#go away fbi agent stalking my account

[babysdrivers]

Val and Jense on Beyond the Grid back to back! The team responsible for picking the guests of the lastest two episodes probably had you in mind 🤔

literally this is a personal attack can they stop

[mggssocks]

Followed

Not My Gif!

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Content Warnings: None just fluff :)

Summary: Spencer makes an Instagram and stumbles across reader’s page.

Word Count: 1,899 words

A/N: This is Season 10 Spencer with Season 13 looks. Also, instead of it being Kate on the team, i put Emily instead because who doesn’t love the season 3-7 team? Also I might make a part 2 depending on how much this blows up. Honestly i’d be happy if i got one like. Anyways.. hope you enjoy!!!

masterlist // part 2 // part 3

It was 8:00 in the morning. Spencer walked in the doors of the bullpen to the bau. He sat his satchel down and began to settle in for a long day of work. It was pretty early so the team wasn’t in yet. Except for Aaron Hotchner who had gotten in an hour prior to Spencer and been in his office ever since. Apparently others had the same ‘get to work early’ mindset as Spencer. Spencer opened a case file but his attention was quickly whipped away due to the sound of the door opening. He sees Penelope Garcia with all her attention focused on her phone. Spencer quirked his eyebrows when she bumped into a fellow coworker and her attention remained on her phone while quickly mumbling a quick “sorry”. As she passed his desk, Spencer decided it would be the great time to speak. 

“Hey, Garcia.” Her feet came to a stop and her head snapped up at him. 

“Boy wonder! I’m so glad you’re here. I really need someone to talk to because if I don’t I’m going to explode!” She sits in the chair across from his desk. 

“Is everything alright?” He leaned back in his chair. 

“No… no everything is not alright. If anything.. everything is all wrong. Very very wrong. I-“ she takes in a deep breath “I was stalking Kevin’s page because the other day I seen him at the mall with another girl. And while I was 56 weeks down in his page, I accidentally liked a picture.” She explained, in a huff. 

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Spencer was even more confused now than before she started. 

“I liked a picture that he posted 56 weeks ago!” Her eyes were wide.

“How is that a bad thing?” His lips pouted as he’d never understand social media. 

“Ugh! Reid, you really need to get with the program and get you an Instagram. That means his picture was old and now he knows that I was looking at his page. You understand now?” She asked. 

“Oh. Yeah I understand. It’s bad that he knows you were looking at his page.” He asked as Prentiss, JJ, and Morgan had walked in. 

“Yes. And now I must go into the bat cave and wait for him to call or text me and ask what me lurking on his page was about.” She whined as she stomped her way to her office. 

“What was that about?” Prentiss asked, setting her bags down on her desk. 

“Uhh- rough morning” Spencer shrugged, still not really understanding the whole social media thing. 

“Hey do you guys have an Instagram?” He asked the three. 

“Yeah but I’m barely on it.” Prentiss answered.

“Same here” says Morgan as he takes a seat at his desk. 

“Yeah but I only get on to post the boys and myself sometimes” answers JJ. 

“What about Hotch and Rossi?” He asked.

“Yup! Rossi likes to post about his expensive wine and cigars. Hotch posts Jack every once in a while and a throwback Thursday.” JJ says. 

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed for what seems to be the 100th time that day. 

“He doesn’t know what that is” Prentiss looks over to JJ.

“It’s something you post like an old picture of yourself every Thursday.” Morgan explains.

“Do you guys do that?” Spencer asked.

“I did last Thursday.” JJ pulls out her phone and opened the app. “This was right after Emily, Penelope, and I caught a guy who was trying to pick up Prentiss by pretending to be an FBI agent a few years ago.” She chuckled showing him a picture. 

Spencer takes her phone in his hand and examines the post. 142 likes. 57 comments. He clicks on her name which takes it to her page. 302 followers. As he scrolls, he sees a picture the team took a while ago and sees a little person profile thing the corner and clicks on it causing other names tagged to each individual team member. Except him. After he examined all of their profiles, he gives JJ back her phone and gets to work like the rest of them. He felt a little left out but he knew it was because of his own decisions and not his team. He liked that they didn’t press him about having a social media because they new he was more old school than anything. And it was ironic because he wastage youngest member of the team with the more old school habits. 

When Spencer got home he decided he wanted the social media app. The idea of being able to share with his friends and only his friends excited him. Being able to post about his favorite things for his friends to see without talking their ears off.

He opened his phone and went to the app store, typing “instagram” into the search bar. He followed the sites instructions as he made his account. Using a snapshot he took of his bookshelf as his profile picture. He sees the option to add the people in his contact list which was only his team, mom, and his mother’s caretaker. But everyone’s profile popped up and he quickly followed each and every one of them. Except for his mom and her caretaker of course. 

Soon enough, he got a follow back from Garcia, Hotch, Rossi, and JJ in that order. Morgan and Prentiss weren’t lying when they said they weren’t on often.

After two weeks, Spencer hasn’t posted anything yet, not knowing what should go on his profile. Morgan and Prentiss ended up following him back and the app ended up adjusting to his interests. Nothing but accounts about interesting facts, books, and doctor who. 

It was Friday night and the team had just got back from a case in Chicago. Spencer opened the door to his apartment and set his satchel down on the couch, exhausted. His mind wonders to get something to eat being that he wonders to get something to eat being that he hasn’t ate since before they caught the unsub. Which was about 5 hours and 7 minutes ago but he still needed to get something into his system. Spencer opened his fridge and sees 3 day old Chinese takeout. He shrugs and pops it into the microwave while looking for a book of his to reread while he eats. After he finishes dinner, he gets on his phone and subconsciously pulls up the app. He clicks onto his explore page to discover something else he likes. While scrolling, he sees a picture of someone reading and clicks on it.

765 likes

Yourfriend’sig whenever people ask me what to give you for your birthday or Christmas, I always tell them to get you a book or something green and it works every single time. Happy Birthday to my best buddy, @yourinstagram !

View all 84 comments

Spencer smiles and clicks the heart button and bookmarks it to look at later.  He liked the picture. Both the picture and caption reminded him a lot of his own love for books and the color green (hence his apartment). 

Once he got out of the shower, he brushed his teeth. He found himself subconsciously scrolling through his instagram bookmarks to find her post. He doesn’t know what it was but something about the picture brought comfort to him. As he brushed his teeth, he clicked on the post once again.This time, he actually clicked on your account. It was a private account with 186 followers. The bio read:

Y/N... bookworm.

Her profile picture consisted of a black cat surrounded by either a bunch of well taken care of plants or artificial ones. His finger hovered over the blue “follow” button. As he bent down to spit his toothpaste out, his thumb accidentally clicked the follow button. But he didn't realize so until he looked down again to see the “follow” button replaced with “requested”. His heart basically drops out of his ass. He quickly clicks the button again, taking back his follow. 

It was now one in the morning, Spencer laid in bed awake staring at his ceiling. Once again, he clicks onto the app. He scrolled down his timeline and saw a picture Penelope posted of one of her new desk animals with the caption “Got her at a thrift shop! Isn’t she cute??”. He saw that Hotch and JJ liked 45 other people. JJ also commented with two red hearts. Spencer likes the post and keeps scrolling. His thoughts wander to the post about the girl again. He’s never thought about a social media post this much since he’s created an account. He wonders what sparked his interest so much about this one. As he makes his way to the post, clicking on her account. Debating if he should follow her. She’s a total stranger. Do the others follow strangers? There’s no way JJ knows 302 people in real life. He mentally shrugs and presses the follow button. Requested. Again.

He swipes out of her account back onto the post now seeing that she commented on it.

yourinstagram thank you, bubs! ily to the moon n back <3333

It was commented thirty six seconds ago. Meaning she’s currently active. Again, Spencer’s heart sinks and he immediately regrets his decision. Going back and unfollowing her. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s a mess. Over a stranger. But he feels like an idiot. Reacting the way that he did just because he saw that she was online. So he goes and follows her.... again.

After clearing out all of his apps, he turns off his phone and lays down trying to get some sleep before work in a few hours. His thoughts wander to her. What she was like. if she was nice or mean. If she was socially awkward or very outgoing. Before his thoughts could get too far into what she was like, he receives a notification from instagram. He opens his phone and clicks on the notification. His heart began to pound when he saw it.

yourinstagram would like to send you a message! 

He clicks on it.

yourinstagram You’ve followed and unfollowed me about 5 times in the past 3 hours. Is there something I can help you with?

Spencer completely forgot that other people got notifications and now he felt like some kind of creep.

spencerreid I’m sorry. I came across your friend’s Instagram post wishing you a happy birthday and i guess i got curious and wanted to follow you if that makes any sense. 

He felt so dumb. 

yourinstagram and following me once wasn’t enough for some reason???

spencerreid Sorry about that. I’m new to this whole social media thing and don’t follow any strangers. You are the first person I’m following that I don’t know in real life. Again, my apologies for the disturbance. I’ll unfollow you’re account If you’re uncomfortable with me. 

yourinstagram i just hope that you’re not one of my raging exes, someone trying to catfish me, or a psychopath lol.

Spencer smiled.

spencerreid Nope. Just me.

She leaves him one read. Spencer’s smile fades when he doesn’t see any three loading dots. She wasn’t texting him back. As he’s about to exit the app, he sees two notifications. 

yourinstagram has accepted your follow request!

yourinstagram has requested to follow you.

********

I hoped you like this!!! If this blows up,i will do another chapter!

[toriwakes]

Pretty Boy 187 [s.r x reader]

summary: reader finds out that her new found tumblr crush is none other than her coworker.

content warnings: she/her!reader, mentions of alcohol

a/n: hi!! i’m so happy to be posting again. i’m really proud of this, so i hope you all like it! as always, let me know if you have any requests!

convincing spencer to get tumblr was tough. not only did he hate technology, he didn’t like social media either.

“it’s gonna be fun! c’mon, please?” you’ve been bugging him about it for about a week. “spencer, please just download it. if i have to hear (y/n) whine again i’m gonna loose it.” said derek, plopping is papers on his desk. “you like it when i whine.” you teased, causing derek to flash you a toothy grin. “alright! jeez.” you clapped of joy and jumped to help spencer, but he stopped you. “no way, i’m not letting you follow me.” he kept his phone facing away from you, your arms dropping to your sides in defeat. “fine. i’ll find your account somehow.” “we’ll see about that.”

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

over the next few weeks you acquired a few new followers, only one catching your eye. ‘prettyboy187’ followed you on a quiet friday afternoon. the username caught your attention at first, but when you checked is profile? that’s when you were hooked. half of his pictures were just aesthetically pleasing: outside of his window, his extreme sugary coffee, some books. but others...

it was an excerpt of a poem and his hand was holding back the pages. you doubt he meant to capture it so beautifully. just his hand was godly. you wasted no time dming him.

hey :)

how desperate did you look right now? he followed you barley an hour ago. you cant stop staring at that picture.

hello

he didn’t sound happy. well, he didn’t “sound” anything, you guys were texting. but you could feel his tone through the screen. where you overthinking this too much? you shuffled into your bed, wrapping yourself in the covers as you pondered what to say next.

i just wanted to tell you i really like your account. are you a photographer or something?

no, i’m not. my friend convinced me to get this app and i noticed people post aesthetically pleasing photos on here, so i’m just doing the same haha.

ok, well you don’t post nice pictures. at least, not that type. maybe you’d post a picture of the snow or your bed, but every now and then you’d bless the feed with a picture of you in a swimsuit. it was more for opinions on the suit than anything else.

ohh. maybe i should start doing that.

how do you mean?

oh.

that sounded like a very judge-y ‘oh’. your eyes scanned your own profile to see what he could’ve hated. there was you in your favorite red swimsuit, a picture of your computer with netflix on the screen. the rest of the posts were of the same type, so you couldn’t pinpoint what the problem was.

what is it?

no, nothing. your recent picture. that’s a nice swim suit.

oh. that’s what he meant. you practically threw your phone across the room and squealed. thank the universe that he didn’t dislike you already. you shot him another text. just like that, you had your first ever tumblr crush.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

“what’s up with you pretty girl?” derek asked when you walked into work. you supposed you still had the blush on your face when pretty boy wished you a good morning and day at work. “nothing!” you said, obviously it being something. as if on cue, spencer walked in behind you also giddy. “what, you’re both sweet on someone now?” when neither of you responded, derek laughed. “what?” emily inquired, taking her seat. “spencer and (y/n) both have a crush.” emily’s jaw dropped. “spencer has a crush?” everyone broke into laughter, jj overhearing and almost dropping her files. “why is that so surprising?” spencer defended himself, derek giving him a ‘you know the answer to that’ look. “well?what’re their names?” he pushed. you bit your tongue. you didn’t even know his name. yikes. “let’s start.” aaron called. saved by hotch. thank goodness. “this ain’t over.” derek warned the two of you. yes it was. by the end of the day morgan would’ve forgotten all about this.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

you were right like always. morgan didn’t ask anymore about it, instead offering to get drinks. you turned it down, desperate to get home and text your boy. and you did, only at 11pm.

hey, sorry it’s so late. had a long day at work.

no worries, so did i. listen, i have a question.

this boy only sent messages that would make your heart drop. with a pacing heart, you texted back.

yes?

his ‘online’ button flashes on. then he was typing. then he was deleting. it seemed like hours before he responded.

what’s your name?

godamnit. you didnt have a display name because you didn’t want anyone you knew finding your account. what’s a fake name you can use? maybe...

lila.

why did you pick spencer’s ex’s name? you don’t know. you remember being insanely jealous of her because she got to kiss spencer in the pool while you were posted outside. your crush on spencer was still very much alive, but not as much as it was with pretty boy.

that’s a pretty name.

thanks. now you have to tell me yours ;)

you’ve never been so nervous for a text conversation in your life. for some reason, the back of your head wondered what it would be like if you were texting spencer. it was just a thought, though. spencer would never say half of this stuff.

call me morgan.

oh NO. please no... you stalked his profile again, terrified that you’ve been flirting with your coworker this past month. alas, your eye caught another body picture- this time of his arm. no tattoos like derek. not to mention he was much smaller. not that that’s a bad thing. you don’t think you’d ever be able to handle derek...

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

you arrived at work yet again with a blushing face. “come on, you can’t keep hiding this from me! tell me something at least!” derek whined. “okay! his name is morgan. and i know what you’re thinking, and no, it’s not you, my boy is much more attractive.” derek’s mouth formed into an ‘O’ shape in fake offense. “that’s damn near impossible. ain’t nobody prettier than derek morgan.” spencer walked in now, again with a dorky smile on his face. “spencer. (y/n)’s got a crush on-“ you jumped to cover his mouth, the sound of your crush’s name muffled. “what- hey! no fair! derek gets to know but i cant?” spencer whined. derek held his hands up and sat back down, not wanting to get you mad. smart. “three can’t keep a secret.” was all you said before sitting down to clean your workspace.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

the new highlight of your day was texting morgan. you learned several things about him; he has a job he can’t specify for personal reasons, he really wants a dog but he feels like animals hate him. you told him about your cat joel, and how they could absolutely love him. he appreciated that.

if i tell you something, do you promise not to freak out?

depends. are you about to tell me you’re a serial killer?

no!

you giggled to yourself at your humor.

i wanna meet you.

you promised not to freak out, but you were freaking out. it was just now setting in that you didn’t know this man at all. where he lived, how old he was, even what he looked like. you took a few deep breaths and asked a question.

where do you live?

quantico virginia.

no hesitation on that one. he lived in the same town as you? you didn’t know how you’d be able to turn this down...

shit, me too. let’s meet up then.

i’ll send you a good place to get drinks.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

“every time you walk in here, you’re blushing. now so are your ears.” you beamed at derek, sitting at your desk before spilling. “i’m gonna meet him.” “wait what? are you sure that’s safe?” you rolled your eyes. “i’m an fbi agent. i’m not scared of a little danger.” you playfully winked and derek blew out a huff of air. “if anything happens, you know you can call me.” you pouted at your friend and nodded, appreciating his concern. spencer was spinning in his seat. “you happy too?” you asked. he only nodded and didn’t elaborate. you we’re going to press on, but hotch called you all in and you lost your chance.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

on rare occasions, the bau got tough cases with very happy endings. this was one of those cases. the plane ride home was extremely joyous and derek offered to get drinks again. this time, everyone accepted (all except hotch). you texted morgan telling him you were going out tonight and you wouldn’t be back till late. you laughed to yourself. it was like he was your boyfriend.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

the night was young and you were fairly tipsy. ok that’s generous, you were drunk. you were spending most of your time with penelope and it took you a minute to remember spencer. “ohmygosh! spence!” he was startled at your presence but he gave you that flat mouthed smile of his. “how are you! you’re my favorite scorpio.” you nodded as you said it, as if trying to convince him it was true. “thanks? i’m good. you’re drunk.” he pointed out. “no shit. hey!!! you never showed me your tumblr user! you gotta show me that girl you like, bet you she’s really sexy.” you didn’t even know what you were saying at this point, whipping out your phone and snapping a picture with spencer. “what are you doing?” he asked, watching you type. “posting this on tumblr! i want everyone to know you’re my favorite in the world.” he wanted to ask favorite what, but a ping on his phone distracted him. lila posted. he smiled and checked her page.

holy fuck.

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

“(y/n)?” he asked, not looking away from his phone. “yess?” you responded. “what’s your tumblr?” what is your tumblr? “uhhh..i don’t know, check.” you tossed him your open phone, and his eyes only grew wider. “you’re lila?” the words rang through your ears like a siren. “what?” the word was breathy, you couldn’t add stability to what you said. spencer showed you his phone, ‘prettyboy187’ on the screen. “you’re morgan?” still no confidence in your voice whatsoever. your feelings were supposed to change, you weren’t supposed to like that morgan was spencer. but they didn’t. you didn’t even think about the fact he saw your swimsuit photos. you loved that morgan was spencer, and you still wanted to see him on the weekend. “are you mad?” you asked, not being able to stop yourself from sipping from your glass. “no. should i be?” you smiled. “no. do you still wanna meet up this weekend?” “yes. but i don’t wanna get drinks.” he wasn’t even drinking, why is he complaining. “where should we go then?” “my house.”

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Thank you for providing my only source to keep going in this pandemic and I hope you are doing well yourself, but I wanted to ask if you would know any good Stiles being a Hunter or just being super useful to the pack that they couldn't be able to survive without him in any shape or form. Thank you in advance.

Here you go.

& i will witch all wild things to my palms by Sylvesterelle

(2/2 I 1,407 I Mature I Sterek)

The one where Stiles is a wild, dark thing and Derek loves him, still.

The Rebirth Of A Hunter by ExcaliburStuckInMyStoneHeart

(5/? I 9,828 I Teen I No Pairing)

Dean escaped purgatory with Benny four months ago.

Castiel escaped purgatory two months after.

Stiles was still trapped there…

How will he get out of this one?

become the beast by sterekhale

(1/1 I 17,276 I Explicit I Sterek)

Former FBI agent, Stiles Stilinski, puts his skills to use hunting and killing werewolves. It’s exactly the kind of lucrative and dangerous career he wants, which is why he can’t say no when given his next job: Abducting the Hale alpha for $1,000,000 — even if it may be the last job he ever does.

Smoke Signals by Anonymous

(5/8 I 57,944 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles and Allison hunt monsters. It's their job, and they're good at it. But it quickly becomes clear that Beacon Hills is no ordinary gig, from the string of brutal killings to the mysterious disappearances and memory loss which surround them. There's something happening in this town that neither of them are prepared for, and that they can't hope to face alone.

Bad Blood by DiscontentedWinter

(34/34 I 62,889 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles Stilinski was taken from Beacon Hills when he was ten years old. Now, six years later, he’s a trained hunter, and he’s back to help the Argents finish the job they started.

Cry Havoc by ladyblahblah

(12/12 I 62,308 I Explicit I Sterek)

In Beacon Hills, the two-year war that’s been raging between werewolves and hunters has begun spilling over onto the civilian population. Meanwhile, in Boston, when the tattoo on Stiles Stilinski’s back is damaged on a late-night hunt he begins to have dreams that lead him across the country, drawn by an inexplicable conviction that he’s needed there. When he discovers that Derek Hale began the war after his mate was killed, Stiles finds himself being offered a strange deal: figure out how to bring the alpha's mate back, and peace talks can begin.

Abandoned by TiggerLover

(15/? I 63,721 I Mature I Sterek)

“Stiles? Why is the house surrounded with mountain ash? Did something happen?” Allison asked hesitantly. Stiles nodded slowly.

“Yep. And it’s to keep a banshee and eight werewolves away from me,” she answered.

“Why?” Allison questioned, moving away from Scott.

“Because I don’t want them near me,” she repeated, as if the answer was obvious. "I don't want any of you near me. I want you gone because I’m done being treated like this. I'm tired of deluding myself into thinking I have a family that in reality doesn't exist. I'm sick of being hurt all the time. So I’ll go on my way and you can live in peace without having to deal with me. It'll be great. Have a nice life, mongrels."

Next thing they know, Stiles is disappearing up the steps and into the house, the door slamming behind her and the lights are out.

She was gone.

**

(Or where the pack forgets it's Stiles' birthday and it all spirals down until Stiles leaves the pack and gets into way too much trouble.)

Kelev Ra by Moku 

(9/9 I 115,350 I Mature I Sterek)

Considering he was a sixteen year old hunter, who basically relied on folklore and myths for research ‘cause his granddad was a lying selfish bag of douche who’d rather get him killed than share their family bestiary with him, Stiles Stilinski’s life was surprisingly uneventful. Sure, there was the occasional preternatural stuff he had to deal with. And maybe some temporary lapses into insanity. But apart from that, life was a piece of double fudge chocolate cake.

Until Peter Hale woke from a six year long slumber like Sleeping Beauty and decided upon awakening to kill his niece.

Killing a newborn Alpha wasn’t really on Stiles’ to-do-list for that night but hey, who was he to argue with fate? Turned out Peter wasn’t even that much of a challenge anyway. Problem solved. All was fine with the world.

Not.

Enter Derek Hale, who suddenly started to lurk on every corner, snooping around to gather information on the unknown hunter who had supposedly killed his sister and uncle. And as if that wasn’t bad enough there was a creepy cheap-ass imitation of a Silent Hill nurse out to kill him. And a skulking shadow around his house he was confident was Derek stalking him

Well fuck.

Hunting Pains by Ragga

(29/29 I 230,137 I Mature I Steter)

It was a sad day when one had to resort to time travel because things were just so fucked up. Stiles should know. He went back to undo the whole ‘Beacon Hills is a death trap’ thing but for now he would just settle for knowing where the fuck he was. Even the year would be a nice start. Someone? Anyone?

Or, the one where Stiles travels back in time, karma comes to bite him in the ass, and he ends up as Kate Argent's hunter mentor. He didn't take Peter Hale into account either, and he definitely didn't sign up for everything that came after.

His life.

[honey-andtea1889]

Battered and Bruised

AN: Hello! This is my very first Spencer Reid blurb! I’m super excited to write this and I seriously hope you all enjoy it! My requests are open and ready for business, please don’t be afraid to ask! Xx

Summary: The BAU team gets called on a case in Omaha, Nebraska for kidnaps and murders of women around the city. When Y/N get taken, Spencer goes to the ends of his being to find her. 

Warnings: Violence, swearing, death, mention of rape, shit ton of fluff

Song: Battered and Bruised by Circa Waves 

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

Mornings weren’t Y/N’s strong suit. Especially when it included waking up at 5:30 am because your boss calls you in on a case. She knew it was a serious case just because of the time and after the last case the team had finished, she knew she couldn’t be too upset. 

Y/N loved her job at the BAU. It was pretty much her who reason for living. She absolutely loved helping people and putting away criminals that don’t deserve any more than a kick of dust. Just the feeling of saving someone’s life made the job worth it. She always put her heart fully into every case that came up, making sure that every person that was found was safe and every bastard that would cause the victims pain would get every ounce of punishment they had coming to them. Y/N couldn’t think of doing anything else.

Her team made it even better. She got along with everyone. They were all so welcoming when she first joined the FBI, Y/N felt that these people, this wonderful team, was her family. 

Y/N soon made it to the BAU and went straight into the break room for some coffee. She ran into a very groggy, barely woken Derek Morgan. He smiled at her, sipping his morning brew. 

“Good Morning, Princess. How was your nap?” Derek asked as he chuckled. 

“About as good as it can get. Can’t believe we got called back in so quickly. Did Hotch tell you anything about today’s case?” Y/N asked. 

Derek shook his head. As far as they knew, no one was told about the case. Hotch had just called everyone in saying that it was an emergency. The two were soon joined by none other than David Rossi. He smiled as he made himself a cup of coffee, sighing at the time. 

“One of these days, I’m just not going to answer my phone.” Rossi grumbled. 

The three of them laughed. Derek and Rossi made their way to the briefing room while Y/N fixed herself another cup of coffee. A loud groan echoed through the hall, and you knew who that belonged to. Dr. Spencer Reid came into sight as he trudged over to the coffee machine, smiling a tired smile at Y/N. 

Spencer and Y/N had a weird relationship. It was evident that the two of them had feelings for one another, but neither of them acknowledged them. There were times where Y/N wished she had the courage to just walk up to Spencer and ask him out, but she could never convince herself to do it. Spencer was the same way. He thought she was so beautiful and smart. He felt so comfortable around her and just being in the same room as her was a gift in itself, he just didn't know how to ask without making a fool of himself. Everyone on the team could feel the romantic tension between the pair and it killed them. Spencer couldn’t could how many times Derek had mentioned it to him that he should ‘make a move before someone else does.’ 

“Whoever allowed anything to be done before 11:30 in the morning is psychotic.” Spencer grumbled, pouring coffee into a mug. 

“I hear ya, but Hotch sounded pretty serious on the phone. We should probably get up there.” Y/N sighed. 

The two made it into the briefing room, Penelope setting everything up for the team. Spencer took a seat next to Y/N, smiling at her as he took his first coffee sip of the day. Prentiss, JJ, and Hotch soon flew into the room as Penelope began explaining the case. 

“Three women were found dead in ditches all around Omaha, Nebraska. Jenna Lender, 25, was our latest victim. She was last seen yesterday morning, getting coffee for her boss. Jenna’s boss tried calling her after noticing she was gone longer than she needed to be but got nothing.” Penelope said as she clicked through the presentation. 

“How long did the unsub keep the other victims alive?” Emily asked. 

“That’s the thing, all of the girls were only alive for a day. once he was finished with one, the unsub would spend a week hunting for a new woman.” Hotch says. 

“He stays in the same area, he’s got a comfort zone.” Spencer said, eyeing the file in front of him. 

“He obviously doesn’t have a type, the women are all different. The only thing that is connecting them is their age.” Y/N said. 

“And their jobs. All of the girls worked at the same company just different departments. It looks like the building is downtown, did they know each other?” JJ asked.

“No, its a huge company. Jenna worked on the 23rd floor in Accounting, Sierra on the 12th floor in Marketing, and Marie on the 33rd as an assistant to the CEO.” Penelope said as she clicked on her tablet. 

“Are we looking at the CEO of this company? Maybe he’s got something to do with it?” Derek questioned. 

“No, he’s got a trustful alibi.” 

“Whoever it is, we need to find him before he kills again. Wheels up in 30.” Hotch said, gathering the files to head out to the jet. 

The team gathered their things and boarded the plane. Everyone was slowly dozing off in their seats while Y/N and Spencer stayed up and talked about the little things. They did this every so often. Whenever they had a long trip, the pair would sit closer to the back and just talk. They never had a set conversation, the topic was always changing. Y/N loved that. 

“No way, you can’t possibly think that Stephan King outranks Edgar Allan Poe.” Spencer laughed. 

Y/N shrugged and smiled at the genius to her right. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Edgar, but something about King’s writing just hits a little on the different side.” She said as she sipped on her coffee. 

Spencer studied Y/N. He took in her features, her beautiful Y/E/C eyes, her gorgeous smile, intoxicating laugh. He became so enthralled by her beauty, he didn’t realize that the plane had landed and the team were departing the aircraft. Y/N noticed his staring and blushed. Now wasn't the time to flirt though. They had a job to do. 

“Alright, Prentiss and Morgan, I want you two at the first crime scene. Look for any details that were missed. Rossi, you and I will go to the second crime scene. JJ, talk to the families of the girls. We need to know if there was anything linking them. Reid and Y/N, go to the latest crime scene and gather as much evidence as possible. You both are then to go to the police station and set up. We’ll meet there in about two hours.” Hotch explained.

Everyone broke off into their respected groups. Y/N and Spencer quickly arrived to the recent crime scene, the body still laying in the position it was found.

“FBI?” A detective asked.

“Yeah, this is SSA Y/L/N and I’m Dr. Reid. Is this how the body was found?” Spencer quizzed at the detective.

The man nodded and led the two over to the body on the ground. Y/N looked at the woman to see if there was any form of self defense wounds on her. Spencer was taking note of the area in which the body was found. It was just outside of town, the woods just a few miles away from the dump sight. Spencer was about to look around until Y/N called him over.

“Take a look at this.” She said, moving the arm of the woman.

The two saw marks around her wrists, showing that the woman was tied up when she was captured. As the looked even closer, the agents could see the body had bruises all along her neck, hips, and thighs. 

“This woman was raped, Spence.” Y/N said disappointedly. 

Spencer sighed. This case was not going to be an easy one. The two headed back to the station to set up the search. Spencer could see that Y/N was a bit off since they left the crime scene. Morgan and Prentiss came into the room, they were almost out of breath as the entered. 

“Marie Thomas was raped.” Prentiss explained. 

“So was Jenna.” Y/N stated, pinning up a photo of her lifeless body. 

“So he stalks them for a week, kidnaps them, rapes them, then dumps their dead bodies in ditches.” Derek said as he flopped onto a chair. 

“None of the girls had enemies at work, they all got along with their coworkers and mostly kept to themselves.” JJ said as she walked in. 

“So what sick bastard is taking these women?” Emily questioned. 

Hotch and Rossi soon joined the rest of the team, both looking more on edge than everyone else. 

“Guys? Are you okay?” Y/N asked. 

“Something isn’t sitting right.” Rossi sighed. 

Hotch walked over to the board as Spencer explained how he wanted the people of Omaha to see that he means business. Y/N became uncomfortable with the topic and decided to stand outside to get some fresh air, clearing her mind from all of the horrifying information she had taken in. Derek came to check up on her almost immediately after she left. 

“You okay mamas?” He asked. 

Y/N chuckled at the nickname.

“Honestly? No. These poor women were just living their lives and then this happens to them.” She explains, her heart sinking at the thought. 

“Look, Y/N, I know this is hard, but we have to keep our heads up. We’ll catch this sick son of a bitch, no matter the cost.” He said. 

“Derek, we don't have a lead. We can’t even connect the girls to each other besides the fact that they’re all the same age and work in the same building. To me, it almost seems like a revenge story.” 

Y/N’s head picks up after she said that. What if it was a revenge plot? What if the unsub was hurt by an ex or embarrassed by a coworker of the opposite sex and it just trying to get payback? 

Derek looked at Y/N curiously. She bolted back into the station and ran into the conference room where the rest of the team was. 

“This is a revenge spree.” Y/N said. 

The team looked at each other, confusion taking over the room. Y/N walked over to the board and began explaining her theory. 

“All three women worked at prestigious jobs, all three women were young, they were successful. Maybe this guy was ridiculed by someone like them, a girlfriend, coworker, boss, whatever. He is most likely killing them because he’s intimidated by them.” She said. 

“That explains the connection. But what about the geographical profile? What the significance of the ditches around the city?” Rossi asked. 

“He obviously wants them seen but not immediately. He’s almost trying put on a show for people, saying that he’s superior.” Spencer adds, looking over the photos. 

“It adds up but what about the rapes? He just does it because he can?” JJ asks. 

“No, he’s asserting dominance to these women. Showing them that he’s in charge.” Hotch said. 

“Gather all your officers up Detective. We have a profile.” 

About 15 minutes later, Omaha Police Officers and Detectives were surrounding the FBI agents as they gave the profile. 

“The man we’re looking for is in his late 20′s-early 30′s. He socially awkward and intimidated by women of higher class.” Hotch starts. 

“He won’t approach anyone first. He would be someone that keeps to himself at work unless his boss came up to him.” Emily said as she looks around the room. 

“Over the years he’s been humiliated by women of authority, this could be a boss, higher up coworker, a girlfriend even. He has been taking this for years and has had enough.” Y/N said. 

“He’s definitely the odd one out, he doesn’t look like he could do something as gruesome as this. Think of like a nerdy kid in high school.” Rossi explained.

“He’s trying to assert his dominance. He’s been submissive almost his whole life, he’s trying to show that he’s the one whose in charge by not only kidnapping, but raping the victims before he kills them.” Derek said as he sat in front of the group. 

“He’s on the hunt right now. He could be anywhere around the city so be on the look out.” Spencer said. 

“We’ve already made sure that everyone never leaves a location alone and that a city wide curfew has been set.” JJ says, crossing her arms. 

“This man is very dangerous, stay alert and stay safe.” Hotch said, ending the briefing. 

Y/N exhaled and decided to take a breather. She walked outside and took a deep breath. The case was starting to get to her. It could also be the lack of sleep she had. 

Y/N turned to go back inside, until she felt a sharp pain coursing on her head and the world went black. 

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

After a few hours, Spencer had noticed Y/N missing and started looking for her. He looked around the station and even went downtown to see if she was at some coffee shop. He called her phone, only to be answered by her voicemail. Somethings wrong Spencer thought. He quickly went back to the station, panic taking over his mind. 

“Hey, Y/N isn't answer her phone and I can’t find her anywhere.” Spencer said frantically as he entered into the conference room.

The team looked around at each other, trying to figure out where she could’ve gone. It was normal for Y/N to wonder off during a case but not for longer than a half hour. The team knew that sometimes, some cases can be a little much for her so she steps away to take a minute to gather herself. Spencer would always go to make sure that she was okay, comforting her whenever she became overwhelmed with any case they were working on.

“Oh god..what if..” Emily started. 

“Our unsub has her.” Hotch said grabbing her phone and dialing Penelope’s phone number. 

“Hello my sweet, beautiful, darlings. How might I be of assistance.” Penelope sang through the small phone. 

“Garcia, Y/N has been taken. We need you to run a search on her phone to see where she could possibly be.” Rossi said. 

“Oh my god, no.” She said, sadness and worry taking over her demeanor. 

“It’s gonna be okay baby girl. We’re gonna find her, right now we need you to get that search started.” Derek cooed. 

Spencer was standing in the back, watching everything unfold. 

How could he let this happen? Usually he would check up on her but today, he was so wrapped up in the case that he didn’t even bother to make sure she was okay. He wanted to make sure that you weren’t over stressed, especially with cases like this one. This was all his fault. He should’ve gone with her. His guilt began to eat at him, anxiety gnawing at him like a dog on a bone.

“Spence? You okay?” Emily asked. 

“This is all my fault..” He whispered. 

“Spencer, you couldn’t have done anything to stop this. We’re dealing with a violently aggressive man-” 

“I check on her when cases become too much. I make sure that she’s okay. I’m always there for her and this time, I wasn’t. I wasn’t able to protect her from this maniac out there. And because of that, I’m losing the love of my life...again.” Spencer snaps. 

Emily looks at the sad Doctor with empathy. She rubs his back for just a moment and returns to the rest of the team, leaving Spencer on his own. 

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

Y/N groaned as she picked her head up, the weight being ridiculously heavy. She took in her surroundings, seeing only a dark room with a single light bulb above her. She tried to move but her hands and feet were tied together on a chair. Well this wasn’t how I wanted to spend my day, she thought. Y/N soon heard a loud slam come from down the hall. Footsteps were soon followed, dragging along the concrete floor. 

“Well. Aren’t you a pretty one.” A man with a deep voice seethed, slowly making his way over to the light. 

Y/N could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest. To say she was terrified was a huge understatement. 

“What do you want from me? I wasn’t the one who hurt you.” Y/N said, trying to sound as brave as she could. 

“No, but you’re like her.” The man yelled as he slapped her cheek. 

“What do you gain from this? Huh? Some sick form of pleasure?” Y/N screamed as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. 

The unsub punched her in her face. Y/N could feel a bruise forming under her eye as she panted. Y/N was a strong girl, and she wasn’t going to give up that easily but she definitely couldn’t hold on forever. 

She hoped the team would save her soon. 

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

“Okay so by the looks of it, her phone was up and active until she got closer to the forest. That’s where the trail runs cold.” Garcia says, clicking away on her many computers. 

“Detective, is there any abandoned houses or barns out that way?” Hotch asked. 

“There’s actually an old barn just passed town. It’s deep in the woods though. Kinda hard to see at night.” The Detective said. 

“Well we can’t wait until morning, she’ll be dead by then, so if you could tell us what the coordinates are, that’ d be great.” Spencer hissed. 

“Reid.” Hotch said sternly. 

“No Hotch, if we wait any longer Y/N will be dead. She’s part of the time and a huge part of my life. I can’t just wait around until it’s convenient for everyone!” Spencer yelled.

The team looked at Spencer in surprise. Hotch signaling to Derek to get Spencer to calm down before he’s removed from the case. 

“Kid, I know you care about this girl, but you need to keep your cool.” Derek said, pulling Spencer to the other side of the room. 

“I’m sorry, Morgan. I just want her to be alive.” Spencer said, his voice wavering. 

“I know. We’ll get your girl back.” Derek promised. 

Spencer nodded and hugged his friend. 

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

“Only a few hours left gorgeous, better get some rest before I destroy you.” The man said. 

Y/N was beaten beyond belief. She felt as though she’d been to hell and couldn’t recover. Her vision was hazy, she could tell she had a huge concussion. Her lip was bleeding and by the throbbing of her eye, she knew there was going to be some bruising. Her body ached from being beaten in a chair. She could barely keep her eyes open. 

Her thoughts went to Spencer. She thought about ever seeing him again, about ever being able to tell him that she loved him. She wanted to finally express her feelings to him, but probably won’t ever get the chance now. Her swollen eyes began to fill with tears as her heart breaks. 

It’s not long until the man come back and beats her again. Constantly throwing fists at her face. 

“How does it feel to be less than nothing, you bitch.” He whispered.

“Go to hell.” Y/N seethed.

With that, Y/N spit some of the blood from her lip at the unsub. He yelled and slapped her across the face. As he was going in for a punch, Y/N hear footsteps outside, Her heart beat picked up, knowing her team finally came to her rescue. 

“You think you’re all big and bad because you kill and rape women? hah, I’ve seen bugs better than you.” Y/N spat. 

It was that moment where a click of a gun rang throughout the barn and Hotch’s voice rang through Y/N’s ears. 

“Put your hands where I can see them.” He said sternly. 

The unsub grabbed a knife and pulled it to Y/N’s throat.

“If I die, she dies with me.” He said. 

Spencer locked his gun and pointed to the unsub. He could see the terror and shame in Y/N’s eyes as his fingers landed on the trigger. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to keep her safe, and after this, he was going to make sure you weren’t in harms way. 

“Sir, just let the girl go.” Hotch tried reasoning. 

“Why? So she could go tell scrawny over there to work harder? So she could torment him just like I was?” 

The unsub looked over to Spencer. 

“You know she screams your name, right?” he said. 

“She screamed it while I was beating her to a pulp. Guess you could say she-” 

A gunshot was fired. The man’s body flopped to the floor as Y/N hyperventilated. Spencer ran over to her, untying ever blasted knot that was harming her precious skin. Once she was released, Y/N flopped down on top of Spencer, holding him as tightly as she could. 

“I thought I was never going to see you again.” he whispered. 

“I was so scared Spence. I thought he was going to-” 

Spencer cut Y/N off. 

“I wouldn’t let anything like that happen to you, Y/N. I care about you way too much to let someone manhandle you like that.” Spencer said lovingly. 

Y/N pulled away from him and crashed her lips onto his. 

The kiss was delicate, yet full of passion. The pair kissed for just a few moments before they pulled away. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while, just couldn’t find the right time.” Y/N said, softly smiling at the cheesing Doctor. 

“Well I’m glad you finally did. Come on, let’s get you home.” Spencer smiled. 

Both agents stood up from the ground and made their way outside of the barn. Y/N was looked at for her injuries and soon after, the team made their way back home. 

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

“Don’t worry about the reports just yet, guys. Go home and get some rest.” Hotch said as they entered the BAU. Everyone cheered as they all made their ways to their designated cars. 

“Hey, Spence?” Y/N asked. 

“Yeah?”  

“Can I please stay with you? I don’t know if I could stay there by myself tonight.” Y/N blushed. 

Spencer smiled and pulled Y/N into his chest. Y/N snuggled in tightly, feeling the warm embrace of the Doctor who saved her.

“Of course you can stay, do you want to run back to your place and get some clothes?” Spencer asked. 

Y/N nodded as they headed to his car. The drive back to Y/N’s apartment was silent, but a comfortable silent. The two held each other’s hand tightly, afraid of letting the other person go. They pulled into the parking lot and made their way upstairs. Y/N unlocked her apartment and quickly slid inside, allowing Spencer access to her home. Y/N quickly ran back to her room, gathering some clothes and her tooth brush so she could stay over at Spencer’s. 

As she exited her room, Spencer was sat on her kitchen counter, looking through a small cookbook her mother had given her. 

“These snickerdoodles sound really good, do you mind if we bring this and make cookies tomorrow?” Spencer asked. 

“Sure.” 

Spencer smiled and took Y/N’s hand, leading her back to the car. The drive to Spencer’s apartment wasn't too far from hers. The two quickly made it up the stairs and into the apartment. 

Spencer’s place was cozy. With the many books on the book shelf, it made Y/N’s heart fill with joy. A yawn passed Y/N’s lips. 

“You wanna go to sleep, darling?” Spencer asked, placing a hand on her back. 

Y/N nodded. Spencer lead her to his room. They both began to get ready for bed when Y/N spoke up. 

“Can I wear one of your shirts to sleep?” 

“Of course, here.” Spencer said, handing Y/N a black crewneck sweater. 

Y/N threw it on and climbed into bed. Spencer follow shortly after, snuggling close to Y/N as possible. She rested her head on his chest and sighed. Spencer kissed her head sweetly whispering: 

“I love you.” 

[nightwingshero]

Hold Me Down Chapter 2

Yasss! Not only did I find the original chapter, but it’s way better than it was before. I’m super happy for this one! @ja-crispea @chazz-anova @faithchel I thought it would be important for you to know what happened with Wren and her ice cream, because let’s be honest, that’s the true ship of this fic. There’s the twist, spoiler alert. Wren x Ice cream.

It was a hot day, hotter than what it had been for the past few days. I huffed as I made my ascent, my ponytail swayed, sweat gathering at the back of my neck and my shoes slapped against the ruined tile as I went. A small plastic bag in one hand, and a large brown bag cradled with my arm. I was eager to enjoy the rest of my day in my apartment, eating ice cream and wallowing in my self-pity before coming up with another score. My pride was still wounded from getting caught. It pissed me off even more when I had found a chip in my throwing knife. Fucking bastard.

I hated grocery shopping only due to the fact that I didn’t like being around people. Dutch often joked to us darkly that we were in the business of people. Just that most of the time, they ended up dead. He wasn’t wrong, and perhaps that was what twisted my stomach so much. Despite him taking me off the street and teaching me everything all he knew, creating who and what I was, I could never come to agree or appreciate his values. I didn’t like killing and cutting my emotions out was nearly impossible. I was his greatest failure but was far from his greatest disappointment. No, she would always hold that place.

I freeze when I come to my floor, eyeing the man leaning against the wall next to my apartment door that was cracked open. He had a hand in his pocket, the other fidgeting with the toothpick in his mouth as he looked at his shoes. I could tell that his dark tan suit was cheap, his longish dark hair swept back just a bit, and I couldn’t help wrinkling my nose in disgust from his demeanor. I could almost guarantee that he was showered in cheap cologne as he used his false confidence to throw his weight around and I crinkled my nose at the sight of his badge on his belt. Cops. My veins turn to ice as I eye it, fear twisting in my gut. I had been so careful. But I square my shoulders, because I know my rights well enough that he needed a warrant.

“Can I help you?” I asked, my voice curious and a bit annoyed. He wasn’t welcome here, not from a long shot, and I wanted him out of my space.

He looked up, his brown eyes sweeping over me before giving me a lopsided smirk. “Well, hey there.” He straightened, shifting his weight. I eyed his stubble and his hair was gelled and combed back half assed. I fought the urge to rip into him, I didn’t need a detective who believed he was nothing by a womanizer sniffing around me. “Wren Blake, right?”

“Who’s asking?” I replied, narrowing my eyes at him.

He just chuckled. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“We?” I asked, glancing in my apartment. A woman stood taking pictures with her cell phone in gloved hands. Her dark hair was braided to the side and shined in the light my living room as she took pictures. His partner, I was sure. Her suit was crisp, the black blouse unbuttoned a bit to show off the golden cross around her neck. It’s fast, the way I take her in, but I was trained to be observant. One of the reasons I had survived as long as I have. But I’m tense as her dark eyes find mine, stern and professional. I narrowed my eyes at her. “Do you have a warrant? Because breaking and entering is illegal, Detective.”

“You bet your sweet ass we have a warrant.” The man cut in, taunting me with a smirk. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you, sweetheart. You think you could charm your way out of this?”

“Pratt.” His partner scolded before giving another glance around the apartment as she lowered the phone. She barley acknowledged the underlining threat as she turned and studied me. “Wren Marie Blake. You are wanted for assault, larceny, false pretenses, and I believe there’s a count against you for arson. There’s more, should I continue?” Her voice is confident, borderline cocky, but I don’t rise to the bait. “Wanted in many cities, at that. Word is you made quite the splash in Los Angeles. You’ve been busy.”

“And you didn’t answer my question.” I shot back, shift my weight to my other foot as I adjust the paper bag full of food. “Do you have a warrant?”

The woman took a step forward, her eyes drilling into mine. “You’ve got one helluva rep sheet, Blake.” She whipped a piece of paper out in front of me and I frowned. “And I’m going to need you to come with us.”

I sigh, glaring at the floor by her feet. Defeated, I sigh. “Fine, but can I at least put my food away? I have ice cream in here.”

 I couldn’t tell you how long I waited in the interrogation room, but it felt like hours. The room was only lit by shitty fluorescent lighting that gave the room a more eerily feel. I could almost roll my eyes from the drama of it. I leaned back and crossed my arms. I knew they were doing this on purpose, a tactic I wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with. It didn’t really do any good, all things considered. If anything, it gave me time to prepare for whatever they were going to slap me with and asking for a lawyer was the card up my sleeve if this went south quickly. I was ready for every scenario.

The door opened, bringing my attention from my inner musings and to the four people that had graced me with their presence. Two of them were the same detectives I had seen earlier, Thing One and Thing Two. An older man stood next to them, to the side with big glasses and a weird mustache. I could take a guess that he was the Captain of the precinct, but I wasn’t for sure. The other man was pretty much bald, his hair cut tight against his head, and a goatee that almost had me laughing. His dark skin looked almost pale with the lighting of the room, especially with the cheap blue suit and white oxford shirt underneath. He held himself with an air of authority that put him on a pedestal. I groaned internally. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get along with this man.

He slammed a file down on the metal table, watching me close for a reaction, and I raised a brow at him. It was apparent he had an air for dramatics. “I’m Special Agent Cameron Burke, this is Captain Whitehorse, and you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Detective Pratt and Detective Hudson.” Ah. He was a fed. That explained so much. He leaned against the chair in front of me as he stared me down. “You see that? We have a whole file against you. You’re gonna go away for a long time.”

I just continued to stare at him, unimpressed. “Yeah. It’s a file. That was a little unnecessary, don’t you think? Things echo in here.”

He sneered. “You think this is funny? A game?”

“No, on the contrary, I find this rather irritating. What so-called evidence do you have against me?” I replied icily. I didn’t have the patience for this, I wanted the hell out of here. He smirked and flipped open the file, spreading pictures and documents across the table.

I kept my face neutral, still unimpressed, but my insides were panicked. I schooled my expression as I studied the black and white shots of me doing different jobs in different cities. Some in wigs, different outfits, and even one from last night before I had walked into the charity gala. I studied the bank statements from an offshore account before I looked at him. “What’s this supposed to prove? Other than the fact that you’re stalking me for no reason?”

Burke scoffed, a dark glint in his eyes. “We shook down one of your fences, Blake. I’m sure Victor Boshaw rings a bell?” He pushed a photo forward of the gruffy bearded man, and right there next to him, was me.

Victor “Sharky” Boshaw was a fence I had been using for a few years, first meeting in Montana. He was completely erratic an unorthodox, and definitely obnoxious. There wasn’t ever a boring moment with that idiot. But I could always depend on him to move whatever I brought him, and he always gave me a decent price. One of the few people in the market that didn’t screw me over, and as off-the-wall he was, he wasn’t snitch. Sharky always had my back, I knew better. He wouldn’t say a damn thing.

I glared at him. “You’re starting to sound like my father who is telling me its illegal to have friends.”

His face burned as he shoved the chair out of his way, slamming his hands on the table. I jumped as he growled at me. “I’ve had it with your bullshit!” I pursed my lips as his eyes pinned me down. “Look, I’ve been onto you, watching you for a few years now. I know you have ties that you try to hide. I’ve been trying to pin down Dutch and that entire organization.”

I paled immediately, swallowing as I felt my body become weightless. That wasn’t expected. “What?” I breathed out and he smirked.

“That’s right, princess. I know all about that.” He slowly straightened, crossing his arms as he began to circle me. “Taking teenagers off the streets, kids that have no future or have been victims of tragedy. Training them young is key, isn’t it? Teaching how to steal, trick, and to read people. Running cons…but it gets a bit darker than that, doesn’t it? That’s just tip of the iceberg.”

I clench my teeth as flashbacks hit me. The abandoned factory had lighting much like this room. It was always cold in that damn place, and the memory sent a chill down my spine. I hated that building. I hated the way that I had looked up to him as a father figure as he put a knife in my hand, and a gun next. Hand-to-hand combat, knife throwing, shooting…the real operation was far darker than stealing diamonds from a plastered elite.

He grabbed the back of my chair leaning to talk in my ear, the smell of his hot coffee breath fanned across my face. “Training future hitmen and assassins in the underground is definitely something the FBI is interested in taking down. I’ve tracked your every step; I have eyes and ears everywhere. Sounds like a certain someone is pretty upset that their perfect little protégé turned her back on them.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. How the hell had he found out? My palms became sweaty, my heart racing as thoughts flew through my mind. I wanted to scream out of frustration, but I knew I couldn’t. That stupid male detective, Pratt, wouldn’t stop smirking and I was ready to claw his face off. My pride was shot to hell and I was pissed that he had known.

“It would be…such a shame if someone were to leak your position to them, wouldn’t it?”

Pure dread settled in as anger raged through my veins. I clenched my fists tightly. “What’s your point?” I hissed. Burke moved again, walking away with a sickening swagger.

“Well, despite the fact that we’re hunting down Dutch and his posse, it occurs to me that well…it seems a bit pointless to use you to track him down with you being defective.” I flinched at his word choice when he finally turned back to me. “The DA believes he has a bigger issue than what us feds have going on, being less concerned for the bigger picture. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Seed family by now?” I furrowed my brow as I looked at him. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Perfect. That makes this easier.”

“What do they have to do anything? What’s your point?”

Hudson stepped forward with another file, placing it down like a normal human being. “Joseph Seed is at the head of a major crime family, as you know.” Flipping the file open, she placed four pictures in front of me, pointing as she went. “His brother Jacob is in charge of security and running guns. He’s involved with underground fighting rings and training their personnel. His military background helps him out, obviously.” His beard was gruffer than Sharky’s, but his red hair was to the side, with a tight cut on the side. Scars littered his face, almost like burn marks. She would recognize those anywhere. “Then there’s the little sister. The little angel. We don’t have much detail on her, but as far as I know, she seems to be the one recruiting. She’s also their loan shark, so to speak. She also helps set up deals for this one,” she lands on a picture of a man I’m all too familiar with. “In particular. And he is hard to tie down. John is their lawyer, and he’s a damn good one. Knows how to read people like the back of his hand. He’s known for extortion, blackmail, and a few others. He has a lot of important people in his back pocket, making him practically untouchable. And as scary and dangerous as Jacob is, John is the one to look out for. He is known for cutting into people as punishment and is merciless.”

“Grade A psycho.” Pratt muttered with a twist of his mouth and his eyes cast downward.

“The point is, if I had to choose, he’s going to be the most dangerous to you.” Hudson continued, and I looked up at her confused. They hadn’t known about what happened a couple nights ago, did they?

“What do you mean?” I asked. “What the fuck do I have to be worried about? That sounds like your problem.” I replied with a snarky tone, and Hudson glared at me with her jaw ticking.

“Its your problem,” Finally, the Captain spoke and stepped forward a bit. He tried to seem confident, but there was a weariness that I couldn’t exactly place. “Because you’re going to be working with them.”

I stared at him as I let it sink in, and turned my gaze to the fed. “What?” I whispered harshly.

Burke seemed to be enjoying this a little too much as he grinned like the damn Cheshire cat. “We’re going to use those skills of yours to our advantage, since you’re here with your hands tied and off Dutch’s radar. You’re going in as a double agent for us. You’ll be feeding us intel as you spy on the family and help us take them down by providing incriminating evidence that will put them away for life. Things that even the baby brother can’t weasel out of.”

“Are you fucking insane?” I breathed out, eyes wide. “You want me to be a mole? Do you know how hard it is to get into a family like that? And assuming that, by some fucking miracle, I do…you know what they do to people like that? Do you have any fucking idea what they would do to me? They would kill me after making an example of me, you know they would!” I snapped. Frustration was so close to turning to tears as I shifted in the metal chair, but I quickly blinked them away.

“Then I suggest not getting caught.” Burke sneered. “But you would die for a greater cause, Blake. Maybe that makes you feel better.”

“And if I say no?”

He leaned forward slowly, menacingly, and got in my face. “You’re either with us or against us. You either do this…or you go to prison. From my position, it doesn’t seem like you have much of a choice. But what do you say? You in or are you out?”

   I walked quickly in the Georgia night, anger and determination fueling every step. I stopped only to light a cigarette, inhaling and savoring the burn in my lungs. I was nothing but a bundle of nerves. They had told me the family would be at the club tonight, celebrating something, but their intel was good. My mind reeled, trying to come up with a plan that could even work. I hadn’t told Burke that John and I had already met, making this nearly impossible. I contemplated approaching him, admitting what was happening, and then getting the hell out of dodge. But the feds were following my every move now, and there was no guarantee John would let me walk away from that meeting alive.

I was going to do this my way, at my pace, and on my own. I had insisted. A dead informant wasn’t exactly beneficial. They laid down the ground rules with check ins and all that. I wasn’t allowed to leave town, let alone the state. I had to stay where they could keep an eye on me at all times. Something told me that Burke had a control issue.

I looked at the half-smoked cigarette before throwing it on the concrete, smashing it with my heel. My black dress hugged my curves tightly, the plunging neckline just subtle enough to keep the classy look. I kept my hair down again, curled just a bit. I pulled it up a bit, adjusting the top so my boobs weren’t spilling out. I sometimes loved this side of it, dressing up in cute, and even sexy, outfits. Sometimes I absolutely hated it, and tonight was one of those nights. I had planned to take it easy for a while, but after the loving conversation with the officers earlier, I had a change of heart. Apparently.

All it took for the bouncer to let me in was a bat of my lashes and coy smile, which I dropped the second I crossed the threshold. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but a dark lounge wasn’t it. Not that I complained at all, considering that I’ve had a rough day so far. I took the dimmed lights, the neon accents creating an ambiance of something I couldn’t quite describe. But it was as if I had stepping into a completely different world. I could get lost to the music playing through the speakers as a group of people danced.

Making my way to the bar, I motioned for the bartender as I folded my hands in my lap with my clutch. I smile brightly at the younger man. Blonde, curly hair with bright eyes, and maybe just a little too eager. I lean forward just a tad, a small smile on my lips. “Martini, dry with extra olives.”

He gave a quick nod before hastily getting everything together, but I paid him no mind. I searched, my eyes scanning face after face, desperate for the target. Detective Hudson had sworn they would be here, no doubt in her mind. Well, good for her. That didn’t ease my doubt one bit. Then again that she had to say could, I felt like I was being fed to the wolves. I hated every bit of it. The bartender returned, placing the glass down gently. I knew he was waiting to engage, but I just grabbed it and kept my attention on the crowd. I wasn’t here for social hour. I was here to watch. And so, I did, taking a sip of my drink.

I spot the sister first. A perfect white short dress with sleeves, her hair falling in waves and her ankles are crossed, ever the lady. Then the rest came into view, my heart pounding hard. A red-haired woman sat with her, holding her hand. They had mentioned that there were significant others, spouses, involved, and as I find Joseph Seed, I see his blonde wife with him. His hair is long, pulled back into a bun, and even though it was late at night and inside, he wore yellow aviators. Just like he had in the photo.

“I believe,” a voice called from behind me, and I freeze for only a second as he placed his hand on the bar behind me, his breath ruffling my hair as spoke in my ear. “I told you the next time I saw you, I would kill you.”

I take another drink as he moved from me, circling around with his eyes on me before taking the seat next to mine. Finally, I found my tongue and spine. “I think it was ‘if I catch you doing this again, I won’t hesitate to kill you’. If I remember correctly.”

John gave a charming smile, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “You think you’re clever.”

“No, I know I’m clever.” I scoffed, taking another sip, my eyes falling on his family again. I finally see his other brother, Jacob, standing with his arms crossed in his grey shirt.

“How cute.” he taunted. I opened my mouth to say something, but that’s when I see her. It takes all the years of my training to maintain my composure, because there was nothing I would love to do than to let the glass in my hand shatter against the floor. Rowan.

She looked the same, just a few more years older. Her dark hair was still long and wavy, her bright smile hadn’t changed a bit. It’s a shock that I can’t really shake, because she’s there, after all these years. I had thought she died, someone finally hunted her down. That’s what Dutch led us, me, to believe. To prove and show what happened if you turned your back on the family. And yet, here we both were, survivors of the dark world Dutch had brought us in.

I feel a hand on my knee the second her dark eyes catch mine and move away, not even hesitating as she looked around the room and the hand squeezed, bringing my attention to the company I was keeping. “I warned you about coming near my family.”

I turned to him with a glare. “You threatened me with your family’s name, and if I’m being honest here, I’m getting tired of it, Johnny.” I sneered, shoving his hand off my knee. I grabbed the toothpick out of my drink, angrily eating the olives. I glanced over again, but she continued to laugh in that dark green dress, like she hadn’t seen a blast from her past. As if she didn’t know me at all. It stung, but I couldn’t tell if her noticing me was a good thing or not. She would blow the whole thing before I could even get started.

John’s mouth twisted and I felt my stomach sink in dread at the realization of what I had just done. Rowan was just one issue, but I completely forgot the one sitting with me. “Better be careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire and you’ve been warned already.”

“And you owe me a new knife, Johnny. They are custom made and expensive, and due to your carelessness, the one has a chip in it. Where shall I send the bill?”

“You’re not as charming as you think you are, darling.” He leaned in with a sneer, his eyes promising danger. “And my patience is running very thin with it.”

I leaned forward, my nose crinkling unimpressed. “And you’re not nearly as scary as you believe you are. Now, if you don’t mind, run and get the big bad brother. I’m above dealing with the baby, Johnny Boy.”

His hand flew back to my leg, squeezing and digging his fingers hard into the meat of my leg. My back straightened as I clenched my teeth from the mix of pain and something else. I kept my composure the best I could, but I never hated John Seed more than I did in this moment. Pure loathing like venom on my tongue for the way he always found the upper hand.

“Would you like another, miss?”

I turned to see the young bartender smiling at me, his eyes wandering down before meeting my eyes again. “No.” John replied, throwing the guy a charming smile. “She’s just leaving.”

“Cool. Well, it’s on the house.” He said, throwing me a wink. I gave a fake smile as he walked away.

“It most certainly is not on the house.” John snapped. “I’m not paying for your drink.”

I raised a brow at him. “Oh, the big-time lawyer owns a bar and can’t afford to buy a lady a drink?”

“It’s a lounge.” He growled at me. “And you are not a lady.”

I smirked, my hand finding its way back into my clutch. Grabbing what I was looking for, I quickly press the tip of my knife against his inner thigh. He stiffened, and my burgundy lips curved even more. “Now, I think that you should know a few things about me, darling.” I leaned, my lips finding his ear to whisper. “I don’t like it when men feel the need to put their hands on me without my permission, no matter how big they think they are. And when they do, well…I’m very skilled with knives, John. I’m sure you can use your imagination. Now, if you don’t mind.” He slowly removed his hand, and as he did, I shifted, rising from the barstool. “Thank you. You’re such a dear. Here’s to hoping our next meeting is as lovely as this one.”

“You should hope we don’t meet again, sweetheart. Because I’m not going to be so kind anymore.” He breathed out, his voice ice. I placed a kiss on his cheek.

“If this was you call being kind, then I look forward to seeing the big bad wolf. I don’t mind playing rough. Just make sure you can take it as well as you can dish it.”

I move away before he can register and react. My heart was hammering in my chest, shocked by what I had just done and cursing myself. I was supposed to get in and win them over, and instead I was antagonizing the youngest and one of the most crucial members of that damn family. The one that I needed to watch out for even before any of this happened. And no one knew. I made the decision to keep it to myself out of fear. If they thought I couldn’t do it, I would’ve been done for. I needed to play along until I could find a way out of this damn mess.

I took a turn, a block away from the lounge, and I started to relax. The fear of him coming after me melted away with each step. Passing a dark alley, I slowed to light a cigarette for good measure. A hand slapped my cigarette and lighter out of my hands, and another grabbed a fistful of hair, painfully yanking it back. Fear pierced its way into my chest as I tried to fight back, a black bag being shoved over my head. I screamed, punching and kicking blindly. I suddenly felt sharp pain at the base of my neck, and I dropped to the ground.

  `The bag got yanked off harshly, and I squinted from the bright light. It took me a moment to adjust, and then I was finally able to take in my surroundings. I was in a mansion, that was obvious. Marble floors with weird ass designs that rich people swore made them look classier. That was a fucking lie. There was a double staircase wrapping around the room, and directly across from me, the double doors were open and gave me a good view of their pool area at night as thin white curtains danced in the evening breeze.

I go to move, but find my wrists and ankles were duct taped to the chair I was sitting in. It was then that I finally took account for the bulky men in black, standing around quietly with their hands clasped behind their backs. “Well, look who decided to wake up!” A loud and obnoxious southern voice pierced my eardrums, making me cringe. An overweight older gentleman began to make his way towards me, a cane in his hand. He wore just a polo and tan dress pants. I made a face at his sleazy appearance, the slicked back hair and stupid mustache. “It’s about damn time. We have some business to discuss.”

I sighed heavily, a sneer on my lips. “Oh, you got to be kidding me.” He stopped his advance for a moment, glaring at me. But I didn’t care. Tossing all caution to the wind, my anger got the best of me. “I’m not in the fucking mood for any of you. Do you know what kind of day I’ve had? Seriously? What is this? Some backwash hillbilly mob family from the fucking Georgia swamps? Is this what I’ve come to? Which one is the jackass?” I snapped.

His mouth twisted, and he moved faster than I had given him credit for. The sting of my face and the blood that filled my mouth was the only way I registered him hitting me. I spit out blood on his floor, some running down my chin as I slowly gave him a death glare. “Now I have your attention. Damn women.” He turned to the side, eyeing an older blonde in a red dress. She pursed her lips as she held her head high. “None of you listen. It’s why they should never do a damn man’s job. But here we are.”

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” I growled.

He scoffed. “Hurk Drubman Sr. I own one of the biggest marinas in Atlanta, selling sailboats. Also give those damn Seeds a run for their money when it comes to smuggling and gun dealing.”

“Haven’t been giving them much of a run, darlin’.” The blonde mocked with a smirk. He muttered something before turning back to me.

“I heard that you’re gonna help those damn feds take ‘em down. That true?”

I just stared at him, my face twisting in shock at the absurdity of the situation. “Where the fuck did you hear that?” I asked, completely exasperated.

“John fucking Seed isn’t the one with ties in the fucking police department.” I frowned, but he didn’t give me time to process that. “Either way, they’re undermining my slave trade, beating my gun deals—”

“Your…what?” I asked, hoping I heard him wrong.

His sick smile grew wider. “Slave trade, girlie. Sex trafficking. Its what’s making most of my money with that damn family taking the most of our business. And if you’re a good girl, you won’t have to worry about it.” A shiver went down my spine as I tried to wriggle in my restraints, but he paid me no mind. “Now, I know you cut a deal with those pigs downtown, but don’t worry about that. What I need you to do, is spy on them and get me information that will help my business grow.”

I sighed, giving up and glaring at the old man. “Are you serious? You expect me to play the Seeds and the feds? What the hell is wrong with this city?” I breathed out. “You’re insane. I would be lucky to even get close—”

“You got pretty close tonight.” He snarked back. “Left a pretty little mark on little Johnny’s check, my men say.” He walked, a cane in his hand as he limped forward. “We can do this the easy way, which is you agreeing and being a good little girl, doing what she’s told. Or, we could do this the hard way. I torture you, force you to agree, and if that doesn’t work…well, I could sell you or kill you. We could flip on it, make it a surprise.”

I forced the bile back down as my stomach twisted. I glanced to my right, catching the eyes of the old woman. She held a frown, glaring at her husband. When her eyes caught mine, she gave the slightest smile and nod, almost reassuring. “Well, let’s assume I say yes and do this, what do you plan on doing? You have the feds on my ass, and if your men aren’t totally blind, they would know that John and I aren’t exactly friendly. I don’t know what you expect.”

“I would like you to learn the ins and outs. Nothing too different than what you’re already doin’. Except you’re gonna give the information to me, frame the family, and take them down from the inside, while I get all their business.”

I made a face. “Oh, you’ve been watching way too many movies. There’s no fucking way—”

The end of the cane was pressed against my throat, cutting me off completely as I gagged. “There is a fucking way.” He leaned in closer, the cane pressing harder. I fidgeted, trying to catch my breath. “And I know something the feds don’t. That tonight hasn’t been your first run-in with John. They know you went to that stupid charity gala, but they have no clue what happened. Johnny can be handsy, can’t he? Especially when he finds out you’re workin’ a job on his turf.”

Stepping back, he finally removed the cane. I took a greedy breath of air. “Then you know that it’s going to be impossible. He hates me. And I would take him ignoring my personal space over this. He isn’t the one that has kidnapped me and tied me to a goddamn chair.”

Hurk laughed, with a shake of his head. “Not yet, he hasn’t. You think is bad, sweetheart? Oh, you’re not that smart, are you? Johnny would have you in the dark with knives digging into that pretty skin of yours, and he would be more than happy to do the honors. And he’s done it to men who have done less than what you’ve done already. People don’t get a second warning from the Seeds. You have, and I’m goin’ to use that.”

I rolled my eyes. “The fact is that I’m on some seriously thin ice with that man, and I won’t be able to get away with whatever it is you have planned. He won’t let me anywhere near that family.”

“You’re going to do this, and I don’t care what you have to do to do it. Become one of his coked-up buddies he keeps around, for all I fucking care. If you value your life, you’ll do this.”

Silence fell between us as I stared at the shiny floor. I weighed my options, not that I had many, and I couldn’t find a way to get out of this one. It just went from bad to worse in less than 24 hours, and I couldn’t believe the amount of trouble I had brought upon myself from going to one damn gala. Swallowing my pride was bitter, but I did it anyway. “Fine.” I bit out. “Whatever. I’ll help you steal the business and take the family down.”

A twist of guilt settled in the pit of my stomach as Hurk smiled. “Perfect! I’m so glad we could see eye to eye. I look forward to our business relationship, Blake.”

“And what do I get out of this?” I asked with a roll of my eyes.

“Hmm…well, how about you don’t go to prison? That you’ll get to leave Atlanta? I think that seems fair, don’t you?”

No. “Sure.” Not in the fucking slightest.

He gave a nod to his men. “Get her out of here. I’m done.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but only a strangled shout of surprise escaped at the black bag returned, blinding me once more.

 They had dragged me out of the damn house and thrown me into a van, fully restrained. I had no idea where we were going, but it wasn’t a smooth ride. It’s when we stop do they finally pull the damn bag off and cut my restraints. The bulky man grabbed me while the other slide the door open with more force than necessary, and the shoved me out before speeding away.

I hit the concrete hard, my palms and knees immediately getting scraped. I grunted in frustration as I sat on the sidewalk, yanking my heels off. My body was exhausted, muscles screaming at me with bruises forming on my leg. There were angry red lines on my wrists, complimenting the tattoos on my wrists. I wanted nothing more than a cigarette, and I cursed, realizing that they never returned the clutch purse I had. Anger swelled in me and I fought to keep the tears at bay. I had smoked more in the last few days than I had in months. I had quit, but the new stress was threatening to give me the habit again, and I was more than pissed that I couldn’t indulge in this moment.

Snatching my feels off the ground, I stood and walked into my apartment building. I longed for my bed, and I was set and determined to do absolutely nothing tomorrow. I could practically hear my ice cream calling for me.

The stairs were harder to take than they were this morning, and I hated every step I took with a fiery passion. This night, this whole day, had been nothing but a clusterfuck, and I didn’t know how all this shit could happen in 24 hours. Arrested, manhandled twice, threatening and being threatened, finding a new way to piss off the youngest Seed, being kidnapped, hit, blackmailed…what the fuck could happen next? I was done with the bullshit. I could put a smile on my face, figuratively, and agree to help Drubman so I could get the fuck out of there. I could off both parties while I made arrangements. I was getting the fuck out of dodge while I could, while I was still breathing.

Coming to the floor, it was like déjà vu. I froze seeing the door to my apartment wide open and dread settled heavily in the pit of my stomach. I rushed forward, my hands resting on the doorframe as I looked around.

The door had clearly been kicked in, the frame busted and a small dent in the cheap door. I swallowed as I took in the busted coffee table, torn up and flipped couch and chair. My TV was on and flickering, the screen cracked as the static filled the room. I stepped in cautiously, watching my bare feet so not to step in the broken glass of the table and some of my vases. Water, rocks, and flowers littered the floor. Down the hall, I could see my bed flipped on its side with the bedding ripped to shreds, the feathers from the comforter and pillows blanketing everything like freshly fallen snow.

The kitchen wasn’t spared, with cabinets thrown open, and broken glasses and plate along the counter tops and floor. My fridge and freezer were left ajar as food had been strewn, almost shoved, from its place. My face twisted and I clenched my fist at the site of melted ice cream on the tile. The wall against my counter bar held my busted landline and a note with my knives embedded in the wall to hang it. The same knives that was in my clutch.

I stepped forward and read the note, each line fueling my anger more and more. A threat, clear as day, from my most humble hosts this evening. My hand fell to my side as I look around hopelessly. It was a message within itself. The note was just a cherry on top. Whatever the Drubmans had planned, they were serious, and they wanted to make it clear. I did get some relief when I spotted my clutch on my small kitchen table, my cell phone falling out.

Grabbing it with shaking hands, I send a quick text, trying hard to focus on the keyboard. We need to meet asap. Tomorrow afternoon good?

I only waited a few more minutes before I received the confirmation text, and I fall to my knees, clinging the phone to my chest as I run my hand through my hair. The shaking becomes worse and I let out a sob as the tears break through. I can’t help the panic attack, there’s nothing for me cling to in order to keep me from the spiral. It’s a mixture of rage, helplessness, and stress. I didn’t ask for any of this. I wanted a better life, and I tried to stay in my lane the best I could, keeping my head down. And in less than a week, I had the threat of a rival crime family and the feds breathing down my neck. And worst of all, the potential of Dutch finding me was too close for comfort. Everything I had built, all the work I had done over the years, would come tumbling down around me. And I didn’t even have the chance to process of Rowan being alive. I needed to leave, get out of Atlanta as fast as I could, and never look back.

[jupiterjunebug]

@gaytaako It’s been 10000 years but here we are. Me answering your prompt that you requested at the dawn of time.

A lot of men in suits pass through Kepler Airport. When Barclay had first gotten his job at Amnesty Bar and Grill, over by Gate 3, that’d been a bit of a surprise. After all, he hardly ever saw men in suits anywhere else in Kepler.

By the time he’d overheard a few dozen conversations between a group of them – usually only buying one drink, and tipping almost nothing – about the business meetings they were getting to, the future of wall street, how much of a pain layovers were, he’d figured it out. Kepler wasn’t a place where well-off men stuck around, it was a place they stopped while going from one place they actually cared about to another.

There were a few people who almost seemed like exceptions, though. Kepler was still a delay between point A and point B, but it was one they welcomed.

Case in point: the man currently trying his hardest to walk past Amnesty without meeting Barclay’s eyes.

This wasn’t how things usually went, when it came to the two of them. Up until two months ago, their interactions had gone more or less the same. More or less like this:

Every few weeks Barclay would catch sight of him stepping out of the gate, rolling his neck to get tension out of it and holding a briefcase in his hand. He’d drop heavily into one of the uncomfortable chairs nearby, pull out a book, and read for a few hours. Sometimes he’d finish, check his watch, and a panic would break open the pleasantly neutral expression on his face as he strode quickly toward some other gate.

More often, he’d saunter over to the bar, sliding onto one of the stools and ordering something random off the tap. Barclay had no clue why, since half the time it ended with him trying to hide a disgusted frown once he’d taken his first sip. Still, he always finished it. Finished it, then waited a while before ordering another one, or getting something small to eat. It would sometimes be hours before he left, and he’d spend those hours bent over a notebook, twirling his pen in his hand and usually frowning.

He always tipped well, always paid in cash. When he left, he gave Barclay a wave and a smile had something behind it. It might’ve been wishful thinking, Barclay projecting on the polite man with the sharp cheekbones and deep brown eyes. Projecting was dangerous, of course, because flirting with a customer would be a bad idea even aside from the fact that each time he passed through might be the last. Which was why it was six months before Barclay found out who the man actually was.

Agent Stern, of the FBI’s Unexplained Phenomena division.

Well, six months before he’d gotten the name at least. It was the ninth or tenth time Barclay had seen Stern, which was just enough times for Barclay to know Stern was having a bad day. He’d forgone reading a book entirely, trudging directly to the bar and very clearly faking the smile he shot Barclay as he ordered a cider. He barely touched it for the next three hours, scowling down at his notebook and clicking his pen with enough ferocity Barclay worried it might break.

Barclay generally had a rule against initiating small talk with customers, in general. If he got into small talk, he might get attached. That wasn’t just a rule for handsome men who he shouldn’t flirt with because they might suddenly disappear forever, or at the very least might turn out to be assholes when it came to conversations longer than asking how each other’s days had been. Or because if he didn’t turn out to be an asshole then Barclay would have more of a reason to hate the idea of Stern never passing through again. Sure, that rule doubly applied to men like Stern, but he’d be having this crisis about anyone. Definitely.

This is a bad idea, Barclay told himself, then leaned across the bar and said “hey, ignore me if this is weird but. I was just thinking that it’d be nice for us to, uh, stop being strangers?”

He’d realized exactly how weird that was about two seconds after it was too late to take the words back. Barclay froze, trying to remember if there was anyone he could ask to take his shift so he could go hide in the back and maybe never come back to the airport again.

It was a long conversation, one that left Barclay grateful nobody else dropped by. He’d found out plenty about Stern, then. He was born in Montana, but lived in DC. Happy childhood, dead father, a mother he called every other Thursday. He lived in a small apartment because he wasn’t at home enough to justify anything properly homey. He wasn’t a salesman because “God, no, people don’t take me seriously enough for that,” and wasn’t a stock broker or accountant because “numbers aren’t really my strong suit.” It was only after Stern left for his flight that Barclay realized two things: that he’d told Stern even more about himself, maybe more than he should, and that Stern had never told him what his job was.

That he’d found out three months ago, when Stern had dropped by the bar near eleven at night – an hour before it closed. There’d been exactly one other person there, and he’d been one drink away from Barclay cutting him off. Then he’d finished that drink, so Barclay cut him off. He hadn’t been happy.

“Now you listen to me, Mr. Bartender,” the man had started, one finger jabbing the air just far enough away that Barclay wouldn’t be able to claim self-defense if he did anything. It was close enough, though, that Barclay found himself applying half his brainpower to deciding exactly what he’d do if the guy got any closer.

“Is everything alright here?”

Applying half his brainpower to deciding exactly what he’d do unfortunately meant he found himself startled by Stern’s voice. Both Barclay and the drunk man turned toward where he leaned against the bar, one hand on his hip pulling his jacket back just enough to reveal a shiny gold badge. The smile on his face was just a bit wider than his usual one. Even more polite. Polite enough to set Barclay on edge.

“This guy won’t-“

“I wasn’t asking you, sir.” Stern looked at Barclay, who was only just processing the letters on the badge at Stern’s hip. “Everything alright here, Barclay?”

As soon as Stern said Barclay’s name, said it with a warmth that looked out of place with that false smile on his mouth, the drunkard seemed to realize the situation wasn’t going to go his way. He slapped his hands onto the bar with more force than necessary, dragging himself to his feet and stalking off. As soon as he was out of sight Stern’s smile relaxed, and he slid into the stool behind him.

“Thanks.” Barclay grinned at Stern, pretending that the look Stern had on his face a second before hadn’t reminded him of a few other interactions he’d had with the FBI which were a little less than pleasant. Stern’s smile softened even more.

“My pleasure,” he said, then laughed. “You know, I’m glad just the badge was enough to scare them off.”

Barclay tried to imagine what kind of reasonable person wouldn’t be. Then, he remembered the stock brokers and businessmen that sat at his bar and talked big about how important they were. The ones who demanded to speak to his manager when their cards were declined, and tried to mouth off to Mama when he pulled her from the back. Some of them probably wouldn’t be.

“What do you do when people aren’t? Pull out your gun?”

Stern actually looked offended at that. Then, he seemed to realize Barclay was joking. Or rather trying to sound like he was joking, because he really did want to know the answer. His secret was a little too big for him not to know the answer.

“No, I get out my ID.” Stern reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out one of those badge holders FBI agents always had on TV. He flipped it open, expression vaguely embarrassed. “I don’t know why I bother, though. It…usually makes things worse.”

A younger Stern stared out at Barclay, unsmiling and lacking a small scar that curved down the present Stern’s jaw. The card announced him as Lucky Stern, and Barclay wondered for a moment if that’s what Stern meant when he said showing people made things worse, because even with a coworker who he respected and cared for dearly that had the last name Coolice, Barclay had to put effort into not smiling at it.

Then he caught sight of the two words at the bottom and froze. Unexplained Phenomena.

He’d never heard of that division, but it wasn’t hard to guess what that meant. It meant not only was Stern in the same branch of government as the people whose spotlight Barclay had put ten years of time and effort and fear into getting out of, he was one of those people. Barclay was grateful that his hands were hidden behind the bar, because he couldn’t stop them from shaking.

Stern didn’t seem to notice Barclay’s fear, just the fact he was hiding something. He laughed, harsh and self-deprecating, and flipped the badge holder closed.

“I know, I know. It looks ridiculous, doesn’t it? You can make a joke about it, if you want. I’ve gotten to the point I can let people have a free one before it bothers me.”

Barclay blinked.

“What do you mean?”

“Ask me if I’ve seen any aliens. Or whether I know Bigfoot. Or, hm.” Stern leaned back, tapping his chin. “A lot of people ask me how Agent Mulder is doing.”

“I wasn’t going to make a joke,” Barclay managed, and somehow didn’t sound nervous. A traitorous part of his brain kicked in and informed him he can say yes to the first two questions. Barclay quieted it down before the awkward silence went on too long and continued. “I just…didn’t think that the FBI actually had a, you know, division for stuff like that.”

Stern shrugged.

“We barely do, honestly. There’s only six of us, which,” he gestured, “is part of why I’m here all the time. Too many weird things happening, not enough of us to look into them.”

Gate 3 was where the flights from DC always landed. That meant that each time Stern landed, he was about to head off to look into things. Barclay tried his best to hope that those things were dead ends, the sort of shallow hoaxes that all those people who laughed at Stern must have been picturing. It didn’t work. He resisted the urge to toy with the bracelet around his wrist. He resisted the urge to be sick.

A distant voice announced a flight to Houston, and Stern stood. He gave one last smile, and from the tilt of it Barclay could tell that he knew he’d said something wrong. He set money down on the counter, two much for what he’d gotten.

“My coworkers complain about all the flying,” Stern said softly. Barclay somehow managed to meet his eyes. “I don’t mind it. After all, it means I get to come here, right?”

Despite himself, Barclay felt himself relax a little at that.

“Me too,” Barclay said. He stretched a hand out over the bar and Stern took it, the little bit of worry that had settled between his eyebrows smoothing out. Stern let out a relieved breath, and despite the mess of thoughts already in Barclay’s head he realized that Stern had thought that revelation might backfire.

The voice announced the flight again.

“I’ll see you again soon,” Stern said, pulling away.

Once he was out of sight, the little bit of warmth conjured up by Stern’s words disappeared. Barclay squeezed his eyes shut and tried his best to breathe in, breath out. He gave up and fled to the back to ask Mama to finish his shift.

--

The next time Stern came through Kepler, Barclay found himself ducking behind the bar before the other man could spot him. Or, at least, Barclay hoped he avoided being spotted. It occurred to him a few seconds later that he was being an idiot, probably, but he was already kneeling on the cold tile floor. He might as well lean into the whole idiot thing, while he was there.

So, he slipped into the back and asked Dani to cover for him. Not Mama, because she’d ask questions like she had the last time, and when he eventually answered then things would go into crisis mode. Which, sure, Barclay had a thing for a cryptid hunter so maybe they were in crisis mode, actually.

Barclay squeezed himself between the wall and the freezer, and tried to figure out whether they were in crisis mode.

Alright, point for crisis mode: a cryptid hunting FBI unit had apparently decided Kepler was a good spot for a layover.

Point against: it was just for layovers, which meant they didn’t suspect anything was wrong in Kepler.

Point for: even if Amnesty didn’t have to go into general crisis mode, Barclay was hiding in the kitchen like an idiot, despite the fact that the last time they’d seen each other he’d most definitely indicated he was interested. So, sure, their secret might be safe. But Barclay was feeling more and more like an ass with each passing moment.

An hour later, Dani pushed open the door to the kitchen and entered, dishrag over her shoulder and flannel sleeves rolled up in a way Barclay knew she only did to show off her arms to the barista from the Starbucks by Gate 2.

“He’s gone,” she said, and from the hard tone of her voice Barclay could tell the way she must’ve interpreted his request that she cover his shift, just until that guy in the suit leaves. If he asks about me I’m not here.

Really, he couldn’t blame her. But he also couldn’t let her keep hold of that impression because, well. This was still Stern, who once told Barclay that he’d learned all the languages he did because he hated not being able to talk to people, but figured it was unfair to make them learn English just because he was nosy. It wouldn’t be fair to get his coworkers to hate the guy, even if it would make it a lot easier to never process the whole cryptid hunting business.

“Dani, no, he’s not…he wasn’t bothering me.”

Dani leaned against the doorframe, giving him a knowing grin. Given that he’d teased her about her pursuing Starbucks girl four or five times, he couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed by it.

“Oh? ‘Cuz you booked it back here like he’d either been creeping on you, or like you panicked because of a big stupid crush. And I figured you wouldn’t be one to hide in the back ‘cuz of a big stupid crush, so I thought it must’ve been the first one.”

“Dani.” He tried to inject some authority into his voice. Usually it worked well enough, on account of he was one and a half times her age and technically her supervisor. Apparently he just managed to sound desperate, because she ended up biting her lip to hold back a laugh. She failed.

“Sorry, sorry, I just…Barclay, you should just talk to him next time!” She managed to get her giggling under control. “Honestly, I figured you two were already a thing.”

“Why?”

“It’s been two years?”

Barclay sighed.

“Yeah, yeah it has. But…” He shouldn’t say anything. Ghosting Stern was a dick move, but if he could manage a clean break then there might not be any real drama. If everyone found out about the whole FBI Secret Agent Monster Hunting thing? Or, well, Barclay didn’t know if Unexplained Phenomena meant any actual monster hunting was going on or if it was just dead-end ghost investigations and looking into psychics. But that had been his first reaction, and he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the worst one out of everybody at Amnesty. Which meant there would be drama. A lot of drama. Maybe drama that involved actual violence, which wouldn’t be great.

“Yeah?” She asked, and Barclay swallowed.

“I just don’t know if I can be into a guy that doesn’t live around here, is all.”

Dani seemed to buy it, which made Barclay feel even worse about the whole thing. But it’d be better this way, better for everyone. And all he had to do was stay away from Stern for a while.

---

Barclay managed to stay away from Stern for two months. That involves five narrowly-avoided incidents, teaching Jake to manage the bar so he had someone to cover him that wouldn’t raise her eyebrows like Dani or offer to murder Stern for Barclay’s honor like Mama, and the realization that somehow Stern only came through Kepler when Barclay was on shift. And the fact that Stern had been through Kepler more often since Barclay started dodging him.

That had Barclay panicking for a solid twenty minutes, because what if this had all been an elaborate ruse to get Amnesty to lower its defenses? Then Barclay realized that was fucking stupid, because every flight from D.C. landed at either eleven am or eight pm on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and that section of time involved pretty much every shift Barclay worked.

That realization led to Barclay relaxing on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Which was, as it turned out, a mistake.

It was a mistake, because it led him to this very moment, a minute after Stern got off a plane from Houston at exactly noon, locked eyes with Barclay, and began speed walking away.

It’s a minute after that, because it took thirty seconds to process the panic in Stern’s expression, and another thirty to process the fact that he wasn’t panicked, actually.

“Hey, Dani, can you cover me?” He calls back, not even waiting for her to say yes or no before he leaves the bar and tries to figure out the best way to intercept Stern. He has to be subtle about this. He can’t go dramatically shouting Stern’s name across the mostly-empty path that ran across the airport; that would just embarrass him both. He can’t chase him down and grab his shoulder, because chasing people down and grabbing them is a dick move. He can’t-

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to plan, because Stern is sitting in a chair next to the Jamba Juice at Terminal 4 with his head in his hands. Barclay takes a deep breath and slides into the chair across from him. He’d hoped to be quiet, but the table shifts ever so slightly as he sets his hand on it and Stern jumps.

“I’ve been an asshole,” Barclay says, before Stern can act on his obvious impulse to flee. “And, uh, you can go to your gate and avoid me forever if you want. But I wanted to say I’m sorry first.”

Stern’s weight settles back into his seat.

“I wasn’t upset,” he says, the pause before that last word indicating that he most definitely was upset at some point. “I, well. At first I assumed I was just missing you, but when I asked the boy covering for you said-“

“I just stepped out?” Barclay guesses, and when Stern nods Barclay tries his best to be annoyed with Jake instead of with himself.

“Yeah. I’m…sure you had your reasons. But you could have told me you didn’t want to see me again, I would have understood.” He almost manages not to seem passive aggressive. Barclay would be impressed, under better circumstances.

“I did. Have my reasons, I mean.” He leans back, the chair creaking under his weight, and wishes that Jamba Juice was being covered by literally anyone other than Keith and Hollis. He doesn’t want to have to deal with the Hornet Gossip Mill on top of everything else. “But I think they might’ve been stupid reasons.” Well, he doesn’t totally believe that. But he can’t think of any partial explanation that doesn’t sound stupid.

“Are you a serial killer?” Stern asks, suddenly. Barclay blinks.

“What?” He’s aware that his voice sounds a little strangled, though not for the reasons Stern thinks. Judging by Stern’s weak smile he’d meant it as a joke, but really it’s closer to the truth than Barclay is comfortable with.

“Thank God. I was wondering if I should be looking into West Virginia’s active warrants.”

Barclay laughs. It’s mostly just to break the tension.

“No, no. None of that, I just, well.” For just a moment, Barclay considers telling Stern. Then he decides no, despite that impulse he doesn’t want to be forgiven enough to risk death. “Some of my people have had a little trouble with…” Barclay gestures to Stern, who frowns just a little. “Not the kind you’ve gotta worry about, it was all false reports and all that, but it made me a little nervous. On account of, well, I’m fond of you. I didn’t want things to go bad between you and me an’ mine.”

“So you were willing to make things go bad between just you and me?”

“Like I said, stupid reasons.”

The look Stern is giving Barclay is unreadable. Well, Barclay can’t tell whether it’s unreadable or if he just doesn’t want to read it. He just stares at Barclay for a second, mouth a thin, straight line. With each passing moment, Barclay feels tension creep up his spine. Then he starts laughing just a little desperately, running a hand through his hair.

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute,” Stern manages, and Barclay relaxes.

“Yeah,” he replies, taking a deep breath. Stern shoots him a tired little smile. Then he checks his watch.

“I have an hour and a half before my flight,” Stern says. “How about you make all this up to me by showing me what there is to do in this airport aside from read and pine about the bartender.”

“Well, I happen to get an employee discount at the local grill,” Barclay answers, and Stern’s smile gets a little more real.

This can work, Barclay thinks. And sure, maybe he’s just lying to himself. But as they walk back toward Amnesty Stern bumps his shoulder lightly against Barclay’s, and Barclay thinks that the time before things go to hell might make this worth it.

[stone-man-warrior]

February 26, 2021: 7:18 am:

==================================================

I was awakened this morning by the odor of a wet camp fire.

It was about 6:00 am, just before dawn.

now my leg is all swollen again, foot is feeling frozen, rash is oozing from tiny blistering on my shin, and it is numb again like it’s not there when I try to walk.

The symptoms had reduced until then. There is no reason that I should have been awakened by such an odor as a wet camp fire in my house.

=================================================

7:47 am:

I read the stalking order those fake sheriff’s brought.

There is concern from the new people at 445 about a head and a fence that was posted online.

needle in a hay stack.

I just looked through this account going back a week or two and cannot find anything about a head or a fence concerned specifically with the person mentioned in the fake stalking order, one composed of real legal ramifications, at 445 Jackpine as is stated in the order to appear.

The good news is bad news.

The good news is that there are/were some federal agents who advised I take a photo of a particular something, and I did not get that information, someone else got the information about taking a photo of a particular thing.

The courts intercepted that instruction that I should take a photo.

The courts arranged that the only photo op there would be is one taken of deputy sheriff’s through a screen out my window when the fake stalking order shows up. The order is fake, the demand to go to the courtroom is real. The judge and all of the court staff are fake, are all terror operatives, but the law is real and so is the jail. The sheriff is fake, but the law and the jail is real. The damage around my front door and my broken computer is real, so was June 15, 2020, when this same stalking order murder hit scenario resulted in eight fake deputies crashing through my front door, tackling me in the living room, and taking me to a real police interceptor, to a real jail.

Fake people, real USA.

I know who that person is across the street now. He has robbed me before. He has a compute that was mine, and he might be the person that stole all of my old vinyl records. He, his father and his mother all robbed me about twelve years ago.

I think the young man, and his mother and father are part of that house on Monument drive terror cell that is owned by one of the county judges, it’s close to the freeway onramp at mile 66 across from some orange cones and a big Tee-Pee (wig-wam) in the yard, is on the north side of Monument, a place where a blue colored log truck parks, and there are two houses on the same tax lot, and a lot of junk in the front yard.

Things to consider are:

Todd Law: Is said to be the name of the leading person at the Hillcrest & Washington Ave US Postal facility.

A Macintosh computer w/special case.

Some vinyl records, old original pressing, rock & roll.

Possibly a bag filled with raw diamonds, five carrot and larger.

Mostly, consider that there are people who can find information about a head on a fence on this account, or, perhaps someone took that little part and posted it out of context somewhere else. The information I have does not say exactly where online the head or fence was seen posted.

no one can see that there are 873 posts on this account that are all about serious mass murder partly done by the people at the courthouse where I am told I need to appear at a hearing about a head and a fence.

no one says anything about Mark T. Esper, the US Secretary of Defense who was killed in defense at the Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon along with the Secretary of Education, Betsy DeVose last year, but, a new guy on the road I live on can get a court day.

Here comes that odor of wet camp fire again. 8:18 am.

When that guy robbed me so long ago, he was sent over here by Harold & Joan Phillips at 507 Jackpine. I learned that much and more back then. That house at 445 is said to be owned by a man by the name of Farrar, but I saw someone who was said to have been Mr. Farrar being taken captive, put into a 18 foot box truck moving van, one that had brought some new kitchen cabinets to 445 Jackpine. The person that was there attacking Mr. Farrar, was Micheal Brassil of 3701 Russell Road, and he was wearing a wig made of long blonde hair in a pony-tail that day when Farrar was attacked and put into the furniture/cabinet makers truck. That was so long ago that I cannot recall how long. There has been many different terror cells at 445 Jackpine over the course of time I have lived here, all of them are there to protect Harold & Joan Phillips from surprises of unwanted investigative persons who may have learned that the Phillips are related somehow to the British Royal Windsor family, and to the Wilson/Phillips of Mama’s & The Papa’s, and Beach Boys fame, and others of that same musical terror circle of treasonous bastards.

Much of the terrorism in Josephine County Oregon can be traced to Harold & Joan Phillips of 507 Jackpine Dr. Grants Pass Oregon, 97526.

The Phillips are Global Terrorists. They are commanders of world wide terrorism large scale. Harold has been dead for quite awhile. I have not seen Joan in a year or more, she is about 75 years old, walks with a limp, I think she has a prosthetic leg below the knee, right side, and has had that since 1999 or so. Joan drives an old nissan Quest mini van, as not to draw attention, is very innocent looking mini van.

This one:

Dangerous person drives that van.

That van gets an aerial escort with small aircraft everywhere it goes.

The owner of that van, Joan Phillips, controls all of the activities of Josephine County Courts and more, and she gets her marching orders direct from Britain.

That is the source of the problem at 445 where the stalking order came from yesterday.

Christopher Mecca, attorney who resides at Grants Pass Community Church on Russell Road, is the person who crafts up the stalking orders and the details within them. That one yesterday is the fourth one in twenty years or so. I only know one of the so called plaintiffs personally among them, and she married FBI agent Rabner after the stalking order was crafted up by Mecca, and became Betty Rabner, is dead now. Betty’s former husband, Jerry Keeling, was the Three Rivers School District Student Counselor at the time when all of the students were brutally killed at the local schools. Jerry Keeling married another school counselor, Sue Keeling. Jerry & Sue Keeling orchestrated much of the murders at the schools back then. Last known address was on Harbeck Road near South Middle School area, a District 7 School District school.

Send some help so we talk about this without the poison gas and murderous terror army surrounding me.

=====================

10:59 am:

Trending on Twitter:

The Joe Biden White House is waiting on baited breath to see what I know about this Khashoggi fake news terror hit command update bullshit story:

https://twitter.com/i/events/1364937835044696068

Thread says: “There must be some kind of hold up”

https://twitter.com/Joyce_Karam/status/1365013092707545098

Biden ordered a “5150″ psychiatric lock-up at my house, to cart me away into the Asante Hospital Abyss to be tortured, and to disapear so that the new guy at 445 can take this account with help from his wife, “Mrs George Castanza” (a young [fat] one)

What I know about Khashoggi’s murder will prompt the appropriate WH Salmon/Khashoggi official report when I post this.

The new report from WH on Twitter will contain the details of a “Yes/no” sort of answer to the question: “is StoneMan dead yet?”

It will contain the next phase of the ongoing White House attempts to kill me, since I am not quite dead yet. They are getting close though, just so you understand that.

This account will vanish when the kill me, or someone will say it’s just a novel, that I am writing a book online on Tumblr.

The WH Khashoggi report could only contain the key to finding the next phase of the planning of my murder that is happening at the Joe Biden White House, some info about when and where the new hit orders will be presented on Twitter, or perhaps in promotional music industry emailers.

Khashoggi’s are Euro Dollars. When the news was about “Killing Khashoggi, a news reporter, the real story is that “there are revealing secrets about the origin of the Euro Dollar, and that it’s existence was a planned means to allow free travel across Europe put in place by Britain operatives so that their Vatican terror army could kill & replace all of the Europeans with other people from Australia and new Zealand, Whales, England, Scotland, and parts of Ireland, and that included that Damascus was destroyed, as a decoy, distraction, road block, detour, confusion service when all of those migrants showed up all over Europe.

It’s complicated, I already explained it here elsewhere on this account, is one of the reasons Biden needs me dead, If the Biden WH does not kill me, the Brits will kill everyone at the Biden WH. Biden is not at the WH, he is a placeholder for other people, so, I call it “The Biden WH” for ease of discussion about an invisible entity that is running the WH from Kauaii at Kauaii Ranch in Hawaii, “Amp Guru” is the same thing, so is “The Jim Dunlop” almost.

So, Khashoggi’s are Euro’s. Basically “Monopoly Toy Money that is easy to carry across a border in Europe” ... Meanwhile, the Brits don‘t accept or use Euro’s. You have to exchange your Euro’s for Pound Sterling at an exchange house, where you will be identified, ID checked and noted, where in the EU, people travel from nation to nation anonymously and that is the purpose of the British Euro in the EU, toward Global Domination Under the Cross.

=============================================

1:26 pm:

I read more of that fake stalking order those fake deputies brought to me yesterday.

The paperwork includes an excerpt from the “February 15, 2021: 10:51 am:” entry I made that day.

The excerpt included has at least two different parts of explanations of things glued together as if it’s all one thing. There is a part in the excerpt where I say I saw a female, then, they used the expletive description of what a “Partner” is when a kidnapped US Citizen is surgically changed with experimental procedures, to specifications of the SAG member who special orders a “Partner”.

That means it’s all out of context.

That also means that since they used a actual printed page of excerpts from this account, that all of the entire 873 entries to date, are all on the table, and became part of the stalking order at the moment this account was quoted.

In law, if you bring a subject into the court, that entire subject matter is all on the table, not just the bits and pieces some asshole cherry picks and glues together to suit them.

Looks to me as if Kate Brown’s head is going to mounted on my driveway gate alongside Joe Biden, Nancy Sinatra, Ron Howard and Ann Wilson if the entire account of information is to be considered as stalking.

There is room for a few Josephine County Court fake judges in between the others too.

There might not be room for Judge Thomas Hull though, he is a very big fish with a lot of extra baggage that goes with him. Hull & Hull Mortuary Services, Hull Real Estate, Hull Construction, Hull Attorney’s at Law ... etc. and so on.

=====

1:58 pm:

There is a set of rules that are spoken about in Josephine county for as long as I have lived in the county, since 1996.

“If you want to cross the River Styx, you have to pay the Boatman”

Judge Thomas Hull is “The Boatman“.

There is a boat ramp on the Rogue River off of Lower River Road nearby a place called “Wildlife Images”, on Ferry Hole Ave, is called Ferry Hole Boat Ramp.

Legend has it, that there was once a ferry that you had to take to cross the Rogue River right there at Ferry Hole Boat Ramp, from a time before there was Robertson Bridge. That is where you pay the Boatman, Three Boys Towing is always nearby there to help you part with your money, wife, ice chest, fishing gear, truck, boat, motor, 2.5 Children, and trailer.

Tommy Two Toes and Three Fingers Louie with a flat bed wrecker and super duty Warn Winch are always there ... Guido rides on the bed of the truck, tucked away, out of sight between the cab & bed.

Has anyone looked into those boat backwards boat ramps I mentioned yesterday? Ferry Hole Boat Ramp is among the worst of them. Graves Creek is bad too, that one gets you with the rusted metal brackets that are poking out of the cement work at the boat ramp.

Indian Mary Park Boat Ramp is not so bad, it launches the boat into some white water, at 90 degrees to the current ... it’s that piece of rebar that is sticking out of the sand just to the left of the ramp that gets the victims mostly at Indian Mary.

Galice Resort Boat Ramp has almost the exact same rebar in the exact same place as does Indian Mary. There is something special about rusty metal in the river around here. They will tell you it’s: “historic mining remnants”, as an excuse for rusty metal poking out at where you need to step to put the boat in the water.

===================

2:37 pm:

More about Khashoggi’s (Cash Hoagie’s Bogart; Pelosi’s Subway COVID Stimulus Package)

The Euro was sold as a bill of goods, snake oil, magic potion, “Genie in a Bottle” is a real good analogy for Euro’s. British finance expert insiders in the EU sold the Euro like a shoe salesmen selling Moccasins to an Eskimo.

“Imagine the convenience, unity, the influx of more equal trade and strength in the EU community in the future”.

Then, Brexit.

Britain sells the goods, waits around for awhile to help teach their Eskimo to walk in moccasins in the snow without getting frost bite, then, they want to leave the EU, and, it’s like American Express & Visa after that, you need a Visa, but these Khashoggies will work anywhere to make sure the terror army has free travel arrangements available all over Europe with the same cash they were given by the Brits to start with. Like USA and Dollars between states.

Later, Damascus was completely destroyed. The oldest city on earth, been continuously inhabited for about 4000 years, and then all gone within two-weeks.

There was hardly a mention of Damascus being destroyed at the time. Then, all of the survivors were coaxed into going to Europe for assistance, by concerned people who said they would help the ones displaced from Damascus. Information I have is that there were aerial drops of printed information that provided a map of where food, clothing, water, shoes and very basic supplies were available on a route that led to France. Sort of a pop-up Walmart in remote places where the survivors were told they could find what they needed along a route that they walked the whole way to France, is what I know about that, but I was not there, I just happened to be at a place where I could here the planning, and then later, what I heard really happened when all of those people began walking to France from Damascus,

That’s all I know about it, except that the people who arrived in France and other parts of Europe were never said to have come from Damascus, they were said to have come from somewhere else, for some other reason than Damascus having been destroyed.

They turned Damascus into “Historical Mining Remnants” like we have on the Rogue River.

So who was it really that showed up in France, and were said to have caused so many problems there?

I see at least two possible different groups of people. One is that the people from Damascus made it to France with help from some maps dropped from airplanes that explained where food, clothing and shoes could be had along a route to France.

The other possibility is that the survivors were killed along the route to France at the Pop-Up Walmart’s.

I fully believe the information about the flyers with the maps telling the survivors where to find help, but I don‘t know if they were killed or actually helped.

My inclination is that the survivors were set-up, lured into a bottleneck with a promise of assistance, and killed at the pop-up Walmart.

Maybe the ones who went to France were from India, a British ruled nation. If so, and they were armed with Euros to spend, they could just do the same as the Canadians are doing in USA, just going city to city murdering millions of people, to take over for Britain, while Britain makes distraction bullshit and says they don‘t want to be part of EU anymore.

no matter which way I look at the details, it all comes out where Britain is the offensive party, and are sneaky bastards too, who like to play dress up. “The Royals” when they wear those colorful military commander outfits, are communication about where, when, how to do an attack somewhere. Those assholes are never going to get anywhere near a conventional war, so, you know those outfits have some other purpose just with the fact that they wear them sometimes, but never leave the balcony at the castle when they do.

Rambling about Khashoggi’s and Damascus is not going to help me though, so, that’s all I have on that.

no help has come, there is no where US Citizens can get medical services in Oregon, there are only fake services, and, the terror soldiers are able to get the very best medical service.

There are no signs of helpful people and it’s to dangerous to walk outside even if my leg was not so painful.

The poison gas continues.

I heard three small explosions in the distance over the past few hours.

The train that travels along Russell Road has changed over the past week or more. The change I can notice is the sound the locomotive makes is a sound of a very light weight rail vehicle, not the usual locomotive engine. The new vehicle sounds a lot like a very quiet jet turbine motor, it whines. The usual locomotive makes the ground vibrate when it passes by, this new one is almost undetectable, has no weight. The sound of the train whistle is different, and last night the train went by and did not sound the horn at all ... very unusual for that, the train always sounds the horn at the crossings, but not every time this week. Yesterday, that train went south at about 8:00 am, and I don‘t think I have ever heard the train at that hour before.

So clearly the machinery is different, and the train operator is different this week. That is notable with so many poison gas symptoms I am experiencing lately.

Please send help, Bring your own hospital.

=================================

3:42 pm:

There is no Russia.

https://www.walmart.com/ip/Household-Wooden-4-Wheels-Stress-Relief-Body-Neck-Muscle-Massage-Roller-Beige/870137218?wmlspartner=wmtlabs&adid=22222222222105785182&wmlspartner=wmtlabs&wl0=e&wl1=o&wl2=c&wl3=74835578301540&wl4=pla-4578435148129588:aud-807615483&wl5=&wl6=&wl7=&%20wl10=Walmart&wl12=870137218_10000000599&wl14=massage%20wooden%20roller&veh=sem&msclkid=93a3e07744f01a7e2d8c804ec34a74f0

this thing above is a “Hand Car” in terror speak.

It means “Roll”, as in “Beat the living daylight out of the son of a bitch”

Trust me, it’s old Hollywood terror talk to beat some one up.

I’ll pay for one with an Opie Monogram delivered to Ron Howard.

There is no where to go Opie. The helicopter, fake airplane, and key-mask-filter are mainstream news now.

“Roll a drunk?” Otis Campell at the Mayberry RFD Jail.

=========================================

3:59 pm:

Internet terror consortium at Centurylink/Google/Tumblr/Microsoft are hacking me with use of Vaiocare software today, happens often, today I am able to see part of what they can do to foul me up when I am writing important Global Security information, as follows:

The assholes at Centurlink have a mobile command center installed at three places, maybe four places, maybe more.

Monroe at 434

The new guy at 445

Chartrand at 376

The torture house at 520

Those are all places where I know my phone line has been spit, and is accessed, attached to those phone lines.

The Vaiocare shows a small pop-up almost everyday for ten years or more at random times. It says: “Vaiocare. Make Recovery Media”

Then, that happens as I am doing a search for something I need to share or learn about online, so, when the search results are shown, they tend to vanish, searches for photos just brings a lot of blank placeholders where the photos should be showing to choose from in the search results.

The same as the way my suspended Twitter account looks, Twitter took the photos out of my suspended account, and they put a colorful placeholder in place of the photos. So the Vaicare software is supposed to be a proprietary software for maintaining the Sony computers it comes with, but it has an access to it the same as does the norton Symantec security software does.

The bastards are preventing me from doing internet search as a result of the Vaiocare pop-up that says: “Make Recovery Media”

The asshole also was able to start and run my Google Chrome automatically without any of my doing, all by itself the Chrome Browser just started to run.

I don‘t use Google Chrome anymore since I found out about the thing called “Pep-Flash-Player” which can make anyone’s computer look as if porn is running on Google Chrome when no porn is actually running on the computer.

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Astoria: In Chaos - Part 2

PART ONE < Read here.

DAY 8

Another day, another bloody great hole in the ground – this time slap-bang in the middle of an elementary school playground. Miho knew this, because she’d managed to snap a few photographs of the scene, and then of the suit- wearing sweepers who blew in like the wind and cordoned everything off.

Triumphant, she returned to her office, set on stirring the pot with enough vigour to force the ‘cover-up squad’ to reveal something.

But, it wasn’t an especially clever tactic.

“Fujiwara,” came a shape bark across the top of the cubicles in the news room, and Miho paused the furious tapping of her fingers against the keyboard.

A ripple of whispers rushed to meet her when she stood to find several uniformed police officers, followed by the woman she knew only as Agent Mann and a somewhat nervous looking man in similar attire, stalking in her direction.

“This is an order for the seizure of all your work materials,” Agent Mann told Miho in a business-like manner, “along with your cell phone, laptop and any storage devices.”

“What?” Miho blinked in utter shock. “You can’t do that!”

Agent Mann’s eyebrow raised, but rather than argue, she simply handed the piece of paper to Miho who frantically began to study it.

“This,” Agent Mann continued, producing another piece of paper, “is an intervention order preventing you from approaching any clearly signposted crime scenes. Failure to adhere fully to both will be considered contempt of court, and will attract the full weight of penalties that apply.”

“You’re banning me from doing my job?” Miho snarled, snatching the second piece of paper but not even looking at it – the first was legitimate. “Where’s Hades?” she snapped, even as the police began to empty Miho’s cubicle into boxes. “Did he not have the courage to carry out this gag order himself? What is he so afraid of hm?”

Her teeth gnashed at Agent Mann before her eyes flashed at the man standing beside her.

“Not you,” Agent Mann responded dryly. “You’re also required to delete any data you have stored in the cloud, and surrender any notes and materials in storage at your place of residence.”

No matter what Miho said, Agent Mann would not relent, and in the end she was told to wait in the editor’s office while the police did their thing.

Working her jaw painfully, her knuckles popping in tight fists, she glowered out the window. Outrage grated against her skin, itching and burning.

“Think this will stop me getting to the truth?” she hissed, and it just so happened her editor walked in as she said it.

“Yes it will,” her editor declared curtly. “What use do you think I have for a reporter who will land herself in jail if she so much as looks at a crime scene?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Miho exclaimed. “Editor, I’m the best you’ve got.”

“Not anymore. Go home, Fujiwara.”

“What?” Miho blurted.

The editor sighed.

“I’ll get legal onto this intervention thing, but when the feds are involved…”

“Did you see a badge? FBI? NSA? Homeland Security?” Miho balked, face getting more and more red. “Of course not, because they’re none of those things!”

“Whatever they are, those orders against you are legitimate, so until this is resolved, you’re suspended.”

Slack jawed with disbelief, Miho stared at him until he shooed her from his office. On her desk she found her mobile phone, and when she checked she discovered not just those pertaining to her investigation of the mysterious damage had been deleted, but all images and videos. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat, that Miho realised the suited man was still standing by her cubicle.

“I’m here to oversee the removal of data from your cloud accounts,” he explained, and Miho narrowed wrathful eyes at him.

This caused him to squirm a little uncomfortably.

“Um, really, you have to, so, don’t say you don’t have any or…”

Miho interjected.

“Or what?”

Her teeth chewed through both words, and she looked like she was about to chew through him.

“Or, or Agent Mann said Hades will handle it,” he replied, seeming like he wanted to take a very big step away from her.

“That arrogant toss,” she snorted bitterly.

The man’s eyes widened – a little bit shocked, a little more fearful.

“I wouldn’t speak about him like that,” he warned, the word tumbling from his mouth.

“Or… what?” Miho repeated, leaning toward him. “He’ll drag him into the Underworld and torment me for all eternity?”

It was difficult for Miho to imagine the man’s eyes getting any wider without his eyeballs dropping from their sockets, and she couldn’t tell if it was just because he felt affronted on his boss’ behalf, or was thrown off by her gall.

Either way, Miho didn’t back down.

“In fact, why don’t you scurry on back to whatever rock you lot crawled out from under, and tell him exactly that,” she hissed, snatching her phone and her handbag before stalking from the office.

The agent didn’t stop her.

It was as Miho stomped across the foyer that it occurred to her.

That rock they crawled out from under… if she wanted to know who they were, she should just follow Agent Uncertain back to it.

 Twenty minutes later she stood before the building Agent Unsure had disappeared into: the Grand Olympian. Miho debated the merits of making a frontal assault, of walking right in like she belonged there on the chance she could bluff her way to the information she sought, but that was fraught with pitfalls.

“Seriously,” she muttered to herself. “Who do these people think they are? Hades and the Grand Olympian? Hmph.”

Several people walked in and out, allowing her a glimpse of the foyer, and the several black-clad, stoic suits standing guard.

“After what they pulled,” Miho growled to herself, losing the battle with her anger and storming across the street.

Into the foyer she stalked, eyes filled with determined balefire, posture set with get the fuck out of my way, and in the middle she stopped to glare from blank face to blank face.

“I want to speak to Hades,” she declared flatly, locking eyes with the nearest man.

The only movement he made was the slight twitch of his eyebrow and his lips as he spoke in the expected monotone.

“Ma’am,” he began, and that only enraged Miho more. “This…”

“This is about to be a really unpleasant scene,” she snapped, her hands flailing about in an animated fashion. “Because I don’t care what excuse you give me, this front doesn’t fool me. So get yourself on the phone, intercom, radio, whatever, and get that underworld princess down here to face me.”

That got more of a reaction. She may not have known what she said, her comments based purely upon his name, but just as Agent Stutterpants, the suits in the foyer looked startled.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but you’re going to have to leave,” a second suit told her when he emerged from his bewilderment, and he reached for her arm.

“I will drop you,” she warned ferociously. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“If you won’t leave willingly, Ma’am, we have no choice.”

A moment later Miho was manhandled from the building and propelled toward the pavement, but what might have actually caused her to fall most inelegantly actually resulted in a most serendipitous collision.

“Sir!” Suit #1 exclaimed, when Miho was practically thrown into his arms.

Equally as surprised, Hades looked down at the woman he’d reflexively caught in his arms as she was flung in his direction.

A little panicked perhaps, Suit #2 and Suit #3 moved up to them, #2 grasping Miho’s shoulder. Though Hades’ grip was light enough that she was drawn away from his chest, a moment later the offending suit hit the pavement with a heavy thud, his arm pulled behind him by the wrist, before Miho leaned her knee in between his shoulder blades.

“I warned you what would happened if you laid a hand on me again,” she hissed. “I was an assassin in a past life!”

“Miss Fujiwara,” Hades’ stern voice rumbled, and her blazing eyes snapped to him. “Please unhand Agent Trevaughn.”

“When I have his word he won’t touch me,” she grated.

“Agent?” Hades prompted, deciding it was best to quickly resolve the situation there on the footpath – even if it meant giving Miho some of what she wanted.

“You have my word,” Agent Trevaughn croaked, cheek pressed against the rough concrete.

Instantly Miho rocked back and released her hold, putting a few paces between she and the man before looking to Hades again.

“Fancy running into you here,” she exhaled, her smile the vicious injury he’d perpetrated against her. “Just the god I’m after.”

Like the suits before him, Hades raised an eyebrow.

“You want me to roast you out here, or inside?” she asked.

“Hm, I have a better idea,” Hades responded. “Why don’t you calm down and join me for a cup of coffee?”

“Are you really sure you want me in possession of hot liquids?” Miho challenged stubbornly.

“I seldom get what I want,” Hades told her calmly. “But, if you are in any part the reporter you are reputed to be, you would not turn down the opportunity to converse with the subject of your…”

“Ire,” Miho filled in frostily, and Hades merely accepted it and inclined his head.

The suits looked at each other.

“So, is it coffee?” Hades prompted.

“Tea,” Miho sniffed defiantly, but she turned her body to indicate she was ready to move out.

“As you were,” Hades nodded to the suits, and with curt recognition they headed back into the building.

 A short time later, Hades placed a cup of Lady Grey tea before Miho, before sitting down opposite with his freshly squeezed juice.

She considered his choice of beverage, still clinging to her scowl, determined not to be pacified and yet the grass-shot juice Hades lifted to his lips seemed somehow incongruous with his presence.

“Something wrong?” he enquired, putting the glass down.

“I’d write you a list, but you’d only have your lackies swoop in here and confiscate it,” she charged, but Hades remained unaffected.

“You were warned,” he pointed out, aware the remark would win no favour with her.

“Oh well then, a warning makes it all just peachy,” she snapped, leaning forward. “What are you hiding you’d ruin my career like it was nothing?”

“Actually, Miss Fujiwara, only you are responsible for your actions and their consequences,” he told her, an Miho’s grip tightened around her tea cup.

He watched as she struggled to hold in another unseemly public outburst, that could flip the table and spatter the green rage of vitamised fruit all over the café. But trembling she slowly rose from her seat.

“Thanks for the tea,” she dropped icily and turned to move, but the command – or perhaps something else in Hades’ voice – caused her to freeze.

“Sit down, Miss Fujiwara.”

Before she could comply or tell him to fuck off, Miho made eye contact with a familiar person.

“Oh, hey Miho,” Mieke grinned at her best friend, then slid her gaze to the man behind her. “And… Hades… uh, I mean, Sir.”

“Hades… Sir?” Miho repeated, processing Mieke’s greeting carefully. “You work in an office?”

“Uh… yeah, I do,” Mieke cringed.

“His, office?” Miho pressed on, and she didn’t miss Mieke’s pleading glance at Hades.

“Miss Fujiwara,” he prompted, but this time her resistance was decisive.

“Rabbit holes,” she chuckled mirthlessly as she stepped in beside Mieke. “You really never know what you’ll find.”

She then stalked on out of the café.

“You and Miss Fujiwara are acquainted,” Hades stated, and with shoulders slumped, Mieke sighed out her answer.

“Best friends, Sir,” she breathed, “though probably not anymore.”

“Perhaps you could soften the blow of her recent employment crisis,” he suggested, but Mieke was already shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but if there is one thing Miho really can’t tolerate, it’s lies, and I’ve been playing dumb as she poured out her frustration over not being able to get anything on HERA – ugh – if she ever speaks to me again it’ll be a miracle.”

 Avoiding the confines of her apartment, Miho strapped on her sneakers and began a steady lap around Astoria park. If she couldn’t work, she’d lose her apartment, but that was the furthest thing from her mind – there was no one she could trust now: not her boss, not city law enforcement, not even her best friend.

She was on her own.

And where there were lies, there was something to hide.

“I – will – find – out,” she vowed, words panted out to the rhythm of her footfalls, but her cheeks were wet with distress.

Mieke’s betrayal hurt so deeply, Miho lost sight of what she’d been pursuing and just ran, so much so it was dark by the time she finally stopped.

“Now what?” she exhaled, looking down at her hands where she sat on a park bench.

Feeble fists clenched.

“Ugh!” she shouted, jumping to her feet. “This is bullshit.”

Scratching at her aggravation rather than allowing herself to sink into misery, she picked up her feet again and headed to her local gym to take a shower and change her clothing. But she didn’t go home after that she didn’t go home.

Swathed in brash indignation, she caught a cab a little way before getting out a block from the first crime scene she’d investigated where Hades and his band of merry suits had shown up – she would check them all again, slip through the black fencing and look for clues, anything that could give her a story worth her boss putting his ass on the line.

Sticking to the shadows she slunk with practiced silence and dexterity, but suddenly she stopped her advance.

It must have been her day for familiar people showing up at inopportune times.  

“What the fuck is Agent Moron up to?” she murmured to herself, watching him acting very suspicious as he approached his own barrier.

With tailing skills even Kaga would be proud of, Miho drew closer, slipping with almost ridiculous ease past the couple of guards posted, and into the obstructed area. Hiding, she crept closer to see what Agent Hopeless was up to.

She found him examining the deep hole in the sidewalk, much like the others she’d seen, waving over it with a little device with flashing lights.

“What are you doing, Agent Dipshit?” she whispered under her breath.

The answer that came wasn’t really an answer at all… two bodies suddenly flew overhead, limbs flailing and faces pinched in painful grimaces. Their impact with a nearby building was so solid some of the render cracked and flaked away, and when the pair of suits hit the ground – they didn’t move.

“What the?” Agent Stupid blinked, turning sharply from his fallen compatriots to look in the direction from which they’d come.

Scrambling to stay hidden, Miho narrowed missed being hit by… a car… that soared several metres into the air before barreling in Agent Idiot’s direction. He dove to one side, drawing a handgun as he did and taking aim at…

“You HERA guys,” a low, slow voice rumbled, as a real lump of a man came into view on one side of the crater, “so squishy.”

“Minotaur?” Agent Dumbass grunted. “You’re back in the States?”

It was a stupid question, because clearly the guy was right there.

“You gonna shoot me?” Minotaur sneered, and Miho inhaled a sharp breath while fumbling to get out her phone and start recording.

“That depends if you’re willing to cooperate or not,” Agent Sideways replied, but his gun hand was trembling and he seemed to be in considerable pain.

“Unlikely,” Minotaur chuckled, slamming his balled fist into his palm, and for a second there was an orange flash.

Miho swore there was an orange flash in the shape of an angry bull.

“If… if you’re responsible for this,” Agent Retreat stammered, scuttling back, digging for his phone with his free hand.

“And imagine what I’m about ta do ta ya head,” Minotaur leered.

Raging to life, the orange bull, surrounded by irritated sparks, rushed from behind Minotaur and snatched Agent Hapless off the ground. Much to Miho’s amazement and in no small part horror, Agent Ragdoll was shaken violently in the luminescent bull’s grasp, so hard his keys and loose change were flung from his pockets and his phone was thrown across the crater and landed close to where Miho was hiding.

“Agent Schmit?” a voice called from the asphalt, more urgently the second time when Agent Schmit, let out a cry coinciding with his own solid path to the ground.

“Fuck,” Miho gasped, twitching in indecision before finally darting out and snatching up the phone. “Agent Schmit is down!” she hissed. “27th Avenue near St. Margaret Mary – there’s a… mino…”

Despite the questions flung at her Miho stalled as the rampant, glowing bull stomped up to Agent Schmit and look set to crush him underfoot, all while the man himself grinned sadistically.

“Fuck,” Miho exclaimed once more, dropping the agent’s phone and turning her own around. “Hey asshole!” she shouted, setting her phone’s flash on strobe.

In the darkness she might have been little more than a silhouette, a faint shape flashing brightly that divided the creature’s attention long enough for Agent Schmit to crawl to where his colleagues were beginning to rouse.

“Who the hell are you?” Minotaur huffed, and as he turned his body to fully face her, the towering bulls did the same, pulsing with furious energy.

“I… am…” she stammered, eyes stretching even wider as the apparitious bull’s approaching footfalls somehow made the ground shake. “I’m not with them,” she exhaled. “I’ve been tracking your trail of… of awesome destruction looking for an interview! This lot keep cock blocking.”

The bull stopped, and Minotaur narrowed his eyes on Miho as she lowered her phone to her side. He appeared to be processing what she’d said… slowly.

“You ain’t HERA?”

“These suits? Are you kidding me? They ruined my career!” she told him, and well it was the truth.

So she kept talking, talking while Agent Schmit and the other two struggled out of injurious grogginess.

“These… three-piece twits stormed my office and confiscated everything I’ve worked so hard on,” she rushed on, hoping to keep his attention for as long as possible. “But here you are, the very one I’ve been… I’ve been searching for, ha ha, right in front of me.”

“Miss Fujiwara get back!” Agent Schmit shouted, and as if he’d waved a red rag, Minotaur’s attention snapped back to him as bullets were fired.

The next few seconds seemed to move in slow motion.

Thunder seemed to explode from the ground that heaved so hard with the impact of the luminous bull’s hoof, that Miho pitched backward at speed. She soared, glimpsing the night sky above just briefly before even the brightest stars were consumed by an all-encompassing black.

To Part 3

@destinywanted @kiniloves < Since I know you love some Hades ;)

[sugartraphq]

can we have some help with secrets ?

sure! off the top of my head, here’s 37 secrets! as a forewarning, some of these can possibly be triggering.

they became a sugar baby straight out of high school, they became a sugar mama/daddy because they inherited more money than they thought they needed, they’re a pimp, their parent/s were head of one of the gangs, they’re participating in sex work to put a dent in their debt, while experimenting with drugs they caused a close friend to overdose, they stole a significant amount of money from a gang and used the money to change their identity, they’re wanted for drug distribution, they’re wanted for money laundering, they stopped using drugs and pressured their friend/family member to buy drugs from them instead, they have multiple restraining orders for stalking, they set up their ex to make it look like they’ve leaked their sex tape, they set up a past gang member who’s getting out of prison soon, they were in witness protection, they ran away from an abusive partner/home, they’re still legally married, they had an affair/a child with someone who was married, they burnt down their family business for the insurance money, they were left/left their ex at the altar, they skipped town when they found out they’re going to be a parent, they robbed ruby’s at gunpoint and still clocked in on time the next day, they participate in armed robbery to fund their spending habits, they’ve changed their identity so much over the years that they’ve forgotten details of their actual past, they put a hit out on a family member, they’re hiding a child from a previous relationship, they’re not ashamed of being a kleptomaniac, they don’t have a good relationship with their family so they say they’ve passed when asked, they’re a vigilante, they’re working with the fbi, they hack their friends’ bank accounts if they make them angry, they’ve taken their deceased sibling’s identity, they’ve married multiple times under new names for the money then disappears after they’ve bled their pockets dry, they went to jail for attempting to poison their boss, they’re secretly a cam model, they’re secretly is involved with adult film making, they were taught to clean crime scenes, they’re fronting as a real estate agent and robs the homes they were supposed to stage, they’re paid to lure victims to their deaths

[elfnerdherder]

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 15

You can read Chapter 15 on Ao3 Here

Check out my Patreon and join the squad! Early releases, character info, sneak peeks, and a chance to support an artist! ;)

Chapter 15: Mesmeric Revelation

           That night, long after he heard the clattering of dinner plates and laughter, long after he heard music and chatter, and far long after he heard doors closing, showers running, and feet mumbling, Will Graham left his room. It had been locked, but the gum did its job and kept the bolt from setting. A mere fiddling with the ink cartridge of his pen did the rest of the job, and the lock turned with a muted, triumphant click.

            His feet padded along the soft carpet that muffled his steps, and the solidly built stairs didn’t betray him. He paused before the front door, staring. Every muscle in him begged him to go to it, begged him to throw the locks and make a break for it until he could find a road and a good Samaritan to help him.

           He didn’t, though.

           Just how many stalked the trees surrounding the house? Just how many cameras were on every angle he could take to escape? He thought of Matthew knowing the moment he’d tried to run, and he rocked back on his heels, away from the door.

           Instead, he made his way down another hall and headed towards the security room.

           He didn’t expect it to be empty. No matter how many slept, Dr. Lecter was no fool. Sure enough, poking his head in, he saw Francis beside one of the monitors. His back was to Will, but that didn’t stop him from seeing the antenna of a satellite phone that cut into the shadows of the room, nor did it stop him from seeing the map lit dimly by a few desk lamps and the monitor’s glow.

           “You got the voicemail? Good. He’s getting desperate.”

           A pause as Dolarhyde listened to the speaker.

           “The man whose phone was bugged got transferred. I’ve got another guy, but he’s not there yet. Dr. Lecter needs you to find out exactly what they know so far, that we can plan the next step.”

           Another pause, and Will swallowed, a dry click in his throat.

           “You don’t need to know how many dead. You’ll see soon enough.”

           He hung up and set the phone off to the side, beside the monitor. There was a pause, a long and dreadful silence as Dolarhyde stared down at the monitor. The lamplight gave his bones a sharp edge, his mouth a cruel twist. The hollows of his cheeks were pronounced, the curve of his shoulder elegant.

           Truth be told, he looked like a dragon.

           Will slipped down the hall and hunkered down in a corner of it, melding himself into the shadows. From his pocket, he produced a hairclip, nothing more than one of the things he’d found in one of the many bedrooms. Decidedly, and with a fair amount of careful aim, he tossed it at the door. It smacked the wood, fell with a quiet and plaintive thump.

           It took less than two seconds.

           Dolarhyde was at the door, his sharp gaze peering into the dark. The light behind him gave him an ethereal glow as he turned his head one way, then another. Even hidden as Will was, he still felt too exposed, far too noticeable as Dolarhyde took one step, then another out of the door his nose to the air like he could smell Will if he tried hard enough.

           After a pained, loud heartbeat, Dolarhyde turned away from Will and headed down the hall to investigate.

           The moment he was gone, Will rushed into the room.

           The satellite phone was first, although he paused long enough by the computer to glance at it.

Thirty-Two Dead in Will Graham Killing Spree:

The Faces of Will Graham: Dozens Dead in Lecter Slayings

Where is Will Graham?

           News updates. Links to articles. Dolarhyde was watching the media as much as he was trying to watch the FBI. If time hadn’t been a rapid pulse bulging right beneath his eye, Will would have stopped to read them, glean over the first one in particular –thirty-two dead? Will Graham Killing Spree?

           Another time; some time when Dolarhyde wasn’t hunting through the house to see who lurked outside of his door at 3:30 in the morning.

           The back door was quickly unlocked, and he was rushing down the steps before he had time to really consider his actions, before he could wonder just what was going to happen when he was caught.

           Fingers fumbled over a phone number he’d come to memorize over the years, a failsafe to him in times of need or duress. He hadn’t had occasion to use it in six years, normal as things had seemed, but he used it now, running across the back lawn to the safety of the shadows of trees. The air was cold, wet. Cicadas screamed for their lives.

           He didn’t answer the first two times, and Will let out a hiss of impatient air as he dialed it again. If he’d risked his live, if he’d risked his fucking life just for the bastard to ignore his call…

           “Crawford here,” Jack said tiredly.

           Relief seared him, a pleasant burn that made his legs give, and Will pressed his back to the tree, a sob managing to rip past his lips.

           “Jack…Jesus, you finally picked up.” Will let out a sharp, aggravated breath of air as he hunched down, cradling the phone close to his face like the lifeline that it was. “Jack…it’s Will.”

-

           “Cold as shit out here,” Duncan commented.

           Earl swirled his spit around in his mouth before he spat it on the ground before them. Their rocking chairs creaked out of time, and the autumn breeze sent the wind chimes to clacking and smacking together in a horrendous cacophony. Late evening, and the crickets yowled.

           “Hate them wind chimes,” Earl muttered. “Debbie likes them.”

           Duncan grunted. “Debbie likes being a pain in my ass.”

           “Yeah,” Earl said with a snort.

           “Yeah.”

           They stared out at the road, the distant sound of semi-trucks roaring by on the interstate their only companion. It was quiet in Telefar County, peaceful. Sunsets were mighty nice.

           Cold as shit, though.

           “She gonna make us come out here every time we chew?” Duncan asked.

           “Says she wants her house ‘to be a fuckin’ home’.”

           “I’ll show her a fuckin’ home. God damned forty-five fuckin’ degrees out here.”

           “She’ll slap you with the barrel of that shotgun in there, that’s what she’ll do,” Earl replied. “Did it to her brother just the other night, came home drunk and shouting.”

           “No shit?”

           “Slapped him with the barrel of that sum’bitch, tossed him outside to sleep out here.”

           “All ‘cause she found those church folks,” Duncan muttered. “God damn pastor coming around every other weekday. ‘Askin me, when I’m gonna get my ass to the pews? Bein’ a veteran an’ all, when’s my ass gonna warm a pew?” He sent a decisive wad of spit out onto the dirt; a complimentary response to a ridiculous notion as a Sunday morning sermon. “I serve my God’n my country, ‘n I figure I find God in more holier places than a church. Get my spir’tual en-light-ment from the forest, see.”

           Earl hummed in agreement. “More’n one way to skin a cat. More’n one way to love a God.”

           “Got damn eight AM service, wantin’ me to slap my ass on a cold pew,” Duncan continued. When he got on a roll, it was hard to deter him. “Cold as shit pew.”

           “Better them church folks than those god damn psychos running up and down the east coast,” Earl said. He watched his old dog, Mutt, lazily crawl out from under the house in order to plop himself properly at his master’s feet. He nudged him with his boot, rubbed the dog’s side with the heel of it. His tongue lolled as his tail whapped against the wood.

           “Saw that,” Duncan said with a sneer. “Bunch of crazies with their panties in a damn knot, stealin’ them doctors and killing cops.”

           Earl spat on the ground. “God damn cop killers.”

           “Death penalty for cop killers is what I’m saying,” Duncan pressed. “That’s all I’m sayin’, they won’t stop killing if they think they’ll just get a slap on the wrist. They’ll just keep killin’ cops, and I heard that doctor was a nice fellow; testified on account of his finding one of those agents and all. Saved his life since he got stuck with a knife.”

           Earl was stopped from sharing his own opinion on the fate of cop killers when a car pulled up in their yard and eased to a stop. It was a fancy sort of thing, black with chrome accents and tinted windows. The man that climbed out of it looked the real city sort; slicked back hair, leather dress shoes, and a blazer of all the god damn things.

           “Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted.

           Earl and Duncan shared a look. Duncan spat on the ground, and Earl rocked in his rocking chair.

           “It’s a nice night, isn’t it?” the man pressed.

           “Cold as shit,” Duncan grunted. “Forty-five fuckin’ degrees.”

           “It is chilly.”

           Silence. The car idled, and Earl wondered what sort of year it was. 2015? 2017? His cousin had a really nice Subaru, 2015 with a decent paint job.

           Duncan didn’t have such curiosities. “You lost there, boy?”

           “I am a bit turned around, yes,” the man said with an awkward laugh. “Would you mind giving me directions?”

           “You ain’t from around here, are yeh,” Earl noted.

           “No, sir, I’m not.”

           “What’s a boy like you doing out here? Where you headed?”

           “It’s a bit personal –I hope you understand.”

           Duncan and Earl exchanged looks, and Duncan snickered. Earl absently spit another wad out into the yard.

           “Oh, I understand just fine,” Duncan assured him.

           Silence once more. The man shifted, unsure of himself. Mutt huffed a breath and lifted his head, only now just recognizing a stranger in the yard. He peered up at Earl, as if silently questioning if he should do something about it.

           “Oh, you see it now, do you, Mutt?” Earl grunted. He nudged the dog affectionately and swirled the chew around in his mouth. Tasted like ass, but he’d eat his leg rather than give it up.

           “Really, gentlemen, if I could just-”

           “We don’t take kindly to strangers just hustlin’ along and getting right in our business, see?” Duncan said. He stood up and adjusted his pants, hitching them up at his hips. “So you just get along now and go buy one of them maps at a gas station like all the other folks do when they get lost down here.”

           “Damn Yankees,” Earl muttered in agreement.

           The man was dumbfounded, and he looked between the two of them with the same kind of expression Debbie had when she went to throw a cup away and splashed chew all over her arm. She hadn’t realized it was his chewing cup ‘till that moment, but god almighty he’d never heard the end of it. Now, he was stuck outside in the cold-as-shit weather when he wanted a chew.

The stranger’s eyes bugged for a moment, and he let out a laugh, incredulous as all get out.

           “You’re serious.”

           “As serious as sin, boy,” Earl said. “Got all them crazies runnin’ around our state, fuckin’ things up and makin’ us get some bad publicity. Last thing we need’s a Yankee boy comin’ down here, huntin’ and gettin’ lost and comin’ after our women.”

           “I’m here on business, it’s simply that-”

           “Telefar County business is our business, see,” Duncan interjected. “And since you’re inclined to your secrets, we’ll be inclined to ours. Secrets like directions, see?”

           Silence again.

           Earl squinted a bit at him, and when the stranger didn’t immediately move to leave, he stood up and went shoulder to shoulder with Duncan, giving him his most impressive stare down. It was a damn good one, all things considered. Farm work and ranch work had left him leathered, sun-beaten and wrinkled. Debbie still liked him, though, when she’d had one shot too many. She said he was a pretty as a newborn babe.

           Now that all those bible thumpers got her roped into weekly church, she didn’t drink no more. Probably didn’t think he was a pretty newborn babe, neither. God damn bible thumpers.

           “I’ll…be going, then,” the man said. He inched back towards his car.

           “That’s the best idea I’ve heard today, Earl.”

           “A damn fine idea, Duncan.”

           They stayed standing until the man peeled out from the yard, fast enough that it kicked rocks.

           They were just sitting down once more when another car pulled up, far less fancy and with a great deal more sputtering and general noise-making.

           “God damn, we’re popular tonight,” Duncan grunted.

           Earl fished about for another wad of chew, then tucked it into his lip. “Damn popular.”

           It wasn’t another Yankee –if it was, they were a decent sort. A pretty lady with wild red hair and the most darling baby blue eyes Earl had ever seen made her way over. She’d turned the car off and tucked the keys into her jacket pocket. Sensible shoes and a camo coat, like she knew how the hell to dress for the elements. Earl liked her infinitely better.

           “I’m sorry to bother you,” she began. The closer she got, Earl was able to see red-rimmed eyes and a trembling mouth.

           “You okay, sweetheart?” Duncan asked.

           “No, I’m…I’m not at all. I’m in desperate need of help, you see.” She fiddled with a handkerchief in hand, and she stifled a sob as her knees tried to buckle on her. At the sight of tears, that did it. Earl was down the steps and leading her up them before he could think of a reason why not to. She was seated in his rocking chair, and after several prompts to Earl, a sweet tea from the fridge was produced.

           “Now, now take it easy, little lady, what’s wrong? Someone get you bad? In some trouble?” Duncan asked. The woman fiddled with the glass and took a sip, casting them a grateful glance. Tears rimmed her eyes, although she fought to keep them back. A strong type.

           “I’m…trying to find my husband, you see,” she said. “I think he’s run off with another woman.”

           “What a got-damn, worthless-”

           “Duncan,” Earl chastised. It wasn’t right to cuss near a lady.

           “Sorry, miss, I just…if he’s left you, why are you going after him?” Duncan scratched his neck where the beginnings of a beard were growing. “Why you want him when, no offenses out here, but he clearly ain’t wantin’ you?”

           She looked up from her glass, and there was fire in her eyes. “So I can beat the sense into him, then out of him, that’s why,” she snarled.

           Earl decided he liked this gal. A sensitive sort that didn’t take shit from no one.

           “Well, we don’t get a lot of people out around here.”

           “I’ve been following him, and I think he passed this way. If I showed you a photo, could you confirm it?”

           “If we’ve seen him, we’ll tell you,” Earl promised.

           And damn, when she pulled out her phone and showed them a picture of that guy they’d just been shooing off their property, it just made Earl’s heart swell a bit. He looked over her head at Duncan, and Duncan looked back.

           “Yeah, sweetheart,” Duncan said with a grin, “yeah, we seen him.”

-

           “Have you ever thought about killing someone, Dr. Lecter?” Will asked.

           He sometimes loved asking questions like that, mostly because of how Dr. Lecter took his time answering. He always gave Will’s question consideration due their seriousness. No matter how odd, off-the-wall, or obscene, he took his time answering. On nights when Will woke up with remnants of his night terrors clinging to his eyes, he needed to know that someone else out there felt that way, too.

           “We all have,” he said after a moment. “Although, I’d suppose you’ve given it a lot of thought lately?”

           “I keep dreaming of killing people,” Will murmured. “I keep…dreaming that I have this…insatiable hunger. That no matter how much I kill, I will always want more.”

           “Have you given your father a lot of thought lately?”

           Will nodded, standing up to pace. He often paced in Lecter’s office, and he liked to think of himself as remarkably familiar with the whorls and dips of his wooden floor. Sometimes the words got stuck, but Dr. Lecter seemed to hear them all the same.

           “Is there some form of aggression to your dreams? In the manner in which you take a life?”

           “My heartbeat feels calm…steady. It doesn’t race until I wake and think back on what I saw.”

           Will paused beside the ladder that led up to a wraparound second story, and he dragged his fingers along the grips of a step. In each groove of the wood, he imagined blood flowing like obscene rivulets, staining everything in its wake. He imagined what his hands had felt like, choking the life from the faceless victim in his nightmares, and he slumped against the ladder, rubbing his eyes to erase the remnants that felt like something much akin to a real memory.

           “In your dreams, death is a release. You’ve honed in on your talents, so much so that your heart no longer betrays adrenaline and gives way to mistakes.”

           “Do you have dreams like that?” Will asked, looking up. Poised in his chair as he was, Dr. Lecter tilted his head slightly to the side.

           “Are you seeking the feeling of normalization through familiarity?”

           “I’m wondering if I should check myself into a psychiatric ward,” Will retorted sharply.

           Dr. Lecter stood, and he crossed the distance between them at a leisurely pace. Will tracked his movements, hands lowering to his sides, and when Dr. Lecter dipped down to meet his eyes, he cringed back into the ladder, the closeness stifling and mildly off-putting.

           Dr. Lecter didn’t move back to give him space. He remained close, crowding him as he tilted his head one way, then the other; His eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed down. That close, Will could smell his cologne that blended nicely with his aftershave, and he gulped a breath of it down before his shoulders relaxed slowly, centimeter by centimeter. Silence sat muffled around them, and just outside of the window, the screech of a weed-whacker grated.

           “Apart from your general aversion to eyes, I see no glazed expression or feverish stare,” Dr. Lecter noted lightly. “Your pulse is strong in your neck, and your knees aren’t weak. You aren’t running a temperature that I can see, and you haven’t mentioned lapses of time.”

           “Wh-Why?” Will asked. Dr. Lecter didn’t step back to give him air. Will gulped down another mouthful of his cologne, and his eyes flickered up to meet a mildly amused gaze. After a shaky exhale, he looked away.

           “You wondered if you should check yourself into a psychiatric ward,” he murmured. That close, Will could track the beat of his pulse at his throat. He stared at it, the even timing of it having a mildly calming effect on his nerves. “You give no indications of a split personality, nor any illness that would cause loss of memory or lapses in time.”

           “I haven’t lost time.”

           “Have you woken in any location other than your bed?”

           “…No?”

           Hannibal smiled briefly, a faint flash of canines. “Then you’re fine, Will. Dreams reflect some aspect of ourselves, but all that this tells me is that you’re particularly stressed, and it’s manifesting in your dreams. You’ve thought often of your father recently, and the only form of control over death one can have is if they are the one to cause it, therefore; it seems to me that your fantasies of a calm, stillness to your killing is that this is the only thing your mind feels that it can control. Life, with all of inability to be predicted, is made safe and normalized with your ability to still your heart when taking a life. Better to take than to have taken.”

           Will looked up to his eyes once more, and he nodded curtly, once. Relief was a slow trickle, but it was warm, and Dr. Lecter’s answering smile as he finally backed away and let Will breathe stayed sweet in the back of his throat.

           “…That’s a relief,” he said after a beat, straightening. The ladder shifted behind him, and he pushed away from it to continue his previous pacing. “I don’t know how I’d fare in court.”

           “If it turned out that you’d killed someone?”

           “Yeah. I don’t know the statistics for a solid defense in regards to someone claiming an alternate personality, but I’d assume that the jury wouldn’t buy that so easily.”

           Hannibal laughed, a warm and low sound. “You know the statistics for soulmates in court, though.”

           Will let out a derisive snort.

           “You scoff at it?”

           “Someone…claiming that because of their soulmate, they were driven to violence is about the shittiest excuse I can think of,” Will explained. “Soulmates aren’t the end-all. They may prompt, they may entice, and they may twist your thoughts and chemicals up a bit, but you don’t lose your mind. To say that a soulmate was the cause of any actions done by a person would be like saying that they’d put a gun to your head.”

           “You’d be especially critical of a person with a half-connection, then,” Hannibal observed.

           “There is no chemical compulsion at that point. The justice system is especially skewed in regards to soulmates, but I don’t buy it. At all.”

           ‘Woe be to the fool that stands before you in trial.”

           Will sat down across from him once more, and the smile given was crooked at best. “I’m no judge…nor am I the jury or the executioner. If I’m lucky, I’ll never even have to walk into a court room so long as I live.”

A wonderful thanks to all of my patrons: @hanfangrahamk @matildaparacosm @starlit-catastrophe @frostyleegraham @sylarana @frostylicker Duhaunt6 and Superlurk!

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds S06E21 “The Stranger” review - or more aptly named, funny and twisted in the same episode? Hells yes, we’re back on track XD I love this!

Episode 21 – The Stranger

Hey everyone! So last time was uberly weird, and depressing and emotional ... I need a reprieve, so let’s hope this has slightly more humoristic scenes with my three faves (Derek, Spence and Penelope) and more Rossi sarcasm, because I need it direly.

Let’s see what happens.

“Unnecessary. There’s too much blood and gore and ew.”

And that is why me and her are so perfect for each other.

“Garcia, it’s a slasher film. How do you do a slasher film without violence?”

“You imply it.”

XD

“Baby the movie is called Slice 6. What were you expecting?”

“A refreshing beverage with a twist of comedy.”

“I’m gonna have nightmares for a week.”

“With everything that we do and see on a daily basis, that got to you?”

“Listen, newb, you may be all Sigourney Weaver ass-kicking tough, which is awesome, but the mystical mavens of innocence like myself jump at things that go bump in the night.”

So I don’t need to even comment on this, because the dialogue does it for me XD

“Why are you worried? I’m sure that Morgan will protect you.”

“As long as he’s not jumping out of his chair like a prepubescent schoolgirl.”

WHAT?!

“The only reason I jumped is ‘cause you guys woke me up.”

“How could you sleep during that?”

“Easy. You drag me out after a 12-hour workday … for what?”

“You telling me that girl didn’t know the unsub was waiting for her upstairs?”

“Come on.”

Oh my tough puppy.

“Villain.”

“What?”

“In movies, unsubs are called villains.”

“My bad.”

I LOVE THIS SHOW SO FUCKING MUCH!

“Still, it’s totally unrealistic. No one should be walking through ha dark alley by themselves at night.”

“Ahem, hello.”

“Ah. No one should be walking through a dark alley without a Derek Morgan by their side.”

Oh lordy, this show is awesome.

“What we didn’t see coming is the Slicer’s brother was in the closet.”

“Frightening.”

Ah, the sarcastic Rossi.

“He betrayal consumed him and he sent his brother to his own private hell.”

Oh my god, just look at him so happily describing a horror movie. I balk at those.

“Speaking of horror …”

“What’s Strauss doing here?”

“Whatever it is, I cast my vote on ‘no good’.”

I love my goddess XD

“I left them on your desk last night.”

“This really isn’t the time for another evaluation.”

So Strauss is being the regular bitch and trying to get Aaron to do an evaluation on himself? And to have everyone take it again? I’m going to smack this bitch.

So three girls in college, who look eerily alike, were murdered ... yikes.

“As it stands right now, I’m coming up empty.”

“Their apartments were spread throughout the city, so … no fingerprints at the crime scene.”

“The unsub uses gloves.”

“He’s organized.”

“Forced entry at all the apartments. Back door, patio door, living room window.”

“The homes were wrecked.”

“Clear evidence of a struggle.”

“He’s creating a scene.”

“He wants to inflict fear not only in his victim but in whomever finds the body.”

“Could be a message to the local PD. ‘Look what I can do’.”

“He’s killed three women in under a week. San Diego PD wants us on the scene as soon as possible.”

Stephen King: “Sometimes human places create inhuman monsters.”

Dang, Mr. King, just dang.

“Our unsubs has a type and a temper.”

Yeah, he’s angry at brunettes. Seriously creepy (I’m brunette :O)

“Amber was getting ready for her bath. It would have been an easy target for a sexual assault, but none came.”

“That’s highly unusual for this kind of unsub.”

“You know, extreme violence in physical aggression is in its nature sexual.”

Again with the hot people talking about sex.

“That’s true, but as a substitution for the sex act.”

“This guy could be impotent. He can’t perform, so that’s why he goes all out for the kill.”

Again with the sweet ‘innocent’ people talking about sex.

“If he’s targeting female college students, we need to make sure that campus officials are informed if they haven’t been already.”

“We also can’t rule out other students and faculty.”

Insert Reid’s immense knowledge about San Diego college layout ... that’s a lot.

“Each girl lived off-campus and was attacked in their apartment.”

“That’s pretty high-risk.”

“Less risky if he’s stalking them in advance, running layouts and routines.”

“Between classes and part-time jobs, they’d be home sporadically at best.”

“Which tells us they’re not victims of opportunity. He targets them, then stalks them to know where they live and when they’re gonna be home.”

“Morgan, you and Reid go to the last victim’s apartment. Seaver, interview the roommate. Dave and I will go to the medical examiner’s.”

“Well, there’s no secure parking.”

“I rode a bike when I was in college.”

“That’s ‘cause you weren’t old enough to drive, Einstein.”

Oh my god, the Reid-Morgan bromance teasing is back. I love those two so fucking much.

“I could drive. It’s just the government wouldn’t issue me a license until I was fourteen.”

Oh, schooled!

“A lot of places for the unsub to hide out here.”

“Yeah, he could have easily grabbed her when she passed through here.”

“Yet she made it all the way to her apartment.”

“Where she should feel safe, but then he took that from her.”

“The number of stab wounds increases with each victim, yes?”

“Did the strike indicate any medical knowledge on the part of the unsub?”

“He hadn’t built his confidence yet.”

“He’s improving quickly.”

“He made the struggle last longer because he wanted her to suffer.”

“So now he’s starting to enjoy it.”

And I’m about to upchuck the strawberries and banana

“I’m Agent Derek Morgan. This is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“He jimmied the lock on the window.”

“I guess he needed the privacy to complete the torture.”

“Well, most sadists like to kill on their own turf. This guy didn’t risk taking her to a secondary location.”

“Maybe something happened which makes the location of the kill significant. Look.”

“That’s something new.”

What is?

“He’s smearing the blood on the walls, exhibiting more control and rage over his victims, taking pleasure in the kill.”

Ew!

“It looks like he’s taking his anger out on women who represent someone he knows.”

“Yeah, like Edmund Kemper. He most likely can’t confront his true target yet, so he’s going after women who look like her until he can build up the confidence to complete his endgame.”

“So she wasn’t into the college scene.”

“Academically or for money?”

“Do you know where she heard about the part-time work?”

Craigslist ... yikes.

“The first victim, Monica Shanley’s, BFF reported that they were talking on the phone and hung up just before Monice stepped inside her apartment.”

“What does that get us?”

Phone time with the sexy goddess?

“Well, some neighbors heard loud screaming coming from Monica’s apartment at 11:12 pm.”

“At 11:15 they called 911.”

“11:26 cops arrived.”

“He’s able to strike, kill, and get out in less than 14 minutes?”

That’s one fast sicko.

“How’d it go?”

“According to her roommate, Amber worked odd jobs to make ends meet.”

“Could be where she met with the unsub. Garcia, get us a list of jobs that Amber worked the last few months, and look for personal checks she might have deposited as under-the-table payments.”

Oh, you smart Italian stallion.

“Copy that.”

“The unsub stalks his victims. He knows their routine.”

“He could attack them anytime they’re alone, even in their cars, but he chooses to attack them in their homes.”

“And waits for them to bolt the doors before he strikes.”

“He wants them to feel safe before he takes that away from them.”

“It’s about making them feel powerless in their own personal space.”

“So it’s physical and psychological torture.”

No shit.

So he killed a babysitter. Yikes. Poor baby.

“We profiled that he gets off by striking inside the victims’ homes. Why did he kill her here?”

“That’s a big change in MO.”

“Maybe Laurie had a roommate, so the unsub figured he’d have more time on the job.”

“Did he hurt the child?”

Thankfully, no.

“I’ll talk to them. You two go in.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, I’m David Rossi with the FBI. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“And how did you meet her?”

Again with the fucking Craigslist.

“How many people did you interview?”

“Did she talk about any boyfriends or say anything that may have raised an alarm?”

“And how long ago was that?”

So she had a boyfriend up till a month ago. Yikes.

“With an infant in the room, Laurie would have been at her most vulnerable.”

“Look at this.”

“He felt compelled to organize the supplies.”

“Look.”

Now, if it weren’t for the blood, I would have so many images of Daddy!Derek.

“Do you think the unsub fed the kid?”

“Then he stabs Laurie, so the kid probably starts crying.”

“Maybe he gave the kid the bottle in order to keep him quiet.”

“We might be looking for someone with a deep-rooted abandonment issue.”

“One who identifies with the child.”

“Or maybe the baby crying interfered with his enjoyment of watching the babysitter bleed out?”

“Well, either way, caring for the child would be psychological torture for Laurie.”

“Reid. Look at that.”

“She’s got several missed calls and a few texts from social networking sites.”

“‘What’s with the photo? Halloween isn’t for months’.”

“Speak, boy wonder, behold my might.”

XD

“Garcia, the latest victim Laurie Burgin was writing something on the internet last night. Can you figure out what it was?”

“Yeah. I was just tweeting myself. Uno momento.”

She tweets? Damn. I love this woman.

“Oh, God. Reid.”

“She managed to take a picture of the unsub before she died.”

Oh shit.

“Can’t really make it out.”

“I can tell you more. Laurie’s account was active two hours after that photo was posted.”

“And continued posting status updates after she died.”

Shit. That dude is fucking sick.

“‘Feeling faint at heart.’”

“‘All alone and too scared to cry.’”

“All right, this isn’t good. He’s mocking his victims now.”

“He sat here tweeting while Laurie bled to death.”

“All right, baby girl, listen. I need you to go through Laurie’s accounts. See who was following her and see who was messaging back.”

“On it.”

“All right, let’s get out of here, let’s get back to Hotch.”

“We got a photo and we got a profile.”

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“We’re looking for a while male in his early 20s.”

“And because he’s stalking his victims, we believe that he either works out of his house or a part-time job.”

“This unsub strikes in the home rather than the outside where he could more easily abduct his victims.”

“Now, this tells us that his social skills are most likely lacking and he may not have the confidence to talk to women.”

“His confidence with killing, however, is growing. He’s gone from hesitant strikes in the victim’s home to painting the walls with blood.”

“Our unsub is developing a taste for the kill. And his victims share similar features and backgrounds.”

“And we believe that they represent someone whom the unsub thinks has wronged him and he’s taking out his rage on them.”

“Because the unsub shows signs of one neat aspect and started killing suddenly and effectively with no break, we believe he was recently incarcerated or institutionalized.”

“Look at men who got out a month or so ago. Their records will show a history of violence, anger toward women and/or symbols of authority.”

“We need to warn all young women to be hypervigilant, especially in their online acquaintances, but also with service workers, maintenance staff, and deliverymen.”

Hey! Assholes, don’t make fun of my superheroes!

“No, but tell them to double-check IDs, call dispatch before they let anybody inside.”“Panic is inevitable, but we still need to keep everyone informed. Uniformed officers are posting warnings across campuses.”

“Now, since the Jenkins family found Laurie online, we believe the unsub may be using similar methods …”

“Profiles, job postings, anything that gives a little too much information that the unsub could use to hunt his victims.”

“And time’s not on our side. We think that he’s already got his next victim in his sights.”

“The account tracks back to an email address he created yesterday morning, IP address leads to a public terminal. That’s where the trail ends.”

“What about the Jenkins house?”

“He was tweeting with her prior to the assault.”

“The unsub hacked into the Jenkins’ Wi-Fi network.”

“Pretty smart for a guy who’s been locked up.”

“Yeah, he has gotten good at covering his tracks. How are you doing on a list of criminal records and releases?”

“Oh, right, that. Okay. I searched local college students, which is a lot, and I’m a masochist, so I went ahead and included military personnel because San Diego has a big naval and marine presence.”

“Combine those with those two pools and he’s swimming in criminal infractions.”

“All right, filter out sexual assault and lewd behavior.”

“Filtering at the speed of light, sir.”

Someone give her writers all the awards.

“And what about background financials on the victims? Is there any evidence of jobs being performed under the table?”

“Actually, in all cases there were personal checks deposited from several accounts, most under $100.”

So babysitting isn’t that financially beneficial.

“All right, send a list of account holders, and, Seaver, when you get them, start making phone calls.”

“What am I looking for?”

Another brain? Because you’re looking at babysitters, activate those neurons.

“Any victims who might have worked as babysitters.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shit. Fucking Strauss is sticking her nose in everything. Fuck.

“We’ve delivered the profile and the locals are canvassing the area. Did you call for a field update?”

“How’s that?”

Wait. So now he has to run an assessment on himself? Isn’t that against protocol?

“My orders were to assess the team.”

“Is that an order?”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, we’ve got four women dead and we’ll probably have another one by the morning.”

“She’s relentless.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Did he get another babysitter?”

You bet your ass he did.

“Who’s that?”

“They were locked in here all night?”

“I’ll meet you guys inside.”

So he locked the mom and the baby in the beddroom while he killed the babysitter and daddy? Fuck.

And now he’s just the cutest little puppy thing ever comforting that lady and being the most amazing hunky thing ever.

“Hello, Amy. My name’s Derek Morgan. I’m with the FBI. I understand you’ve been through a great ordeal. I’d just like to ask you a few questions if that’s okay.”

Oh my cutie polite puppy.

“Did you happen to see the man who came in your home?”

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

“Did you hear anything while you were locked inside?”

“Jake suffered multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. The sitter, Lily, got the brunt of it.”

“She could be the one he’s been after all along.”

Wasn’t that the whole point of this? He hates brunette babysitters?

“I don’t know. This guy’s meticulous. He plans everything out.”

“Then why didn’t he know the Ellisons were returning?”

“I think he did. I mean, the unsub was watching the house. He knew that they came home, but he just didn’t care. He adapted.”

“He went after the biggest threat first. He eliminated Jake in order to gain control over Lily and Amy.”

“There are two initial points of attack, one in the hallway outside the nursery and the other one here. Yet, both bodies ended up together.”

“Look at the way they’re posed, directly looking at each other.”

“He wanted them to watch each other die.”

“I think it’s more than that. This change in behavior could be the piece that we’re missing.”

“This guy knew the Ellisons were home, but he struck anyway. He could have taken out the entire family, but he chose to spare the mother and the child. Why?”

“With the Jenkins, the unsub actually fed the baby. Here, he spared the mother and locked her in a room with her son. It’s likely he’s protecting the children.”

“The addition of Jake Ellison caused the unsub to change his methodology.”

“For the first time he posed the bodies, and he’s also sexually violated one of the victims.”

“Okay, we have a father posed to look at a dying babysitter and a mother and child protected upstairs. That’s a pretty clear message.”

“Garcia, search for local women who died in their early 30s and they’re survived by a husband and at least one son. Go back 10-15 years. Cross that with new marriage licenses filled by surviving husbands.”

“The unsub’s always been troubled, Garcia, so look for youthful offenders who would have fit into the sociopathic triad.”

“Okay, I’ve got a few.”

“What about …”

“Here’s one. Greg Phinney, Chula Vista.”

“He was put into juvie when he was thirteen for … threatening his stepmom with a knife.”

“What do we know about the stepmother?”

“Kate Jones, aka the second Mrs. Phinney. Married Greg’s father a year after Greg’s mother was killed in a car accident. Greg was 11 at the time.”

“Mr. Phinney died four weeks ago.”

“Is there any evidence that Kate worked in the Phinney home before the mother’s death?”

“Oh, the plot solidifies. Kate cited additional income as caregiver on her tax returns when she was a college student. Payments trace back to the Phinneys.”

“Kate filed numerous reports against Greg for violent behavior, experimentation on animals. Greg’s father finally put the kibosh on things when he was seventeen, had him institutionalized.”

“Greg was released two weeks ago.”

“Just before the killings started.”

“Garcia,  where’s Greg Phinney now?”

“Yeah, that’s a good question. Oh, dear …”

What?

“Greg Phinney, FBI. Open the door!”

“He’s not in here.”

Captain Hot and OBvious.

“The bedroom’s clear.”

“Baby girl, can you tell me why Greg Phinney’s laptop has an employee login screen?”

“Well, lover, I have been doing some digging.”

“Did you know that he’s been working part-time as a data entry clerk at the San Diego Register?”

“If he was in an institution, where did he get the time to find a job?”

“Uh, he didn’t even have to look. This job is part of his work-release program. And twenty hours of internet privileges will go a long way.”

“That’s how he finds his victims. He browses the classifieds. Did he have access tos the customers’ personal information?”

“Oh, honey, he entered it.”

“That must be Kate Phinney.”

“Well, he’s obviously built up the confidence to confront her.”

“Garcia.’

“Reading your mind. Calling the others.”

I love those two.

“Greg’s not at home, so he’s probably already at Karen’s house.”

“Kate’s the object of his hostility. He’s gonna take his time.”

“Let’s light ‘em up. I’m sure he knows we’re coming.”

“Dave, take some uniforms and find the back door. I’m gonna try to get inside and talk to him.”

“You think that’s gonna work?”

“I don’t think Kate gets out of this any other way.”

Oh boy, what are they gonna do now?

“Greg Phinney, this is Agent Aaron Hotchner. I need to talk to you about your demands so you can let Kate go.”

So he’s a serial killer without demands? Well, that’s weird.

Wait. He’s blaming Kate in all of this? Why?

“What has she done?”

“Greg, I think this has more to do with your dad than it is about Kate.”

“Your dad put you away.”

“Greg, I need to ask you a very important question. Do you want to live?”

Well, that’s seriously worrying.

“I think you do. And if so, you need to let me in the house. Otherwise I can’t guarantee that you’re gonna walk out of there.”

“Seaver, I want you to come in with me. Leave your firearm here.”

“Be compassionate and sympathetic to him. Let him tell you how Kate betrayed him and how much you understand his devastation.”

Heh, he’s pissed he brought in Seaver. But he can smooth his way into anything, can’t you, Hotch?

“I know, but I thought if we talked inside we could work this out ourselves.”

“No guns.”

No guns? Have you lost your marbles?

“As long as you’ve got a gun, if one of the agents outside has a clear shot, he’ll take it.”

Sneaky Rossi.

“I don’t have a line of sight.”

“Tell me what you want Greg.”

“Don’t you really want Kate to apologize for making your dad forget your mom?”

“Unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘I’m sorry’, I don’t want to hear anything else from you.”

WHOA!

“I understand, Greg. I do.”

“She took care of you. You trusted her. And then she betrayed you as soon as your mother was gone.”

Spider-Rossi! (Flexibility and stuff)

“It must have crushed you when Kate married your dad.”

“How did it make you feel, Greg?”

“You felt betrayed, didn’t you, Greg?”

“Ask her the question, Greg. Go ahead. Ask her.”

Wait. So this whole fucking thing was about him being in love with his babysitter-turned-stepmom? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

No. Fucking. Way!

“Bring in backup.”

“No. I had to be aggressive towards you in order to gain Greg’s trust. None of this is your fault.”

Aw, that’s nice of you, b;ondie.

“Greg has always been troubled. Losing his mother and then his father made him even more unstable. Sometimes we do everything right and we still lose. Greg was a sociopath and there’s nothing you could have done to change that.”

“Good work, agent.”

“Hey. Nice job, kid.”

I love Rossi so fucking much!

Adrienne Rich: “Every journey into the past is complicated by delusions, false memories, false namings of real events.”

What the fuck does that even mean?

“Why, uh, why the interest in the well-being of my team?”

“What kind of concerns?”

“What’s going on?”

So Erin has problems and she needs to go away? Finally.

Heyo! So this episode had everything! Humor, sarecasm, banter, cutie patooties making me smile, and then that whole bit iwth the unsub being a total nutcase. Just what the Dr. Spencer Reid ordered XD I have faith in this show again XD

Alrighty, I gotta go finish up the reviews for this season and get cracking on seven (holy shit, where has time gone?)

Thank you so much for the ever-surprising support!

[hotchnerfuckmeup]

Gone Pt. 7

Previous parts

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

So I’ve been MIA for about a week now?  Idk how long it’s been, but I’m ready to get back into the groove of writing, I really need to.  Also side note: there are over 1,000 of you (!!!)  Thanks so much for following and continuing to enjoy my stories.  I feel so blessed to have every single on of you!

Thank you guys for your continuous love and support for this story.  Things are about to get angsty all over again (as if it wasn’t that way already), so get ready.  No warnings on this one.

Recap so I don’t have to put a previously on:  Scratch has revealed he’s been staking the Bureau and Hotch’s family.  After Aaron decided to spend time with the team, Y/N and JJ get kidnapped by Scratch.  He leaves them a taunting message after fleeing on the jet.

Tags (if you’d like to be added/removed, let me know): @sapphire1727 @zugzwangcm-comment-account @louisespecter @innocent-reid @fandomsunitedtogetherforever @dramaticlove @sodonutnut

Masterlist

“Tell me you can track it,” he asked Penelope desperately, watching her type away at the keyboard.

“I- I’m trying sir but it’s not coming up.  He must have cut off the signal,” she replied.  ‘Access Denied’ floated across the screen in white letters.  For the first time in a long time, the computer genius didn’t know what to do.  “Everything’s blocked, I can’t do anything.”  She sounded completely helpless.

“How is that possible?” Emily asked.  She looked across all the monitors in confusion.

“I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch,” Will said, pacing out the room.  Aaron followed.

“Will, we need to keep our heads on straight and think rationally about this.”

“My children need their mother-”

“So do mine,” Aaron interrupted him, but Will kept on.

“I need my wife.  I’m not gonna let that piece of shit get away with this and I can’t sit here not doing anything.”  He was almost to the front door of the bullpen when Aaron called out to him again.

“Where are you going to go?”

Will stopped in his tracks, his hand halting as it reached the door.  It wasn’t a bad question.  He didn’t know where they were, and Penelope would take a really long time figuring it out from the looks of it.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but all we can do is wait.  Whether we wait for him to call us again, or until Garcia can find them.  But that’s what it’s going to take, and I can’t let you go out there because if you don’t make it back alive, there’s a chance that JJ might not either.  I know you don’t want that,” Aaron finished, saying everything not only for Will but himself too.  Will’s hand fell limply to sides, signifying his defeat.  “You can’t leave your kids, Will.  They will always need their mother, but right now, they need their father more than anything.”

Will looked over to Michael and Henry, a single tear falling from his eye.

“If you want to think keeping anyone safe, then think about them.  Don’t do anything you’ll come to regret.”

“Daddy?” Henry said quietly, looking up at his father.  Tara gently pushed him towards Will while holding Michael on her hip.

“It’s okay buddy,” Will said, kneeling down while Henry ran up into his arms.  “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Aaron took the chance too look over at his own children.  AJ was in Spencer’s grasp, clinging to the genius as he looked at his father.  Jack was holding onto his little brother’s tiny hand while looking sadly at his father.

Seeing his family two down was enough to make him break, a silent tear rolling down his cheek.  It just felt like the world was slowly crumbling beneath him and the worst part was that there wasn’t anything he could do about it.  He just had to wait for Scratch to make a move.  

And that was the worst part about it: the waiting.

Her head hung limply towards the ground, but she was regaining her consciousness. 

Rolling her head, she felt an ache in her neck and winced at the pain.  Finally opening her eyes, Y/N found herself tied to a chair.  There were bandages covering her torso, dried blood all over from the gunshot wound from earlier.

Wait.

How much earlier?

She looked around, unsure of how long she’d been out.  The band aid on her arm was a sign he’d sedated her.  She was in some kind of basement, a staircase at the back of the cold room.  What day was it?  Where was she?

Then she saw JJ across the room, her body drooping in the chair she was attached to.  Y/N attempted to move her arms, but she was so tightly bound that it was no use. 

“JJ,” she whisper-shouted.  The blond remained still, showing no signs of life.  Y/N wiggled in her seat, trying to move the chair completely but ultimately failing when she looked down to see it was nailed to the floor.  There was no escaping.

“Y/N?” a distant voice said.  She recognized it.

“Aaron?” she said loudly.  The sound of her boyfriend’s voice was enough to make her want to scream.

“Y/N?” he said again.

“Aaron!  We’re down here!!” she shouted, her hoarse voice carrying throughout the room.

“There you are,” Aaron’s voice said.  The door at the top of the stairs opened, but whoever was waiting at the top step didn’t move.

“I knew I’d find you in here.  You love to bake.”  Aaron’s voice was unusually happy.  It showed no signs of worry of anger.  But then, she recognized the conversation.

“Jack, tell your father what we made.”

Tears began to fall from her eyes as she sat in the chair, listening to her own voice.

“Cookies!” the child replied enthusiastically.  

She remembered the day Aaron came home to her and Jack in the kitchen, baking cookies for his birthday.

Slowly, the man at the top of the stairs began to walk down, his steps heavy on each level.

“For me?” Aaron asked happily.  She remembered the way he looked at them with such adoration, like everything was right with the world.

“Happy birthday babe,” Y/N replied, giving him a kiss on the lips.  She remembered the hug the three of them shared, how happy and content they were.

And how they were together in that moment, thinking nothing would ever come in between them.

“Seem familiar?” he asked as he closed the laptop, stopping the playback of a recording.  

Y/N’s lips trembled.  He’d not only been stalking Jack.  He’d been stalking all of them.   He’d been watching them, recording their conversations and listening in on their private and intimate moments.

“I recall that being Hotchner’s birthday, correct?” he asked, a hellish grin spreading onto his face.  Sitting the laptop down, he slid a spare chair to face her.  He sat down calmly, smiling as he looked at her broken features.  “You know, I was always fascinated by you.  You managed to fall in love with a sap who is still in love with his ex wife.  That’s true love if I ever saw it.”

Y/N didn’t dare to speak, just sat looking at the man who managed to ruin the seemingly perfect life she had before.

“And you know what gets me the most?  It’s that little Aaron Jack Hotchner was so drawn to his father when he returned.  Man, that was the icing on top of the perfect cake.  Beautiful.  Just...  You’re family’s beautiful, Y/N.”

She resisted answering his taunts, managing desperately to not let it get to her.

“It’s a shame, though.  Seeing such a perfect thing fall apart.”

Her eyes continued to leak.  Instinctively, she looked behind him at JJ.  His eyes followed her line of vision, turning his head to look at the unconscious, restrained agent.

“Oh yeah, her.  Don’t worry, she’s not dead or anything.  She’ll be out for a little longer.  I wanted to have a one on one with you before she woke up.  I know how loud she can be.  She’s deceiving like that.  She’s so tiny and innocent looking, you’d never know she could put your lights out in the matter of seconds.  That’s why I decided why not take her, too, you know?  Eliminate the strongest before we get to the weaker ones.”

“If you hurt her I swear-”

“She speaks!” he shouted with a large grin.  “Man, it’s nice to hear your voice right in front of me for a change rather than through an earpiece.”

Y/N continued to tremble, a mixture of scared and angry and creeped out.

“I guess I better get going before tiny but deadly over there wakes up.  She’s not someone I want yelling at me.”

With that he stood up and walked up the stairs, his laptop in his hand.

“Be good now, maybe I’ll consider letting Aaron seeing you one last time before I kill him.”

He shut the door behind him with a slam.

It had been eleven hours since his conversation with Scratch, and he didn’t know where he felt safe anymore.

The only place he could think to go was David’s.  The whole team decided it was best to stay together, so they took turns watching out the windows, hovering by the phone and keeping tabs on the computers in case anything useful came up.

But all they could do was wait.

Aaron watched carefully out the window, scanning every car that went by with harsh eyes.

“Why don’t you go tuck your boys into bed, Aaron?” David said, walking up behind him.  Aaron turned to look at the agent, his scared expression still engraved onto his face.  “Like you told Will, they need their father right now.  Go.”

Aaron nodded once, a silent thank you escaping his lips.  He walked away from the window he’d been standing at for the last three hours and made his way towards the stairs, only glancing for a second at Penelope and Kevin typing away at the laptops they’d sat up.  Emily was at the front door, watching out the window.  Spencer was on the couch, taking a nap while Luke was watching out the kitchen window in his place.  Tara was by the phone, pacing slowly in front of it.

He walked up the stairs towards the room that AJ and Jack were in with Stephen, walking right past Will’s room where he and his boys were.

“I admire your determination, Jack,” Stephen said quietly.  “I think you would make a great FBI agent when you frow up.”

The child smiled widely.  “I want to be just like Dad,” he said, his voice quiet while his brother slept.

Aaron’s heart swelled at the sound of his son’s voice and the statement.

“You really look up to your father, don’t you?” Stephen asked with a smile.  Jack nodded.

“He’s my hero.”

Aaron walked into the room, causing Stephen to look back at him.  “I can watch them now.”

Stephen stood up with a nod.  “See you in the morning, kiddo,” he told Jack before turning to walk them out the door.

“Thank you,” Aaron told him quietly.

“You have a wonderful family, Agent Hotchner,” he replied with a sad smile.  Patting him on the shoulder, he walked towards the staircase.

“Hey, buddy,” Aaron said softly as he walked further into the room.  He kneeled by the bed his son was laying in, stroking his hair.

“Are you okay, Dad?” he asked, looking up at his father.  Aaron’d eyes leaked a few more tears as he nodded his head.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“Is AJ gonna be okay?” Jack asked, looking over at his sleeping baby brother.

“Nothing is going to happen to him.  We can make sure of that, can’t we?” he asked.  Jack nodded, watching his brother breathe.

Aaron pressed a kiss to Jack’s forehead watching him as he finally dozed off. 

He was going to keep them safe.  He just had to.

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/world/united-states-of-america/i-team-stalkers-hack-to-harass-victims-in-their-own-homes/

I-Team: Stalkers Hack to Harass Victims in Their Own Homes

What to Know

Domestic violence incidents — including murders — often begin with abusers stalking their victims

Law enforcement officials say harassers are increasingly using technology to get at their victims — tracking their every move

Smart home devices, even home security devices, can be weaponized to “cyberstalk,” they say

Domestic violence incidents — including murders — often begin with abusers stalking their victims.

Law enforcement officials say harassers are increasingly using technology to get at their victims — tracking their every move. Smart home devices, even home security devices, can be weaponized to “cyberstalk,” they say.

Ferial Nijem says she was abused by her ex for years. 

“My abuser was able to utilize our home technology to stalk and harass me even from thousands of miles away,” she said. 

Nijem said her ex had access to the home’s smart home technology like security cameras, lighting and sound systems.

“You’re asleep in the middle of the night, and all of a sudden over the sound system comes this blaring music that startles you awake. That’s what would happen to me,” she recalled.

Nijem said her ex was watching her come and go with the home security cameras. He would also send her text messages — threatening yet another sleepless night, she said.

“So every conversation, every step I took was monitored,” she said. “You’re literally being stalked and harassed within the confines of your home.”

At first, Nijem had no idea her ex still had access. When she finally had the courage to go to police, she says an officer eventually led her to a domestic violence counselor.

“I was forced into a shelter because of that situation and it was, you know, it was a decision that, it wasn’t an easy decision,” she said.

As for changing her password, Nijem says she was afraid, and that getting out of a stalking situation is not easy.

“When you’re in a… relationship that involves domestic violence, you don’t have those powers.  You don’t have that level of control. There are consequences to those type of actions,” she said. 

And her story is not an isolated one. “Thomas” asked that we shield his identity because he still fears being cyberstalked by his ex.

“He took over my entire online life… he took over my email, my social media accounts even my online banking,” he said.

Thomas says that after a bitter breakup — unbeknownst to him — he was being tracked.  He said his ex hacked his ride-sharing apps and often showed up at the same place he went out to time and again. Knowing a person’s location is key for a stalker.

“I later discovered that he was tracking my Uber rides, my Lyft rides. He knew where I was going, where I was coming from.”

And then, the worst — he said a hacked text message blast to his family and friends outed him as a gay man for the first time.

“I was put in a real jam — because of my conservative Christian upbringing my family had no idea. The mental abuse turned into the physical abuse. I was stressed out, I was tired, I was constantly anxious and you could see it.”

Experts said cyberstalking is on the rise. At Safe Horizons, a leading victim assistance organization, counselors said cyberstalking often leads to domestic violence.

“It’s more likely that a person who is stalked by an intimate partner is going to lead to physical violence and even lethality,” said Maureen Curtis who is vice president of criminal justice programs at Safe Horizon.

According to a January 2019 report by the New York City Mayor’s office, from 2013 to 2018, the NYPD made 3,507 stalking arrests. Sixty-four percent of those cases included domestic violence.

“When they look at homicides, they often see stalking and strangulation previously in that relationship,” Curtis said.

The head of the FBI Cyber Division in New York said the more devices like phones or homes systems, the more opportunity for a bad actor to take advantage.

“Anything that can be accessed via the internet for the most part is capable of being compromised,” Agent Ari Mahairas said.

Mahairas said with 5G’s faster processing speeds coming, many more devices —and potential vulnerabilities — lie ahead

“Each one of those devices represents a door or a window that can be opened if not locked securely…. In 2022, they’re estimating 30,000,000,000 devices that are connected.  That’s your smart refrigerator, your fitness band, wireless via autonomous vehicles, drones,” Mahairas said.

Mahairas says manufacturers and consumers need to improve cybersecurity.

“If [a device] allows you to implement two-factor authentications, do that as well, so what we begin to do is start building layers of security which is quite important.”

Nijem says that when smart home technology turns into a weapon, victims of cyberstalking may not make smart life decisions. For her, it took too long to seek help.

“Get the help to get yourself out of it and don’t have shame in that. There is nothing shameful about going through something like this.”

!function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version=’2.0′;n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,’script’,’//connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js’); fbq(‘init’, ‘505866882913758’); fbq(‘track’, “ViewContent”); fbq(‘track’, ‘PageView’);

var api_key = “78a56d51e7afc43291c00e9e6f73e0ad”; window.fbAsyncInit = function() FB.init( appId : ‘api_key’, // App ID version : ‘v2.6’, channelUrl : ‘//www.nbcnewyork.com/templates/channel.html’, // Channel File status : true, // check login status cookie : true, // enable cookies to allow the server to access the session xfbml : true // parse XFBML ); // Additional initialization code here ; // Load the SDK Asynchronously (function(d) var js, id = ‘facebook-jssdk’, ref = d.getElementsByTagName(‘script’)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(‘script’); js.id = id; js.async = true; js.src = “http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/sdk.js”; ref.parentNode.insertBefore(js, ref); (document));

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: Elizabeth Olsen does double duty in 'Wind River' and 'Ingrid Goes West'

  LA TIMES – Room 64 at the Chateau Marmont is possibly the most Instagrammable spot in L.A. Its wrap-around terrace is suspended just below the homes built into the Hollywood Hills, tiny glass boxes that form their own constellation when night falls. Rumor has it Howard Hughes once lived in this two-bedroom penthouse, spying on girls at the pool below, decades before Lindsay Lohan and Lady Gaga crashed here for a slumber party.

  Today, however, it is home to the actress Elizabeth Olsen, who has arrived at the hotel with a team of people to help beautify her. High-heeled sandals are lined up on a desk. There are multiple pieces of luggage containing makeup kits. She is wearing borrowed diamonds on her fingers, paging through the room service menu, from which she can order whatever she would like.

  It’s a scene, no doubt, that would incite lust among her half-a-million Instagram followers. But she doesn’t feel like she knows how to do the setting justice. Just this morning, she attempted to photograph her breakfast, but then ended up deleting the image in haste.

  “I’m bad at it,” she says. “I’m bad at the lighting. I’m bad at the framing. I’m bad at the editing. When I look at my food, it looks pretty. When I look at it on a phone, it looks not pretty.”

  This is not a problem that her character in “Ingrid Goes West” would have. In the dark comedy — one of two films the 28-year-old is starring in this August — Olsen plays Taylor Sloane, a social media influencer who has established a reputation as the quintessential California cool girl. She tools around in a vintage Mercedes, is perennially reading Joan Didion’s “The White Album” and spends her weekends at a Joshua Tree abode. When she photographs her breakfast — avocado toast, obvi — it always looks pretty.

  Matt Spicer, who directed the film, felt certain that Olsen could embody this kind of aspirational figure. Sure, he was a fan of her acting, but he’d also noticed how often she popped up on best-dressed lists. She also had proximity to the style world via her sisters, the twins Mary-Kate and Ashley, who run two of their own fashion lines.

  “She has a natural charm and likability to her, which isn’t something you can really teach,” he says. “She’s one of those girls that other girls look up to. Since we did the movie, I think I’ve gained 1,000 Instagram followers that are just Lizzie fan accounts.”

  And for the most part, it appears that those fans gravitate to Olsen due to who she is off-screen. Even though she’s been part of the hugely popular Marvel universe for two years — playing the reality-altering Scarlet Witch in “The Avengers” and “Captain America” films — most headlines about her still tend to relate to her style choices. A quick Google search of her name turns up five Daily Mail articles from July alone, nearly all centered on her clothing.

  But Olsen has been steadily building up a respectable film resume since emerging as an “it girl” at the Sundance Film Festival in 2011, where her performance in “Martha Marcy May Marlene” signaled the arrival of a formidable new young Hollywood talent. A couple years later, she completed her acting studies at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts and began taking roles in movies from bigger filmmakers, including Spike Lee (“Old Boy”) and Gareth Edwards (“Godzilla”).

  Then Marvel came calling — a huge coup for Olsen, who grew up watching action-heavy flicks from the Indiana Jones and James Bond series with her father in Toluca Lake. But participating in the superhero franchise has also meant turning down a number of projects that could have shown off more of her acting ability — including a role in Yorgos Lanthimos’ critically acclaimed “The Lobster.”

  “There have been things more in line with the career arc I’d like to create that I had to turn down due to scheduling conflicts,” she explains. “You want to create a personal canon.”

  That’s what she’s hoping to bolster this month with “Ingrid Goes West” (Aug. 11) and “Wind River,” which debuts Aug. 4. The two movies, to put it mildly, are incredibly different. “Wind River,” which earned filmmaker Taylor Sheridan the top directing prize in the Cannes Film Festival’s Un Certain Regard section in May, is a dark murder mystery. Olsen stars opposite her “Avengers” co-star Jeremy Renner as a rookie FBI agent sent to Wyoming to investigate the death of a local woman on a remote Native American reservation.

  The role would require the actress to train with a veteran law enforcement officer and learn how to shoot a gun — opportunities she relished. She was more worried about flying to Park City, Utah, for production, because she hates the cold and high altitude.

  “So I bold-faced lied to her and said, ‘We’re not shooting high and it’s not cold there,’” Sheridan recalls with a laugh. “I knew it would be, which was one of the things I loved about it — you can see it on her face in the movie that she really doesn’t like the cold. But she overcame it.”

  The director, who nabbed an Oscar nomination for writing “Hell or High Water” and also scripted “Wind River,” cast Olsen long before Renner. He says he wanted her from the “very, very, very beginning” because he responded to an “essence of confidence” she exuded — a certain kind of toughness. “There’s a blue collar element to her, which I mean as a compliment,” he explains. “That’s how grounded she is, and maybe it’s because she grew up with [Hollywood], she’s able to see it for what it is.”

  Renner, who plays a local U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service agent who takes Olsen’s character under his wing, admits he put off reading Sheridan’s script for months. (Chris Pine was originally cast in the role.) Eventually, the actor decided to sign onto the film because he wanted “to work with Lizzie in a different way — in a real way.”

  “Here, I got to observe somebody working in a very different capacity — with more emotional intelligence, not just being in a costume and the whole thing,” the actor says. “She had to be pretty bad-ass with a handgun, I’ll tell you what — and that’s coming from a guy who knows how to use a lot of weapons.”

  “Ingrid Goes West,” of course, didn’t require quite as much prep — though Olsen did start a secret Instagram account, following women like lifestyle guru Jenni Kayne, fashion blogger Aimee Song and Who What Wear founder Hillary Kerr for inspiration. Spicer encouraged her to start posting her own photographs, which she did: one of a crusty baguette with dipping oil, another of some Diptyque candles. (“Those first ones were a little bumpy,” the director says with a laugh. “Like, food that doesn’t quite look as appetizing as it should, or sunsets. Very obvious starter photos.”)

  Then, this winter, Olsen decided to bite the bullet and start her own public page.

  “I decided to join because I realized I was only taking something away from myself,” she explains. “It’s so funny that people like to pretend that they’re maybe or maybe not getting paid to post something. Financially, it’s a brilliant opportunity. Like, I’d really love to be a brand ambassador. I’d love to do a campaign. I think sometimes working with brands or different cosmetic companies — that can help people recognize your face and then they go see your movies. I was only hurting my opportunities by not participating.”

  While some young Oscar winners like Jennifer Lawrence and Emma Stone have held out on joining the platform, it has increasingly become commonplace for even serious actor types — Anne Hathaway, Brie Larson, Shailene Woodley — to open up on social media. Before, Olsen says, she was “being old-school about it” — something she learned from her sisters, who she acknowledges are “notoriously private people.” But even they supported her launching an Instagram account. And besides, she’s not good at being “super mysterious.” She’s too chatty for that. Plus, there are plenty of accounts she wants to keep stalking.

  “There are so many times I’ve seen a picture and thought, ‘Oh, God, how do they make those flower arrangements look so great all the time?’” says Olsen, who recently bought her first home in L.A. and is decorating it with an aesthetic she describes as Diane Keaton’s Hamptons beach house in “Something’s Gotta Give.” “Or: ‘How expensive are those chairs I’m looking at on Pinterest? Did they find them at some place I’ve never heard of? How do you have that kind of eye?’”

  The rest of the photoshoot is posted in the gallery.

    Gallery Link:

Studio Photoshoots > 2017 > Session 017

  Press: Elizabeth Olsen does double duty in ‘Wind River’ and ‘Ingrid Goes West’ was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

[hollywritesinstardust]

Like and Follow

Request: I really liked that Spencer Reid x Famous singer on Youtube OC. Can you write one with Derek Morgan?

A/N: This one was fun and actually easier to write than the last one I made for @dusknightmare. Thank you for requesting!

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters/Pairings: Derek Morgan/Reader, Penelope Garcia, Jennifer Jareau

Words: 1,622

Y/N – Your Name

Y/L/N – Your Last Name

            After a long day at work, you were too exhausted to even think about editing your latest video. You’d recorded it almost a week ago, but between several other factors, you just hadn’t been able to bring yourself to recut, edit, and upload it to YouTube. Aside from your boss running you ragged at work, you had recently gotten an… admirer.

            This admirer on your channel was different than others. The comments seemed weird. Since they seemed generally harmless, you hadn’t flagged the user – but that was before they started to get unnerving. Lately, you’d been more and more worried to post a video. For the last three months, unfailingly, they would get responses that seemed creepy. In fact, some of the newest ones seemed borderline serial killer-ish, and it was really starting to bother you, especially since one of them had said you lived in the same city. You had no idea how they would even begin to find out where you lived.

            You opened up your YouTube channel, just to check it out. You had a few more subscribers than you’d had when you checked that morning. It made you smile slightly, despite how stressed you were. Your hope was to one day get enough to sing professionally and be paid by YouTube to keep making videos. Lord knew that your current job wasn’t half as much fun.

            You went to your most recent cover to look at the comments. You’d decided to do a pop-punk version of an older Rat Pack song after being persuaded by a friend who had a love for Sinatra and classical orchestra. Most of your subscribers liked it, even if they didn’t recognize the song, and some of the comments said you should put your own spin on even more.

            And then, there it was. That username. You hesitated to look back to your screen, but your ceiling was only so relaxing, and after a few seconds, you decided to just get it over with.

            I can’t wait to see you perform for me in person.

            Immediately, you exited the window and turned off your computer.

            Two weeks later, you were still having unnerving messages left on your videos, though you hadn’t put up any new ones. It was getting harder to push yourself to check your account, and scarier to read the messages. You only did it out of a morbid curiosity, and a little bit of fear, and a lot of hope that maybe if you just disappeared from the internet for a while, they would go away.

            It was with that mindset that you stopped spending your free time on YouTube. After finishing your last recorded video, it just sat, collecting digital dust in your computer files. You got some more sleep, read a book that had been on your reading list since you got it for your birthday, and even got ahead in some work assignments.

            On a Saturday, you decided you’d done enough work at home to avoid going in person, so instead of getting up at six, you slept in until eight and then chose to go out and spend the day at the mall. You lived about a twenty-minute drive away, and on the way was your favorite coffee stop. You got a parking spot close to the entrance and went inside, wallet in your pocket.

            “What can I get you?” The smiling teenager asked you behind the counter. You related your favorite coffee order and gave her your debit card to swipe. Because you knew the next thing she would do is ask for your name, you went ahead and gave it to her so she could write it on your order. “It’s for Y/N, thanks.”

            Patiently, you went and stood by the counter, looking over the magazines on a rack curiously. A couple of minutes later, someone sidled up to you on your right. You tensed slightly. Usually you were more sociable, but your online stalker put you on edge and made you wary of strangers.

            “Excuse me, madam,” a low and friendly voice called for your attention. You looked up. He was tall, strong, and very handsome. He wore jeans and a plain black short-sleeved shirt and leaned over the counter. “My friends and I overheard your name, and now we’re in an argument over whether or not you’re Y/N Y/L/N. Would you care to settle the argument?”

            At first, you were incredibly nervous. A stranger knew your last name, which you hadn’t told the barista. Then you remembered that you were a YouTube personality. Still, just to be safe, you looked around the few tables in the coffee café. Sure enough, there were two blonde women sitting down and watching you with the man with interest. One was straight-haired and slender. The other had eclectic, bright clothes and coral-colored streaks in her hair.

             “Er, yeah,” you answered, smiling tentatively. You had always liked to meet fans before you’d started to fear that one of them might kidnap you. “Hi.”

            He held out a hand towards you. “Derek Morgan.”

            “I’d introduce myself, but it’s clearly unnecessary,” you replied politely with a small blush.

            Derek chuckled. “It’s a pleasure to meet the owner of the voice that’s always in our techie’s lair.”

            “Lair?” You questioned wryly.

            He nodded towards the women at the table. “You think Garcia looks normal enough to have an average office?” He inquired humorously. You guessed that Garcia was the one with the dyed hair and pretended to consider it for a moment. In actuality, no, you couldn’t picture her in a boring office cubicle. “Ah, I think this is you.”

            Right then, the barista came up with a drink. She recognized you from the counter, beamed as she gave you a drink, and chipperly wished you an excellent day.

            “Could I invite you to our table?” Derek asked, standing back.

            You only thought about it for a second. “Sure,” you nodded. He was polite and attractive. And you’d have witnesses, your brain quietly reminded you of the other women before you hushed it. You hated that you thought that way now. You never used to.

            They introduced themselves as Penelope and JJ. You sat down and went through most of your drink while they finished theirs, chatter coming easily. Penelope was excited and sweet, while JJ was calmer. JJ also seemed to instantly understand that you were stressed, and she managed to steer the interaction in a way that made you feel like you were with old friends.

            By the time you had finished, you were a little bit reluctant to leave, but JJ reminded her companions that they had to get to work sooner rather than later.

            “Wait,” Garcia called, uncrossing her legs. “Is it okay if I ask why you haven’t put up any new videos? Usually you have a new one each week, but it’s been three weeks and nothing! I thought maybe you were sick, but you seem fine now. Not fine as in fine, but fine as in healthy and awesome, because you are awesome.” She grinned.

            You bit your lip. “It’s just a little unwanted attention,” you answered with a sigh. “I’m laying low for a while. Maybe if I don’t respond, it’ll go away.”

            JJ and Derek both shared a concerned, serious look before they both looked back to you. “What kind of attention?” JJ asked carefully.

            Shrugging, you described the kinds of comments you kept receiving. A shiver went up your spine. “Just things like that. It’s not really threatening, but it’s very distressing to get those kinds of messages from someone you don’t know.”

            “Oh, you poor darling!” Garcia sympathetically agreed, looking pleadingly at Derek. “We’ve got to do something. Can’t we?”

            “Sounds like cyber harassment,” Derek agreed. “Y/N, we’re all FBI agents. I know a guy in cybercrime, and Garcia here is dangerous with a laptop. Is there any chance you’d let us take you to file a report?”

            With their assessment, you felt a weight coming off of your shoulders. You had thought that there was nothing law enforcement could do unless something really happened – your apartment was broken into or something. Hearing that they could pursue it before you were really in danger made you feel like you could cry in relief.

            “Absolutely,” you agreed without a second thought, nodding so quickly you almost gave yourself whiplash. The mall could wait for next week.

            Garcia, JJ, and Derek became your best friends. Over the next two weeks, the cyber division of the FBI handled your problem, tracing the IP address and username to a secluded man with several restraining orders against him already, all of them filed on the grounds of harassment and stalking. You added your own restraining order to his file with some help from Garcia and JJ, and the three of them were the first to know when you had the mental fortitude to upload your newest cover. This one was of a love song.

            Some of the first comments made you grin widely. You were back in business, and with no creepy messages in sight.

            HackerWitch: Beautiful! I could cry. Please marry me?!

            JJJareau: I’m seriously going to commission you to make some lullabies for my kids.

            DerekM: A love song? Have you read my mind?

            You spent the next several hours puzzling over what he meant with his comment, until your doorbell rang. When you went to look through the peephole, no one was there. Appropriately cautious, you opened your door just enough to look into the hallway at first. You saw no one, so you opened it the rest of the way.

     ��      There was a bouquet of roses delivered to your door.