’t have the energy to fight and argue with him. Not anymore. Not again.

Her mother had told her how Mulder responded when he found out she had returned. How he vowed to whatever it took to find out what happened to her. It was appreciated but it was unnecessary. The whole this was unnecessary. For the past year she had seen nothing but cover-ups and lies, why would this be treated any differently?

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Mulder visits some time into her second week back. She’s sleeping but she sleeps pitifully, waking up through the night, startling at any questionable sounds. She’ll wake in the pitch black, her hand reaching out to grab her gun before she realises she doesn’t have it anymore. It’s in evidence like a lot of her stuff. She wants her gun back, a gun, it doesn’t have to be her own, just anything so she has something to defend herself with. Just in case.

The door opening wakes her. It’s still light out, she can still see around the room and she sees Mulder standing there, half in the doorway and half out. Scully sits up, her abs protesting still after all these weeks. What did they do to her?

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Mulder says, looking apologetic.

Scully shakes her head, tells him it’s okay.

“Why are you here?” she asks. Not that she doesn’t want him here. When she was taken, lying in that trunk, all she wanted was for Mulder to open the trunk and get her out of there. She would chide herself that she was relying on him, waiting for him to rescue her and free her from the big bad wolf. Eventually those thoughts subsided and it became her only saving grace, imaging him shooting Barry point blank and watching him bleed out on the car seat, on the gravel, on the grass.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.” He moves into the room, closing the door. “Your mother said you were spending most of your time up here. I was worried.”

“I’m fine,” she responds quickly.

Mulder sighs. “Scully, I’ve been where you are right now. I know that feeling, how the bed is the only place you want to be but, believe me, once you get up, be with people, you’ll find it so much more recuperative.”

“Is that your final diagnosis, Dr Mulder?” Her voice is cold. If he came up here to lecture her about how she wants to recover, to deal with her trauma off of one conversation with her mother he is free to leave right now.

Mulder, rightly so, is taken aback by it. His mouth falling open slightly, his head shaking in bewilderment, eyes blinking in confusion.

“I’m…I’m only trying to help you, Scully,” he says. “As a friend.”

Scully looks away, pulling the comforter closer to her chest and feeling shitty about the way she snapped.

“I also came here to talk to you,” he says after a moment. “May I?” He motions to the end of the bed, asking to sit, the cold guest room devoid of any seating.

Scully pulls her knees towards her, wrapping herself up with her arms and resting her head against her knees, listening.

Mulder sits and Scully waits. Whatever he has to tell her, it’s difficult. She watches him searching for the words, possibly the right words, and sighs and swallows and Scully waits patiently.

“I, um…I think I’m gonna leave.”

Scully’s head lifts from her knees, surprised. “The Bureau?”

Mulder shakes his head. “No…The X-Files.”

He couldn’t be serious.

“Mulder, you can’t.” He turns to her, surprised by this. “What about your quest. Your search for the truth. About Samantha?”

“There’s too much risk,” he tells her. “Too many people being hurt. Deep Throat, you…” He reaches a hand out and places it against her covered knee. She can feel the heat of it even through the duvet. “All for some selfish quest. It isn’t fair.”

It was hard to comprehend what he was saying. For the year she had known him he’d been nothing but committed to this cause, to unearthing every secret, every lie, every ounce of the truth he could find. It seemed strange he would abandon it all.

“But I thought that was what we signed up for?” Scully asks. “That we know the risks doing what we do.”

But Mulder is shaking his head. “I’ve lost Samantha, I’ve lost Deep Throat. I almost lost you. I can’t…risk that again.”

She can see him beating himself up. Understands this has evolved from the guilt he feels towards her abduction.

She grasps his hand still resting against her knee, clasps it in both of her hands, anchoring her to him.

“I don’t blame you, Mulder,” she tells him, her eyes glued on his, willing him to believe. “And you shouldn’t either.”

He smiles sadly, pulls his hand away from hers. He’s considered what she’s said yet his mind is already made.

“I’ll come back,” she says, trying another tactic. “I’ll pass the psych exams, the physicals, and I’ll be back and we can work together again.”

Mulder is shaking his head. “It’s over, Scully.”

She refuses to believe that. Tired, the tears have began forming. She never thought she would cry over a department in the FBI but it’s more than that. It’s a one-of-a-kind partnership she knows she’ll never get to experience again, a friendship like no other.

But they will still be friends. They will still see each other about the building. Maybe spend an occasional lunch together but it won’t be the same. She’ll never have anyone she trusts as much as Mulder, loves as much as Mulder.

She swallows the lump in her throat.

“There’s one other thing,” he says, turning away.

Oh god, there’s more? She looks at him through her tear-clouded eyes.

“I’m leaving Washington.”

It’s a blow to her stomach. Hurting more than any unexplained aching abs could. It twists her inside and makes them drop through the ground.

“No.”

“Scully-“

“Stay. Go to another department if you have to. But don’t leave.”

He looks at her trying to get her to see his side of it but Scully won’t, she refuses to.

“Can’t you see I’m giving you a way out? A chance to get away from me?”

“I don’t want to get away from you!”

It’s one blow after another and she can’t take it. She throws her legs back down, thinks she kicks his thigh in the process but doesn’t care (Good, he deserves it) and turns onto her side facing away from him, pulls the covers right up to her chin.

“Fine, go then,” she tells him, her voice laced with hurt and anger. “I don’t care anymore.” She’s never told a bigger lie.

“Scully…”

“Shut the door on your way out. I’m tired.”

She shuts her eyes, listening. He doesn’t move for a few seconds before he seemingly faces defeat- faces the consequences his decision has caused. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it? For Scully to become completely non-respondent to him.

He sighs and moves, the bed shifting with the loss of weight. She listens to his footsteps treading across the carpet before they come to a stop.

“I’m doing this to protect you, Scully. So this doesn’t happen again.”

She pursuers her lips, shutting her eyes tighter against the tears, breathing heavily.

Only when she hears him turn does she speak.

“I don’t want your protection.”

His footsteps walking away are his only response.

Mulder doesn’t shoot Duane Barry. She takes the gun herself and hits him right in the centre of his forehead.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Agent Mulder?”

Skinner holds Mulder’s transfer papers in his hands, looking through them.

It had come as a surprise when Mulder at hold him he was requesting a transfer. The X-Files had just been reopened, it seemed odd to ask for one now. Mulder had his reasons, the same reasons he’d given Scully and while it was broke him deeply to see her become so cold and despondent towards him he knew it was better that way. He hated the thought of her hating him but she’ll understand that it’s for the best soon enough.

“This isn’t another self-punishment, is it?” Skinner asks.

No. The resignation had been self-punishment, Mulder could admit that now. Resigning out of failure to protect those closest to him. Why should he carry on when the one person he held above everything else was lying in a hospital bed because of him? It wasn’t right.

But it was a punishment. This was something else. A chance to start over.

“It’s rare for agents in the Hoover Building to demote themselves to field offices,” says Skinner eyes flicking over the forms.

“But not unheard of,” Mulder counters. He’d done his research; a total of 3% has done what he’s doing but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was possible.

“And Agent Scully,” Mulder swallows, fearing the question. “Is she aware of this transfer?”

Mulder nods. “I’ve told her. It gives her a chance to be reassigned now there’s no one left to spy on.”

He didn’t view Scully as a spy anymore. In the beginning, he’d been weary, distrustful but she had proven herself loyal to him time after time that he really had no reason to treat her as an outsider anymore. She had been dedicated, treated him as an equal- not matter how wild his theories would get- when so many others had been quick to scoff and roll their eyes. It had been disorientating at first, thrown him off guard but he had come to value it soon enough.

Now he worried he had destroyed all that.

“I’ll speak to Agent Scully when she returns,” Skinner tells him. “In the meantime, you can go. I’ll call you when an office opens up.”

“Thank you, sir.”

And with that Mulder was dismissed. He makes his way out of Skinner’s office, to the elevator, and down to the basement.

It could be the last time I step in here, he thinks as the elevator doors open and he steps out. He regards his name on the door before opening it, wondering where it will end up once he’s gone.

He’d been down here a few times since the files being reopened. Wrappings still cover the furniture. At the time, he’d been too tired, too devastated with Scully’s disappearance and coma to take it off. He wonders if there’s any point to doing it now?

He looks around, taking it all in. His eyes linger on the area at the back. A swivel chair that Scully would occupy. They had stolen that from another office upstairs. A lone Saturday when the building was virtually empty. Scully had lamented that she wanted a swivel chair and that had been their mission for the day. Case Reports forgotten as they made their way upstairs. There had been a lot of giggles that day, Scully keeping lookout while Mulder tried to drag a chair across the carpet. He’d given up and carried it above his head. An AD from another floor had rounded one corner while they ducked behind another, stifling laughter before the AD was out of sight and they made a dash for the elevator, making it to the safety of their office. Mulder had bestowed his gift to Scully and that chair had remained since.

That had been a fun day. A day where professionality hadn’t existed and he felt like he had unlocked another piece of Scully- another piece of Dana- just like he had in a graveyard in Bellefleur.

Pulling his gaze away from the chair, he removes the wrappings covering the desk and pulls open a draw. A pen and sticky note in his hand he writes his message. He places it on the counter with the hope that she will come down and find it before he begins packing away three years of his life into one tiny cardboard box.

[heavenlysan]

Cruel Love [6]

Mafialeader!San | Detective!Reader | Soulmates | Choi San x female reader | NSFW!!! | Explicit language | T/W Harassment, Light violence and mentions of blood |

Words: 4,3k

Chapters:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

(Y/N'S POV)

The last ray of dim light disappeared after closing the door I rest against the door holding my chest trying to control the unknown things happening inside of me I look through the peephole and he's still there he stares blankly into space while touching his lips he smiles so big and raises one of his hands in victory he's happy? 

I go to bed thinking about how San is nothing like Irene's report portrayed him or at least he hasn't showed that side yet. He is a caring man who blushes easily. I feel my old phone vibrating under the mattress and I hurry up to see who it is if it's Irene I'm doomed.

"Hello?"

"Hey y/n how is the fake life going?" I sigh relieved after hearing Dylan's voice.

"Are you drunk or dumb? We're not supposed to have contact"

"I know" He laughs loudly "I just don't know if you remember that I'm working on your last case and one of the papers is missing I wanted to know if you still have it or if I have to ask our boss"

"Really? I left everything organised it shouldn't be missing but I probably messed up without realising it probably is in my apartment" I scratch my head trying to remember.

"Can I go to your old apartment to pick it up then?" He asks.

"Sure ask the doorman to open the door for you I'll call to let them know you're passing by" It's completely okay it's not the first time he does it I've known Dylan for two years almost three and it's not the first time he's there without me being present.

"Okay I'll call you after getting them, take care y/n" He ends the call.

I feel so troubled I feel really tired but I have to stay up to write a report that I don't even know where to start. Tonight San didn't show a single sign of him being a criminal we talked about our life and the FBI is surely not interested in his childhood. He did showed signs of his wealth the earrings, his expensive car and renting a whole planetarium just for us. I search around on the Internet to find how much the earrings are and my jaw drops as soon as I see the price 14,995 dollars. He must have a lot of money if he can do that casually buying expensive jewelry like it's candy. Me being an average human getting an average paycheck can't understand how he can spend that much on a woman he just met? My phone rings again, it's Dylan but is just a message this time.

Damn you must have been on a huge rush to leave your apartment like that 😭 since you can't come back for idk how long I'll clean it and tidy this place up for you but you owe me one.

What is he talking about? I call him immediately but he doesn't answer. What is he doing? I try again but it sends me to voicemail his message was sent only seconds ago why can't he pick up? But I try not to worry and just send him a message.

What do you mean? you're so dramatic not all of us are perfectionists and clean as you are I left my apartment as it always is and answer your phone I called you twice!!

I go back to my report and I write the little information I have I know Irene is going to yell at me because she gave me specific instructions of writing an extremely detailed report but the only thing I have is evidence of his wealth besides I'm doing a good job San is opening up and the whole point is gaining his trust Irene said it herself San was hard to find and me getting this close is in fact more than she expected.

I rest my head on the desk just to close my eyes for a little moment the tiredness is a lot but I have to keep on writing.

…

The sun dazzled me and I straighten up in my seat fuck I was supposed to just rest my eyes for a moment but I fell asleep. I stretch my arms and legs and I feel good It's been a long time since I've slept so well. My heart starts beating fast when I hear a knock on the door and I get up so fast to open just to find Irene on the other side.

"You must have had a rough night you look…" She looks at me from head to toes and tries to find non-offensive words or at least that's what she looks like. "Anyways remember my instructions? I'm here to see your report"

I don't really say anything to her I just guide her to my desk and give her the report.

"This is just" She holds the bridge of her nose and laughs then breaks the paper in half and throws it away "You think this is a joke? We don't give a shit about his money we're losing time" She yells at me, she looks furious.

I would usually lower my head and be a good employee but today that's not the case. "Don't you see? This is useful for the case knowing about his wealth we can get an idea of what he's doing find his credit history and see what business he's involved in" I yell back at her and she looks surprised "At least I'm getting things done you along with the rest of the FBI have been trying for too long to reach him but you failed you should be thankful I was able to get this close"

She's about to leave but turns back to look at me "Show me what you recorded"

Fuck not again.

"I wasn't able to get much" I get the earrings and I connect them to her laptop.

She tenses when she sees his face. In the short video I was able to get there he was it only showed when he gave me the flowers and the diamond earrings and before the video ends it shows how he took off my detective earrings.

"Flowers and diamond rings? You had a date with him right after you guys had sex? Seriously? Isn't supposed to be date and then sex" She says with saltiness in her voice.

"Listen, I'm aware that you're my superior and I should show you some respect but if you want that I want respect back if I had or didn't have sex with him that is the point of the investigation get close gain his trust so I don't know what you're getting so mad for but if you're really itching to know no, I didn't have sex with San"

"San? So you’re that close now" She nods and laughs sarcastically "Sure whatever you say I'll be back in a couple of days" She gets up to finally leave and I couldn't be happier about it "And y/n next time make sure to write something actually useful"

I sit on the couch for a moment, letting out a big sigh of frustration and anger why was she so mad about all of this? from the beginning she knew this wasn't going to be easy. My head hurts because all of this and I just lay back on the couch. I stare at the ceiling for too long my mind completely blank the last words she said definitely hit a nerve make sure to write something actually useful it remind me of stuff from my childhood and I get mad again can't she see I'm trying my best?.

I get up again to the kitchen to finally eat something and see if that can stop my headache but my phone starts ringing. It's an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Hi is this y/n?" Says a woman but there's a little bit of noise and I can't recognise her voice.

"Yeah it's me who is this?"

"Hi it's Lucy the tall girl from the bar I'm sorry if I catch you in a bad time but our boss isn't gonna be around for a few days and whenever he isn't around I'm in charge I was wondering if you could come to the bar earlier and help me with some stuff"

I think about it for a moment and I don't really want to go to that bar ever again but it's not like I have any other choice "Sure at what time do you want me there?"

"Around 4pm or earlier if you can, I hate being in charge here so if you can come earlier I'll really appreciate it"

"Okay I'll be there"

"Thank you new girl" She says and I end the call.

This is just fucking perfect the last time I was there, my confidence was left on the floor, I hated the way I had been treated. But I also wonder why the boss isn't gonna be around? He must be sick I guess.

I wonder if San is gonna be there tonight but that I remember he only goes there only once or twice per week so he might not be there tonight.

I take a shower and after that I finally eat something, but there's not much left to eat for the next week and there wasn't much food to begin with so I'm obligated to leave and get the groceries. I put on a hoodie some old jeans and I leave.

There's not many people in this neighbourhood it's nothing like my old one in my old building there was always noise always if it wasn't a couple fighting it was babies crying or if it wasn't that it was the same couple having loud sex in plain daylight. This neighbourhood it's nothing like that I've been walking and so far I've only seen one old lady taking out her trash.

"What are you doing outside gorgeous" Says a man but I don't even bother to turn around and I just keep walking. "Can't you see it's dangerous to be alone a girl with an ass like yours isn't safe anywhere" I feel disgusted and I just rush my steps. "Stop ignoring me dirty slut I've been observing you the other day you left with a short dress that made me so hard are you a whore beautiful? Because I'll gladly pay for your services"

I stop walking and I turn around to face him "Leave me alone or I'll scream"

"That won't do much honey have you seen this place? it's empty as fuck even if you scream for help nobody is gonna come and save you" He tries to get closer to me but I take a step back. "Come on gorgeous I just want a little taste of that pussy of yours you're a whore you want it too you're probably getting wet right now"

I've had enough of this man this time I'm the one that gets closer to him he probably thinks he got me, as soon as he lowers his guard I punch him in the face. He holds his nose and sees the blood in his hand and looks shocked "What did you call me? A whore? I'll show you what a whore can do then" I punch him again.

The man looks pissed but he doesn't stay for too long and runs away. He messed up with a good trained detective after all.

I finally get to the convenience store and get enough stuff for the next week.

"Your total would be" The cashier looks down at my hand "Are you okay!?" I get confused to what he means and I look at my hand and it's turning green and purple and there's some of my own blood I don't remember punching that man that much?.

"I'm okay thank you" I pay and I don't even bother to get my change I get out of there.

I hurry and I run as fast as I can to be safe, if that man appears again with this hand I won't be able to do much to defend myself. I get there and I close the door behind me completely breathless for running so much. I walk to the bathroom to wash and disinfect my hand, with eyes closed and itching pain I put a bandage on my hand. I've hit people before and my hand has never ended like this did I… punch him more than I remember?

I stay in the kitchen trying to rewind the tape but I only remember punching him twice and then he just ran away… But the blood on his face and my hand doesn't match up with my memories.

I glance at the clock 2pm I should start getting ready to head to the bar. I do my make up first a not so heavy smokey eye and red lipstick. I wear a short backless long sleeved black dress I'm gonna be cold at night but the other dresses are just as short and skin revealing as this one so there's no big difference. I eat something quickly before leaving and I just close the door.

With not so much enthusiasm I drive to the bar and I drive as slow as possible I don't want to be there and I don't want to be there this early. My hand still hurts I move the bandage a little and my hand still has a purple greenish color I knew it wasn't going to heal right away but I was hoping for a miracle because it's definitely going to draw attention.

I get there and in my head I definitely had thought that Lucy had called all the girls to help her too but we're all alone and as soon as she spots me Lucy gets so happy.

"y/n thank God you're here I was hoping to see you even earlier but it's okay, we're opening in a few hours and we need to get this place ready"

"You mean like clean and other stuff?" She nods "What happened to everyone doesn't this place already have another employees to get it ready?"

"Yes but I'm a woman and whenever I'm in charge not a single male employee does what I order they only listen to our boss and if he isn't around here they don't even bother to show up till it's time to open"

"Seriously? They sound pathetic" Lucy looks really stressed.

"I know right that's why I called you the other girls usually sleep all day to work all night so I got really glad we you picked up your phone I'll do most of the work inside but if you could wait outside for a delivery"

"Lucy, it's okay just breath for a moment" I hold her shoulders and she takes a deep breath "and relax we can do all the work on our own don't worry"

"Thank you y/n if you ever wanna go shopping or something, give me a call it'll be my treat"

I go outside as she asks me to but she didn't even mention what am I supposed to receive but I didn't want to give her more trouble.

I wait for a long time but there's no sign of any delivery the worst part is that it's a little bit cloudy it might rain in a few hours and I'm starting to get cold.

I sit on the edge of the sidewalk when I see a big truck parking next to the bar. Is that it? A man starts walking towards me and that confirms it.

"We got your boxes of Tequila Ley .925, Henri IV Dudognon Heritage Cognac Grande Champagne, Diva Vodka, Dalmore 62 that's a special one I've heard it's good ma'am and the last one is Penfold Ampoule just sign here please" Those are brand names? Even the names sound ridiculously expensive. I do as he says and he and another man start getting the boxes out of the truck.

"Now I know why Lucy preferred cleaning inside." I'm left with over forty boxes of expensive liquor that I'm supposed to move from the parking lot to the cellar. I take off my heels so I don't fall down the stairs and break the bottles and my ankles. This is definitely more tough that it looks like I keep going up and down till there's no more boxes on the parking lot I'm left exhausted with trembling legs and arms and I already want to go and take a long nap.

I lay on one of the red velvet sofas and Lucy sits in front of me

"Why you didn't call me to help you?" She was already so stressed and I didn't want to be a burden but I don't say anything "Our boss never makes such big orders unless a big event is coming I didn't know you'll be left with so many boxes and I also didn't see your injured hand I'm sorry" She sounds sincere and I just give her a smile.

"Don't worry about it I needed some exercise"

"But we can't stay here we're actually late to open so I need you to get up"

"What time is it? Did I already take that long?"

"It's 7pm we were supposed to open an hour ago but It's not your fault it was actually mine I took to long washing all the wine glasses"

She gets to the door and removes the lock and I just want the sofa to absorb me or something. It doesn't take too long for the other employees and the rest of the girls to finally get here and after around 30 min this place looks exactly like the first time I saw it. Men everywhere drinking and playing either darts or billiards.

I look around to find Lucy and she's already talking with a man.

So far I'm thankful nobody has asked me to have sex the only men who have approached me was just to flirt, invite me a drink and play billiards even if it was just so they could see my butt it's better than have sex with nasty drunk men.

I leave to the bathroom to get some air and stay away from the noise for a few minutes my knuckles hurt more than they did earlier. Carrying boxes all afternoon was obviously a terrible idea.

I go back and I see a familiar face it's San's friend Wooyoung and another man I don't know I try to avoid him seeing me but it's too late when I hear him calling me.

"You're the girl from the other night aren't you? What was your name" He closes his eyes "y/n! Right!" Shouts Wooyoung and I get closer so he doesn't have to be so loud.

"She's y/n? now I understand" Says the man next to Wooyoung even if they're sitting I can tell he is taller than him.

"Mingi don't be annoying" He tries not to laugh it looks like they're already drunk "By the way we couldn't convince San to come tonight but let me give him a quick call and let him know you're here"

"No no you don't have to" I try to stop him but he already has his phone out.

"San guess who's here she wants to see you" He laughs again he is definitely drunk but not a bad type of drunk. "He hung up on me I can't believe this bastard but don't worry y/n he's probably on his way"

A girl walks past Wooyoung and he forgets about my existence I think it's the same girl he was with last time but I can't remember her name. I look around and the other tall man Mingi left too.

Men keep inviting me drinks I definitely feel uncomfortable but again I rather this than sex. And I also start feeling a little dizzy.

"I can't believe San started liking another girl" I hear a deep voice that startles me I turn around to face him and it's Mingi. "After all he went through I thought this whole women thing was over for him but…"

One of the girls approaches me interrupting Mingi "A man paid for you he is waiting in the golden VIP room and please hurry we can't afford losing a client tonight" I look at Mingi and makes a gesture that indicates that it's okay.

I celebrated too early men not paying for me I jinxed it completely what am I gonna do? I don't want to do this. I walk through the green neoned hallway and I slowly open the door of the golden VIP room.

"I heard you wanted to see me"

A sigh of relief leaves my mouth when I see San. He looks so good he's wearing a black coat that makes him look so mysterious and elegant.

"Actually that was your friend Wooyoung" I say resting my back against the door.

"That's what I thought princess but I couldn't pass the opportunity to see you"

"Mr Choi San I don't know if you remember but the other night I got instructions to treat you like a God.”

He gets closer to me and the smell of whiskey fills the air. He wraps me with his arms and lifts me up I wrap my legs around his waist but he just looks at me with lust in his eyes I take the initiative and kiss him softly. And that feeling appears again it's unknown yet familiar and exciting. I remember where we are and if we're gonna do it I don't want it to be here.

"San let's go to another place." I say and San nods but before opening the door he pulls down my dress as it was before. He holds my non-injured hand and guides me outside where the rain takes us by surprise and we hurry to his car.

"Do you want to go to your house or my house" He asks and I smirk at him getting closer.

"Truth is I can't wait any longer" That's the alcohol talking for me. Those are enough words for San. We jump to the back seat and I sit on his lap he probably sees the desperation in my eyes because he tilts my chin up and kisses me. It’s rough but slow, he has his hands around my hips and I start teasing him grinding against his bulge.

"Princess…" He moans and that sounds so good.

It was obvious that both of us were drunk but none of that mattered right now. I desired him and he desired me. He switched positions resting my back on the seat, now he was on top. He takes off his coat he has a white shirt and black suspenders but my hands are faster than his and I unbutton his shirt revealing his abbs. I leave a trail of kisses first his lips and then his neck then his chest going lower and lower till I reach his pants I glance at him one last time he has his hands on my head caressing my hair. Without hesitation I unbuckle his belt and bring down his pants along with his boxers revealing how hard he is I kiss just the tip and he throws his head back I can feel how desperate he's getting.

"San you want me to keep going?" I whisper and he just nods. "What do you want me to do?"

"Princess please keep going I'm begging you" He sounds so desperate but I do as he says and I take it all at once. He moans aggressively and that makes me so wet, I can feel his legs twitching. He starts pushing my head and playing with my hair I go slow to tease him "You feel so good around me princess don't stop" I start going faster and faster I couldn’t get enough of him he felt so good. "Oh fuck" He groans and looks at me with a smile and kisses me right away. I couldn't believe all of this but I didn't want to stop either. He takes off my dress and I feel so exposed that I start blushing "You're beautiful princess" He's on top of me again I feel like my heart is gonna jump out of me anytime now. He kisses me roughly but there's tenderness in the way he does it. His hands go from my neck to my chest I feel like crying I'm desperate I want him inside of me.

"San please"

"I like that, keep doing that say my name princess" I feel the tip in my entrance God I can't do this anymore I want him inside of me now.

"San please fuck me" I wanted him in me, all at once I didn't care. His weight on top of me felt nice I wanted him even closer even deeper. "Hush" he said, and he kissed my eyelids, then my lips. His strong and gentle hands began to stroke me, his hands, his lips, his tongue this felt like heaven. He pushed further inside of me gentle. Knowing what he was doing. I felt my nipples rise, and it startled me, I felt like I was going to break in half. But it was worth it. He moved his hips faster and I was a moaning mess. I looked directly into his eyes and he held down both of my hands while leaving soft kisses on my lips. He was rhythmic, gentle, moving down my body.

San was making me feel yet another unknown feeling it felt strange and new but it felt extremely good. I throw my head back and let out one last moan there was a sharp brief pain It felt like a big explosion inside of me and then a sweet spasm went through me, no more pain just San's sweetness and tenderness.

[sciencespies]

The True History Behind 'Judas and the Black Messiah'

https://sciencespies.com/history/the-true-history-behind-judas-and-the-black-messiah/

The True History Behind 'Judas and the Black Messiah'

SMITHSONIANMAG.COM | Feb. 11, 2021, 3:15 p.m.

When Chicago lawyer Jeffrey Haas first met Fred Hampton, chairman of the Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party, he was struck by the 20-year-old activist’s “tremendous amount of energy” and charisma. It was August 1969, and Haas, 26 years old at the time, and his fellow attorneys at the People’s Law Office had just secured Hampton’s release from prison on trumped-up charges of stealing $71 worth of ice cream bars. To mark the occasion, Hampton delivered a speech at a local church, calling on the crowd to raise their right hand and repeat his words: “I am a revolutionary.”

“I couldn’t quite say that, because I thought I was a lawyer for the movement, but not necessarily of the movement,” recalls Haas, who is white. “But as Fred continued saying that, by the third or fourth time, I was shouting ‘I am a revolutionary’ like everyone else.”

Judas and the Black Messiah, a new film directed by Shaka King and co-produced by Black Panther director Ryan Coogler, deftly dramatizes this moment, capturing both Hampton’s oratorical prowess and the mounting injustices that led him and his audience to declare themselves revolutionaries. Starring Daniel Kaluuya of Get Out fame as the chairman, the movie chronicles the months preceding Hampton’s assassination in a December 1969 police raid, detailing his contributions to the Chicago community and dedication to the fight for social justice. Central to the narrative is the activist’s relationship with—and subsequent betrayal by—FBI informant William O’Neal (LaKeith Stanfield), who is cast as the Judas to Hampton’s “black messiah.”

“The Black Panthers are the single greatest threat to our national security,” says a fictionalized J. Edgar Hoover (Martin Sheen), echoing an actual assertion made by the FBI director, in the film. “Our counterintelligence program must prevent the rise of a black messiah.”

Here’s what you need to know to separate fact from fiction ahead of Judas and the Black Messiah’s debut in theaters and on HBO Max this Friday, February 12.

Is Judas and the Black Messiah based on a true story?

In short: yes, but with extensive dramatic license, particularly regarding O’Neal. As King tells the Atlantic, he worked with screenwriter Will Berson and comedians Kenny and Keith Lucas to pen a biopic of Hampton in the guise of a psychological thriller. Rather than focusing solely on the chairman, they opted to examine O’Neal—an enigmatic figure who rarely discussed his time as an informant—and his role in the FBI’s broader counterintelligence program, COINTELPRO.

“Fred Hampton came into this world fully realized. He knew what he was doing at a very young age,” says King. “Whereas William O’Neal is in a conflict; he’s confused. And that’s always going to make for a more interesting protagonist.”

Daniel Kaluuya (center) as Fred Hampton

(Glen Wilson / Warner Bros.)

Speaking with Deadline, the filmmaker adds that the crew wanted to move beyond Hampton’s politics into his personal life, including his romance with fellow activist Deborah Johnson (Dominique Fishback), who now goes by the name Akua Njeri.

“[A] lot of times when we think about these freedom fighters and revolutionaries, we don’t think about them having families … and plans for the future—it was really important to focus on that on the Fred side of things,” King tells Deadline. “On the side of O’Neal, [we wanted] to humanize him as well so that viewers of the film could leave the movie wondering, ‘Is there any of that in me?’”

Who are the film’s two central figures?

Born in a suburb of Chicago in 1948, Hampton demonstrated an appetite for activism at an early age. As Haas, who interviewed members of the Hampton family while researching his book, The Assassination of Fred Hampton: How the FBI and the Chicago Police Murdered a Black Panther, explains, “Fred just couldn’t accept injustice anywhere.” At 10 years old, he started hosting weekend breakfasts for other children from the neighborhood, cooking the meals himself in what Haas describes as a precursor to the Panthers’ free breakfast program. And in high school, he led walkouts protesting the exclusion of black students from the race for homecoming queen and calling on officials to hire more black teachers and administrators.

According to William Pretzer, a supervisory curator at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC), the young Hampton was keenly aware of racial injustice in his community. His mother babysat for Emmett Till prior to the 14-year-old’s murder in Mississippi in 1955; ten years after Till’s death, he witnessed white mobs attacking Martin Luther King Jr.’s Chicago crusade firsthand.

“Hampton is really influenced by the desire of the NAACP and King to make change, and the kind of resistance that they encounter,” says Pretzer. “So it’s as early as 1966 that Hampton starts to gravitate toward Malcolm X … [and his] philosophy of self-defense rather than nonviolent direct action.”

Fred Hampton speaks at a rally in Chicago’s Grant Park in September 1969

(Chicago Tribune file photo / Tribune News Service via Getty Images)

William O’Neal in a 1973 mugshot

(Fair use via Wikimedia Commons)

After graduating from high school in 1966, Hampton, as president of the local NAACP Youth Chapter, advocated for the establishment of an integrated community pool and recruited upward of 500 new members. In large part due to his proven track record of successful activism, leaders of the burgeoning Black Panther Party recruited Hampton to help launch the movement in Chicago in November 1968. By the time of his death just over a year later, he’d risen to the rank of Illinois chapter chairman and national deputy chairman.

O’Neal, on the other hand, was a habitual criminal with little interest in activism before he infiltrated the Panthers at the behest of FBI agent Roy Mitchell (portrayed in the film by Jesse Plemons). As O’Neal recalled in a 1989 interview, Mitchell offered to overlook the-then teenager’s involvement in a multi-state car theft in exchange for intel on Hampton.

“[A] fast-talking, conniving West Side black kid who thought he knew all the angles,” O’Neal, according to the Chicago Tribune, joined the party and quickly won members’ admiration with his bravado, mechanical and carpentry skills, and willingness to place himself in the thick of the action. By the time of the police raid that killed Hampton, he’d been appointed the Panthers’ chief of security.

“Unlike what we might think of an informer being a quiet person who would appear to be a listener, O’Neal was out there all the time spouting stuff,” says Haas. “People were impressed by that. … He was a ‘go do it’ guy. ‘I can fix this. I can get you money. I can do these kinds of things. And … that had an appeal for a while.”

Why did the FBI target Hampton?

Toward the beginning of Judas and the Black Messiah, Hoover identifies Hampton as a leader “with the potential to unite the Communist, the anti-war, and the New Left movements.” Later, the FBI director tells Mitchell that the black power movement’s success will translate to the loss of “[o]ur entire way of life. Rape, pillage, conquer, do you follow me?”

Once O’Neal is truly embedded within the Panthers, he discovers that the activists are not, in fact, “terrorists.” Instead, the informer finds himself dropped in the midst of a revolution that, in the words of co-founder Bobby Seale, was dedicated to “trying to make change in day-to-day lives” while simultaneously advocating for sweeping legislation aimed at achieving equality.

The Panthers’ ten-point program, penned by Seale and Huey P. Newton in 1966, outlined goals that resonate deeply today (“We want an immediate end to POLICE BRUTALITY and MURDER of Black people”) and others that were certain to court controversy (“We want all Black men to be exempt from military service” and “We want freedom for all Black men held in federal, state, county and city prisons and jails”). As Jeff Greenwald wrote for Smithsonian magazine in 2016, members “didn’t limit themselves to talk.” Taking advantage of California’s open-carry laws, for instance, beret-wearing Panthers responded to the killings of unarmed black Americans by patrolling the streets with rifles—an image that quickly attracted the condemnation of both the FBI and upper-class white Americans.

Fred Hampton (far left) attends an October 1969 rally against the trial of eight people accused of conspiracy to start a riot at the Democratic National Convention.

(Don Casper / Chicago Tribune / Tribune News Service via Getty Images)

According to Pretzer, law enforcement viewed the Panthers and similar groups as a threat to the status quo. “They are focused on police harassment, … challenging the authority figures,” he says, “focusing on social activities that everybody thinks the government should be doing something about” but isn’t, like providing health care and ensuring impoverished Americans had enough to eat.

The FBI established COINTELPRO—short for counterintelligence program—in 1956 to investigate, infiltrate and discredit dissident groups ranging from the Communist Party of the United States to the Ku Klux Klan, the Nation of Islam and the Panthers. Of particular interest to Hoover and other top officials were figures like Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X and Hampton, many of whom endured illegal surveillance, explicit threats and police harassment. Details of the covert program only came to light came to light in 1971, when activists stole confidential files from an FBI office in Pennsylvania and released them to the public.

Though Hampton stated that the Panthers would only resort to violence in self-defense, Hoover interpreted his words as a declaration of militant intentions.

“Because of COINTELPRO, because of the exacerbation, the harassment, the infiltration of these and agent provocateurs that they establish within these organizations, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy from the FBI’s point of view,” Pretzer explains, “[in that] they get the violence they were expecting.”

As Haas and law partner Flint Taylor wrote for Truthout in January, newly released documents obtained through a Freedom of Information Act request confirm the lawyers’ long-held suspicion that Hoover himself was involved in the plan to assassinate Hampton.

LaKeith Stanfield (left) as William O’Neal and Jesse Plemons (right) as FBI agent Roy Mitchell

(Glen Wilson / Warner Bros.)

What events does Judas and the Black Messiah dramatize?

Set between 1968 and 1969, King’s film spotlights Hampton’s accomplishments during his brief tenure as chapter chairman before delving into the betrayals that resulted in his death. Key to Hampton’s legacy were the Panthers’ survival programs, which sought to provide access to “fundamental elements of life,” per Pretzer. Among other offerings, the organization opened free health clinics, provided free breakfasts for children, and hosted political education classes that emphasized black history and self-sufficiency. (As Hampton said in 1969, “[R]eading is so important for us that a person has to go through six weeks of our political education before we can consider [them] a member.”)

On an average day, Hampton arrived at the Panthers’ headquarters with “a staccato of orders [that] gave energy to everyone around him,” says Haas. “But it wasn’t just what he asked people to do. He was there at 6:30 in the morning, making breakfast, serving the kids, talking to their parents.”

In addition to supporting these community initiatives—one of which, the free breakfast program, paved the way for modern food welfare policies—Hampton spearheaded the Rainbow Coalition, a boundary-crossing alliance between the Panthers, the Latino Young Lords, and the Young Patriots, a group of working-class white Southerners. He also brokered peace between rival Chicago gangs, encouraging them “to focus instead on the true enemy—the government and the police,” whom the Panthers referred to as “pigs,” according to the Village Free Press.

Fred Hampton raises his right hand at an October 11, 1969, rally in Chicago.

(Photo by David Fenton / Getty Images)

Speaking with Craig Phillips of PBS’ “Independent Lens” last year, historian Lilia Fernandez, author of Brown in the Windy City: Mexicans and Puerto Ricans in Postwar Chicago, explained, “The Rainbow Coalition presented a possibility. It gave us a vision for what could be in terms of interracial politics among the urban poor.”

Meanwhile, O’Neal was balancing his duties as an informant with his rising stature within the party. Prone to dramatic tendencies, he once built a fake electric chair intended, ironically, to scare informers. He also pushed the Panthers to take increasingly aggressive steps against the establishment—actions that led “more people, and Fred in particular, [to become] dubious of him,” says Haas.

The months leading up to the December 1969 raid found Hampton embroiled in legal troubles as tensions mounted between police and the Panthers. Falsely accused of theft and assault for the July 1968 ice cream truck robbery, he was denied bail until the People’s Law Office intervened, securing his release in August 1969. Between July and November of that year, authorities repeatedly clashed with the Panthers, engaging in shootouts that resulted in the deaths of multiple party members and police officers.

Daniel Kaluuya as Fred Hampton (far left) and LaKeith Stanfield as William O’Neal (far right)

(Glen Wilson / Warner Bros.)

By late November, the FBI, working off O’Neal’s intel, had convinced Cook County State’s Attorney Edward Hanrahan and the Chicago Police Department to raid Hampton’s home as he and his fiancée Johnson, who was nine months pregnant, slept. Around 4:30 a.m. on December 4, a heavily armed, 14-person raiding party burst into the apartment, firing upward of 90 bullets at the nine Panthers inside. One of the rounds struck and killed Mark Clark, a 22-year-old Panther stationed just past the front door. Though law enforcement later claimed otherwise, the physical evidence suggests that just one shot originated within the apartment.

Johnson and two other men tried to rouse the unconscious 21-year-old Hampton, who’d allegedly been drugged earlier that night—possibly by O’Neal, according to Haas. (O’Neal had also provided the cops with a detailed blueprint of the apartment.) Forced out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, Johnson heard a cop say, “He’s barely alive. He’ll barely make it.” Two shots rang out before she heard another officer declare, “He’s good and dead now.”

What happened after Hampton’s assassination?

Judas and the Black Messiah draws to a close shortly after the raid. In the film’s final scene, a conflicted O’Neal accepts an envelope filled with cash and agrees to continue informing on the Panthers. Superimposed text states that O’Neal remained with the party until the early 1970s, ultimately earning more than $200,000 when adjusted for inflation. After he was identified as the Illinois chapter’s mole in 1973, O’Neal received a new identity through the federal witness protection program. In January 1990, the 40-year-old, who’d by then secretly returned to Chicago, ran into traffic and was struck by a car. Investigators deemed his death a suicide.

“I think he was sorry he did what he did,” O’Neal’s uncle, Ben Heard, told the Chicago Reader after his nephew’s death. “He thought the FBI was only going to raid the house. But the FBI gave [the operation] over to the state’s attorney and that was all Hanrahan wanted. They shot Fred Hampton and made sure he was dead.”

The attempt to uncover the truth about Hampton and Clark’s deaths began on the morning of December 4 and continues to this day. While one of Haas’ law partners went to the morgue to identify Hampton’s body, another took stock of the apartment, which the police had left unsecured. Haas, meanwhile, went to interview the seven survivors, four of whom had been seriously injured.

A floor plan of Fred Hampton’s apartment provided to the FBI by William O’Neal

(People’s Law Office)

Hanrahan claimed that the Panthers had opened fire on the police. But survivor testimony and physical evidence contradicted this version of events. “Bullet holes” ostensibly left by the Panthers’ shots were later identified as nail heads; blood stains found in the apartment suggested that Hampton was dragged out into the hallway after being shot in his bed at point-blank range.

Public outrage over the killings, particularly within the black community, grew as evidence discounting the authorities’ narrative mounted. As one elderly woman who stopped by the apartment to see the crime scene for herself observed, the attack “was nothing but a Northern lynching.”

Following the raid, Hanrahan charged the survivors with attempted murder. Haas and his colleagues secured Johnson’s release early enough to ensure she didn’t give birth to her son, Fred Hampton Jr., in jail, and the criminal charges were eventually dropped. But the attorneys, “not content with getting people off, decided we needed to file a civil suit” alleging a conspiracy to not only murder Hampton, but cover up the circumstances of his death, says Haas.

Over the next 12 years, Haas and his colleagues navigated challenges ranging from racist judges to defendants’ stonewalling, backroom deals between the FBI and local authorities, and even contempt charges brought against the attorneys themselves. Working from limited information, including leaked COINTELPRO documents, the team slowly pieced together the events surrounding the raid, presenting compelling evidence of the FBI’s involvement in the conspiracy.

Hampton’s fiancée, Deborah Johnson (sitting in middle, as portrayed by Dominique Fishback), gave birth to their son, Fred Hampton Jr., 25 days after the raid.

(Glen Wilson / Warner Bros.)

Though a judge dismissed the original case in 1977 following an 18-month trial, Haas and the rest of the team successfully appealed for a new hearing. In 1982, after more than a decade of protracted litigation, the defendants agreed to pay a settlement of $1.85 million to the nine plaintiffs, including Clark’s mother and Hampton’s mother, Iberia.

“I used to describe being in court like going to a dog fight every day,” says Haas. “Everything we would say would be challenged. The [defendants’ lawyers] would tell the jury everything the Panthers had ever been accused of in Chicago and elsewhere, and [the judge] would let them do that, but he wouldn’t let us really cross examine the defendants.”

Hampton’s death dealt a significant blow to the Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party, frightening members with its demonstration of law enforcement’s reach and depriving the movement of a natural leader.

According to Pretzer, “What comes out is that the the assassination of Hampton is a classic example of law enforcement’s malfeasance and overreach and … provoking of violence.”

Today, says Haas, Hampton “stands as a symbol of young energy, struggle and revolution.”

The chairman, for his part, was keenly aware of how his life would likely end.

As he once predicted in a speech, “I don’t believe I’m going to die slipping on a piece of ice; I don’t believe I’m going to die because I got a bad heart; I don’t believe I’m going to die because of lung cancer. I believe that I’m going to be able to die doing the things I was born for. … I believe that I will be able to die as a revolutionary in the international revolutionary proletarian struggle.”

#History

[lazydaizies]

A monthslong, multi-agency operation has recovered 150 missing and endangered children in Tennessee. The recovery of the rescued children was announced Wednesday during a news conference at the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation headquarters in Nashville.

"Operation Volunteer Strong" was a joint mission by the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, Department of Children's Service, and the U.S. Marshals Service that first started last fall. The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children provided research and analytical support for the operation.

After months of planning, the teams began pursuing leads on 240 missing children on Jan. 4 in three regions: East, Middle, and West Tennessee. Eight of the missing children from Tennessee were found in other states.

Law enforcement recovered 150 juveniles, ranging in age from 3 to 17. One of the kids was rescued during an active kidnapping investigation, which resulted in the arrest of a suspect.

Five of the recovered children were identified as possible human trafficking victims, which sparked investigations by law enforcement. U.S. Marshal Denny W. King told WTVF that one recovered child had been missing for 460 days.

Two adults with outstanding warrants were apprehended during the investigation.

There are still 90 missing children, and authorities are actively trying to find them.

"This work is transformational, we cannot stop. And there is nothing more worthwhile," Tennessee Department of Children's Service Commissioner Jennifer Nichols said.

Rep. Tim Burchett (R-Tenn.) commended the agents involved in Operation Volunteer Strong.

"This operation had miraculous results, and I'm glad these children are reunited with their families. Sadly, this is a reminder there are sick and twisted people out there looking to exploit minors," Burchett said. "I know the great folks who made Operation Volunteer Strong a success will continue their important work and help put a stop to this criminal activity."

"Operation Volunteer Strong is a great example of how working together, we can find missing children and get them the help they need to move forward," said John Clark, president and chief executive officer of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. "We're thrilled to see so many missing children recovered in Tennessee, and we thank all the agencies involved for their dedication to child protection."

David Jolley, U.S. Marshal for the Eastern District of Tennessee, released a statement.

"The U.S. Marshals are committed to assisting state and local agencies with locating and recovering endangered missing children to help prevent their falling victim to crimes of violence and exploitation," Jolley said. "We will use every resource at our disposal to help find these missing children."

"I hope this operation changes the course for 150 young lives and leads them to the path of opportunities every child deserves," said Tyreece Miller, U.S. Marshal for the Western District of Tennessee. "Our efforts should also serve notice to those who prey on society's most vulnerable that these children are not forgotten. Investigations will continue and the next knock at the door could be for you."

Numerous operations have been successful recently in rescuing endangered children and arresting suspected sex traffickers.

Last month, Operation Broken Hearts resulted in 37 people being arrested in the Phoenix area for alleged child sex crimes and human trafficking.

During National Human Trafficking Awareness Month in January, "Operation Reclaim & Rebuild" resulted in the apprehension of 64 people for alleged sex crimes in Riverside, California.

"Operation Lost Angels," a multi-agency human trafficking investigation led by the FBI in January, ended in the rescue of 33 missing children in California.

In November, Marshals recovered 27 missing children in Virginia during "Operation Find Our Children."

In October, Marshals announced the recovery of 45 endangered children as well as the arrests of 178 suspects in Ohio and West Virginia during "Operation Autumn Hope."

On Oct. 1, the U.S. Marshals Service located 11 children in New Orleans, two of whom were said to be in "extreme danger."

On Sept. 21, 35 missing children were recovered in Ohio by the U.S. Marshals during "Operation Safety Net."

On Sept. 4, Marshals announced that eight "highly endangered" missing children were rescued during "Operation Homecoming" in Indiana.

On Aug. 27, "Operation Not Forgotten" led to the discovery of 39 missing children in Florida and Georgia. Law enforcement stated 15 of the missing kids were victims of sex trafficking.

[notmrskennedy]

Likeability

(GN!Reader x Spencer Reid)

A/N - I’ve rewritten this thing like six freaking times but oh well - I hope it at least goes over better than the last - please be gentle 

Summary - The team meets a very dislikable scientist that Spencer seems to fancy

W/C - 2.8k

Warnings - brief anatomy/bones/etc mentions (our scientist is a forensic anthropologist-ish) & a dash of swearing

Important! - this is the FIRST ending and the alternative ending that you’ll like a lot more will come along in the next day or so

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy. 

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies. 

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case. 

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him. 

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls. 

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets. 

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured. 

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.” 

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter. 

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.” 

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

#

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns. 

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen. 

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.  

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!” 

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt? 

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this. 

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“ 

 “Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what? 

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude. 

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled. 

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated. 

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere. 

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed. 

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

#

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with. 

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for? 

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands. 

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages. 

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

#

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude. 

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her. 

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler. 

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second.  She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now. 

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening. 

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be. 

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond. 

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin. 

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life. 

 “I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care. 

#

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about her ass. 

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face. 

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks. 

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough. 

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling. 

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

#

Emily is pulling on her coat when the commotion starts. Penelope, JJ, and Luke are clamouring all over you and Reid, all asking a million too many questions for you to answer. She smiles as you hold your ground next to Reid, arms crossed and relatively relaxed. Emily hasn’t been asked to weigh in on the debate, but she likes you. 

And she hopes the reason will come out in the next five seconds. 

Penelope ensures that it does. She cuts through everyone’s chatter with a flourish of her hands. “Y/N, Spencer,” she demands, “you have to tell me: are you dating or what?”

It takes all of half a second for the pair of you to break out into laughter, fumbling over each other, bent up in hysterics. Emily hopes her own chuckles are well hidden. You elbow Reid hard, barely breathing enough to get the sentence out, “Tell ‘em, Spence.”

Reid shakes his head, elbows you back. “Siblings, guys, we’re siblings.”

“But—!”

“That can’t be—!”

“Biological?”

Penelope shakes her head, throws herself physically into the conversation. “Wait! No! I looked you up! You aren’t the other Dr. Reid, you’re Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Did you change your name?” JJ coughs. Her eyebrows can’t possibly get further up into her hairline as you nod. “Why? Why would you do that?”

You snort. “You don’t want to know.”

Readjusting her scarf, Emily doesn’t bother to hide her shit-eating grin. “Do something illegal, Y/N?”

“Of course not, Special Agent Emily Prentiss. I, a very upstanding citizen and Spencer’s lovely younger sibling, would never do anything that caused me to change my name lest I be arrested in six different countries. No, of course not.”

[greensaplinggrace]

Thank you for your perspective about the Emma scene! The cold mask you mentioned is spot on, & the sunglasses only helped emphasize this (The shades are a bit goofy, but obv Capcom just wanted to hide her face for the full reveal) If you play Leon's route in his OG outfit, then Ada is already in her dress w/o glasses, so you actually get to see her all micro-expressions in that scene. She stay fully composed until she hears the gunshot go off, then you can see she's visibly sad & sorry for Kendo

& for the comparison of Marvin as a guide for Leon, he tells Leon to not make his mistake and do not hesitate to take them out or run. (Marvin hesitates when Brad still shows a bit of humanity by saying "Sorry", which ultimately gets him bit & killed in the end), so who's to say had he lived to encounter Emma that he wouldn't hesitate to shoot her? If The Walking Dead taught us anything, it's that a fully turned zombie (even kids unfortunately) is a serious threat to actually living people

---

I’m glad you liked it! 😊 And yeah, replaying the game recently (and that scene over and over and over again for screenshots and video takes - yall have no idea) I’ve come to have a new appreciation for it. My first few playthroughs, the scene hardly registered to me, but re2 Ada has a strong set of micro-expressions that you can oftentimes even see beneath her ridiculous glasses. There are a few key points of that scene that are interesting to me - and maybe when I have more time I’ll go through a play by play with screenshots to form a full analysis - but my favorite part is when Ada threatens to shoot Emma. Because it’s cold. Like, ice cold. No voice inflections or hesitation. Nothing to indicate that she wouldn’t shoot her. And with Leon right there? Why would she say that?

Ada’s masks are truly interesting to break down, because she has a lot of them. What made Leon hesitant around her and what makes her presence discordant to the player is the fact that she switches masks in the re2 remake. Right in front of Leon on multiple occasions. She’s trying to put up a cold and efficient FBI front, but in a flash she’s switching to her ‘can i get you to do this for me’ puppy dog eyes seduction. And that isn’t even to mention the aloof uncaring persona in contrast with the both of those. She whips out the cold mask fast in this situation, and it’s jarring to the player. Because she’s been competent but involved Ada up until now, not cold and ruthless Ada. 

But she doesn’t shoot. She waits. It’s a threat, likely because they’re in a dangerous situation with a man who’s volatility she can’t pinpoint (parents will go to great lengths to protect their children, and he’s already pulled his gun on Leon without provocation). And when Leon asks her to lower her gun, she does with no complaint.

You’re right about her showing the most emotion when the gun goes off, but there are a few points before then that we see other breaks in her mask. Ugh XD, I really want to go through that scene again and take some screenshots. I’ll have to put that down on the event sheet for Ada Positivity Hours lmao.

Anyways, this was a ramble and I’m sorry for that 😅. I get into texty messes when I get passionate and then they stop making sense when I wear myself out typing them lolol. 

I also wanted to say that your point about Marvin is interesting, though. I have a hard time believing he could ever pull the trigger on a kid unless he absolutely had to, but he did go through a majorly traumatic event at the hands of his friends and workmates. We can’t really say because he isn’t there in the game, but at the same time I feel it safe to give my conclusion based on my interpretations of both Ada and Marvin’s characters: that neither of them would ever pull the trigger on Emma unless she was fully zombified and literally at their throats (and even then is iffy). 

But like, the sentiment that you’re forced to kill people you shouldn’t have to is a pretty big one in media with zombies. If we’re going to judge Ada for a threat she doesn’t even follow through with and likely never would have, I think we would have to judge other characters for going through the same thought processes on multiple occasions. This is a pretty big theme for zombie movies. It isn’t as if she was just suggesting killing an innocent out of the blue lol.

Anyways, again, thanks for the ask anon! You’ve given me a lot to think about. Hopefully this response is comprehensible XD.

[bedeliainwonderland]

I understand disliking a character..but you realize anything that happens to bedelia in context of the show is driven by hannibal, right? the man you ship her with? the stinger, her fear, all that necessitates her self preservation is instigated by hannibal. the show frequently did a disservice to its female chars, but hannibal was the tool they used to do it. denying that and then shipping him w/ your fav only to turn it around on another char seems...hypocritical.

Ahh yes, some good ol’ anon hate, I missed that. Honestly, perfect timing, I am having the worst of times and getting to talk about my favs literally saved my day. So thanks!

First of all, Bedelia and Hannibal are a canon ship, whether you like it or not, so let’s get that out of the way (as opposite to certain other ship but that is a whole other thing). I merely fill in the blanks of what the show failed to provide because, for some inexplicable reason, the show named “Hannibal” was centered on a character named Will and every other character (especially the female characters) served only to further his “man pain”. But I digress, that is surely not why you chose to hide behind that grey square.

I don’t know whether you follow me or just saw that one reblog (which ironically weren’t even my words but I stand fully behind everything said), but I have already spoken about this extensively. Every day, really. I find it hard to understand how something is hypocritical when it is based on canon information. I am not denying anything. So here we go, under the cut, because I have a LOT to say:

The stinger- oh god, you all know how much I hate it. First of all, there is no proof that Hannibal is involved, we don’t know who is involved, that is kinda the point of a cliff hanger. We don’t even know if it’s real. But it’s absolutely pointless and makes no sense! It was quite literally Fuller wanting to do something “shocking” to finish off the series without any regard to continuity or characterisation. It was supposed to be shocking and look aesthetically pleasing, that’s it, no logic. It is as if he looked at the character list and thought “hmm, which female character is yet to be hurt? Oh right, Bedelia!” The so called “punishing Bedelia” as the fandom loved so very much is mere misogyny. Why can’t a female character do something morally questionable or even plain evil and get away with it? Because Will didn’t that is why. If she were a man, no one would scream for “she has it coming”, no, he would be uwu baby.

Having Hannibal involved in that would be completely out of character and contradictory to all their previous interactions/ their relationship. So let’s expand, shall we?

When we first see Bedelia and Hannibal, it is mentioned that she has been his psychiatrist for 7 years. 7 YEARS, let that sink in. No one, NO ONE, has been in Hannibal’s life for such a long time. It is clear she means a lot to him. If she didn’t, he had plenty of chances to kill her. It is established she is a loner, so it would so easy for Hannibal to dispose of her and claim “she left to UK” or something, like he did with his secretary. But he didn’t because he cares for her and she is important to him. He literally says he feels protective of her. Every session, you can see how much he needs her approval and how he hangs on her every word. How hurt he was when she said she wasn’t his friend (and yet he did nothing). How enamoured he is with her. When he comes to bring her dinner in Savoureaux, the dish included roses! Such a romantic.

Hannibal knew Bedelia was similar to him that is why he set up the whole Neil incident; he wanted to make sure she is. Do note that Bedelia wasn’t ever in danger, since Hannibal was there to step in if needed. But here is what I’ve found interesting; Bedelia killed someone, proving Hannibal’s hunch right, but she refused to fully acknowledge that part of herself. And Hannibal let her withdraw, doing nothing (as in not killing her, as I’m sure he had done many times with unsuccessful “candidates”) merely securing her continuous therapy. Because she was more than just another experiment to him.

And Bedelia isn’t so innocent in other aspects as well. She knows, yet she purposely evades the truth while talking to the FBI (“Will could use friends like Hannibal” ha!) under the cover of patient/ doctor confidentiality and even warns Hannibal directly (“they are starting to see your pattern). I have had my fair share of “Bedelia doesn’t care for Hannibal” posts and nothing could be further from the truth. If she hadn’t cared, she would not have done any of that.

But then of course, Hannibal’s game goes one step too far and he gives her the written permission to discuss him with the FBI. This is bad for Bedelia because it puts her under the scrutiny as well and that is not where she wants to be. Bedelia’s self-preservation always comes first (both Bedelia and Hannibal are egocentric by nature). Yet, she still comes to say goodbye to him and he lets her go! The script described Hannibal’s reaction to her words as “imperceivable wound”. “But he then went to kill her!” I hear you say? *Thor’s gif* Did he though? If he wanted to kill her, he would have done it then and there. No, he went to check if she were really gone (again, script) and whether she betrayed him. That was his only concern (betrayal is a big thing with Hannibal), but she didn’t. She even left him a memento. It said it was a memento of friendship, I think it was a “see you later” card.

This is getting super long, so let’s quickly skip to Florence. Bedelia left with Hannibal, knowing exactly who he was. Unlike other (all of them, actually) characters, she did not reject him/ was scared of him. “You let them see you/ I let them see enough” exchange says it all. She is not surprised by him or shocked by what he is; she is merely stating the facts. She has long accepted him in full. They lived together in Florence, openly behind the so called veil, as fake husband and wife, but the wedding rings remained intact even at home (showing how important it was to them, not just a front), displaying a ridiculous amount of domesticity and intimacy. This deserves a whole separate post but I am trying to be brief(er). “But she was scared!” you might shout again, except that she wasn’t. Even if Antipasto purposely played with the ambiguity of her situation for suspense purposes, the following episodes made it clear she was exactly where she wanted to be, from the very start, on her own terms as Hannibal’s equal. We were obviously misled by the promos, they promised us a Bedelia and Hannibal show and what we got was, well, you know… And that is yet another post altogether.

Now to the glorious farewell, boy, do I love to talk about that. Bedelia packs Hannibal’s bags and tells him to leave, and he does! What more, he promises to tell her story. HER STORY. Now, that is a major thing, because Hannibal has never ever done that for anyone. He always turns other people’s stories into his own, manipulating and adjusting accordingly. But with Bedelia, he simply agrees to do it, on her own terms. Not only that, he is visibly impressed and enamoured by her. Again, if he wanted to kill her, he could have just killed her then. He was going to get caught anyway, what is one more murder? All this “he waited until he could eat her” story makes no sense at all, since as it was already mentioned, he knew her for almost a decade, plenty of time to eat her if he wanted to. He lets her go because he wants to. Because he cares for her.

The point I have made several times is that Bedelia is the only person that Hannibal treats as, well, a person! Everyone else is beneath him, meat only if you will, but not her. Even the ever so special (apparently) Will and Abigail aren’t treated as “people”. Bedelia is the only person that Hannibal respects; that is what makes her so special. Not love (even though he obviously loves her), because respect is rarer for Hannibal than love. Sure, he “loves” Will, the same way you love your favourite book. You want to have it and you don’t want anyone else to have it, but you don’t expect the book to return your feelings. Bedelia is Hannibal’s only equal.

The Red Dragon arc was a mess of epic proportions so I don’t even want to get into that. But I do appreciate the acknowledgement of Bedelia’s darker side and now she has become comfortable with it since Florence. Let’s make a few notes so it doesn’t look as if I am purposely omitting things: Hannibal’s letters to Bedelia? Clearly a part of his “telling her story” and helping her cover, plus he was not able to send her proper letters, so that is his way of telling her he thinks of her. Sessions with Will? You can’t really take everything she told him at face value, she is obfuscating after all. Why would she be honest with Will? She wouldn’t be, she was just continuing what Hannibal has started with much better results (slightly too good actually, as proven by Will’s stupid plan). Bedelia wasn’t afraid Hannibal would come after her, because she had no reasons to be. NONE. She was protected by him.

So there you have it, the great many reasons why I am so unapologetic in my shipping. Because it is all there. Thank you for reminding me why I love these two so much! Have a great day, maybe next time you can message me off anon.

(And thanks to all who got to the end of this almost dissertation, this is my testament, I love you all fellow bedannibal fans!)