#fbi criminal background check

[hagueapostilleservicesblog]

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[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part six

About the ending of this one: don't hate me! Hate Hotch :)

Warnings: angst! the usual! a meeting with Strauss, Rossi knowing Hotch too well and it annoying the fuck out of Hotch (lovingly)

Everyone knows the case isn’t over, but it might as well be. With nothing else to uncover and Lila safely returned home, the BAU team is called back to Quantico.

Hotch makes sure that the Monroes have some security round the clock in their neighborhood, especially on their street. He doesn’t think anything will happen, but then again, no one can ever be certain. 

The problem is that they can only afford the security for so long. One week, at the most.

You ignore Hotch the entire way home on the jet. In your defense, you ignore everyone. You put your headphones in and curl up in one of the chairs toward the back, perfectly secluded from everyone else.

Hotch watches you, trying not to look as worried as he feels, and hating that he feels such deep worry for you. Sure, your words stung earlier, that he’s the last person you’d want to work for, but they weren’t entirely untrue. You are the last person he expected or wanted to walk through those glass doors. 

He hasn’t had the chance to discuss your placement with Strauss, but he will. Either it was pure coincidence that she placed you here, or she thinks she’s being funny. If it’s the latter, he hopes she can see how hard he isn’t laughing.

Rossi lightly kicks Hotch’s leg under the table. He raises his eyebrows when Hotch drags his eyes over to him.

“What?” Hotch says, settling down further into his seat, glancing at the file he’s supposed to be going over. “Got a cramp?”

Rossi scoffs. “Do you?”

Hotch hums. “When do you think they’ll send us the sketch?” He’s trying hard to change this subject to anywhere but where Rossi wants to take it.

Rossi, of course, ignores Hotch’s question. “I’m guessing she didn’t appreciate you prying into her past.”

Hotch focuses very hard on one word in the file, wondering if he might make it catch fire. “No, she didn’t.”

“Well,” Rossi sighs, looking out the window. “Serves you right.”

Hotch’s eyes snap up, glaring tiredly at his friend.

“What?” Rossi asks innocently. “It’s too soon. You should’ve known better.”

“You know just as well as anyone that in order for this team to work well together we need to have an established level of trust—”

“Save the pep talk,” Rossi waves him off. “I think you just can’t stand being left out of the loop. There’s a missing piece here and you can’t take it.”

Hotch doesn’t know if Rossi is still talking about you or not. “Richard said—”

“I heard what he said,” Rossi interrupts again and Hotch really wishes he’d stop doing that. “And if it was anything that concerns us, don’t you think it would’ve come up in her background check? That you, as Unit Chief, have to go over.”

Hotch can’t say that he disagrees there. He does go over the background checks, just a glance, really. Maybe his eyes lingered on yours a little longer, so what? Maybe he tried to focus on smaller details to puzzle you out, so what? That’s not a crime.

What is criminal is hiding things from the team, especially the Unit Chief. He hates to pull rank, he really does, but when one of the FBI’s Most Wanted sits in an interrogation room and says he recognizes your newest agent, isn’t that cause for concern? Especially when said agent refuses to elaborate?

Why would Richard Monroe of all people recognize you? Or a younger version of you, so he says, because you’re older now than he remembers. Did he see a picture of you? How and where and why and from who? 

Rossi is right. There’s a missing piece. And Hotch can’t stand it.

+++

Hotch gives you the following day off. You know damn well that isn’t standard, and that everyone else is still going into the office, but you don’t argue with him. He’s as surprised as you are about the fact.

Instead, you sleep in, you have a slow morning, you make brunch, and you do everything in your power to not think about your father.

It’s easier said than done most days. It’s hard not to think about him when there’s so much you don’t know — so much you’ll never know.

Because he’s dead. You know that for a fact. Got a phone call from the prison ward and everything.

Still, your mind wanders. You hold your coffee close, the mug practically burning your palms, but you’re too in your head to feel it.

Lila…everything about it was so similar to your situation. Kind of. Given that you still don’t know who kidnapped her, and you might never find out, it could be a freak coincidence. 

You roll your eyes at yourself. Coincidence. Yeah, right. You stopped entertaining the childish idea of those long ago. Everything happens for a reason, which is why you have such a gut feeling about Lila. You just need to get to the bottom of it.

But you have no clue how.

+++

When you return to the BAU the following day, well rested and somewhat less anxious, you head straight for Hotch’s office.

Not because you want to. God, no. Hotch summoned you via text while you were still on the freeway.

You make him wait, though. You need coffee first.

After a pit stop at the staff coffee pot, and then at Emily's desk to chat, you waltz into Hotch’s office without knocking — his blinds are open and you can clearly see he isn’t busy — earning you an exasperated look from your new boss. 

“Don’t give me that look,” you snap without thinking. “You’re the one who called me for a meeting when I wasn’t even halfway here yet. So what? What do you want?”

Hotch really wonders why he tries to be patient with you. “Sit down.”

“Gladly,” you smile, knowing it has to look as fake as it feels. You lower yourself into one of his stiff chairs across from his desk.

Hotch takes a moment, clearly pulling himself together, before he asks, “How are you?”

Your coffee freezes midway to your mouth. You drop the mug back down, resting it on your thigh, letting it burn you there. “Fine,” you give a little shrug. “Thanks for the day off, boss.”

“I thought you might need it,” he replies, like he’s caught you in something.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“I think you’re being an asshole on purpose,” you conclude. “I think I make you nervous, and you’re not used to that, so you take it out on me by being an ass.”

“Projecting, are we?”

“Proving my point, are we?” you grumble, ignoring how right he might be. You take a scorching sip of your coffee. “What did you actually want?”

Hotch stares at you for a moment, studying your face. You stare right back at him, unperturbed.

He’s going to learn that two can play at this game whether he likes it or not.

He’s the first to look away, down at the files on his desk. “The sketch artist spoke with Lila.”

“And?”

“She refused.”

You sit up straighter, nearly spilling your coffee. “What?”

Hotch’s eyes lift to yours. “She refused.”

You sit back again, propping your elbow on the arm of the chair to rub your forehead. “Okay. So what does this mean?”

Hotch threads his fingers together on his desk. “Her mom is going to talk to her, see if she can convince her to talk to the artist again.”

You nod slowly, looking out the window. “Okay. That’s good.” You’re not sure if she will. Or if it’ll get her in any trouble. She’s just a kid.

Hotch stays silent. Your coffee burns your thigh just enough finally that you move to rest it on the other arm of the chair.

You pause, looking over at him without moving your head. Your eyes narrow. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I thought you might like to know.”

You turn your head, smirking. “Missed me?”

He frowns.

You lift your coffee to your lips, waiting for Hotch to say something else, like you know he will.

He does. “I thought you might be able to shine some light on why she refused.”

You glare at him, but you finish your sip of coffee. “And no one else on the team was capable of shedding light?”

He stares you down. You return the favor.

You’re the first to cave this time. “What do you want from me, Hotch?”

“The truth would be a great start.”

All you can do is laugh, so you do, hanging your head. “Great meeting.” You stand and head for the door, raising your mug. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”

You hear Hotch push his chair back as he raises to his feet. “We’re not done.”

You pause, but you stay at the door. “You just don’t know how to leave well enough alone, huh?”

“I can write you up for insubordination.”

“Go ahead,” you shrug. “I could use another day off.”

On that note, and before he can hold you captive any longer, you yank his office door open and escape to your desk.

Hotch watches you through his open blinds. The way you settle into your desk chair, the way your hand shakes as you lift your mug to your lips. 

It’s not that he can’t understand why you won’t confide in him -- or, well, it’s less about confiding and more about just telling him the truth. He doesn’t need to be your confidant, or anything remotely friendly. God knows you wouldn’t want that. 

But this is serious. A serial killer recognizes his agent, shakes them up so bad they have what he can only assume was a panic attack in the parking lot, and he’s supposed to, what? Forget he saw anything? 

Forget like his life didn’t flash before his eyes when he saw you crouched down, fighting to take in a single breath of air? Forget like he didn’t pace his entire apartment last night, recalling everything he knows about you to try to ascertain why an FBI’s Most Wanted would recognize you as a child? Forget like he didn’t nearly make himself sick with the implications of that?

It’s uncharted territory for him. Members of his team have hidden things from him before, but they’ve let the truth out. They’ve let him help.

You don’t seem keen to do either of those. Again, it’s not like he doesn’t understand. The two of you aren’t exactly each other’s favorite person -- and won’t ever be. But the nature of the work you do…this isn’t something Hotch can just let go.

+++

The next week at the BAU passes similarly and without much fanfare. No new cases come in -- surprisingly -- but a few seminars come up, some mountains of paperwork, and a meeting with Strauss.

The latter comes as a shock. You think for sure that it is Hotch’s doing, and you’re entirely prepared for a fight. You’re either being fired, reprimanded for your behavior, or who knows what else.

What you don’t expect is for it to be lunch. Plain and simple.

“Thank you for joining me,” Strauss says, in an uncharacteristically good mood, guiding you over to her comfortable chairs. “Sorry for the formality. It’s the easiest way to schedule these things. Please, sit.”

You sit across from her, waving off the apology. “Not a problem. I was a little worried, so I’m glad it’s only lunch.”

“Why?” she asks. “Is everything alright in the BAU?”

“Oh, yes,” you laugh it off. Hotch just hates me, but not to worry, the feeling is mutual. “Just new job jitters, I suppose.”

“Ah, still adjusting?”

“You could say that,” you nod with another sheepish laugh.

“Well, you shouldn’t worry,” she says. “I hear your performance is exceptional, and you fit right in.”

You raise an eyebrow. Hotch told her that? “Oh,” you try not to show your shock. “Thank you, I’m…I’m glad to hear that.”

She smiles. “Aaron can be a little rough around the edges, but you’re doing fine. Don’t worry. Ah, there’s lunch.”

Sandwiches are brought in, leaving you no time to really process what she has just confirmed. 

And he is never going to live it down.

The rest of your lunch meeting passes by easily. To your surprise, Strauss steers the conversation away from the BAU and toward how you’re settling in here in general. 

“It was a big move, I heard,” she says. “I hope the area is treating you well?”

“It’s great,” you nod. “I do love it here.”

Of course, work topics come up, such as professionalism among the team and how those lines blur around some. She doesn’t linger here, though, so you think nothing of it. 

“A new case will likely come tomorrow,” she says. “You’ll hardly ever be without one this long. Consider yourself lucky.”

You laugh at that, mostly to hide your scoff. You wouldn’t consider yourself lucky to be without a case because it only means Hotch’s focus is on you instead of catching a killer -- which is a much better use of his time. Safer for him, too. Because with every passing day you come closer to spilling hot coffee down his suit.

Kidding. Kind of.

“Mm! I do have one thing to ask you,” Strauss says suddenly.

You swallow your nerves and look at her expectantly.

“Richard Monroe,” she starts, and you feel your blood run cold. “He’s still cooperating in their investigation, however,” she pauses, lacing her fingers together. “He’s asked to speak with you.”

You blink. “With me?”

She nods. “You clearly made some impression on him. He’s apparently been asking for you for a few days, though they only just notified me this morning.” She pauses to sigh. “Do you have any idea what he might be after?”

You shake your head, dusting crumbs off your leg. “No idea.”

“Alright,” she accepts your answer far too easily. “Well, if there’s time, and if he keeps asking, I might ask you to go speak to him. Just to��keep the peace, I suppose. We can call it research for the BAU.” She waves her hand. “But it’s not at the top of my list.”

“Of course,” you nod slowly. “Just let me know.”

She smiles. “I’ve taken up enough of your lunch time, so I’ll let you get back to work.” She stands and you do as well, a rare moment where you’re itching to get back to the bullpen. “You’re going to do just fine here. You’re already exceeding expectations, so well done. Keep it up.”

“Thank you,” you return the smile, your chest expanding from the praise. It’s nice knowing your boss’s boss thinks you’re doing well, no matter how Hotch acts when you’re in the same room. Checkmate.

+++

Hotch scowls at the paperwork before him as he listens to your laughter filter up to his office. You returned from your meeting with Strauss in a frustratingly good mood and have been joking around with Morgan for half an hour.

Fed up, Hotch shoves his chair back to shut his door. Maybe he slams it. It doesn’t matter.

He hears the conversation come to a halt. Good. Maybe now they’ll get some work done for once.

He signs off on what he needs to, closing the folder and moving on to the next. And the next. And the next.

Before he knows it, he’s the second to last in the office again. Rossi knocks once on Hotch’s office door before he opens it, one hand holding his coat over his shoulder.

“Working late?” Rossi asks, striding in and settling down across from Hotch.

“Yes,” Hotch says, not looking up from the paperwork. He still has a mountain to get through, and maybe it could wait until tomorrow, but he needs to focus. On something that isn’t you.

“Want to get a drink?”

“No.”

“Alright. Any particular reason you’re so grouchy today?”

Hotch sighs, looking up at his friend and hoping his eyes convey the best I’m not in the mood look that he can. 

He must succeed, because Rossi presses even more. “Doesn’t have anything to do with, say, a certain new agent who seemed to be in a great mood today for the first time in a week?” He pauses, musing. “Or maybe it’s the fact that said new agent didn’t say one word to you today?”

Hotch’s jaw tenses. It’s true. Neither of you spoke to the other today. Plenty of glares were shared, though, which is the same as words for you two.

Rossi leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Aaron. She’ll come to you if she needs help. If she wants help.”

No, she won’t, Aaron wants to say, but he can’t. Because what’s his reasoning? Something he doesn’t want to admit.

The facts are that Rossi doesn’t know you. Rossi wasn’t there when Hotch first met you on that case all those years ago. Rossi wasn’t there to watch you try to do everything yourself and nearly fistfight Hotch every time he tried to take one thing off your plate. Rossi wasn’t there to watch you nearly get yourself killed because you refused to ask for help. Rossi wasn’t there to see the panic that had crossed Hotch’s face when he saw your reckless behavior. 

Rossi doesn’t know you. Not the way Hotch does.

Which is why after Rossi leaves, Hotch gathers his things, and stops to see Penelope on his way out of the office.

[pkg4mumtown]

Special Weapons and Tactics (Ch. 1)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Original Male Character (OMC)

Rating: Teen (for now)

Summary: SSA León Navarro is an FBI SWAT agent sent to a scene that the BAU is in charge of. There, he meets the team, specifically SSA Aaron Hotchner.

Content Warnings: strong language, first person POV, non-descriptive mentions of PTSD, canon-typical violence

A/N: (As of March 8, 2025, this fic has been transitioned to Hotch/ OMC as I realized I put too much detail in later chapters to still make it a feasible Reader fic. Thank you to everyone, so far. I hope you'll continue to read but totally understand if you don't!) I’ve been sitting on this fic for a while and I’m happy to share it with you! I’m about half way done with it and will be finishing it as I post the chapters. I will post about every couple weeks just so I have time to keep up with writing. I also have two Spotify playlists on my page for Criminal Minds if you want to check them out!!

Also available on AO3

July 2010

“Listen up. Target’s name is Lucas Bryant. This guy’s got a military background and possibly suffers from PTSD. He’s using various military paraphernalia to subdue his victims, believes his killings were righteous, and believes he’s at war with us, so approach with extreme caution. There’s a high chance that he won’t let himself be captured. The BAU believes he’s holed up in an attic, upstairs, or basement of some sort. Meet the BAU Unit Chief when we arrive.”

Various, “yes, sir’s,” echoed in the tactical van. Metal sliding against metal followed as last-minute weapons checks commenced.

“ETA is two minutes.”

I had been in the middle of poring over a case file when I got the SWAT mobilization order to a house in northern Virginia and was happy to step away. Words had been swimming on the pages of the file for the last couple of hours, so I’d been restless and itching to clear my head. I let myself imagine breathing out any thought of my own cases so I could be fully focused on this one.

Before the van could fully come to a stop, we were all standing and waiting for the back doors to unlock. A sea of olive green and black emerged from the van and we followed the lead SWAT agent toward the group of agents discussing and gesturing toward the house. The house was strangely well-kept, with a maintained lawn, but “No Soliciting” signs were hung on any possible surface. The curtains were all drawn closed, putting the agents even more on edge since we had a visual disadvantage.

“They’ve been briefed, Agent Hotchner,” our lead SWAT agent notified the Unit Chief as we approached.

“Great, thank you,” the tall, dark-haired agent nodded, making contact with each of us to make sure we were paying attention. “We’re splitting into three groups. The first group will go with Agent Morgan and Dr. Reid to breach the front door and head upstairs, the second with Agents Prentiss and Jareau to breach the back door, and everyone else with myself and Agent Rossi to the basement. Let’s go,” he dismissed the group, and everyone split up, having seen who they’re going with since the Unit Chief pointed them out as he spoke.

I looked at each of the other's faces as he gestured to them. The only member I was familiar with was Morgan since we were both in the FBI academy at the same time. The younger one—Reid—seemed vaguely familiar but I couldn’t recall as my attention drifted back to their boss.

My group followed Hotchner and Rossi to the side of the house where two doors indicated the basement access for the house. After we secured the entrance of the basement, we formed up along the side of the house and prepared for entry. I was the last in line of SWAT agents and felt Hotchner’s hand come to my shoulder. The two metal basement doors were firmly closed, prompting our breacher to check for locks. The breacher signaled that basement door was locked and unclipped a saw from his gear. He readied himself to cut the lock, giving us a signal and making eye contact with Hotchner, behind me.

“Is everyone in position?” came Hotchner’s steady, low voice.

There was a resounding confirmation over the radio.

“Breach.”

All of the teams moved immediately. Our breacher made quick work of the lock with the saw while the next agent in line pulled a flash-bang from his vest. With the doors forced open, the breacher jumped away from the entrance while the other agent lobbed a flash-bang down the stairs. As soon as it went off, everyone was following the agent down the stairs and swarming the basement. Rossi stayed outside to watch any windows while Hotchner was the last one in behind me. By the time we arrived, the room was clear and strangely empty besides the typical basement findings. Tall, metal shelving lined the walls with nothing of much interest on them and the floor was littered with boxes and grime. A lingering musty smell permeated the air but nothing else of concern.

“Anything upstairs?” Hotchner asked into the radio.

“Nothing, Hotch.”

He was understandably irritated by that answer and ordered, “Tear this place apart.”

We all got to work as he radioed with his team back and forth, looking around the room for any clues or ideas. Agents ripped into boxes and overturned miscellaneous furniture scattered throughout the basement. Hotchner grew more frustrated by the second judging by his tone over the radio, but his face didn’t show it.

“There’s electrical running down to the ground on the south side of the house,” the older agent—Rossi—sounded over the radio.

The stoic agent’s eyes snapped to the far wall to my left and moved briskly, just short of shoving agents out of his way. His tall frame squeezed between two shelving racks, stepping on a pile of trash in between as he felt the wall.

“Do you see any seams in the bricks?” He directed the question to me, making realize I was the closest to him but far enough to examine the wall from a distance.

“N—oh—yea! A little higher!” I pointed higher up the wall and try to follow the seam down.

I noticed a faint line—no, a wire—lower on the wall ending somewhere under Hotchner’s foot. My nerves lit on fire as I realized what was happening, but I couldn’t move toward him fast enough, “Sir, wait!”

Hotchner lifted weight off one foot to stretch more, turning to look at me as I surged toward him. He started to speak, unaware of what was happening or what I’d seen, “There’s airfl—”

Hotchner was cut off when an ear-rupturing, forceful shockwave echoed throughout the basement, bouncing off the walls and causing the unprepared to stumble. He lost his footing, disoriented and thrown off balance by the concussive blast. I even stumbled back as the blast pushed past my efforts to move forward. At the same time, he and his head were thrown forward into the industrial metal racking with what should have been a sickening thud. Everyone’s ears were ringing too much to hear it. Thankfully, the SWAT agents all had on ear protection and recovered much more quickly than Hotchner.

 I rushed over as the SWAT team’s medic and caught him under his armpits before he could collapse. His body was almost completely lax in my arms, so I dragged him away and propped him against a different rack.

“Sir, are you hurt anywhere else?”

There was no response, and his eyes were barely open and fluttering. I patted him down roughly but found nothing glaringly wrong besides the gushing cut to his forehead.

“Sir, can you stand?”

Nothing. Fuck.

The other SWAT agents were scrambling to open the false wall while being mindful of any more wires. I decided to radio the teams outside before I moved the agent.

“Basement team is working on a false wall. I have an agent down, in and out of consciousness from a concussion grenade. Possible head trauma. Extricating him now.”

“Copy.”

“I’m going to get you out of here, sir,” I assured him as his eyes finally fluttered shut, and his body became completely limp.

I secured my weapon and squatted low until his body could drape over my shoulders. I hooked an arm through his legs and held his dangling arm with the same hand so that I had a free hand for balance on the stairs. When he was as secure as I could get him, I quickly exited the basement, wanting to be out of there by the time they opened the false door so neither of us got shot.

I could only manage a brief nod to Rossi as I carried Hotchner’s extra weight from the stairs to the front lawn. I was keenly aware that the EMTs hadn’t been allowed in the staging area yet since Bryant wasn’t yet apprehended. I got to the edge of the front lawn before depositing him as gingerly as I could on the grass.

“Sir, can you hear me?” I raised my voice and took my helmet off, tossing it in the grass haphazardly.

Fetching a small penlight from one of my pouches, I removed my gloves and opened his eyes to check his pupils. Finding a somewhat normal reaction, I put the light away and got to work on treating his forehead, hoping the stinging would jostle him awake.

“This might sting,” I murmured to myself, basically.

I flushed the wound and press gauze firmly against it, feeling the agent below me tense with pain. His strong hand engulfed my wrist to roughly pry my hands away, but I persisted. I shoved my knee over his bicep and stapled his arm to the ground with my shin.

“Sir, relax. You’re safe,” I reassured him, maneuvering my arm so he could see my face and uniform. He was looking wildly around, probably looking for his team. “Look at me sir,” I requested. “I’m SSA Navarro. You have a laceration on your forehead, okay? I’m stopping the bleeding.”

His breathing began to slow, and he nodded slightly in confirmation. I took my shin off of his arm now that I knew he wouldn’t try to fight me.

“Can you tell me your name?” I began asking him some basic questions to assess for any brain damage.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he answered, louder than he should have been responding but understandably so.

“Good. Do you remember the name of the target?”

“Lucas, mhm, Bryant,” he cringed as my hands worked on his head.

“Can you tell me how many fingers I have up?” I requested, pulling one of my hands away to show him three fingers.

“Three,” he squinted.

“Who’s your Section Chief?”

“Strauss.”

“Goo—,” I started but he cuts me off.

“You want my phone number, too?” he deadpanned, making me huff and smirk at the sarcasm.

“Well, do you remember it?” I challenged him, using butterfly style bandages to hold the wound closed before taping gauze over it.

He effortlessly relayed the numbers to me, giving me a pointed look as if to tell me he was fine now. “If you remember the number I’ll let you buy me coffee,” he rolled his eyes but briefly held my gaze with striking brown eyes, glowing amber in the sunlight. He attempted to sit up, but I prevented him with a firm hand on his chest.

My brain screeched to a halt as I mentally rewound what he just said to me. Did he just flirt with me? Crap, what numbers did he just say? 5-5-5-0-4-7…6? No—8-6. I repeated them over and over in my head.

I was broken out of my stupor when I could finally hear chatter on the radio again as my ears became more attuned to our surroundings instead of just Hotchner, “Your team is fine. The target’s down.”

He relaxed a little more and I was all too aware of the hand I still had on his chest. He was, too, I saw as he quickly glanced down and then at me but didn’t mention it. I dug my hand into another pouch and brought out an ice pack, activating it with a pop, and pressing it to his head. He took over for my hand and kept the pack pressed to his head.

“Noted, by the way,” I answered his earlier challenge with an upturn at the corner of my mouth.

He gave a hum in acknowledgment. Hotchner was silent for a while, his free hand absentmindedly playing with the grass while trying to crane his head to look at the action behind him to no avail.

“It’s weird being on the other end of this,” he murmured, seemingly to no one in particular.

“What do you mean, sir?” I adjusted myself to sit on the grass more comfortably.

“Hotch,” he corrected, focusing back on me. “And, usually, I’m the one calming victims down. Yet here I am getting flustered over an operator.”

“You could have fooled me,” I laughed, my hand twitching against his chest. Whatever flustered feeling he was talking about, it wasn’t noticeable—to me at least. His features were still void of any emotion beyond the lingering worry for the mission.

“Despite having been in SWAT, the situation was…eye-opening,” his even voice invited a brief moment of mirth.

“You were straight before you went in the basement?” I joked with pursed lips.

“Pretty much,” Hotch nearly cracked a smile. The hint of it soon faded away and he made direct eye contact with me, hoping I would understand, “That’s a joke.”

I was…unsure of how to take that. It was a joke in that he actually is straight or a joke meaning that he’s not straight? Was he or was he not flirting? I mentally sighed and gave him a neutral answer just in case.

“I’m aware of how sexual orientation works, sir,” I forced a chuckle. “Maybe that hit jostled your head a little more than we thought.”

He deflated a little, his smirk dropping, “Yea, maybe.”

In an effort to save the conversation, I latched on to what he previously said, “You did SWAT detail?”

“Mmm, yea, when I was at the Seattle Field Office…tch,” he let out a long breath. “…a long timeago. It was fun,” he raised an eyebrow at me. “Surprised?”

“Only a little,” I shrugged. “You seem capable,” I gave him a once over, imagining him in the uniform I was wearing.

In the distance, I finally saw the rest of Hotch's team leaving the house. They rushed toward me where I had their boss lounging in the grass.

“Your team is incoming,” I notified him and began standing.

I extended my hand to Hotch, and he took it reluctantly as I helped him to his feet. He wobbled for a second, prompting me to still him with a hand firmly planted on his back while his hand clutched my shoulder. If anything, my hand on his back had the opposite effect as he put pressure into my hand instead of balancing himself.

Interesting.

I would have been crazy to pull my hand back.

Rossi approached with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Close encounter with a deadly shelf down there, eh?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting out in laughter at the murderous look Hotch shot at Rossi. It was only made funnier by the image of the stern agent with a child-sized ice pack on his forehead.

I quickly cleared my throat as I noticed the other agents looking expectantly at me, “Just a laceration and probably bruising later. He hit his head pretty good, possible mild concussion so he shouldn’t be alone for 24 hours. Might need stitches and probably worth getting his head checked out but I’m sure he won’t.”

Hotch winced as he accidentally put more pressure on it with the ice pack, “I’m fine. Just a headache.”

I fixed him with a pointed look, then glanced at his hovering team, “Yeah, well, they seem to disagree.”

Prentiss stepped forward, concern softening her features. She reached for his forearm, his hand quickly sliding from my shoulder to her hands and leading him away from my hand on his back, “Come on, tough guy. You’re crashing with me.”

No significant other at home? Or is she…? Hm.

It was almost possessive, but what did I know? With the nature of our work, I’m sure they were all pretty close and protective of one another. I might not be a profiler, but I got the idea nonetheless as her eyes flicked toward me like I was a stranger. Well, because I was.

Clearing my throat, I swiped my helmet from the grass and tucked it under my arm. I extended my hand to Hotch, “Great to meet you, sir.”

Despite not knowing them besides Morgan, word did tend to get around the field offices about the BAU, so it was nice to put faces to the team.

“Thank you for your help, Navarro,” my last name escaped his mouth with a low and soft hum, giving me a grateful quirk of his mouth.

Before I could lose myself in his features, I shifted my attention to Rossi and shook his and everyone else’s hand. As I got to Morgan, recognition flashed across his face.

“Navarro?”my last name questioningly fell out of his mouth in disbelief, “Leon?” A bright smile lit up his face as he realized why we knew each other, “How’ve you been, brother?”

“Good, man. I—.”

“Doc, we’re leaving!” I heard call from across the street, beckoning me to the tactical van.

I acknowledged my teammate and continued my sentence by drawing out the letter, “I…gotta go, I guess.”

“No worries, we’ll catch up soon. Let’s go out some time,” Morgan reached for my hand and pulled me into a brief hug.

“Sounds good,” I smiled at the team and jogged back to the van.

I approached the van, slowing down as I got to the open door where Ramirez was waiting for me expectantly.

“Have fun with the shrinks?” He grinned and held the back door open for me.

“Yea, they’re alright. I went through the academy with one of them,” I climbed in and helped him shut the doors before sitting down.

“Bunch of characters, though,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?” I frowned.

“Nah, it’s just…I’ve worked with them before. No offense or anything, they’re just…weird, I guess,” he stammered over his words, not quite expecting to be called out.

“And, yet we rely on them for profiles that help us get guys like that,” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the house we had just left.

“Fair enough.”

On the ride back to DC, I pulled out my phone and typed in the number I had been repeating since my interaction with Hotch. 5-5-5-0-4-8-6. I quickly saved it under something practical and not at all indicative of how giddy I felt saving it.

Spoilers, it was just “Hotch BAU”.

 I resisted typing out a text message to him at that moment, not wanting to seem…desperate? Yea, “desperate” sounded right. I decided to send it later that night, which sounded even more desperate considering he would be at that attractive agent’s house. Prentiss? Prentiss. I grumbled to myself for being stupid and shoved my phone back in my pocket.

-

Chapter 2

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Radley Balko at The Watch:

Since the election, a number of readers have asked how worried we should be, and what we should be looking for in the weeks and months ahead. My general answer: pretty worried! At this point, I see little reason to think that Trump won’t at least attempt his most authoritarian and destructive campaign promises. Whether he succeeds will depend on how much resistance he gets from the courts, Congress, the federal bureaucracy, and the rest of us.

Trump’s nominations to cabinet positions so far are a clear indication that he’s dragging his party further into a nihilist cult of personality. It isn’t just that so many of them are unqualified, corrupt, or destructive (though it’s also all of those things). It’s that they’re uniquely unfit for the specific positions he has appointed them to hold. He’s daring someone to stop him, and learning from what follows.

The Matt Gaetz pick for attorney general was bad, but it wasn’t even his most dangerous. Appointing crank conspiracy theorist and Trump/Assad apologist Tulsi Gabbard to the most sensitive national security position in government is a direct threat to national security and a reflection of Trump’s own fondness for authoritarians. Department of Defense pick Pete Hegseth has never led more than a dozen or so people (the one small nonprofit he did lead, he ran into the ground). As a National Guardsman, he was barred from working security for Joe Biden’s inauguration because he has a tattoo common to white supremacists. He lobbied Trump to pardon war criminals who had been reported by their own platoons, and believes the U.S. military should ignore the Geneva Conventions.

Then there’s the fact that the leader of the QAnon party, a man himself found responsible for rape and credibly accused of sexual assault or misconduct by dozens of women, appointed four — four — cabinet level officials accused of engaging in or covering up sexual misconduct. There’s Gaetz, of course. RFK Jr. has also been accused of sexual assault (he didn’t exactly deny the accusation). The sexual assault allegation against DOD nominee Hegseth are particularly credible. And Linda McMahon, Trump’s pick for Department of Education, was accused in a lawsuit of covering up a ringside announcer’s sex abuse of a boy while she and her husband ran World Wrestling Entertainment.

None of this is all that surprising, given that Trump’s party keeps nominating and electing sex creeps up and down the ballot. Nor does it seem to bother Trump’s congressional supporters. Instead, they’ve decided to single out and bully the first trans woman elected to Congress, barring her from using the women’s bathrooms on Capitol Hill . . . because she’s a “threat” to women. (We’re still waiting to hear which bathrooms male Republicans neutered by Donald Trump will be permitted to use.) Trump is also refusing to subject his nominations to FBI background checks, and his campaign says he won’t release the names of donors to his transition. Both are clear signs that he has no intention of making himself accountable or transparent to anyone. Nearly everything he’s done since the election points to a president who not only intends to buck every norm, convention, and check, he won’t even pretend to try. It’s just open defiance.

In the coming days, I’ll look at the free press and the First Amendment, immigration, and crime and criminal justice. But today, I’ll focus on Trump’s openly-stated plans to weaponize the government against his critics and enemies. I fully expect to see Trump follow through on his promises to seek retribution against people like Jack Smith, Liz Cheney, Adam Schiff, Alexander Vindman, Anthony Fauci, and countless others. Whether he’ll do it by ordering the DOJ to make sensationalist arrests and criminal charges or use subtler though still pernicious tools like IRS audits, subpoenas, or parading people before Congress for public ridicule, is hard to say. But investigations alone can ruin lives and careers.

Let’s start with the DOJ. I’m not sure that the Gaetz debacle provides much instruction on whether Senate Republicans have the backbone to provide any real oversight. (It did show us, however, that House Republicans were willing to remove their spines, gift-wrap them, and hand-deliver them to Trump.) I suspect Gaetz’s tendency to anger and insult members of his own party hurt his nomination more than his extremism, sex pestery, and utter lack of qualifications.

Trump’s new AG nominee, Pam Bondi, is less abrasive than Gaetz, but every bit the devout MAGA loyalist. As Florida Attorney General, Bondi was at one point set to join other states in suing Trump University (Florida has more “alumni” than any other state). Shen then mysteriously pulled out of the class action after Trump made a $25,000 donation to her PAC — a donation that came from Trump’s “charity,” by the way — and then held a fundraiser for her at Mar-a-Lago. (Bondi has a long history of that sort of pay-to-play.) Bondi quickly became a full-throated supporter. She’s not only a 2020 election denier, she was part of Trump’s legal team in his bid to overturn the election. She actually stood next to Rudy Giuliani at Four Seasons Total Landscaping.

Bondi has also already made clear that she fully supports Trump’s plan to weaponize the agency he has nominated her to lead.

[...] We’ll see an important test of Trump’s power shortly after he takes office. He plans to fire FBI director Christopher Wray and replace him with Kash Patel, a vengeful loyalist wholly unqualified for that position. The FBI director is supposed to serve outside the political influence of individual presidents. It’s why the position comes with a 10-year term, and why an FBI director can only be fired for cause. Remember that when Trump fired James Comey, Jeff Sessions considered it a serious enough abuse of power to appoint a special counsel. We’ve become so accustomed to Trump’s power grabs that it’s now just widely expected that he’ll fire Wray for pretextual reasons and install an unqualified lickspittle like Patel — a guy who has vowed to imprison journalists and critics. If the Senate allows that to happen, I fear dark days lie ahead. (Trump is also reportedly considering appointing Patel to a position that doesn’t require Senate approval, but which could still give him the power to act as Trump’s retributive hammer.)

[...] Trump is also already planning to devote DOJ resources to “uncovering” evidence that he won the 2020 election, and to prosecuting state officials who resisted his attempts to coerce them. Expect to see a full-throttle effort to rewrite history about that election, only this time Trump will have more power to force federal agencies to provide faux credibility to his bullshit fraud conspiracies. Watch to see which agencies fall in line.

[...] The Post and other outlets have since reported that one of the key architects of Trump’s plan to purge federal agencies of institutionalists is Russ Vought, Trump’s former head of the Office of Management and Budget — one of the most powerful under-the-radar positions in government. Vought was also a key architect of Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation-led blueprint for a Trump II administration so deeply unpopular that Trump repeatedly claimed during the campaign that he had nothing to do with it. That of course was a lie: last week, Trump nominated Vought back to his old position.

[...] Finally, one particularly pernicious pattern we’ve seen from Trump officials and MAGA pundits is the targeting of not just politicians and public officials, but everyday people they see as representative of their enemies — at which point the MAGA faithful swarm with threats and harassment. We saw Trump-loyal publications repeatedly try to dox whistleblowers who exposed corruption and abuse. We saw them upend the lives of people like Ruby Freeman and Shaye Moss, along with countless other 2020 election workers who signed up for the sort of nonpartisan positions necessary in a functional democracy.

They did it to doctors and nurses during COVID, healthcare workers who treat trans people, and of course to the Haitian immigrants in Springfield — along with any local residents who dared to defend them. The Libs of TikTok account on X run by Chaya Raichik basically exists solely for this purpose — to sic an army of online followers to heap hate and invective on people she has deemed to be on the wrong side of the culture war. Trump’s “co-president” Elon Musk has been particularly eager to weaponize the social media platform he bought for this sort of targeting. Shortly after purchasing Twitter, he selectively released emails, internal documents, and other private correspondence to a few hand-picked “journalists” to create a dubious narrative about public-private censorship. While there were certainly some examples of improper government pressure on Twitter, most of the claims were wildly overblown. More worrying, the whole project — along with the complicity of Republicans in Congress — led to harassment and death threats against former Twitter employees, whistleblowers, misinformation researchers, and others caught in the crossfire.

Radley Balko wrote a great piece on how the incoming Trump Misadministration seeks to weaponize government agencies to be sharp tools to help his authoritarian masturbatory revenge fantasies.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Thirteenth Step: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

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

Summary: Two unsubs. Two mental disorders. A boatload of trauma. What can go wrong?

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If any warnings exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

Hotch and Spencer are outside of the trailer next to the open window so you're able to hear their conversation with Ray's mother.

"Ray kept asking Paul to take the ninth step. 'Take the ninth step', he said."

"It sounds like they're making amends, but they're twisting it and trying to force people who have wronged them to make amends to them," Spencer says.

"Mrs. Donovan, did you hear the name of the girl that Ray's with?"

"He kept calling her Syd."

"Maybe she's the one calling the shots. She's the psychopath," you say to Em knowing she heard the conversation, too.

"If she did do it without his consent, they're going to be at odds. The first marital fight is supposed to be the worst. I'll be praying for you and Spencer."

You chuckle and shake your head.

"It might be the wedge that we need," you say about Ray and Syd. You take out your phone and call Penelope. You and Emly leave the trailer and walk away with the rest of the team. "Hey, did Ray Donovan file for a marriage certificate?"

"Not that I can see. However, I looked at that list again, and there's a Sydney Manning of Washington state who filed for a marriage certificate two days ago in Montana."

"Washington? We profiled North Dakota."

"She lived in North Dakota for the last four years, and it gets better or worse, rather. It turns out that Sydney was sentenced to mandatory rehab after serving time for a hit and run during which she was under the influence of alcohol and heroin."

"I bet she didn't volunteer for alcohol support."

"No, she was placed there as part of her parole."

"Alcohol and heroin. Isn't that the same combo that Ray's ex overdosed on?" Emily asks.

"Yes, it is, my friend," Penelope answers.

"So, both Syd and the ex have the same vice. Pen, check to see if there's a juvie record of the ex we can access," Hotch says.

She pauses to type. "Amy was pulled out of high school so she could go to rehab for alcohol dependency."

That's strange that she went to rehab for alcohol only. No heroin.

"No mention of the heroin?" you ask.

"What are you thinking?"

"Psychopaths will destroy anything in their path. What if Amy was in Sydney's way?"

"Garcia, where is Sydney's biological family?" Hotch asks.

"Spokane, Washington."

"Why was she pulled out of her home?"

"Her father was molesting her."

"So, Ray and Syd did meet after sharing similar backgrounds in alcohol support. If they're sticking to the pattern of making amends, Sydney's father's next on the list."

"Reid, you stay at the command center in case they double back. The rest of us are gonna go to Spokane," Hotch orders.

After hours inside the jet, you finally arrive in Spokane. There is a woman outside watering her plants who looks confused when you walk up to her house.

"May I help you?"

"Mrs. Manning, we're with the FBI. Is your husband home?" you ask.

"He's at work. What is this about?"

"Your daughter, Sydney, might be planning on hurting him."

"Sydney? That's Gary's kid," she says in disgust. "He hasn't seen her in years."

"Can you tell us your husband's work address, please?" Emily asks and takes out her phone.

"785 Halbrook Street, off Kirkland Road. He owns a gas station."

That's why they're hitting gas stations.

"Thank you."

"Wait, he has our daughter with him. Jamie."

You and Emily hop back into the car and drive to the gas station. You pull into the parking lot and tense up. Something isn't right. You get out of the car with Emily and look at the front door of the gas station. You lock eyes with Sydney who is standing in front of Ray, and he is holding a little blonde girl. That must be Jamie.

"Emily, it's them! Get down!"

Ray raises his gun and shoots at you, but you're quick to fire back. You duck from the flying bullets and pop back up to shoot. You look at Sydney and shoot, hitting her in the shoulder. She falls back with a scream, and Ray grabs her in a panic.

"Syd! Syd!"

He knows he will die if he continues to escape so he shoves Jamie back into the gas station and drags Syd as best he can back inside. Once you're safe from their bullets, you take out your phone and call Hotch. The rest of the team arrives in record time with police in tow. Hotch doesn't waste time and calls the store knowing Ray is going to want some medical supplies for his wife.

"What do you want?" he barks into the phone.

"Mr. Donovan, how are you doing in there?"

"How do you think I'm doing? You shot my girl!"

"No, it was one of my agents. She didn't have a choice."

"She has a choice. She could have shot me. Put her on the phone," he demands.

"I can't do that."

"Yes, you can. Put her on the phone. She needs to fix this shit."

"Y/N." You walk over to Hotch and he holds out the phone to you. "He wants to talk to you."

"Hey, Ray," you answer and look at the store. "If you come out, we can get Sydney to the hospital."

"She doesn't need a hospital. She's strong."

"Don't be stupid--"

"You don't be stupid," he cuts you off. "Now, get your men out of here so we can continue on as planned."

"We can't do that, Ray, and you know it. You have a little girl inside. God only knows what happened to Sydney's father."

"Justice happened to her father."

"He's dead?" you ask even though you know the answer.

"Damn right he's dead, and his kid's gonna be, too, if you don't get me a car to take us to Aruba."

"Fine. Let me see what I can do. Is there anything else you need in the meantime?"

"Some gauze and some booze, and none of the cheap kind, either."

He hangs up before you have a chance to respond. News crews have already arrived to get the scoop, but the police work to keep them as far back as they can. After hearing what they want, Hotch orders Rossi and Spencer to get to Spokane as fast as possible.

They get here after the sun has already gone down. Sydney doesn't have much time left.

"What do they want?" Rossi asks.

"Liquor and tickets to Aruba," you answer.

"You're not negotiating with them?" Detective Bates asks.

"No, but we're gonna let them think we are. Get them what they want. Y/N?" You look at Hotch. "Be careful."

"Yeah."

Spencer worries for your safety but you know he won't hurt you if you have the supplies needed to heal his wife. After obtaining the liquor and the medicine, you walk slowly to the front door and knock twice. Jamie inside jumps back in fear when Ray jumps to his feet.

"Move back!" Ray yells and points the gun at Jamie. "Move back or I kill this girl!" You raise both hands holding the items and step back per his instruction. "Back off!" He grabs Jamie and holds her in front of him like a shield with the gun pointed at her back. She is so scared that you try not to let her fear affect you. "I will shoot this kid! Back off!"

You back up some more which allows Ray and Jamie to reach the door. She simply unlocks the door, and the two of them back up behind one of the shelves in the middle of the store. You walk closer slowly and open the door, making sure he sees you're not armed and you have what he needs.

"Ray? Take it easy, okay?"

"You take it easy. Put it down!"

"Alright."

"Put it down!"

As you're putting the items down, you take note of the layout of the store. There is a back room but you're unsure if there is a door that leads outside. If there is, they probably have it locked. You look to the left and see Syd sitting on the floor with her back resting against a fridge of drinks. She looks at you through hooded, painful eyes.

"We got you the stuff you asked for. We're working on the rest." You keep your hands up in defense. "If you need anything else, you just pick up that phone. It's routed straight to us. Do you understand?"

"I should kill you right now. Back up."

"Okay. I'm leaving."

You hate to do it but you leave the gas station slowly and carefully. As soon as you're back far enough, Ray has Jamie lock the door again so he can tend to Syd. 

"I didn't see a back door or anything. I'm sure there is but it's probably locked. Hotch, I can feel how desperate he is. All he needs is a shove, and I think I know how to do it. I have to pit them against each other."

"Jamie might be caught in the crossfire."

"I saw her. She's terrified. She'll stay out of the way. Plus, Ray will only be focused on Sydney."

"I trust you," Hotch nods.

Seconds later, the phone rings, and you answer it knowing who it is.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Where the hell is our car?"

"I need you to listen to me for a second. I know you've had a hard time with your father and everything that he did to you."

"Shut up. You don't know anything about me," Ray growls.

"Last year, your ex-girlfriend Amy was murdered. I know that."

"Amy committed suicide. She overdosed on PCP and alcohol."

"No, she was killed, Ray. They found heroin in her system."

"Amy never did heroin," he mutters.

"Exactly because somebody gave it to her. Why don't you ask Sydney about it?"

"Why? What does she--what does she have to do with this?"

"Ray, what's going on?" Sydney asks, her voice faint on the other line.

"Come on, Ray, think for a second. Sydney joined alcohol support right after you and Amy broke up. She could see you still had feelings for Amy, so Sydney needed Amy out of the way."

"You're out of line," Ray growls.

"Okay, then ask her. I guarantee when you do, she won't answer you. She'll only question you back."

"What are you talking about?"

"Sydney is the one who gave Amy the heroin. Go on. Ask her. I'll wait."

There is a pause before Sydney's voice can be heard.

"Hey, what--what's wrong, Ray?"

"Ask her, Ray. Get her to come clean."

"Did you give Amy heroin?" he asks her.

"Baby, what are you talking about? I love you."

"You hear that, Ray? We call that structural deception. She doesn't want to answer your question. She's only buying herself some time so she can think of something else to say to you."

"That's not true," he says to you.

"Ray, Sydney killed Amy. If you continue to press her, she'll try and use sexual distraction to get you to change the subject."

"Don't you talk about my wife like that," he shouts.

"What is she saying?" Sydney asks.

"Sexual distraction, Ray. You gotta listen to me."

"No, I'm done listening to you. Why don't you get us a car and some plane tickets, or I am gonna blow this girl's head off."

Ray hangs up and you hand the phone back to Hotch. You look at Sydney and Ray through the window, as much as you can through the various items and shelves.

"I think the seed of doubt was planted. All we have to do is wait to see if he takes it."

"What if he doesn't?" Spencer asks.

"He will. When he does, getting Jamie out is our only priority."

Time ticks by slowly, and you're not sure what is going on. Jamie goes to the front of the store alone, and you look over at the section where you last saw Ray and Syd. Something slams into your body and you gasp when you realize what the feeling is.

"What is it?" Hotch asks.

"He's killing her. Oh, God." You look at the side of the gas station and see Syd standing there, no longer in pain. "She's dead."

"How do you know?" Emily asks.

"I can see her spirit. She's standing outside on the left. She's dead. Ray killed her."

Ray stands up and begins pacing with his hands in his hair. He doesn't believe what he just did. The seed of doubt worked. Now all that matters is getting Jamie out of there safely. He disappears behind the counter again and Jaime walks closer and out of view. Seconds tick by before you see Jamie walk to the door without Ray.

"Where's Ray?"

Jamie unlocks the door and lets herself out.

"Morgan, go," Hotch says.

Derek takes off running toward Jamie and scoops her into his arms. He takes her to the side of the building where it's safe, and that's when all hell breaks loose. Ray must have used Paul's car keys because all you can see is a car barreling out of the store. Every agent and police officer shoots at the car but Ray is relentless. He is escaping no matter what. He tries shooting while keeping one hand on the wheel, but his aim isn't good. He crashes into a police car from behind. The car is riddled with bullets. He tries to floor it but a bullet goes through the windshield and into his forehead. Syd is in the passenger seat, dead.

At least Jamie is safe.

Against all odds, this case is one of the more sad ones. You felt their sadness, desperation, and pain. Both of them. They were lost causes and they didn't even know it.

Now back at home, you want to do something to replace the bad memories of the case with good ones of right now. Since St. Patrick's Day is this weekend, you're baking treats for the cookout JJ and Will are having for everyone at their house. The kitchen is a mess with flour everywhere, but you and Spencer are having fun.

All the baked goods you're cooking are dyed green for the holiday, so both your aprons are covered with green dye.

"See all this green, Spence? You can't pinch me now."

Spencer wraps an arm around your waist and scoops some green batter on his finger. He dabs the sweet treat on your nose, and you giggle from the coldness. He leans in and kisses you, and you kiss him back lovingly.

"What happened in the past that was painful has a great deal to do with what we are today." - William Glasser

x

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[galerymod]

‘Gold Card’ immigration programme

Trump wants to sell US residence permits for five million dollars

Donald Trump wants to sell very wealthy foreigners residence permits for the US for a lot of money. Russian oligarchs could also be among the beneficiaries of the ‘Gold Card’ programme.

Why just buy a golden watch from Donald Trump himself when you can also get a passport to US citizenship!

mod

A company called the United States of America has been licensed by Trump to sell the unlimited edition golden ticket for rich immigrants with no matter what the money comes from. Trump's immigration programme for blood money, diamonds, drug barons and other shady characters costs just five million per head.

The American people are already looking forward to the many new citizens who simply buy in. We assume that there will be no need for background checks on money, because money doesn't stink.

Welcome to the land of free capital, if you have enough to afford the tickets.

mod

A little picture puzzle: who is depicted on the gold card?

Thanks for the nice joke. I guess the FBI is now looking for the king's enemies and no longer the man with the new gold card.

Of course it's just a joke: no criminals travel to America because specially selected personnel are watching over there by royal decree.

[lucvangogh]

"in the Shadows"

Aaron Hotchner x male OC

Chapter 4 + 5

Warnings: none actually

Chapter 4

The BAU office was quieter than usual, the weight of the investigation pressing down on everyone. Hotch sat at his desk, staring at the newest text message. ‘You’re getting closer.��� It was both a taunt and a warning, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking directly into a trap.

Morgan entered, dropping a file onto his desk. “We might have something.”

Hotch straightened. “Tell me.”

Morgan flipped open the folder, revealing a printed background check. “A name came up when Garcia ran her search. Rebecca Cole. Former forensic psychology student, obsessed with serial killers—specifically Elias Vance.”

Reid, who had been hovering near the door, stepped in. “She wrote multiple research papers on ‘the psychology of obsession’ and had a fixation on how criminals form emotional bonds with law enforcement. Some of her professors flagged her for concerning behavior.”

“She also visited Elias in prison,” Morgan added. “Three times in the past month.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “Why wasn’t this flagged sooner?”

Garcia appeared on the screen from her office, looking exhausted. “Because she used an alias. Only reason I found her is because one of Elias’ old case files mentioned a letter from a ‘Becky C.,’ and I got curious.”

Prentiss folded her arms. “So, she sees herself as Elias’ successor?”

“Or worse,” Reid murmured. “His partner.”

Hotch exhaled sharply. “Do we have an address?”

Garcia’s fingers flew over her keyboard. “Already sent it to your phones. She lives in an apartment downtown. Rent’s been paid six months in advance. No job. No recent financial records. Someone is funding her.”

Morgan grabbed his gun from the table. “Let’s go.”

The drive to Rebecca Cole’s apartment was tense. The team was prepared, but something about this case felt different. More personal. As they pulled up to the building, Hotch surveyed the area. It was a quiet street, too quiet.

Prentiss and JJ took the back entrance while Hotch, Morgan, and Reid moved in through the front. The landlord let them in, hands trembling as he explained that Rebecca “always paid on time” but gave him a bad feeling.

They reached her door. Hotch knocked. “FBI. Rebecca Cole, we need to talk.”

Silence. Then, a faint noise—a chair scraping against the floor.

Morgan motioned for Hotch to move back as he tested the doorknob. Locked. With a swift kick, he broke the door open, and they rushed inside.

The apartment was eerily neat. A single laptop sat on the desk, open to a video call—an empty screen, but the feed was live. The walls were covered in photographs. All of Elias. And Hotch.

Reid swallowed hard. “She’s been watching us.”

A blinking red light on the laptop caught Hotch’s attention. A recording was in progress. He leaned closer.

And then, a voice.

“I was hoping you’d come, Aaron.”

Rebecca’s voice. Smooth, calm.

Hotch grabbed the laptop. “Where are you?”

A soft laugh. “Watching.”

Suddenly, Reid’s phone buzzed. He checked it and paled. “Hotch. You need to see this.”

Hotch took the phone. A text message.

‘You were too late.’

A photo followed. A surveillance image of Jack Hotchner’s school.

Morgan tensed. “She’s making this personal.”

Hotch’s grip tightened around the phone.

“We end this. Now.”

The team wasted no time mobilizing. JJ was already on the phone with the school principal, ensuring that Jack was safe while Garcia worked her magic, tracing the origin of the message.

“There’s a good chance she’s nearby,” Garcia said, her voice tense. “Whoever sent this text is using a network that’s bouncing between local towers. I’m working on pinpointing it.”

Hotch’s hands clenched at his sides. The thought of Jack being in danger because of him sent a wave of anger and guilt through him. He turned to the team. “We split up. Morgan, Prentiss—you head to the school. Reid, JJ, and I will continue searching the apartment for leads. Garcia, keep working on tracking her location.”

Morgan nodded. “We’ll keep Jack safe.”

As Morgan and Prentiss rushed out, Hotch focused on the room around him. Rebecca Cole was methodical—her space meticulously arranged, her notes carefully organized. There had to be something here they could use.

Reid was already flipping through notebooks, his sharp mind scanning for patterns. “She’s meticulous. Her notes are structured, almost mathematical in nature. She’s studying behavior in real-time.”

JJ picked up a stack of photographs, flipping through them. “These aren’t just surveillance images… these are timestamps. She’s tracking Hotch’s movements. She knew exactly when he left, where he was going. This isn’t an admirer—this is an orchestrator.”

Hotch found himself staring at the laptop screen. The live feed was still open, a black screen, but there was something unsettling about it. He clicked a few keys, attempting to trace the connection. And then, suddenly, the black screen flickered—revealing another live feed.

A dimly lit warehouse. And in the center, tied to a chair—Jack.

Hotch’s blood turned to ice. His phone vibrated again. A final message.

‘Now the real game begins.’

Chapter 5

The moment Hotch saw the live feed of Jack bound to a chair in the dimly lit warehouse, a deep, primal fear gripped him. His mind raced through possibilities, strategies, anything that would get his son back unharmed. His phone buzzed again, another message from the unknown number.

‘Come alone. Or he dies.’

Morgan, Prentiss, and the others were already rushing back into the room, their faces etched with concern. Hotch clenched his jaw as he turned the phone’s screen toward them.

“She’s baiting you,” Morgan said, voice tight with restrained anger. “You know that.”

“And I can’t take the risk,” Hotch countered. “Jack is out there, and I won’t waste time debating.”

Prentiss placed a hand on his arm. “Hotch, you don’t have to do this alone. We can track the signal, send a team in.”

“There’s no time.” He turned to Garcia, who was already typing furiously on her keyboard. “Can you get me an exact location?”

“I’m working on it, but whoever this is, they’re good,” Garcia said, frustration evident in her voice. “They’re bouncing the signal off multiple towers. I need more time.”

Hotch took a steady breath. “Then I go.”

“No,” Morgan interjected. “You’re not walking into this blind. We’ll find a way.”

But Hotch had already made up his mind.

The drive to the warehouse was tense, every second stretching into an eternity. Hotch’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mind replaying every lesson he had ever taught Jack about staying calm in dangerous situations. He could only pray his son remembered them.

His phone rang. He answered without hesitation.

“Good, you listened,” Rebecca’s voice purred through the speaker. “Elias always said you’d be predictable. That’s why he liked you.”

“Where is my son?” Hotch’s voice was like steel.

A chuckle. “You’ll see him soon.” The call disconnected.

As Hotch pulled up to the warehouse, his heart pounded. He scanned the area—no obvious snipers, no sign of a security setup. That didn’t mean there weren’t traps waiting inside.

He stepped out of the car, gun at his side, and approached the entrance. The large steel door creaked as he pushed it open, the sound echoing through the empty space.

Then he saw Jack.

Tied to the chair, eyes wide with fear but unharmed. Relief flooded through Hotch—but only for a moment.

“Daddy.” Jack’s voice was a whisper, shaky.

Then, from the shadows, Rebecca emerged.

She was younger than he expected, no more than thirty, with dark eyes gleaming with twisted delight. In her hand, she held a small switchblade, idly spinning it between her fingers.

“You actually came,” she mused. “I was almost hoping you wouldn’t. That would’ve been more fun.”

Hotch leveled his gun at her. “Step away from him.”

Rebecca smirked. “Or what? You’ll shoot me? You won’t. Not yet.”

She took a step closer to Jack, pressing the flat of the blade against his cheek. Hotch tensed, every instinct screaming to act. But he forced himself to remain still.

“You want him back?” she continued. “Then put the gun down.”

“Not happening.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Then Rebecca’s smirk widened.

“Fine.”

She flicked her wrist, slicing a thin line along Jack’s arm. He let out a yelp, eyes brimming with tears.

Hotch’s vision went red.

Before he could react, a sudden crash echoed through the warehouse. Morgan and Prentiss stormed in, guns raised. Rebecca cursed, grabbing Jack by the collar, pressing the knife against his throat.

“Stay back!” she shrieked. “Or I swear I’ll—”

A single gunshot rang out.

Rebecca’s body jerked. Her grip on Jack loosened, and she collapsed onto the concrete floor, blood pooling beneath her. Hotch rushed forward, scooping Jack into his arms as Morgan secured Rebecca’s weapon.

But she wasn’t dead.

Rebecca let out a weak, breathy laugh as she looked up at Hotch. “You think this ends with me?” she whispered, her voice rasping from pain. “There are more. So many more.”

Prentiss knelt beside her, pressing a hand against the wound, her voice firm. “Who? Who else is involved?”

Rebecca coughed, blood staining her lips, but she only smiled. “You’ll see.”

Then, with a final, shuddering breath, she went still.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jack clung tightly to Hotch, his small frame shaking against his father’s chest. Hotch held him close, pressing his lips to Jack’s hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Morgan stood, his gaze dark. “We need to search this place. If she wasn’t working alone, we need to know who else is out there.”

Hotch nodded. “We won’t stop until we find them.”

As the team swept the warehouse, Garcia’s voice crackled through the radio. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this.”

A file had just been uploaded to the FBI database. No known source. No fingerprints. Just a list of names.

Names of agents.

Names of their families.

And at the top of the list, written in bold letters:

‘The game is far from over.’

Hotch exchanged a glance with Morgan. The nightmare wasn’t over.

It was just beginning.

Author's note:

I hope you enjoyed this double update of the story! If you want to read it entirely, it's already completed on Ao3. I'll upload all chapters here in the next few days. :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63259909

[hagueapostilleservicesblog]

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[comeonamericawakeup]

THE WEEK December 13, 2024

It tells you everything you need to know about the quality and honesty of his nominees. Only corrupt criminals are looking to avoid an FBI background check.

[darkmaga-returns]

Gun Owners of America just caught the FBI coercing more people into giving up their Second Amendment rights!

Thanks to a FOIA request by GOA's lawyers, we uncovered even more evidence on the FBI's unconstitutional and unlawful NICS Indices program.

In 2019, it was discovered that the FBI was using a document titled "NICS Indices Self-Submission Form" that purported to allow American citizens to "voluntarily" waive their Second Amendment rights. 

By completing this FBI form, law-abiding Americans allegedly "consent" for the FBI to enter their names into the National Instant Criminal Background Check System, marking them as permanently prohibited from purchasing or possessing firearms or ammunition.  And as the form warns, once an individual waives their rights, it's impossible to get them back.

Now, the mere existence of this form was troubling, and it clearly violates the Second Amendment and even the Gun Control Act. But at that point, we weren't sure how extensively the FBI was using the form, if in fact it was being used at all.

Fast-forward a few years to 2022.

GOA published our initial findings that the FBI had provided these forms to agents for use on American gun owners, who were pressured into signing and therefore "voluntarily" relinquished their rights to purchase, possess, and use firearms.

These FOIA records painted a vivid picture of FBI agents showing up to people's homes, place of work, etc., presenting to them these forms, and "asking" them to declare themselves to be a "danger" to themselves or others, or lacking the "mental capacity to adequately contract or manage" their lives.

You can imagine how coercive these sorts of FBI visits must have been.  The FBI's use of this secret form has occurred during recent years when the bureau has become increasingly politicized and weaponized against Americans, including gun owners.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Olga Lautman at Substack:

America has entered uncharted waters. With Trump’s victory, a leader who openly disregards democratic norms and embraces authoritarian tactics will soon hold power. This forces us to confront a sobering question: what happens next? Drawing from Russia’s repression under Vladimir Putin, we can anticipate a chilling blueprint for America’s future. If history is any guide, a Russian-style system could quickly take hold, reshaping the nation in ways few could have imagined. I never imagined having to write this about America but here we are.

1. The Erosion of Democratic Institutions

Although Russia, for centuries has been plagued by corruption and repression, Putin's rise to power marked a decisive shift toward consolidating authority and dismantling even the minimal democratic structures that existed. He systematically undermined the judiciary, legislature, and media to entrench his rule, while filling key positions with loyalists—many of whom lacked experience and carried criminal backgrounds. This ensured that every lever of power served his interests rather than the public. A similar playbook will be employed in the U.S., targeting key institutions to erode checks and balances and concentrate power in the hands of a select few.

Judiciary: Judges who stand against the regime will face political attacks, threats, or attempts for outright removal. Loyalists—regardless of qualifications—will be installed to ensure the legal system becomes a tool of the regime, rubber-stamping its priorities and suppressing dissent.

Congress: Opposition voices in the legislature may be neutralized through disinformation campaigns, weaponized investigations, or targeted harassment, creating an institution that offers little resistance to executive overreach.

State Governments: Federal overreach will likely target states that resist centralized authority. This could include withholding funds, filing legal challenges, or deploying federal agencies to strong-arm compliance, undermining state autonomy.

Department of Justice (DOJ): Expect the DOJ to be weaponized to serve regime interests, targeting political opponents with investigations and prosecutions while shielding loyalists from accountability. This shift will transform the DOJ from a guardian of the rule of law into an enforcer of authoritarian priorities and a silencer of dissent.

Military: The armed forces will see an infiltration of loyalists in key leadership positions, prioritizing loyalty over expertise. The regime will co-opt the military for domestic purposes, deploying troops to intimidate or suppress opposition under the guise of maintaining order.

Law Enforcement and Intelligence Agencies: Federal agencies like the FBI and CIA may be purged of independent leadership and repurposed to surveil, intimidate, and target political adversaries, activists, and journalists while overlooking crimes committed by allies of the regime.

Election Commissions: Agencies responsible for overseeing elections will further be restructured or staffed with loyalists to undermine free and fair elections, introducing more barriers to voting, and attempting to manipulate electoral outcomes.

Through these methods, authoritarian regimes systematically seize control of institutions vital to democracy and try to quell all avenues for effective resistance.

2. Media Suppression and Propaganda

In a Russian-style system, independent media becomes an endangered species. Expect a multifaceted approach to suppressing dissent and controlling the narrative:

Hostile Takeovers: Major media outlets critical of the regime may face buyouts by regime-friendly oligarchs, hostile regulatory scrutiny, or outright closures. These takeovers allow the regime to repurpose once-trusted news sources into tools of propaganda.

Censorship: The flow of information will be tightly controlled. Social media platforms will be pressured to suppress dissenting voices through legislation targeting “disinformation,” often a thinly veiled pretext for stifling criticism. Algorithms will be manipulated to deprioritize independent reporting and amplify regime-friendly content.

State Media Expansion: Regime-funded outlets will flood the airwaves and online spaces with propaganda, often disguised as legitimate news. This will foster a cult of personality around the leader and rewrite inconvenient truths, framing opposition voices as enemies of the people.

Media Self-Censorship: A climate of fear can be just as effective as direct government intervention. Expect the regime to create an environment where media outlets self-censor to avoid legal repercussions or physical harm. Journalists may shy away from covering controversial topics or investigations to protect their staff and avoid punitive measures like fines or asset freezes.

Intimidation of Journalists: Journalists who persist in reporting the truth will face significant personal and professional risks, including:

Harassment and Threats: Online trolling, smear campaigns, and physical intimidation will be carried out to silence reporters.

Surveillance: Journalists will become targets of state surveillance, with private communications intercepted and leaked to discredit or endanger them.

Arrests and Detention: Those who cross the regime’s red lines may face arbitrary detention or charges like espionage or sedition, echoing Russia's imprisonment of investigative journalists.

License Bans and Revocations: The regime may also weaponize licensing and accreditation requirements, threatening or revoking the credentials of outlets that refuse to conform. In Russia, this tactic has driven many independent voices underground or into exile. In the U.S., similar actions could manifest as government agencies tightening broadcast or publishing regulations to target dissenters, while regime-friendly outlets flourish under lenient oversight.

The result is a chilling effect: a public increasingly deprived of accurate, independent information and a society incapable of holding power to account.

[...]

Ways to push back

While the outlook is bleak, resistance is not futile. America’s deep democratic traditions and resilient civil society offer hope, but pushing back will require collective effort and strategic action. Support independent media by subscribing to and amplifying credible outlets that challenge the regime’s narrative. Organize locally to strengthen grassroots networks that resist authoritarian policies and foster community resilience. Strengthen ties with global democratic movements to share strategies and resources. Stay informed, as understanding authoritarian tactics is key to countering them. I’ll be putting out a comprehensive resistance guide very shortly to help navigate this critical fight. Stay tuned.

Olga Lautman wrote a solid column on her Unmasking Russia Substack on how Donald Trump’s dictatorship could very well unfold, like what happened when Viktor Orbán came back to power in 2010 in Hungary.

Trump’s dictatorship plans are a solid reason for blue states to consider secession.

[moontyger]

Even at 20 years old, Knox felt convinced the truth would prevail. Surely the evidence, which definitively pointed to Rudy Guede, a neighbor of Knox and Kercher’s, would exonerate her. But the prosecution, led by Mignini, threw everything they had at her. Latching on to an old soccer nickname, “Foxy Knoxy,” the prosecution unfurled a sensationalized narrative where Knox, Sollecito, and Guede had allegedly orchestrated a violent and drug-fueled sex game gone wrong, resulting in Kercher’s death. In densely Catholic Italy, Knox was maligned in the tabloid media as a calculating and demonic sexual deviant.

“There was a long period of time where it felt like nothing I said mattered,” Knox says of her relationship with the media, which, even in the more forgiving United States, regarded her with skepticism. “That I didn’t matter. The message that was coming across to me was, ‘You belong in this little box that we have created for you, and anything that you say or do that goes against that, we are going to hold against you or suppress. You are our little sex demon icon.'”

Shaking ‘Foxy Knoxy’

After spending four years in prison, an appeal trial finally found Knox and Sollecito not guilty of murder in October 2011, and both were released. (Guede was convicted and has since served 13 years of a 16-year sentence.) But Knox had tremendous difficulty picking up where she left off in Seattle. She processed it some — in 2013, she published her first memoir, Waiting To Be Heard, detailing her ordeal — but as she recounts in Free, Knox was in serious legal debt and struggled to find a job, complete her college education, and date. It didn’t matter that she had been acquitted or written a bestselling book. Simply the fact that she had been convicted at all “turned my own name into a kind of prison,” she writes in Free.

Even worse, Knox’s name kept resurfacing in the international news. Even after being acquitted of Kercher’s murder in 2011, in March 2013 Italy’s final court of appeal overturned both Knox and Sollecito’s acquittals, and the Italian Supreme Court ordered them to stand trial again. (Knox did not go back to Italy for the trial.) In February 2014, Knox and Sollecito were again found guilty. 

Ultimately, in March 2015, the Supreme Court of Italy overturned the convictions in a final decision. But Knox has not been able to completely escape the characterization as a “diabolical she-devil,” as one attorney called her, nor the very practical consequences of carrying a criminal record. (While Knox was exonerated of Kercher’s killing, an Italian court re–convicted her of criminal slander in June 2024, a decision Knox appealed. Italy’s Supreme Court upheld the ruling in January 2025.)

“The practical reality of being a convict and having to prove whether I’ve been rehabilitated from a crime I did not commit, having to do FBI Background checks and get fingerprinted, have character recommendation letters [written] are all things that follow me,” Knox says. “It’s in the public consciousness. I was very publicly accused and my reputation [was] utterly transformed in the most negative way, internationally. There’s no pretending that’s not a part of my reality.”

Meanwhile, in 2016, a Netflix documentary positioned Knox’s personality (and therefore her innocence) as being open to interpretation, with promotional billboards labeling photos of her with the words “monster” and “victim.” High-profile interviews with ABC’s Diane Sawyer and CNN’s Chris Cuomo went sideways as the anchors asked questions that fueled the audience’s doubt about Knox’s innocence. Knox views this portrayal as all being in service of a character, a projection, a fantasy — never a flesh-and-blood person.

“I have had to fight to be treated like a person instead of a product,” she says. “‘Foxy Knoxy’ was not a person. She was an idea of a person that people purchased over and over because it was morbidly satisfying. And also, you know, sexually titillating.” 

A new chapter

While media partners might have their own agenda in hosting Knox, the person behind the product has evolved into a well-spoken advocate for the wrongly accused and convicted. Since her release from prison, Knox has found community in lobbying for criminal justice reform. In addition to exploring stories of personal growth and resilience via her podcast, Labyrinths, which she co-hosts with her husband, Knox sits on the advisory council for the Frederick Douglass Project for Justice and is on the Innocence Center Board of Directors. 

“A lot of my advocacy work has to do with trying to make the criminal justice system and police work more transparent, so we can make better choices that lead to more just outcomes,” Knox says. “That includes banning police deception during interrogations and reporting all interactions with police officers, so people can understand what is psychologically happening between citizens and authority figures who have the right to take your freedom away. These are things that we don’t fully understand.”

Just as it traces her post-release reintegration into society, Free features nuanced discussions around how audiences process stories about trauma and victimhood. For instance, Knox introduces the “single victim fallacy.” Knox explains: “In a scenario where a crime occurs, there can be one true victim, and anyone else who potentially has a claim to victimhood is somehow taking away from another person’s claim to victimhood.” In Knox’s experience, the public views the “single victim” as Kercher, therefore Knox should not claim victimhood at the hands of the criminal justice system. 

Knox is still living within this fallacy, much to her disappointment. “I understand that there is some confusion about where I begin and where Meredith [ends] because of how this story has unfolded,” she says. “But I remain my own person, and my experience matters. That’s why I’m choosing to share it, and it is not at Meredith’s expense.”

[dertaglichedan]

Liberal Washington wants to let felons to volunteer in schools...what could go wrong?

OLYMPIA, WA- A Washington State Democrat has filed a bill allowing felons to volunteer in the state’s schools.  Rep. Tarra Simmons, an ex-con who was imprisoned for theft, drug, and firearms offenses, is the lead sponsor of House Bill 1189. That legislation would require school districts to inform applicants that if they submitted “proof of rehabilitation,” they could volunteer in schools, regardless of their convictions. 

That “proof” would consist of “criminal innocence or rehabilitation-related documents,” which is defined in the proposed bill as:

“...evidence that a criminal conviction is the subject of: (i) Expungement, pardon, vacation, annulment, certificate of rehabilitation, or other equivalent procedure based on a finding of the rehabilitation of the person convicted; (ii) a pardon, annulment, or other equivalent procedure based on a finding of innocence; or (iii) a certificate of restoration of opportunity under RCW 9.97.020.” 

If a parent submits “criminal innocence or rehabilitation-related documents,” the proposed bill says, “the school may not deny the parent’s volunteer application based on a criminal conviction if the parent signed a statement indicating the parent has not been convicted of any crime since the date that the criminal innocence or rehabilitation-related document was issued.” 

If a was convicted of one or more crimes and does not submit a criminal innocence or rehabilitation-related document, fear not! The school will consider: 

(i)...the length of time since the commission of the last time for which the parent was convicted and whether any criminal conviction involved a minor child victim; and

(ii)...(A) the age of the parent on the date of the commission of the last crime for which the parent was convicted; (B) whether the parent has been approved by a state agency to have unsupervised access to children under 18 years of age or persons with  developmental disabilities; or (C) limiting the parent’s unsupervised access to children under 18  years of age and to persons with developmental disabilities if this would give the parent the opportunity to have meaningful involvement in the school.”

Volunteers who are not parents are also eligible for the program. They must submit to a criminal records check within two years of applying to volunteer at the school and sign a waiver allowing any organization to release the information. They must also “swear on a stack of Bibles” that there have been no other convictions since the completion date of the most recent background check. 

However, if you work in the schools, you will be subject to a record check through the Washington State Patrol criminal identification system and the FBI.