#he may be in charge of the district but he can’t say no to his little girl

[oakwolves]

Actually now that u think of it in Rosalyn’s context what if Professor Edwin hates her because she can easily surpass her and go straight to her dad if she wants something added to the school

Edwin heavily objected to adding the Isle of Love on campus because she thought it was a waste of money and has nothing to do with the college experience. So Rosalyn just went to her dads office and the rest was history

[eideticmemory]

BETTER OFF AS LOVERS | SPENCER REID

Three years after ending your relationship with Spencer Reid, you find yourself representing him in court on federal murder charges.

Word Count: 12k.

Warning/Includes: MAJOR CW for Spencer’s dilaudid arc and graphic mentions of drug use. Prison!Spencer, Lawyer!Reader. Bounces between the past and present through bold italics. Mentions of murder, prison, and violence. A little bit of smut.

Because both you and Spencer are compulsive overachievers, it’s been hard to ignore each other. He saves a kids life every other week and your quick wit has taken you to the (very near) top of the DC law food chain. He picks up a newspaper, you’re smiling arm in arm with the district attorney. You turn on the TV, he’s up there declaring national manhunts. It’s hard to avoid each other, but you have both tried so, very hard.

So hard, in fact, that when Spencer is lying in a jail cell, waiting for any sign of life to shine through the bars, he is not even thinking about you. He’s thinking about his mom. His job. His future. His very recent past. But not you. And even though he doesn’t realize it in the moment, it’s a blessing. He should’ve taken the moment to be grateful.

When Emily comes up to his cell, he hops up and all the thoughts stuck in his head rush out in word vomit. Why isn’t she in the office? How is the office? How’s his mom? And once he learns that everything else is perfectly fine, he remembers that he, alone, is fucked.

And Emily’s very good at that soft voice, that everything will be okay voice, but she doesn’t know that. Not really. Spencer knows that she doesn’t and he swallows himself in self pity, saying, “I don’t even have a lawyer.”

“About that…” Emily says before a beat can pass. “I, um…I made a call…”

Spencer tilts his head at her.

“I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”

You’re eating lunch when you get the call. You have a sandwich held in your mouth as you scribble notes on a legal pad which you promptly cross out.

“Miss [y/l/n]?” your receptionist announces herself at the door.

You drop your sandwich, “Hey,” you smile. “Yes?”

“You have an Emily Prentiss on the line for you. Do you want me to patch her through?”

Your smile drops, you can’t help it. Your heart sinks to the very bottom of your stomach and you have to clear your throat, remind yourself to breathe.

“No,” you shake your head. “No,” you stand to your feet. “No, thank you. I’ll answer her in here.”

You close your office door behind her. You close the blinds. You stare at the blinking light on the phone for what feels like hours. You take a seat at your desk, you stare some more. Then you pick up the phone.

“This is [y/n].”

“Hi, [y/n]. It’s Emily Prentiss.”

“Emily…” you breathe out. “Hey.”

“Do you have a moment to talk?”

You sigh, “Is…is this about Spencer?”

Emily pauses, just for a moment, but she knows it’s best to be honest, “It is.”

“Is he dead?” It seems blunt. But, to you, it sounds like a fair and natural question.

Emily clears her throat, “He’s in jail.”

Maybe she expected a gasp. A soft cry. But all you do is close your eyes and draw in a deep breath. You say, “Okay.”

“Now, I understand if you decline. I do. But I have to ask…are you available to come to Quantico for a legal consult with me? Just me?”

You stare at the ceiling, grinding your teeth so hard that you think your jaw may crack under the pressure. And in the span of just two hours, you tell her yes. You reschedule your afternoon meeting. You walk through a metal detector and pat down in Quantico. Yet, you’re not truly in your body until you step on the elevator. You feel yourself rising through the building and the familiarity of it hits you like lightening. You think, not now. You cannot break down now.

Later.

You stand and look over at Spencer’s empty desk, only for a moment and then you tear yourself away. You knock on Emily’s open door and she immediately stands when you sees you, “[y/n], hi,” she moves around her desk, “Hi, thanks for coming.”

You give her a hug, and she holds on for longer than she means to. She looks you in the eye and asks, “How are you?”

“I’m okay. How are you?”

She sighs, walking back to her desk as you close the door. “We’ve been better.”

You take a seat across from her, look around the office, and now you smile, “I like you in here, chief.”

She chuckles, “I assume you heard about Hotch?”

You nod, “I did…only courthouse rumblings.”

“Yeah, well, uh, team’s been good,” she rummages around her desk. “Pushing through. I see you’ve climbed the ladder in recent years.”

You shrug, smirking, “All bribes.”

She laughs, “Oh, c’mon, we both know that’s not true. You’re the best of the best. I wouldn’t have called you if you weren’t.”

And when she sees the light go out in your eyes, reminded by the reality of the situation, she does nothing but set the file in front of you. You exhale quickly out of your nose and you stare at Spencer’s name etched along the edge. You pick it up and place it in your lap, ducking your head to read it. His mugshots nearly make you gasp, but you stifle it. You put your finger to your lips and you try. You try so hard not react. Not in front of Emily, even though she can read you anyway.

You read the entire file. Front to back. Your eyes flick off of the last word and you slam the manilla folder closed. You look up at Emily, her looking at you, waiting for you, so patiently. You open your mouth, and she prepares herself for whatever you could say. Anything. Everything. She’s prepared.

You breath out, “He was high?”

She was not prepared for that.

She shakes her head, “He was drugged. The guy we’re after is notorious for using drugs to incapacitate his victims.”

You nod, “And let me guess. The bureau won’t help with his legal defense?”

She shakes her head, “He broke protocol.”

You roll your eyes, “Stupid…”

“[y/n],” she calls to you.

You look up at her, raising your eyebrows.

“I understand if you don’t wanna be involved. I know defense isn’t your normal side of the bench. But I meant it when I said you’re the best of the best. When I didn’t know who else to call, I called you. That doesn’t mean you have to agree to this.”

You look out the window and your eyes fall on Spencer’s desk once again. It is empty like he has not been there for weeks, lifeless. You turn back to Emily, “Where are they holding him?”

In the dead of night, you burst into the law library in town. It was pouring rain outside and when the receptionist saw you drenched and leaving muddy footprints behind you, she asked, “You need any help, hon?”

“No, thank you,” you called, but you did not stop moving. You marched over to the torts section, you knew it all by heart. You swiped your fingers over every author, noting the alphabet in your head and you were slightly enraged to find that the book you needed was missing. You groaned and checked again. Then again and again. You sighed. You looked around the dimly lit library and it was almost instant. You saw his table, you saw the book, and then you saw him.

And before you really knew what you were doing, you were walking up to him and he was so entranced in reading that he didn’t even look up at you.

“How much longer are you gonna be?” you asked him. And then he looked at you. You thought, oh wow he’s pretty, but you were on a mission here.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“With the book. How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“Uh…I probably have…about a hundred pages left so…five, six minutes maybe?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, “Are you fucking with me?”

He couldn’t help but laugh, an awkward laugh, an uncomfortable laugh, but mainly an oh fuck a pretty girl is talking to me laugh. “No. No. You can…sit and watch, I swear. Time me if you want.”

You looked at him, arms crossed. You checked your watch and nodded, taking a seat, “Fine. Five minutes. Go.”

He gave you a small smile and then went back to it. You watched him trace his fingertip down the page, flick to the next one and down he traced again. You were curious. But irritated. But intrigued? You checked your watch with one minute to go and he went, “Okay, done,” and slid the book across the table.

You caught it in your palm, and looked up at him, “You are so full of shit.”

“What?”

“There’s no way you just read all of that in five minutes. There’s no way.”

“But there is a way because I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

He laughed, “I can recite it all to you right now. Front to back.”

“Where are you?” he seemed confused by this question so you continued, “Hm? George Washington? UDC?”

“Quantico.”

“Oh, you are so full of shit!” you went to grab the book and leave but he wasn’t ready for you to go.

“No, no, wait. Seriously. Look at my badge,” he pulled it right out of his bag. “I just got it today.”

You took a look, and when it wasn’t clear enough, you stepped closer, held it in your hands.

Spencer Reid. Behavioral Analysis Unit.

You handed it back to him, “Never met a twelve year old fed.”

“Twenty-three,” he corrected you. “And, uh…I get that a lot.”

“And what does a twenty-three year old fed need with a first year law book?”

He shrugged, “Just light reading.”

You rolled your eyes and he could just tell that you wanted to smile and so he smiled so big at you, hoping it would rub off.

“Book’s all yours,” he said. “I’ll find another.”

No smile.

“A-a-and if you’d like to…I-I don’t know…stay out of the rain, I’d…like it if you’d…maybe sit and read with me?”

You bit down on your lip and you hesitated, looked around as you weighed your options. Then, you took a seat. He grinned over at you as you flipped the book open and it was there.

Small, but a smile.

Back in holding, Spencer sits. He waits. He digs his nails into the bandage on his hand and his knee won’t stop bouncing. The same thoughts rush through his head, but every so often they are cut off by images of you. Every you. Every season. The last time he saw you. His breath catches so tightly in his chest that he actually hunches over in pain, squeezes his fist. His eyes keep darting towards the door, anxious, quick, hoping you’ll come. Hoping you won’t.

What gives it away is your heels. They’re fast and they’re loud, a rapid click-clack-click-clack on the floor. He sits up straight, holds his hands in his lap, forces his leg to stop shaking. Emily walks in first, and in behind her comes you. Picture perfect, dolled up, professional you. Your eyes connect and it should make him nauseous. Instead, his body relaxes. You’re the one that’s nauseous.

“Well,” Emily says to cut the tension. “I know this is an legal meeting so I’ll just give you two some privacy.” And she gets the hell out of there.

You step to the side as the door closes behind her. You set your brief case down on the table and have a seat. As the two of you sit in silence, Spencer feels that you’re judging him. Scolding him, staring him down. But all you’re thinking about is how much his hair has grown, from his head and from his face and underneath it all, he is still him.

You clear your throat, look away, “I’m obligated to remind you that everything you share here is kept confidential by attorney-client privilege.”

“I didnt use,” he spits out.

You pause, your eyes cutting up to him. He is staring into your soul. He wants you to hear him.

“I didn’t,” he shakes his head. “I wouldnt. I swear.”

You have to let that simmer in the air for a moment. You have to swallow it like a large pill, let it force its way down your throat and into your stomach. Through your bloodstream.

“I believe you,” you say. “Tell me what happened.”

“I-I…I did not kill her.”

You nod, “…okay. What else.”

“I-I…don’t remember anything else.”

“Well that…doesn’t help me here. It doesn’t matter if you say you didn’t kill her and you know that. What matters is evidence. The facts of the case.”

“I’m telling you I don’t remember anything, [y/n]. If I did, I would tell you but the entire thing is a-a blur.”

“And I’m telling you I can’t do anything with that.”

“Just… tell me what you really want to say.”

You consider it.

“I’m not here to judge you,” you tell him. “I’m here to build you a legal defense.”

“Whatever’s going through your head, I can take it,” he huffs. “Tell me.”

You purse your lips at him. You shake your head. But he insists. He peers into your eyes in waiting. Begging.

You inhale and with a hefty wave of breath, you shout, “Going to Mexico? Not telling anyone where you are? Smuggling experimental drugs across the border? Are you serious?”

He nods. He takes the blows as they land.

“Do you even comprehend the shit hole that you’ve dug for yourself? I mean, honestly, you-you should go to prison for at least,” you pinch your fingers. “A little bit because it should be a crime to be this stupid with an IQ that high,” and you punctuate it all with a sigh of relief.

Spencer sniffles, “Feel better?”

“No,” you say instantly. And you say this next part very clearly, “Because I can’t promise you that you won’t go to prison.”

The reason that you and Spencer worked so well together, you think - you thought - is that there was a certain amount of independence. After your meeting in the library, after all the pulling he did to sweep you off your feet, you decided that yes, you could do this. You could have a boyfriend who traveled for work. You could handle not seeing him for days or weeks on end. Just in your second year of law school, you thought: I will never have time to miss him. I will drown in school work and textbooks until he returns. It will not phase me. It will not change me.

Then you kind of fell in love with him. And suddenly you always, always had time to miss him.

“Hey,” you found yourself smiling when he called. On the other side of the country, it was only nine but you were in DC still studying at midnight.

“Hey, honey,” Spencer cooed. “I knew you’d be awake.”

“Like I could sleep at a time like this? No, thank you, this is all nighter territory.”

“Sorry I won’t be there the day of your exam.”

“Don’t worry about it. They need you out there more than I do.”

“I know, I know, I’d just slow you down,” he laughed.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” you nodded. “But…I miss you…wish you were here to slow me down.”

“Soon.”

“I know.”

“And, y’know, if we just moved into together, it could be even sooner.”

“Ooh, yeah, and we could get a plant too and watch it die a slow death because no one’s ever home.”

He cackled, quieted down as he whispered, “Just…try to actually get some sleep, okay? You can’t pass your exam if you’re exhausted. And make sure you have a good breakfast. A real breakfast, not coffee and some pop tarts. At least toaster strudels, okay? And afterwards, take yourself out for lunch or-or take someone with you. But don’t sit and think about it and drive yourself crazy. You’re gonna do great. You always do.”

You nodded, stifling a soft laugh, “Yes, doctor. Anything else?”

He shrugs to himself, “Just that I miss you. I can’t wait to see you.”

You grinned, “Soon.”

When your alarm went off at seven in the morning, you checked your phone to see that Spencer had woken himself up, three hours behind, to send you a message.

Two words: Toaster strudels!!!!

And over the next few days, you were truly too busy to miss him. You took your exam at ten o’clock on the dot and you took his advice, you went out to lunch. You thought about the exam only a little bit, to run through it with your friends before you started day drinking, and then there was nothing to do but wait. Keep yourself busy.

As soon as the jet lifted off, Spencer called you. Your phone was buried at the bottom of your bag, which was swinging against your hip as you walked across campus. You didn’t realize it was ringing until the very last second and by the time you pulled it out, he had already left you a voicemail.

As you waded through the crowd to see your posted exam score, you held the phone to your ear and listened.

“Hey! Hey, [y/n], we’re, uh, on the way back now. Safe and sound. I should be there by this afternoon. Uh, let me know if you get your exam results, okay? I’m so excited to see you. Call me when you can.”

Posted on the wall was the glare of your future, staring you in the face, chewing into your soul and you dropped the phone back in your bag.

When Spencer landed and still hadn’t heard from you, he slowly came to expect bad news. He bought you flowers on the way home, he called you, he texted multiple times to tell you he’d be coming over. He walked up to his apartment solely to drop off his things and before he could get to the door, he stopped in his tracks.

You stood up quickly, your face breaking out into a wide smile. Your hands shook and all you could say was, “I passed! I-I passed!”

And in an instant, he dropped everything except your flowers and ran to you, engulfing you in a big, tight hug. “Of course you did!” he shouted. “Oh, god [y/n], of course you did! Here…” he released you so he could rush to unlock the door.

“And I didn’t just pass, babe. I passed with flying fucking colors!” You let yourself into his apartment, still rambling while he dragged his things inside. He stood in awe as you paced around the living room, throwing your hands in the air. “Do you know what this means? I could be a real lawyer any day now!”

You looked at him, huffing and puffing with this toothless, wide smile that sat in your cheekbones. So happy and pretty that he forgot how to talk. “T-These are for you,” he stuttered, walking over to you with a bright bouquet of flowers.

Your eyes darted to the flowers, but only for a moment and then back to Spencer, and he was looking at you with so much love that you felt it in the pit of your stomach. You held eye contact with him as you took hold of the flowers, your fingers overlapping for a split second. And in one swift motion, you pulled him in by the back of his neck and dropped the flowers on the couch. It stunned him, sure, but it was instinct for him to grab onto your hips and kiss you. That is, after all, exactly what you wanted him to do.

You stood of the tip of your toes, took hold of his face and balled your fist in his hair. He grunted against your lips, held onto you tight as you dragged him into his bedroom.

“Okay, okay, okay, just-“ he stuttered as you tore off his shirt. His head got caught, the two of you burst into laughter, and you gave him a kiss as soon as the shirt hit the floor. You swiped his books off of his bed and laid yourself down, pulling him on top of you. When your pants got suffocating, you flipped him over so you could take them off. Your boobs hung in his face as you grabbed a condom from the nightstand and he ran his hands all over your body. Even when he could hardly breathe because you were rolling the condom onto him, he caressed your thighs and his nails rolled on your skin.

You giggled, going, “Stop, that tickles.”

He said, “Sorry,” and tickled you again, laughing as your body squirmed around and you chuckled into a kiss with him.

You were usually a lot softer with him. No rush. But the adrenaline in your body had you bouncing on his cock so quickly that you wondered if the whole bed might cave in. You kept looking at Spencer to make sure he was enjoying himself he was enjoying himself. His head was hanging off the bed, hanging loose from his neck and his mouth was wide open, releasing some of the loudest moans you’ve ever heard from him. When he realized he was getting close, he would grab your hips real tight, you’d stop and after a few breaths, he’d let you go. He’d let you get right back to it.

Afterwards, you collapsed beside him and tucked yourself in the crook of his arm, your hand on his heaving chest. You kissed him softly and he moaned, “Mm…” rubbing your back. “I love when you get a good grade.”

You cackled and threw your head back, tracing his bottom lip with your fingertip, “I love when you’re home.”

“Oh!” he suddenly shouted. “Speaking of, we have dinner reservations on our anniversary at seven. I’ll probably get called out before then but I will be back in time. I promise.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Then I’m a bad boy. A very bad boy,” he grinned, leaning into you as you laughed.

You held his face, gave him a kiss and nodded, “It’s a date.”

And he did eventually get called out again just over a week before your reservation. You have a very vivid memory of kissing him goodbye the day he left. He was himself. He was happy, and towards the end of the week, he called overly cocky saying that this case would be wrapped up soon. That he’d be home with a night to spare.

He lied.

People know you here. When you speak with the distric attorney on Spencer’s case, he knows you. He knows Spencer. And that should make it easy to negotiate here, but it unfortunately makes it that much harder. Luckily, you’re as stubborn as you are determined and with a bit of sparkle, you can get Spencer down to two to five years in federal prison.

That is, until new evidence arises. In that moment, all the oxygen and arguing and fight you’ve given goes out the window. Emily trails up beside you when you return, saying, “I just got the news. What now?”

“Now,” you sigh. “We tell Spencer.”

And as soon as you walk into the room, he is rising to his feet, staring at you. His eyes scan over your features and he goes, “That’s not a good face. What happened?”

“I…” you start. “Was able to talk Martinez down to involuntary manslaughter.”

“Manny Martinez?” he interrupts you.

“Yes,” you enunciate. “And he offered two to five years.”

Emily glances at Spencer, and asks you, “A deal? Well, that could mean they know they have a weak case?”

“Maybe,” you shrug. “But they could also just be in a rush to close this with minimal publicity.”

Looking to Spencer, you owe him the truth, “But they found the murder weapon in the desert. About an hour ago. The blood and prints are yours.”

The words knock the air out of him like a strong punch to the chest. You can see his eyes zone out, stuck on the floor as he sits himself down and tries to breathe. Emily is spinning gears in her head but you cannot stop watching him.

“Okay, so, where do we go from here?” she asks you.

“Well, the two to five quickly came off the table. Now, it’s five to ten at minimum.” Still, you watch Spencer. He can’t stand to look at you.

“And this is the only way he can avoid trial?”

You purse your lips and nod, shrugging, “Plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter, write a statement to the bureau. That’d be the end of it. Any other course of action will require presenting evidence to a jury.”

When Spencer finally decides to lift his head and speak, he looks you dead in the eye and asks, “Do you think I should take it?”

Your face visibly softens and you shrug, “Beats twenty-five to life. Which they will sentence if you’re found guilty, and with this evidence…it’s likely…”

He looks at Emily and when he cannot take the look of pity in her eyes for one more second, he asks you, specifically, “May I speak to you alone, [y/n]?”

You glance at Emily and nod, “Sure.”

The door closes and Spencer, comfortable enough to let his guard down, suddenly stands from the chair, hiding his face in his hands. He paces around the small room and pulls at the root of his hair. It’s very unlike him but in this moment, he says, “Fuck.”

“Yes,” is all you can add. “What do you want to do here, Spencer?”

“I-I-I don’t know. You’re my lawyer, can’t you just tell me what I should do? Tell me what to do.”

“I can’t do that. I’m not the one facing prison here. You have two options, okay? If you want to take your chances in court, I will be there. I will bring every weapon in my arsenal to defend you, but I can’t guarantee that the outcome will be better than five to ten.”

He shakes his head, “The team will crack the case. They will. They’ll catch Scratch and they’ll clear my name.”

“Oh, my…when?” you raise your voice. You don’t mean to. “This month? This year? This decade? Who knows? W-who knows how long you could be locked up before they catch a break?”

He sniffles, one single tear falling down his cheek as his head falls in defeat, “What…what do I do, [y/n]?” he cries. “Just tell me what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

And against ever fiber of your being, you instinctively cross the room and engulf him in a hug. He sobs into your neck and holds your waist in tight in his arms, breaks down when you run your hand through his hair.

He’s hurting but this helps. This helps a lot.

“Hey!” you answered Spencer’s phone with a joyous greeting. “Hi, Diana. Hi! It’s [y/n], how are you?”

And while she was beyond excited to talk to you, she rambled about her son. How he hadn’t called her in close to a week. How she missed the sound of his voice. “It just isn’t like him,” she said. “It just isn’t like Spencer. He calls me. He calls me everyday. Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied as you stood over him in bed. “Yeah, he’s okay. He’s, uh, he’s…”

He waved you off, silently ordering you to hang up and leave him alone. He rolled over onto his side and hid his face under the blankets. He wanted to make sure he was as avoidant as possible.

“He’s just…tired. But I know he…he’d love to speak with you…”

He did not move. And he had not moved since returning home from Tobias Hankel. He just hadn’t. You weren’t sure if he ever would. But as you continued to talk on the phone, the sound of your voice going, “Yeah, yeah,” grating his nerves, he hopped out of bed and went straight for the bathroom. The door slammed, it locked and you just hoped Diana didn’t hear it.

“Yeah,” you told her. “Yeah, he’s busy right now. Y’know, case paperwork and such. I can have him call you back?”

Then there’s a thud. Loud. It shakes the floor of the entire apartment and your breath catches in your throat.

“Yes, of course. I will have him call you,” you stared at the bathroom door. “I promise. Okay. Alright, bye.”

You rushed to the bathroom, immediately trying to open the door but it was locked. You wiggled the knob, you pounded on it, calling, “Spencer? Spencer?”

You found the key on top of the sill, with your hands trembling as you shoved it into the lock. When the door swung open, it stopped against something. Something heavy, something big. So you pushed and shoved enough that you could poke your head in and when you did, you screamed. You shrieked at the top of your lungs. The thing blocking the door, the thing laid out on the floor.

It was Spencer.

Spencer is due to appear in court this morning. You’re going to vomit.

You arrive promptly with thirty minutes to spare and you spend that time trying to find your client. Though you do not see his face, you notice him standing at the phone, dressed to impress in a sharp suit. His hand bandaged in the least disgusting way possible.

“Mom,” he says into the reciever. “I want you know that I’m safe and I have a great lawyer.”

You cross your arms over your chest, stand firm behind him and proudly eavesdrop.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it’s actually, um…[y/n]. Yeah, no. No, we’re not back together, she just…she’s a great lawyer. The best.”

And he goes looking for you, at the mention of your name, he starts scanning the room, like he can feel you somewhere. Somewhere. He turns around to find you leaning against the wall. He smiles. He can’t help it. Neither can you. You throw up a small wave and he waves back.

He speaks into the phone, telling Diana, “She says hi.”

The judge comes into the courtroom and almost immediately, she looks ready to leave. You weren’t nervous before, you don’t think Spencer was all that much either. But now, shit is getting real. Shit is getting very real.

“Miss [y/l/n],” she says to you. “Your client is a federal agent?”

You rise to your feet, nodding, “That’s correct, your honor.” You both notice Spencer still sitting and you whisper through your teeth, “Stand the hell up,” and he stands the hell up.

“Some very serious offenses brought against you today,” she tells him.

“Yes, your honor,” he nods.

“Miss [y/l/n], does your client wish to enter a plea at this time?”

You nod, “He does.”

“And how do you plead, Agent Reid?”

Spencer looks her in the eye and proclaims, “Not guilty.” You hope nobody sees you roll your eyes.

“Mhm,” the judge nods. “And as to bail?”

“The people oppose bail and request remand, your honor,” the district attorney responds, now standing.

“Remand?” you repeat. “Your honor, my client does not present a flight risk.”

“He’ll be staying with you, I suppose?” he fires back and you can’t help but cut your eyes at him.

“Good one, Manny.”

“Your honor,” he continues. “The defendant fled the scene in Mexico…”

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” you interrupt. “He was drugged against his will.”

“And failed to inform the FBI of his international travel, effectively breaking protocol.”

“With the intent to return home and care for his mother, who struggles with schizophrenia and alzheimer’s and lives with him full time. He is her sole caretaker, in addition to his career as a highly decorated member of the BAU.”

“And as a member of the BAU, he has connections all over the world that could prove highly useful if he chose to flee.”

“Agent Reid is more than willing to surrend both his professional and personal passports if it pleases the court.”

“Again, he has the connections to both recieve a counterfeit passport and evade arrest.”

“Your honor, all Agent Reid wants to do is stay here and clear his good name.”

“He should’ve thought about his good name before sneaking across the border.”

You glare at Martinez and look back to the judge, “I can provide sincere and respected character witness to the court today. All highly decorated members of FBI, willing to speak on Agent Reid’s behalf.”

“Miss [y/l/n], I am not particularly inclined to hear character witnesses at the moment,” the judge tells you.

“Then we can abide by a curfew, court ordered restrictions…”

“Too little, too late for that, Miss [y/l/n],” she silences you. “If past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior, and I do believe that it is…then your client does present a flight risk…” and with one, dramatic pauses, she says, “Bail is denied. The defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

The gavel lands and that’s it.

Spencer is put in handcuffs, in front of his entire team, in front of his family. In front of you. And all he can do is look at you. Eyes wide and terrified, looking at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “I’m so sorry, I’ll come see you as soon as I can.”

He believes you. He has to believe you.

Standing there in shame, the feeling in your gut quickly turns to anger and you march out of the courtroom, pass the team and into the hallway. You see the district attorney walking towards his office and chase him down.

“A flight risk?” you catch his attention and he turns around. “Really, Manny?”

He shrugs, “Judge Frost agreed.”

“Yeah, judges tend to do that when things are taken out of context.”

“Hey, the facts were clear as day. Don’t be mad at me because your boyfriend might go to prison, okay? That’s on him.” And with that, he walks away. You want to throw something at the back of his head.

You want to burn the whole building down.

Instead, you run. You run off to an empty corridor, where you are well aware no one will find you. You pace up and down the floor, your chest heaving, your hands on your hips.

“[y/n]?” Emily calls from behind you. When you cannot get out of your own head, she repeats, “[y/n]?”

“Why did you call me?” You shout as you turn to her. “Why did you bring me into this? Why? Why?” you sob and you put your face in your hands, sliding down the wall in a dramatic breakdown.

Emily immediately rushes to you, bending down to hold you in her arms. “You did everything that you could,” she tells you. “You did your best.”

“I’m always doing my best!” you whine. “I’m always, always doing my best for him and it’s not enough! It’s never enough!”

There’s too much for Emily to unpack there, so she shuts her mouth and she holds you.

The day that you graduated law school, Spencer stayed by your side the entire time. And that was good. That was good because you could be sure that he wasn’t shooting up and you could relax. He looked good that day. Not perfect. Not clean. But good. He dressed up, he could walk in a straight line and he was so, unbelievably proud of you.

He handed you flowers the moment the commencement was over. He took all the pictures so you could have the memories forever. He hung on your arm like a trophy boyfriend because, that day, he was a trophy boyfriend and he could not have been happier.

“Surprise!” was shouted at you as soon as you stepped into your apartment. Adorned with balloons and family and friends, you were overwhelmed and nearly dropped your degree. You turned to Spencer and he dropped his shoulders bashfully, too shy to outright accept all the credit. And still, you took him in a firey kiss, you gave him all the credit.

As you walked around, having something to eat, thanking everyone for coming, talking about your plans for the future, Spencer came up to you and said, “I’m going to grab the cake, okay, honey? I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, okay, baby, thank you,” you smiled and gave him a kiss.

He didn’t come back for an hour.

And when he did come back, he overcompensated by putting the cake down in front of you and going, “Sorry! Sorry about that. Traffic was crazy,” and placing a big, sloppy kiss on your cheek.

Right then, you knew.

He was bouncing off the walls, extroverted, enthusiastic, eating cake that other people had cut into and not able to get enough of it. Grabbing onto your waist and kissing your neck in front of a crowd, dozing off when he actually sat, flicking himself in the neck to keep himself awake.

And you knew.

By the end of the night, when everyone had cleared out and Spencer was missing, you stepped around the quiet apartment and found him passed out in your bed. You put two fingers on his neck, made sure he was alive, and you slept on the couch.

You woke up early even though he slept like a rock until closer to noon. You sat on the couch until he decided to get out of bed and come looking for you.

“Hey,” he smiled, his voice hoarse. “Hey, what are you doing out here?”

You could hardly stand to look at him. You hands were bound in front of your lips, your eyes focused on the coffee table. It wasn’t until that second that he looked down and noticed the collection on the table. Needles. A little vial.

“How…” you cleared your throat. “How long have you been hiding this in my apartment?”

“I…” he spit out. “I…that’s old. It’s old. I forgot it was even here.”

You choked out a gust of air and couldn’t help but laugh, “You are so full of shit.”

“[y/n]…”

“No!” you shouted, rising to your feet. “Tell me what’s so fucking good about this shit that you needed to shoot up during my graduation party?”

“I…I didn’t…I was just excited. I was excited for you.”

“No, you were fucking loaded.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Stop.”

“I wasn’t.”

“No, stop! Stop treating me like I’m fucking stupid! I mean, fuck, Spencer! After all the therapy and meetings and outpatient rehabs, you do this? Really?”

“I didn’t.”

“And what’s worse is that you lie. You lie about everything. You’re lying right and you don’t care!”

“[y/n]…”

“You don’t care. You don’t care. I’m the one who shot narcan up your fucking nose so you wouldn’t OD on my bathroom floor. I’m the one who couldn’t have one fucking night to myself and you, dont, care!”

You let out a quick huff and he simmered in the silence of your anger.

“I…I can’t do this anymore…” you said softly.

He stared at you, shaking in his own skin, “W-what? You can’t do what?”

You released a slow sigh, “I can’t…be with a drug addict.”

“I…am not…”

“You are. You are, Spencer, and you need help. You need more than I can give you.” And before he can retaliate, you set a box of his things on the table. Some books, some clothes with blood on the sleeves, some records.

He started to cry. You knew these were real tears because when he merely wanted to get his way, they would start flowing instantly. Here, they came on slow, rolling down his pale face. “[y/n]…”

“No.” You said sternly, avoiding eye contact. “You need to leave. Leave.”

“B-b-but I-I’m better,” he tried to touch you and you flinched. “I-I can get better. I can do that.”

“Not here. Not with me. Please leave.”

“B-but…” he cried. “But I don’t wanna leave. I wanna be with you. I need to be with you. Please. P-please, [y/n].”

You shook your head, quickly wiped away your tears. “I don’t want you here. Please leave.” You held the door open for him and put his box on the porch. “Please.”

“[y/n], please don’t do this,” he tried to shut the door but you held your own. “Please, please, I’ll go to a meeting right now. You can come with me. I’ll get better. I can get better.”

“Spencer…please. Go.”

“No.”

“Please,” you begged. “Leave.”

“No. No, I’m not leaving you.”

And so, because you had to, you absolutely had to, you pushed him out. He fought, never to hurt you, but he dug his feet in the ground and tried to push your hands away. “N-no, [y/n], please. Please. Please don’t do this.”

Spencer was never that strong before the dilaudid. But when he was on it, he was weak. He was slow and even with all his strength, he could not stop you from throwing him out and slamming the door in his face. You locked it quickly, pressed your palms to the wood to keep it closed up tight as he knocked lightly.

You could hear him sobbing, “[y/n]…please…[y/n]…” and his voice cracked. You heard him slide down the door and sniffling, “[y/n]…”

There was a moment where you thought to open the door. To take it all back. To change your mind. Tears were running into your mouth and you ground your teeth together to stifle your cries. Instead, you stood up straight, you took a deep breath. You went into your room, closed the door and turned the TV up loud.

Spencer still lives in his same apartment. So as you go up the stairs, hundreds of memories come flooding back to you at a hundred miles per minute. It makes you so dizzy that you nearly trip, fall down the stairs. Run.

But you make it to his door and knock, greeted by a younger woman who gives you a bright smile, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you wave to her. “Cassie?”

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m [y/n]. I’m-I’m a friend of Spencer’s. Is Diana here?”

“She is.”

“Is she up for a visitor?”

You let yourself in, stepping in to find that the apartment has not changed much. Same couch, same chairs, same coffee pot in the kitchen. Diana is sat near the window reading a book, picking at her nails anxiously. When she looks up and sees you, she stops and her entire face lights up like you’ve come back from the dead.

“[y/n], hi!” she greets you. She stands from her chair and rushes towards you with open arms. You let her hug you tight, her hand in your hair, your head on her shoulder and you want to cry. “Hi, honey, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m okay…” you shrug. “Can we talk?”

Her eyes go wide. Scared. “This is about Spencer. About that awful mess he’s in.”

“Yes,” you nod.

“Well, please, come, sit. Do you want some tea? Cassie makes a great cup.”

“Sure. Yes, please,” you smile as you sit across from her.

“Y’know, when I heard what happened to Spencer. I-I couldn’t believe it…my baby boy, in a jail cell,” she shakes her head. “But then he tells me that you were his lawyer and I could,” she exhales. “Breathe. You, such a smart and fierce young woman. There’s no one I’d trust more.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek and you shake your head, breaking eye contact with her.

“Oh. Oh, no, no, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Sorry…” you whimper. You wipe your face and huff, “Ugh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“For what? For what, honey?” she takes hold of your hands.

“I-I couldn’t…I didn’t…” you sob. “I…Spencer pleaded not guilty, but the judge ruled him a flight risk. S-so, he’s…in federal prison. Pending trial.”

You can see the shock spread across her face and it makes you sick to your fucking stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried.”

“Hey, you don’t apologize,” she squeezes your hands. Tight, tight, tight, tight. “You don’t apologize, you hear me? I know you did everything in your power. And if you couldn’t do it, then no one else could.”

You choke out another sob and she rubs your arm, cooing “Oh…oh…” and when Cassie sets a mug in front of you, Diana orders, “Here. Here, [y/n], please, have some tea. Calm down, sweetie.”

While you take sip, hiccuping against the glass, she changes the subject entirely. The rest of the visit spirals into a nice chat, mainly about you. What you’re up to these days. And as you fill her in, her eyes light up in pride, in almost disbelief. The last thing she says to you is, “Oh, I do wish you and Spencer could’ve worked things out. You are just…so special, [y/n]. Such a special, gifted girl. You made him so happy.”

She hugs you before you leave and you stroll beside Cassie to the front door. “Um…” you whisper to Cassie. “Is she normally this lucid?”

She purses her lips, “There are good days. There are bad ones.”

You nod.

“That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen her recognize anyone, though.”

For an extended amount of time after your first breakup, you thought Spencer was dead.

After you kicked him out of your apartment, there was radio silence. Scary radio silence. And you had visions in your head of him laid out with a needle in his arm and too much dilaudid in his veins and vomit in his mouth. Or, perhaps, he ran in front of a bullet in the field and no one thought anything of it. For months, you were so sure he was dead.

When you saw him on the news a year later, only then, you could breathe. You visibly and loudly sighed in relief just seeing his face, hearing his voice. More than grateful he was alive, you were grateful to see him healthy. Very clearly clean. Weight back in his face, light back in his eyes. You had almost forgotten what it looked like on him. It wasn’t until then that you knew you’d made the right decision.

You wouldn’t see him again for another two years. Save for a few local newpapers articles, the radio silence continued. You had moved to a larger apartment, close to the courthouse where you were still clawing your way to the top. Somehow, someway, Spencer found this new apartment. It was a conscious decision to do so.

He knocked on your door and you, not expecting company, catiously checked the peephole. You dropped from your tippy toes, sucked in a breath and opened the door. “Spencer? What…what are you doing here?”

“I’m…I’m sorry to drop by like this…” he stuttered, sucking back tears. “I am. I’m sorry. I…Emily…died.”

Your eyes went wide and you visibly stepped back. “What?”

“Y-yeah, she, um, she was murdered. Bled out in the ambulance and I…” he descended into a fit of cries and you just stood in the doorway, watching him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I don’t mean to be a stalker. I don’t mean to barge in on you. I-I-I-I was just scared of what I might do if I was alone and n-no one else understands why I’m so scared to be alone and-and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You stood there in shock for a long time. The only thing that cut the tension was a sound from the TV, a strange sound that caught Spencer off guard. He peeked inside your apartment, sniffling, “What are you doing in here?”

“Uh…um, I’m playing Wii Sports?” you told him, holding up the remote dangling from your wrist. “…I have two remotes if-if you wanna play. It always makes me feel better.”

He tilted his head at you, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Oh, c’mon!” you shouted in front of the TV, swinging your remote through the air. “Put your back into it!”

“I am!” Spencer yelled, taking another swing that just barely hit the digital tennis ball.

��No, you’re not!” you swung and scored a point, Spencer feeling especially defeated by the cheer of the crowd. “You’re losing, is what you’re doing.”

“I give up,” he takes off his remote. “This game is rigged.”

“Is it?” you smirk. “Or are you just a sore loser? Not used to it?”

“Uh, yeah. Duh.”

You laughed and it poured a blanket of warmth over him that he had not felt in a long time. “You hungry?” you asked him.

“Starving.”

So you ordered a pizza and you got so caught up in speaking with him that you barely heard the knock on the door. When you set a slice down in front of him, he instantly picked it up and shoves it in his mouth, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. He noticed you watching him and chuckled, wiping his mouth, “What?”

“Nothing…”you smiled. “Nothing, it’s just you’re…eating so good, you…you look good.”

He smiled at you. Not a big smile, not a proud smile, but a soft smile. A thank-you-I-did-it-for-you smile. “Thank you. I feel good.”

“Good,” you nodded. “That’s good.”

And the two of you ate in silence with the TV on to keep the peace. By the end of the night, his head was resting in your lap and his knees were tucked against his chest. He rubbed his thumb on your knee lightly and said, “I can go. If you want me to, I can go.”

“Yeah…” you whispered, your fingertip tracing his ear, your hand running through his hair, “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

He breathed you in one last time and sat himself up. He looked at you and you looked at him and if he stared at you any longer, it would’ve torn him apart. Instead, he hopped up from the couch and escorted himself to the door, you following close behind him.

“Thank you,” he told you. “For letting me stay. For feeding me. For taking care of me.”

“For kicking your ass at Wii Sports?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you nodded.

“Okay,” he huffed. “So…”

“So…” you shrugged.

He reached out to give you a hug and before you knew what you were doing, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him. That is, after all, exactly what he wanted you to do.

His arms locked around your waist and you moaned softly under your breath, sticking your tongue down his throat, drowning in the familiar taste of him. He pushed his body into yours, boldly nudging you towards the couch until you fell back and he could fall on top of you. Right where he was meant to be.

You’re uncomfortable in the prison. Milburn isn’t exactly known for it’s favorable accommodations and the last thing you want to do is appear prissy, but fuck, it’s gross. It’s crowded. It smells. You think: this must be killing Spencer.

He sits down across from you and he looks tired. Tired, but relieved to see you.

“Oof,” you exclaim. “You’re so lucky you look good in blue or else this would be really shitty for you.”

He snickers, shakes his head, “That was actually my exact thought.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “JJ says you’ve been by to see my mom?”

“I have. She’s doing okay, she seemed okay. We spoke for a long time. It was good to see her.”

“I bet she was excited to see you.”

“She was, it was sweet. I…I don’t wanna sound insensitive here, but, if she has an alzheimer’s diagnosis why does the memory of us breaking up just… linger?”

He wants to cackle but he stifles it, “Tell me about it. Every so often, I get an earful about how I should’ve done more to keep you around.”

“Oh. You…you didn’t tell her that I…”

“No,” he says quickly. “No, I didn’t.”

And just like that, a moment that was lighthearted and comfortable becomes unbearable. You clear your throat, “Well, I didn’t just come by to visit, I have news. It’s not great.”

“Okay, what is it?”

You sigh, “Your trial is postponed. I can’t say how long, but I will be the first to know and you’ll be the second.”

“Postponed?” he mimicked. “W-why? Why?”

You shrug, “They didn’t say. But it could be anything, I mean, higher profile cases, judge schedules, anything.”

He ducks his head down, breathing hard through his nose to prevent himself from crying.

“Hey…” you coo. “Hey, I’m going to figure this out. Don’t worry.”

“I know,” he nods. He looks up at you, “I know you’re trying. Thank you for trying.”

You nod, break a toothless smile, “Always.”

When Spencer wasn’t on drugs, you two managed to stay together for a whole four years. This was twice as long as you made it the first time around and not once did you worry that he had relapsed. You spent a lot of time worried that he might. You spent a lot of time keeping an extra close eye on him, watching for any of the signs, overly cautious. For a reason.

And Spencer was patient with this. He worked so hard to regain your trust because he knew how badly he had fucked up before. How different he’d become, how much he’d hurt you. He could not bear to ever put you through that again. And he never did. He was consistent, he was loving and he was sober.

On your third anniversary, he flew back into town late but he came straight to you. You had not officially moved in with him, but you had a drawer and a toothbrush and you could walk to work from his apartment. He woke you up from your peaceful slumber in his bed just to present you with your gift.

“C’mon, c’mon, I’ve been waiting so long to give it to you,” he cut the lamp on and you groaned, rolling onto your stomach. “Noooo, noooo, c’mon, my love. Look.”

You rolled back over and he was holding up a gold charm bracelet that immediately caught your eye. It woke you up entirely.

“I know you’re not a big jewelry girl,” he whispered, placing the bracelet on your wrist. “But this, uh, has a little charm of your birthstone and one with your birth flower. And, I don’t know, I thought it’d be nice to have on while you’re arguing in court, y’know? Wave it around a bit. Persuade the judge and jury.”

He fixed the clasp and you admired the gold against your skin, tracing it with your finger softly. You grinned, your eyes flickering up to him. “Wave it around…” you teased. “Like this?” and you motioned for him to come closer with your finger. The charms rang lightly and Spencer smirked at you.

“See, it’s just so compulsive, I can’t help but obey you,” he crawled on top of you, his voice mixing in with your laughter. “You’ll never lose a case again.”

And ironically, you went an absurd amount of time without losing a case after that. The bracelet was, in every sense of the word, your good luck charm. Your wrist came to feel naked without it and the ring of the metal gave you a special kind of confidence that couldn’t be replaced or replicated.

The day that Spencer got shot and nearly died, you were due to argue what would’ve been your tenth successful case in a row. You were on such a roll. A streak that no one around you had seen before and they were all eager to see how it progressed.

But as you approached the courtroom doors, your phone buzzed in your hand and you answered without much thought. You kept your brisk pace, speaking with a normalcy that JJ tried her best to match. Your heels were fast, click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, until the information ran through your ears and into your brain and then there was click-clack, click-clack, click…and you stood in the middle of the hallway. Stuck.

Your bottom lip trembled, at the thought of Spencer in critical condition. At the thought of him dying. Dying, dead, without you. You looked back at the courtroom and zoned back into JJ’s voice. You took one step towards the door, stopped and turned around.

Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

Contrary to the belief of the BAU, Spencer is not your only client. You have to remind yourself of this as well. Despite a pile of work that you slowly chip away at, you find yourself running back to the details of Spencer’s file. Over and over, as if something new will stand out. It’s happened to you before. You think, it could happen again. It has to happen again. It doesn’t seem like it will.

“Hey, [y/n]?” you coworker calls, knocking on your office door.

“Hey!” you pip.

“Wanna grab lunch? My treat.”

“Lunch? It’s already lunch?” you check the clock and gasp, “Holy shit.”

She laughs, “You work too hard. What do ya’ say?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I, uh, thought you had to meet a client at Milburn this afternoon, though? The armed robbery guy.”

“Ah, no. Whole prison’s on lockdown. Something about a bad batch of heroin or meth or whatever they pass around in there, I don’t know. Attorneys are still allowed in but I’m not walking into that. I mean, can you imagine?”

It all pours out of her like a joke. Like a comedy of epic proportions that you are meant to laugh along with. But you can’t. You think about Spencer and you just can’t.

“[y/n]?” she calls, pulling you back into reality. “You alright?”

“Yeah!” you overcompensate. “Yes. Sorry. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

You grab your purse and swing it over your shoulder, following her out of your office and reminding yourself to breathe.

“You’re sure?” you questioned the doctor. “You’re positive?”

He released a hearty laugh and nodded, “Yes. He is fully recovered. No swelling, no tenderness, he’s cleared to work and resume any physical activity.”

“Any physical activity?” Spencer asked. You blushed and put your hand to your cheek.

“Yes, that’s right,” the doctor confirmed. “I must say, Spencer, this is quite impressive progress with such a severe injury.”

“I couldn’t have done it all without [y/n],” Spencer beamed, holding onto your hand. “She’s been amazing. She oversaw all my treatment and physical therapy. Slapped me aside my head when I was stubborn. It’s all thanks to her.”

You smiled, bashful and sweet, though you felt a weird, painful knot in your stomach. “Well, that’s quite a spectacular lady you’ve got there.”

“I think so, too,” Spencer grinned and kissed your cheek.

Immediately after Spencer was shot, followed by a long hospital stay, months of physical therapy and doctor’s visits, you lost your streak. You lost your glimmer. You lost that aura of shock and awe that you once so proudly carried. Though you kept it hidden from Spencer, you were one, giant ball of anxiety. All the time. It wrecked your brain, scrambled into a big pile of goo until you were having panic attacks in the courthouse bathroom.

Days later, you finally brought home a winning case. The adrenaline of a successful verdict rushed through your veins and you raced up the stairs to tell Spencer. You unlocked the door to his apartment and burst inside, stopping dead in your tracks when you saw him. He had cleaned, cooked and set up the dining room table with a meal for two.

“Hi, baby!” he exclaimed. “How was your closing statement?”

“Uhh, good. The judge ruled in our favor…” you spoke slowly, setting your things down.

“Really?” he smiled. “Of course! Of course they did. Baby, I’m so proud of you,” he held your face in his hands and gave you a kiss.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “What’s all this?”

“Oh, well,” he lead you into the dining room. “I made us a roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and corn on the cob. It should be good, I followed the recipe exactly. And, uh, some sparkling cider and I got you some lilies from the florist down the street and-and I even went to that store to get you a bath bomb even though all the smells give me a headache.” He was quite proud of himself.

“You went to Lush? No way.”

“Way! I thought we could take a bath together. Or you can take one by yourself, if you want. I got some candles, too.”

“Spencer, this is so sweet. What the fuck?” you wrapped your arms around him and the thought pinged in your head, “Ohhh. Oh, you wanna have sex with me.”

His face immediately turned bright red, “W-what? What? Sex? No. Ew…gross…”

You cackled and put your hands on his waist, “You got the go ahead from your doctor and it’s been driving you crazy. Admit it.”

“It has not been driving me crazy. I-I…have…been thinking about it quite a bit. But that’s not why I did this. I just wanted to thank you. Wanted to do something for you.”

“Mhm, keep talking,” you nuzzled your nose into his. “You’re almost there.”

He giggled and took hold of your hands, “C’mon, c’monnnn, I worked really hard on this dinner. Can you sit down and eat with me and then, maybe, after…”

You kissed the tip of his nose and took a seat at the table, “Definitely after,” you smirked at him.

He grinned and sat right next to you. And he watched you the entire time that you tried your food. It was delicious, you made sure to tell him that. You made sure to praise him, tell him that you loved him. He was already overrun with joy, but when you suggested a nice bath, he all but jumped out of his seat.

“The dishes!” you laughed.

He scurried back to the table, picked up your plates and dropped them in the sink. As he ran to the bathroom, he grabbed onto your wrist and dragged you along. He turned the water on, let it heat to just the right temperature and left it running. You undressed each other from head to toe and despite the sensuality of it all, you couldn’t stop giggling.

Sat in the tub, he cradled your back against his chest and he said, “Y’know…this bath bomb actually doesn’t freak me out as much as I thought it would.”

You laughed, “It smells really good, right?”

“Yeah! And the colors are cool.”

“I told you!”

Spencer got out of the bath first and he held out a towel for you to wrap yourself in. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you looked at yourselves in the mirror. He caressed your hair, whispering, “You’re so beautiful.”

You smiled, “Thank you. So are you.”

He kissed your shoulder, resting his chin in the crook of your neck, “I love you.”

“Eh,” you shrugged. “You’re alright, I guess.”

Your laughter overlapped with one another’s and you quickly corrected yourself, “I love you, honey,” with a kiss to his temple.

He turned his head and looked at you, his lips pressed against your ear, “Hey.”

You turned to him, “Hey.”

“We should get married.”

Your jaw dropped and you took a step back, “Are…are you just saying that because I’m naked and wet?”

He chuckled, “No,” he pulled you close, chest to chest, “No, no. I mean it. I mean, I don’t have a ring and I’m in no condition to get down on one knee but you deserve that, you deserve everything and I want to give that to you. I love you. So much. And I never, ever want to experience life without you again. I want you to be my wife, I want to be your husband. I want that. Don’t you want that?”

You let out a dry laugh, furrowing your eyebrows at him. You take his face in your hands, gripping tight on boths sides of his jaw and smush your lips into his. You undo the towel from around your chest and it falls to the floor, leaving every inch of your body open to Spencer’s touch.

“Mm…” he moans sharply when you break the kiss, giggling when you drag him to his bedroom by the hem of his towel.

The two of you landed on the bed with a thud, Spencer on top, tangling his body in yours, kissing your neck. Kissing your chest. Making his way to the apex of your thighs where he spread your legs and buried his face in between them.

Your breath caught in your throat but you released it all with a guttural moan, your arms limp around your head. The thing about Spencer, and that beautiful, talented mouth of his, is how gentle he was. His tongue was never rough, never hard flushed against you, but light and soft, hitting all the spots that made your body twitch. He could make you come so easily. And if you’d let him, he’d do it again and again and again.

But you took hold of his shoulders, you brought his face to yours and tangled your hands in his soaking wet hair and that is how you stayed the entire time that he fucked you. Close to him, bonded to him, staring into his eyes. You legs wrapped tight around his waist. Your body weakened underneath, became consumed by him and you swear, you have never come so hard in your life.

After his own orgasm, Spencer’s eyes focused in on you and you were crying. Not sobbing, just silent tears.

“Oh god, oh my god, [y/n]? What happened?” he panicked. “Are you okay? Did I-did I hurt you?”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, no. I…that was…it was just very good for me.”

“Oh…” he sighed. “Oh,” he gave you a kiss. “For me, too.”

He laid at your side and held you in his arms, rubbing your back, squeezing you tight.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, Spencer.”

You managed to fall asleep in his arms, but not for very long. All through the night, you shuddered awake like your skeleton was trying to crawl out of your skin. When your eyes popped open as the sun was starting to rise, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You emptied your drawer. You packed all your clothes. You put your toothbrush in a ziplock. And for the rest of the morning, you sat at the dining room table with a pen and paper. Every thought that rushed through your head sounded trite. Cliche. Dumb. So you kept it short and sweet and wrote:

I love you. I LOVE YOU. But I can’t. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.

Aside from the shitty note, it was the perfect goodbye.

Spencer doesn’t want to see you right now. He doesn’t want to see anyone right now but especially not you. When the guard notifies him of his lawyers arrival, he’s confused. A bit irritated. But he has no choice but to let them haul him off.

They let him into the meeting room, where at first, you are sitting but when you see him, you stand to your feet. Your eyes scan all over his beaten and bruised face and you order the guards, “Cuffs. Off. Please.” And they’re off Spencer’s wrists just like that.

The guards leave the room and you are still staring at him. Now you are touching his face. Now you are whimpering, “What…what happened?”

You can see him soften a little bit, only a little bit, and then he is shrugging your hand off of him. He’s never done that before and it kind of hurts.

“You shouldn’t be here, [y/n].”

“What happened? Who did this to you?”

“[y/n.]…” he’s stern, but he quickly changes his tone. “You need to go. Please. I don’t feel like talking right now.”

You huff, “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

He shakes his head, “I’m just not in the mood to talk. I don’t think anyone needs to be around me right now.”

“Well, too bad. I’m here, you look like someone took a walk on your face, and I want you to talk to me.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“What are you getting into in here? Huh?” you scold him, waving your hands around. “Didn’t everyone tell you to shut up and lay low? You didn’t listen, did you?”

Your charm bracelet catches his eye and he cannot stop tracking it, “…You don’t know anything anout anything.”

“I think-“

“No, you know what I think?” he snaps. “I think you ended our relationship in a fourteen word note and now you’re here for what? For what, [y/n]?”

“Okay, lower your voice.”

“Seriously? Your obligation is done. You fought the good fight. Let me rot. It what you would’ve done anyway.”

“Oh, fuck you. Do you know why I left you a note, Spencer? It’s because I really sucked at breaking up with you. You have one little meltdown and suddenly, it’s me. Suddenly, I’m the answer to all your problems. Well, I’m not. I never was. I’m just one of the many melodramatic problems that you have and I needed to be released before it just happened over and over and over again.”

“Melodrama- okay…” he turns around and bangs on the door, signaling the guards to get him the hell out of here.

“Spencer!”

“We’re done.”

“Will you just- talk to me,” you beg.

The door swings open and you instantly clamp up, attempting to appear calm and collected. You watch Spencer leave the room and you want to scream. You want to shout at him from the top of your lungs but you don’t. You think, if I can just get outside. If I can just cross the parking lot. If I just get to my car, I can scream.

You never make it.

By the time Diana is able to visit Spencer, by the time Spencer gets in contact with Emily, rambling and screaming into the phone like he’s just witnessed a murder, nearly a full night has passed. Emily meets Spencer in the moonlit prison and it takes her an entire minute to get him calm enough to talk, to explain thoroughly. The memories of Mexico that come flooding back, the woman who drugged him.

“Has anyone checked on my mom?” he shouts. “Can someone please check on my mom?”

“Spencer,” Emily calls to him. “We did.”

“And?”

“And, she’s fine. Apparently, Cassie was unable to come in and they sent another nurse in her place. But, um…”

Spencer leans forward in his seat, “What? What?”

“Cassie said this was delivered to your apartment,” she digs through her bag. “No name, no address. Just a knock at the door.”

And she holds up your gold charm bracelet, sealed in an evidence bag, “Do you recognize it?”

Author’s note:

Inspired by me finishing Better Call Saul and being torn apart by Jimmy and Kim. Also added Saul Goodman to my list of Old Men I’m Obsessed With 😭 Anyways stream the Breaking Bad universe on Netflix! Thanks 4 reading!! <3

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 28

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

This may be the last chapter for a few days as we’re approaching the end of the story rapidly and I haven’t finished editing it yet lol. I apologize for leaving it off with a cliffhanger but I want to make sure the end is perfect before posting it. Life’s been busy this week so I haven’t had the time to finish it the way I want to.

Content Warnings - Injury, death, medical issues, I promise Finnick isn’t being stupid this time lol

The next week was full of recovery. You slowly regained your strength and were able to try solid foods again. The doctors polished all your scars off, including the one on your face from your games, at your request. You wanted nothing left to remind you of them.

You started physical therapy, as well as regular sessions with Dr. Aurelius. He allowed Finnick to join you, realizing you felt more comfortable with him nearby. You still had to use a walker to get around, but you were making progress.

A few weeks after the war ended, Coin called all the victors into a meeting. There were barely any left, mostly due to the war.

“I’ve called you all here for a very symbolic vote,” she states. You don’t like where this is going.

She proceeds to pitch her idea for a hunger games featuring capital children. There are mixed reactions from the remaining victors, with some believing the idea to be fair and others believing it to be cruel. Votes are cast around the room and it finally comes down to Katniss.

“I get to kill Snow,” she tells Coin, who agrees to this proposition.

“Then I vote yes,” she states. “For Prim.”

You can’t even process what this means. Another games? Was Coin out of her mind? You finally realized what you had been denying all along, as long as Coin was in charge, you would never be free.

Finnick brings you back to your shared room after the meeting. You allow his touch but still flinch away at everyone else. Dr. Aurelius had been working with you on that but it’s hard to undo the trauma of many years.

“I just want to go home,” you tell him.

“You have to stay here for a bit,” he explains. “District 4 doesn’t have the resources for your treatment. Once you are better I promise you can go back to 4.”

“What about you?” you ask him. “Are you staying?”

He hesitantly shakes his head.

“I have to go to 4 for a few weeks but I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he states. “Johanna will be here with you in the meantime and I’ll call every day.”

“You’re leaving?” you ask, dumbfounded by his response.

���I promise it’s for a good reason,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t important.”

“When do you leave?” you ask.

“In two weeks,” he responds. “I’ll be here for the first bit of your treatment and return before it’s over. Then we will both go back to 4 together. Do you trust me?”

“Always”

That afternoon Finnick helps you walk out onto the avenue to stand next to the other victors. Snow was finally falling, and you were both alive to witness it.

Standing in front of all the capital people made you uneasy. What did they think of you? Were they going to hurt you?

You’re lost in your thoughts when suddenly the crowd erupts into chaos. You look up to see Coin lying dead on the podium, an arrow in her heart. A mob of people begins rushing towards Snow, eager to kill him.

Finnick quickly scoops you up and carries you away from the commotion. When he finally sets you down, you ask what happened.

“Katniss killed Coin,” he states. “Snow is dead.”

He has to take you back to your room before you have a breakdown. What evil creature was going to seize power of Panem next? All of this was too much.

You end up collapsing on the floor of your room, shaking uncontrollably.

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[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Emily Yoffe

Published: Jun 11, 2024

Eithan Haim, 34, is at the beginning of his career as a surgeon. He and his wife are expecting their first child in the fall. And now he is facing a four-count federal felony indictment for blowing the whistle on Texas Children’s Hospital, where he worked while a resident. 

At TCH, he discovered the hospital was secretly continuing gender transition treatments on minors—including hormonal intervention on patients as young as 11 years old—after publicly declaring, in March of 2022, it would no longer provide such services.

The hospital unwillingly backed away from the treatments under pressure from the Texas governor and attorney general. But Haim found not only were the treatments continuing—the program appeared to be expanding. He recorded several online presentations by medical staff encouraging the transition of children—one social worker described how she deliberately did not make note of such treatment in the medical charts of patients to avoid leaving a paper trail. Haim told me, “They were talking publicly about how they were concealing what they were doing. You can’t take care of your patient without trust. For me as a doctor, to not do something about this was unconscionable.”

Haim, like a growing number of medical professionals around the world, had grave doubts about the safety and efficacy of the explosively growing business of youth gender transition medicine. When he looked into it, he found that children distressed about their biological sex often had multiple mental health challenges—conditions that were being ignored in the rush to put vulnerable young people on hormones, and even to perform surgical interventions. These treatments are profoundly life-altering, with a high risk of rendering a young person sterile. In the last few years, a growing number of countries have investigated these treatments for young people, found the evidence wanting, and have effectively banned interventions such as puberty blockers—drugs that prevent children from entering puberty.

Haim felt he had to act, but he knew the career risks of speaking out could be enormous. He contacted conservative journalist Christopher Rufo, who published an exposé without naming Haim. Before giving Rufo evidence that puberty blockers were still being surgically implanted in young patients, Haim made sure the patient’s names and other identifying information were redacted. This was both to protect patient privacy, and himself from violating the law known as HIPAA, which protects individual patient identities while also allowing various uses of medical information. The story Haim gave to Rufo was published May 16, 2023. The next day, the Texas legislature voted to ban the medical gender transition of minors.

Haim says there was no immediate aftermath: “Everything went quiet. I was anonymous and went on with my life.” Then June 23 of last year, the day Haim was to graduate from his residency, two federal agents from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services showed up at his house to have a little chat. Haim’s wife, an assistant U.S. attorney for the Northern District of Texas, a different division of the U.S. Attorney’s office than the one that has indicted her husband, advised him not to talk. 

As Haim later wrote in City Journal, “Before leaving, they handed me a letter revealing that I was a ‘potential target’ of an investigation involving alleged violation of federal criminal law related to medical records.” Haim then went public about the threat facing him in an interview with Rufo. (The U.S Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of Texas did not respond to a request for comment.)

Haim was indicted last week, but, as of this writing, he and his attorneys do not yet know the precise nature of the charges. One of his lawyers, Mark Lytle, told me it’s very unusual to bring felony charges for an alleged HIPAA violation unless there is a significant underlying crime, such as a hospital clerk selling a celebrity’s medical records. He said the indictment of Haim seems politically motivated. “The government is entering into the town square on the culture wars and didn’t like what Eithan had to say,” said Lytle. “I think they are looking to make an example of him.” Haim is raising money for his legal fees through this GiveSendGo account.

Haim told me despite the peril he is now facing he has no regrets about blowing the whistle and is committed to fighting the federal charges. He said, “If we don’t fight back, what world are we delivering our children into?”

--

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Mature Rated Fics Masterlist (59)

Part 1 - Part 48 / Part 49 / Part 50 / Part 51 / Part 52 / Part 53 / Part 54 / Part 55 / Part 56 / Part 57 / Part 58 /

Created: May 14th, 2024

Last Checked:------

A Taste of Rebellion-JHsgf82 (ao3) Summary: It all started with a spark as most great revolutions do. And that spark, Katniss Everdeen is sorry to say, she has inadvertently kindled. Without realizing or choosing, she’s joined a fight‒and she is fairly certain she’s on the wrong side… Another unexpected complication of this whole mess is a man‒a man who couldn’t be more unlike her, nevertheless, one she’s fallen irrevocably in love with. He is the man she now feels tied to, whether she wants to be or not. She’s sure there’s no getting rid of him‒he’ll probably follow her to the ends of the earth for the strength of what binds them, but the problem is, she wants to stay right where she was. He is the one who wants to leave, and he’s insisting she go with him… And this turn of events, which has spiraled so far out of her control, is all due to a chance meeting in a coffee shop with a blond stranger on Katniss’s worst of days. Captive of The Seam-IzzySamson (ao3) Summary: The old woman laid her gnarled hands on his head, looked to the sky, and chanted some words, and the girls sang along. Katniss was not as enthusiastic as the other two, but she sang dutifully. Even naïve Peeta knew that this was some sort of ceremony…but its purpose was unknown. They could have been preparing to slit his throat and sacrifice him to some heathen god for all he knew. Sae gave him a toothless, loving smile, and said, “My son.” He felt a little sense of relief; he would not be killed, at least not today. Comfort Zone-JennaGill (ao3) Summary: She was so far outside of her comfort zone, she needed a different zip code. Katniss sees her public speaking instructor outside of class. Controlling Katniss-jamiesommers (ao3) Summary: Set in District Twelve some time after the end of the rebellion. Katniss and Peeta have gotten married. In the middle of an argument they wind up playing a little...game. Death Is Not the End-JHsgf82 (ao3) Summary: Paranormal AU. Katniss, an immortal countess, travels to America for the funeral of her beloved sister, Primrose. However, Katniss is not simply there to pay her respects; she plans to steal Prim’s body in hopes of later resurrecting her. While there, she meets a nosy reporter, Peeta Mellark, who seeks an exclusive interview with her. When he won’t take no for an answer, she decides to give him the inside scoop-at her castle. Loosely based on Netflix’s Dracula (2020). ~It doesn’t matter how much you learn about me, Peeta Mellark; it’ll do you no good. You may be clever and articulate, but you haven’t even realized that you’re never leaving this place~ Fifty Year's Worth-Juststella (ao3) Summary: For a chance to be close to Katniss in the mortal world, Angel Peeta is willing to give up his immortality. Fix My Eyes-JennaGill (ao3) Summary: Captain Katniss Everdeen takes the Mellark brothers on a charter to remember and can’t help but fall for the youngest that dresses better than he fishes. Fool Me Once-JHsgf82 (ao3) Summary: Troublemaker Katniss Everdeen and her group of friends are legendary pranksters in their sleepy Appalachian town, though they've never been caught red-handed. One day they take their pranking too far, incurring the ire of the young associate pastor of their local church, Peeta Mellark, who's been on their tails for some time. After being caught by Pastor Mellark, Katniss is sent to talk to him and to try and convince him not to press charges against them. Will she have the effect on him everyone seems to think she does? Or will he end up having an effect on her‒and possibly, changing her life? Geothermal-JHsgf82 (ao3) Summary: A girls’ trip. A last hurrah before sending one of their own off to married life is what has Katniss Everdeen jetting off to Iceland to visit the famous Nordic hot springs. She expected to be forced into outdoor public bathing and weird spa treatments and browbeaten into relaxing, but what she didn’t expect was to run into someone from her past‒a very handsome someone whom she hadn’t realized she’d always paid attention to.

Glitter and Dust-jeeno2 (ao3) Summary: “Katniss’ voice, even when she’s just practicing scales, dazzles him as much now as it ever has.” Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, former childhood lovers, work together to save a struggling radio station during the Golden Age of radio. Historical AU.

[anonymousaccount1015]

If you’re thinking about sitting out the Presidential election because you’re unsatisfied with the major party options OR because you think you have principled philosophical reasons to not like Biden, please keep in mind what is at stake.

- Trump being in office again and having the power of the executive broadly (this is bad enough, also kind of my catch-all for things unlisted that you might think up)

- Trump seeking revenge, retribution, and repression of political freedoms of those who don’t support him, you can imagine for yourself how this might manifest, including through promoting political violence from his followers, which he hasn’t pledged to not allow

- Trump attacking the opposition party as part of his “revenge,” perhaps in ways that are more substantive than before, possibly through weaponizing the DOJ against political enemies

- Trump actually following through on his promise that in his first day in office that he would be a dictator, but only on day one, you can see him speak about this when he was on Fox News

- Trump attempting and/or succeeding at implementing Project 2025 (the playbook for a fascist takeover which, very oversimplified, looks to centralize political power in the hands of the executive)

- Trump possibly appointing two new Supreme Court justices, assuming the two older justices (Alito and Thomas) leave early to get replaced by ideologically similar judges, the history books will say we allowed him five Supreme Court appointments (three in his first term + two replacements)

- Trump possibly appointing more conservative justices across the lower courts, there are many vacancies at present (including on the U.S. District Courts), Trump appointed many judges on these lower courts in his first term after the Republican Senate prevented Obama from appointing any, arguably these were even worse for the longterm health of the country than the Supreme Court appointments

- Trump probably appoints an even crazier second Presidential cabinet filled with his allies (people who are subservient to his whims and support him fanatically, something like Giuliani as Attorney General or something, Vivek anywhere in his administration is scary)

- Trump pardoning himself from the majority of his crimes (unsure how many he can succeed with pardoning himself from, not a legal expert, IIRC he can’t pardon himself out of Georgia at least)

- Trump procuring 91 criminal charges across four separate cases (the Washington D.C. Jack Smith case, the Georgia election interference case, the classified documents case, the Stormy Daniels case), you can watch a quick recap here, this should immediately make him unqualified for public office

- Trump potentially using the Insurrection Act of 1807 which allows the President with very little oversight to order “U.S military and federalized national guard troops within the United States in particular circumstances, such as to suppress civil disorder, insurrection, or rebellion” (per Wikipedia), something which he may use as soon as his first day in office to support protests

- Trump pardoning some/all of his associates and acolytes that have helped him over the years, assuring that they’ll never face justice (Giuliani comes to mind, others who have been loyal, Gaetz will never face justice for unlawfully trafficking minors)

- Trump possibly working to free the January 6th participants, who he’s repeatedly labeled as “hostages,” as in freeing the people who tried to assist him in overthrowing the government, danced around it as recently as his 03/20 rally

Trump has also on multiple occasions had a “January 6th prison choir” at his rallies that perform live songs as recently as his 03/20 rally, this is ongoing (side note)

- Trump possibly getting full control of the federal government just like the 115th Congress (Trump winning the White House makes it very statistically likely even with an overperformance on our side that he also wins the Senate, the House is still a tossup, anybody’s game)

- Trump possibly trying to sign some sort of federal abortion ban, Trump prided himself on killing Roe vs Wade and then said it was up to the states, though privately, reports have come out that Trump is proposing a federal abortion ban to mirror those in various states

- Trump trying once again to build a border wall/trying to do other horrible things to “illegal” undocumented immigrants (he promised tighter border security + Republicans have been focusing a lot on immigration recently), called migrants “animals” at a 03/20 rally

- Trump promised a mass deportation of “illegal” undocumented immigrants, this is a pretty standard Republican talking point nowadays but still absolutely unacceptable

- Trump potentially using the military against foreign drug cartels in their own sovereign territory, something that was also promoted by fellow Republicans that ran in the primary

- Trump signing KOSA into law (a far right backed bill to “protect kids on the Internet”), which will also likely overturn Section 230 (very oversimplified, the law that states what happens on these platforms, say Tumblr, is not Tumblr’s responsibility, they can’t be sued as if they were a participant, if this was overturned, it would lead to severe content restrictions since now Tumblr, and others, can be sued for everything)

- Trump signing federal age restriction mandates similar to those that have been passed recently in several states (Texas and seven others, with more than a dozen states with similar bills in the legislature), making it so you have to provide identification to access pornographic material

- Trump pulling us out of various international agreements (among them the Paris Climate Accord, which he pulled out of in his first term, for example), the U.S. will never be trusted internationally again

- Trump pulling out of NATO (an important international strategic alliance we’ve had since the 1950s that has safeguarded our spot as the superpower of the world), something he teased repeatedly in his first term

- Trump threatening nuclear war or some similarly large military escalation when he tries to intimidate our perceived enemies about how vast our military capabilities are

- Trump possibly withholding aid from Ukraine/strongarming them to accept a peace deal which will mean they have to cede major territory to Putin (we’ve seen already that Trump is willing to strongarm Ukraine for political purposes, see his first impeachment trial, plus Trump says that he can end the war in less than a day, about the only way this is feasible is Ukraine ceding ground)

- Trump possibly ignoring the Palestine genocide in terms of offering any humanitarian assistance/allowing Israel to have their way unrestricted (you can criticize our President on Israel for very fair reasons but Trump would be significantly worse if your goal is to save Palestine)

- Trump possibly inflaming tensions with Iran (either intentionally by attacking first or indirectly through proxy via involvement vs Hamas or Hezbollah/support of Israel), a war that neither side needs

- Trump provoking tensions with China which may lead to a more substantive lapse in the relationship that won't help either of us (another trade war or unlikely on the ground war), the Republicans have been very rabid about China lately in their efforts to ban TikTok

- Trump potentially encouraging China to try to invade Taiwan like they've been posturing about for over half a century, sensing weakness from Trump or that he won't support Taiwan like the Americans had previously pledged

- Trump promised to reinstate the previous travel bans imposed on several Muslim-majority countries, something which originally happened in his first Presidential term

- Trump promises to promote oil drilling once again (he promised his first day in office when he's a dictator), possibly offshore fracking (judging by the position of the party), setting us behind in switching away from oil + harming the planet

- Trump probably slashes the subsidies for electric vehicles, setting us behind in switching over (optimistic outlooks say 10-15 years for electric vehicles once they've reached their full potential to phase out gas vehicles from the market), recently at a campaign event he spoke very negatively about them (the "bloodbath" speech)

- Trump promised a “100% tariff” on all vehicles that are imported by Chinese run factories that they’re building in Mexico, which is absolutely ludicrous in terms of a policy proposal

- Trump stating there will be a “bloodbath” at an 03/16 rally assuming he’s not elected President once again, when pushed back, Trump suggested he was talking about what will happen to the auto industry, though many think he was making some kind of veiled threat

- Trump promises to use the National Guard in major cities struggling with violent crime and problems with drugs, something that would be a significant overreach and very displacing for their populations

This list will be added to as more becomes available about what Trump plans to/is likely to do.

Though these things seem horrible, and might even make you feel hopeless, through the mobilization of voters, we’re stronger than we think we are, even at the sunset of democracy.

[beardedmrbean]

BALTIMORE (AP) ��� A Maryland woman who’s held white supremacist views for decades and recently conspired with a neo-Nazi leader to plan an attack on Baltimore’s power grid was sentenced Wednesday to 18 years in prison for her role in the plot.

The high-profile case ultimately came to focus on the defendant’s past trauma and her mental state as she struggled with addiction and embraced increasingly radical, racist views. Sarah Beth Clendaniel, 36, pleaded guilty to planning the attack in May.

Clendaniel was working with Brandon Russell, who co-founded a small, Florida-based neo-Nazi group, to plan a series of “sniper attacks” on Maryland electrical substations that could have caused significant damage to the regional power grid. It was meant to create chaos in the majority-Black city, according to federal prosecutors.

“It’s true, your honor, I do still hold National Socialist beliefs,” Clendaniel told the judge during her sentencing hearing Wednesday in Baltimore federal court, saying she adopted the ideology at age 13. She pledged to never again act on those beliefs.

“I know there’s a line there that I can’t cross,” she said.

U.S. District Judge James Bredar said he wanted to believe that Clendaniel wouldn’t have actually carried out the plot, which he called “extreme in every respect.”

“I think that’s a huge question, but who can take that risk?” he said, before sentencing her to 18 years in federal prison — the sentence prosecutors had recommended — and lifetime supervision upon release.

In explaining his decision, Bredar noted new information from prosecutors that Clendaniel had recently been placing jail calls to a white supremacist leader in California. Those calls show Clendaniel was unrepentant and undeterred, prosecutors said.

“This is something that is very much a part of her,” Assistant U.S. Attorney Kathleen O’Connell Gavin said during the hearing.

Clendaniel was charged last year along with Russell, a Florida resident who co-founded the group Atomwaffen Division. His case hasn’t gone to trial yet. Russell previously served five years in prison after pleading guilty to explosives charges that stemmed from a deadly shooting at an apartment that he shared with Atomwaffen’s other founder.

Clendaniel and Russell began exchanging letters around 2018 while they were incarcerated in different facilities. They developed a romantic relationship that continued after they were released from prison, court records show.

Clendaniel pleaded guilty in May to two counts: conspiracy to damage electrical facilities and being a felon in possession of a firearm.

Much of Clendaniel’s sentencing hearing focused on how her life may have been shaped by the severe domestic abuse and neglect she endured as a child and teenager. She spent some of her childhood living on the streets, and her struggles with addiction started at an early age, according to court testimony.

Those experiences made her acutely vulnerable to the influence of people like Russell and other white supremacist leaders, her public defender Sedira Banan argued. But Clendaniel had spent decades harboring racist views without ever acting on them.

“It’s a lot of talk,” Banan said, asking the court to impose a 10-year sentence. “That’s what it amounts to.”

In a letter to the court before sentencing, Clendaniel apologized for her actions and said she had been struggling with severe mental and physical health problems at the time, including a diagnosis of kidney failure. Believing her days were numbered, Clendaniel said she was in “a very dark place.” She said she was struggling to get her life on track and provide for her children after coming home from prison.

“I felt like I needed to do something to make up for my shameful life of drugs, crime, addiction, and neglect of my children by going to prison,” she wrote. “My primary motivation for my plans … was because I wanted to help people to understand how fragile this modern world is.”

Clendaniel grew up in rural Cecil County, an overwhelmingly white, conservative enclave in the northeast corner of Maryland bordering both Delaware and Pennsylvania. Her criminal history includes a series of robberies she committed while using drugs, often targeting convenience stores in her hometown.

She was serving a sentence for a 2016 robbery when she began corresponding with Russell.

After being released from prison in 2020, she fell back into familiar patterns of addiction and embraced increasingly radical views, court records show. She spent hours on the phone with a confidential informant she met through Russell, discussing how she would obtain a gun and shoot at five electrical substations situated in a ring around Baltimore, according to prosecutors. She was arrested and charged in the power grid plot in February 2023.

[offender42085]

Post 0556

Shawn Leonard, Utah inmate 129972, born 1977, incarceration intake in 2011 at age 34, sentenced to life

Attempted Aggravated Murder, Aggravated Robbery, Aggravated Kidnapping, Escaping from Custody

Calling it the "only reasonable alternative," a judge in 2011 sentenced a man to life without the possibility of parole for the brutal rape and beating of a young woman who was left for dead near the Provo River Trail.

Shawn Leonard, 34, of Springville, received the maximum sentence in Provo's 4th District Court.

When the victim's mother arrived at the hospital on that day last year, she said her daughter "was unrecognizable from the shoulders up." During the first day there, the daughter asked her mother "if he would come back to finish killing her."

Even after she was released from the hospital, the nightmares and the surgeries continued.

"Nobody should have to suffer through this," her mother told the judge, "and have unspeakable things done while you're not conscious and while you are conscious.

"I have sobbed uncontrollably knowing what happened to my daughter."

Leonard, standing at the podium in front of Judge Claudia Laycock in a white Department of Corrections jumpsuit with his hands cuffed behind his back and his ankles shackled, showed no emotion as the sentence was handed down.

He declined to say anything to the judge or to his victim prior to being sentenced.

The now 20-year-old victim and her family were pleased with the sentence.

On June 9, 2010, Leonard, who walked away from a jail work-release program, grabbed the then 19-year-old Utah Valley University student as she was walking along the Provo River Trail and pulled her into the nearby bushes where he was hiding. At first he asked the woman for money. When she said she didn't have any to give, he told her to sit and turn away.

The next thing the woman felt was a string around her neck strangling her. She believes she may have blacked out for up to three hours. During that time, prosecutors say Leonard smashed her face with a rock and cement cinder block. When the victim came to, she found her head dripping with blood and her clothing around her ankles. She had only enough power to crawl back to the trail for help.

Leonard knocked out six of the woman's teeth and she later had to have two more removed because they were so badly damaged. Her jaw was broken and had to be wired shut.

Both the prosecution and Laycock also noted Leonard's narcissism. In the pre-sentence report prepared for the case in which Leonard was allowed to give his version of what happened, Leonard claimed he and the victim had a "social encounter" and had been talking for awhile about consensual intercourse. He claims he then blacked out and didn't remember what happened.

Laycock said she "totally" rejected that claim, calling it, "absurd," "self-serving" and said it "flies in the face of concrete evidence."

"I can't think of a case that fits what the legislature intended (with the life without parole statute) more direct than this case," the judge said.

Laycock said the key in a life without parole sentence is the amount of "serious bodily injury" involved in the aggravated kidnapping charge. "This went far beyond 'serious bodily injury,'" she said.

The judge said she had dealt with Leonard in previous cases and admitted there was nothing in his adult criminal history that would lead her to predict he would have committed a crime so heinous as this.

Subsequent appeals were unsuccessful.

3a

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 1: The Shark

Chapter 1

I sleep in that morning. We are the last district, so there is no point in getting up early, unless you want to watch the others live. But why? There will be a recap later, complete with commentary.

So I sleep in, then lay in bed for another half hour, because I can. Most days I either get up early for school or to go out on my father’s fishing boat. I enjoy the work. My father is the manager of a fishing company. He actually owns his own boat, and oversees a fleet of about a dozen Capitol-owned boats. He hires the crews, organizes sales and shipping, the whole hook and sinker. It’s nice, really. We make enough money to be quite comfortable, and my father is well-known and well-liked, so we get along well.

Ever since I was big enough to manage my own fishing pole, he let me come along on weekends to fish for fun and learn the family business so someday I can take over. When I was twelve, he decided I was big enough to start actually helping, so he put me on his most experienced crew so they could keep me out of too much trouble while I learned the ropes. When I turned fifteen and there were some staffing changes due to retirements and a shipwreck with no survivors, he let me pick a crew from the existing group, and from then on, I was in charge. Since then, we have been one of four crews on the largest fishing boat, the one my father captains personally. I love it. I love the sea air, the camaraderie, the sheer effort of fishing. Every weekend I am exhausted—going to school during the week is almost a vacation.

So the reaping is a special day. After being sufficiently lazy, I get up and get dressed. My father bought me a new dress for the occasion.

“Your last reaping is something to celebrate, I think,” he said, when he handed me the box last night after supper.

The dress is sea green and gorgeous. I leave my hair down, letting it fall all the way to my waist, and tie my seashell necklace around my neck. It was my mother’s, and after her death, it became mine. A single white shell, perhaps an inch in diameter, strung on a simple cord. I smile at my reflection, then walk downstairs.

My father hands me a plate of broccoli, rice, and seabass. Not my favorite, but he always does this. Reaping lunch is mediocre, reaping supper with our neighbors is extravagant and delicious.

We have just finished when there is a knock at the door.

“Yeah!” my father calls down the hallway without getting up.

The door opens and Mako steps inside. He winks at me as he pulls up a chair.

“Lunch?” my father gestures at his own plate.

“No thanks,” Mako says. “Mom had us finish last night’s salmon, so I’m full up on that. You’re still planning on supper tonight, right?”

Dad and I both nod.

“Good,” Mako continues, “Because Mom’s making seafood.”

“You’ll have to narrow that down,” I say with a mouthful of broccoli.

“Can’t. She’s making all of it. Lobster, clam, oyster, calamari, shrimp. She even said she found some caviar on the… in town.”

We all know what he isn’t saying. Just because we have all the seafood doesn’t mean we get to eat it all. The good stuff goes to the Capitol, and we get the leftovers, but the black market thrives here, and Mako’s mother supplies the whole neighborhood with her finds.

When my father and I have finished our lunch, we sit in silence for a moment, considering what is about to happen. Finally, my father says, “Well, you two have to be there earlier anyway, so how about I do the dishes this time, and I’ll see you after?”

Mako nods. I give Dad a quick hug, then follow Mako out the front door. He takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “Happy Hunger Games, my love.”

“And may the odds be ever in your favor, my dearest,” I laugh.

We separate before reaching the square, he to the boys’ side and I to the girls’. I register, then walk to the very back of the square with the rest of the eighteen-year-old girls. As tall as I am, I make for even the back row of that group. I have just settled in place when Jade and Coral hurry up to me.

“Oh, your dress is beautiful!” Jade gushes. “I wish my dad would buy me a new reaping dress every year.”

“We all know you’d never wear it again though,” Coral says with a grin.

Jade smiles. “Okay, true, they’re not very multi-functional. I’d feel silly wearing it to school, and it would just get caught on everything at work.”

Jade works in her parents’ net shop, designing and making the fishing nets that fishermen like my father use. Coral is training to be a teacher, so much of any conversation Jade and I have about fishing techniques goes right over her head, but we love her anyway.

The square fills in quickly. We are nothing here if not punctual—though usually only on reaping day. At two o’clock, the speeches start. They mayor talks for a little while, then Casca says a few words as well, and then it is time.

Casca walks to the first bowl, reaches in, and pulls a slip of paper. He walks back to the microphone, opens the paper, and says, “The female tribute from District Four...”

I give the customary sigh of relief. Another year, another tribute. I am done. I turn to smile at Coral and Jade, but they are not smiling back. They are staring. Coral has tears in her eyes. And then it hits me. They have called my name.

“Annie Cresta?” Casca says again. He has no idea who I am. But most everyone else here does. Heads turn toward me. For some reason all I can think about is how beautiful this would look from above. The funnel of faces all turning to one point, and that one point is me. My red hair and green dress. Striking.

I walk through the crowd in a haze. There is silence. On the stage, I see Four’s six surviving past victors. They are sizing me up already, deciding if I am a contender. Last year they had a pair of thirteen-year-olds. Both dead within twenty-four hours.

I reach the stage, walk up the steps, stand awkwardly while Casca moves to the other bowl, pulls another piece of paper, reads another name.

“Mako Silther.”

I do not react. I cannot react. I hope very much that no one else reacts either. That is the last thing we need.

Mako walks forward. Like me, he was at the back, and watching him move through the crowd, I realize how painfully long it took me to reach the stage. And he didn’t stand there gaping like a fish for several seconds before starting.

When he reaches the stage, Casca has us shake hands, and the people of Four applaud dutifully. Then we are escorted into the Justice Building, into separate rooms, to say our goodbyes.

My father comes in first. He is not crying, but I can see the pain in his eyes. We embrace, silent at first, but then I remember.

“No one can know,” I whisper. My voice is more frantic than I would prefer, but given the circumstances, I think I am doing alright.

“I won’t say a word. And I’ll pass it on to everyone else.”

“Thank you.”

 Then he steps back, hands on my shoulders, just looking at me. Looking at me like it’s the last time he’s ever going to see me. Which, in fairness, it probably is. I’m eighteen, strong, and good with pointy objects, but in the arena, anything can happen.

After at least a minute, I can stand it no longer. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Goodbye’ seems so final.”

“Your mom always told me, you don’t have to say goodbye, just make sure you don’t leave anything unsaid.”

I shrug. “I guess that doesn’t leave much for us, does it?”

He laughs, then pulls me into a hug. “I love you so much, and you have always made me so proud to be your dad.”

There are tears running down my cheeks. “I love you too. I couldn’t have wished for a better dad. And I’m gonna come home.”

Dad nods. “I know you can do it.”

And then the Peacekeeper opens the door and says our time is up. Dad gives me one last hug, then walks out.

As he exits, Jade and Coral come in. They are both crying.

“Please don’t,” I say, because I know I can be strong for me, but I’m not sure I can be strong enough for all three of us in this moment.

They run to me and wrap me in their arms, still sobbing, but Jade has the good sense to speak so quietly I can barely hear here when she says, “What about Mako?”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Coral says, squeezing my hands. “We’ll get all the kids who know and make sure nobody tells.”

Jade nods, but doesn’t stop staring at me. “Annie, what are you going to do?”

I shrug. “Hope someone else kills one of us before it comes to that. The odds are at least in our favor that way.”

Jade nods again, but she doesn’t seem convinced. “You have to come home.”

“I will,” I say. “I can do it.”

“We know,” Coral says. “If any girl we know can win, it’s you.”

The Peacekeeper is back. Jade and Coral hold my hands all the way to the door, where the Peacekeeper stops me and pushes them away. I can hear Coral sobbing.

Mako’s parent’s come in next. They have been crying. I don’t blame them. Before I can say anything though, Mr. Silther says, “No one will say anything.”

I nod. We are all on the same page then. That’s good. I will not be like the pair from Ten.

We sit in silence for several minutes. None of us know what to say.

When the Peacekeeper opens the door and the Silthers start to leave, I practically shout after them, “Take care of Dad! Make him come to supper! Please!”

Mrs. Silther turns back to me and nods, her eyes brimming with tears, and then the door shuts again.

My last visitors nearly aren’t all allowed into the room because there are too many of them, but the Peacekeeper takes pity on us, and lets my entire fishing crew crowd in.

Circled around me, they say a rushed Fisherman’s Prayer, asking for calm seas, fair winds, and a worthy ship. Then Rizz claps a hand on my shoulder and says, “Annie, you can win.”

“I know,” I say.

“No, listen to me. You can win. I’m not saying that to comfort you as you go to your death, and I don’t want you saying it to convince yourself that there’s hope. I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re our Tiger Shark. You can win, and you will win, if you remember that. Nobody messes with tiger sharks. You just have to show them that.”

I nod. Rizz means it, and his confidence has given me confidence. He is right. None of the other tributes are brave enough to swim with tiger sharks, but I am. I will win.

The Peacekeeper tells my crew it is time, so we quickly shake hands all around, and they file out. Once Rizz has followed the rest of them, the Peacekeeper escorts me out of the room, down the hall, out of the Justice Building, and onto the platform at the train station. He gestures at the door of the train, so I step inside, and the door closes behind me.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Inside, sitting at a mahogany table, are our mentors. Before getting on the train, there’s no way to know who they will be this year. Well, that’s not entirely true. Mags has to be there. Mags, the seventy-five-year-old who won the Eleventh Hunger Games. Mags, who suffered what the doctors said must have been a stroke last year and whose words are now garbled. Mags, the woman who is so kind to everyone. Mags, who somehow won her Games and who helped mentor five others to victory. Mags, who has never been able to keep a girl alive. But the man is a mystery. Nobody really knows how mentors are chosen once you have a pool of potential mentors. It’s been Finnick Odair every year since he won, and before that it was Beck, who won something like forty-five years ago. To my knowledge, the other two have never mentored. But Cellin is a slobbering drunk and Manta had a ferocious temper before he won fifteen years ago, and victory only made it worse. Dad told me Manta has never been a mentor because one of the rules is you have to treat your tributes well, and even the Capitol thinks Manta would be too cruel to be allowed. Cellin, though… District Twelve has a drunk for a mentor every year. Then again, he’s their only surviving victor. Maybe if Beck and Finnick both dropped dead, they’d drag Cellin out. Or maybe Mags would just do it herself like she did for twenty years. Who knows.

I am jerked back to reality by Finnick. Finnick, who is only a year older than me, but has already mentored four groups of losing tributes. I am sure he’s already coming up with a plan. Already hopeful, maybe even confident, that he has a winner this year. A pair of eighteen-year-old fishermen. The odds may not be great, but they are at least in our favor that way.

Finnick gestures at the chair across from him. Mako is sitting across from Mags, staring at nothing. I sit as Casca enters from the front of the car and announces that we will be leaving in five minutes. He walks past us and exits out the back, into another car.

Once Casca has closed the door behind him, Finnick speaks.

“All right, what are you good at?”

“Lobster diving,” I say dryly.

Finnick nods. “Breath-holding,” he says to Mags, who is scribbling on a notepad.

Finnick turns to Mako. “You?”

“Math,” Mako says even more dryly.

“Angles, trajectory, force, velocity.”

Mags nods and keeps writing.

“You again,” Finnick looks back at me.

“Reaching high shelves.”

“Damn it, that was gonna be mine,” Mako says, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“We’ll write it for both.” Finnick turns to Mags, who is decidedly not writing.

“Why?” she says. And then says something else that takes me a few seconds to realize was “It’s obvious.”

Finnick nods again, drums his fingers on the table for a few seconds, then says, “Come on, help me out. We can’t help you if…”

He is still talking, but I am not listening. I am counting fingers, rapid taps and pauses, the occasional use of the thumb. Finnick is saying something about how we will need to focus on the things we don’t know, like edible plants and building fires—and knowing when it is safe to build a fire and when we should never under any circumstances build a fire—when it hits me.

Stop that, I tap.

Stop what? Finnick taps back, still talking, but I can’t concentrate on both conversations.

Alphabet backwards. No point.

Yes point.

And then he stops tapping and is still talking about fires and learning what food is okay to eat raw and what needs cooked.

The train starts with the smallest of lurches. I stare out the window, watching District Four pass us by. After ten minutes, Mags stands up and takes Mako’s hand, leading him to the door at the back of the car.

“Where are they…?” The door closes behind them, cutting me off.

“We have to strategize. Mags and I flipped for it, and this year, honey, I get you.”

This makes me distinctly uncomfortable. For one thing, “honey” is not a term of endearment thrown around by nineteen-year-old boys, or anyone in Four for that matter. Second, I don’t really like the way he is looking at me. I’m sure he’s probably just sizing me up, but something about it is…

“I’m not a piece of meat,” I snap.

Finnick smiles. “No you are not. In fact, I hear you’re a tiger shark.”

I stare. “How do you know that?” It’s just a nickname. Nothing bad. But it is a nickname Rizz and the rest of the crew gave me. It doesn’t get thrown around in school. My friends don’t call me Tiger Shark, my father doesn’t call me Tiger Shark. I start to wonder if Finnick has been stalking me. Maybe the reaping is rigged, and they have known it will be me for months now, so Finnick has studied up. Maybe-

“Don’t flatter yourself, honey. I hear things. Actually, I’m glad they pulled you.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t expect you would be. But think about it this way. Your crew knows you’re a tiger shark, I know you’re a tiger shark, you know you’re a tiger shark, now you just have to show twenty-three other people that you’re a tiger shark. Understand?”

I tilt my head to the side, scrutinizing him. Maybe Finnick Odair isn’t just a pretty face, though I suspect that is still most of his talent. “A shark won’t mess with you unless it has a reason.”

Finnick nods. “And what did they just give you?”

“A reason.”

“Exactly. So that’s gonna be our strategy.” He pops a grape into his mouth. “I know it was Rizz, and I know the sacred bond a crew has, but we’re going to take that and run with it. Everything is about the Tiger Shark now. You act like one from now on, even more than you already do. You tell Caesar about it during your interview. You exude that confidence, that strength, that will to fight, that unshakeable…”

“Cold-blooded killer instinct?”

“Yeah, that.” A smile spreads across his face. “I just realized—I’ve got two sharks this year. We’re gonna play that. Now, back to business. Who taught you Taps?”

Why that is relevant, I don’t know. “My father.”

“Good for him, makes my job easier.”

“Why?”

“You remember the pair from Ten? Cally and Alvan?”

How could anyone forget them? “Yes.”

“Well, that made me realize how helpful a little secret communication can be. And Taps is all Four has, so I’m glad one of you knows it.”

“How do you know Mako doesn’t?”

“I was watching him after I did the first run of the alphabet. I could see in your eyes you’d get there eventually, so I ignored you until you tapped back. He didn’t have a clue though. Not even a good blank expression to hide it. Just confusion that there was a pattern, but he had no idea what it was.”

“What, and that makes me better than him?”

“No,” Finnick shrugs. “I figure we’ve got an even shot for either of you, but it does mean I can tell you this.” Then then he taps, It has to stay secret. If they find out, they will make you the next pair from Ten.

I nod.

Finnick thinks for a moment, then says, “It puts you at a disadvantage, because you will have to work twice as hard. You have to act, which means your focus will be on acting, on looking normal, and it’s hard to look normal if you’re trying.” He smiles. “But that’s why Mags and I are here. It’s our job to help you.”

I nod again. “Then help us.”

“Don’t worry honey, I will.”

“And stop calling me honey.”

****

****

NEXT CHAPTER

[periwinckles]

THE TRAIN BACK TO TWELVE - CHAPTER 23

WEEK 13 - THOM

When lunch is over, we gather everyone around the firepit, much more cramped than we usually are. It takes a long time for everyone to settle down and be quiet, so I take the chance to watch Delly from afar. She's sitting next to Saul and Leevy, chatting lively as usual. Her laughter lights up her whole face and I’m only sorry I can’t hear it right now. Somehow she senses me watching her and she faces me with a playful look. We hold each other's gaze for a few minutes, and I don’t even bother to try to hide it. My mind wanders between the ten minutes we had to ourselves this morning and the possibilities of tonight, when we’ll get the tent to ourselves for the first time. She bites her lower lip and I’m almost certain she’s thinking the same thing.

Cyrus’ clears his throat next to me and I’m startled, earning me a hearty laugh from him. 

“Is that everyone?” he asks.

“I believe so.”

One hundred and thirty one. 

It feels surreal to have this many people facing us, but here we are. 

Jack, Cyrus and I stand in front of everyone and Jack addresses the crowd.

“May I have your attention please? Hello everyone, my name is Jack Norbert. You may remember me as the former blacksmith of this district. I would like to welcome every single one of you. I believe I speak for everyone when I say we are glad to have you back.”

There are loud cheers and raucous clapping. After all we’ve been through, it’s a relief to have new residents to easen out the load for everyone.

“This is Thom Campbell, former miner, and Cyrus Johnson, former peacekeeper.” Jack continues. “ For the time being, we are the ones in charge of this district. We have a monthly district meeting to discuss matters that we feel should be decided by the entirety of the residents and not only by ourselves, but everything else goes through the district council.

I’m in charge of the cleaning crew. We’re the cleaners and we handle rubble and building clearing as well as burials.”

There’s a distinct uneasiness in the crowd once he mentions dead bodies, but Jack is quick to dismiss it.

“Don’t worry, there’s not much of that left to do.”

The crowd visibly relaxes and Jack goes on with his exposition.

“Cyrus Johnson is in charge of the campsite, we call them the campers . Everything regarding the camp, tents and temporary constructions such as the latrines and the portable showers, goes through him. He also handles security measures and guard duty. 

Zac Steiner over there…”

Zac is in the far right of the crowd and he lifts his hand in the air so everyone can spot him.

“... is in charge of supplies. The suppliers handle the train’s shipments, as well as food, clothes and tools. He reports to Thom.”

Jack places a hand on my right shoulder as he goes on.

“Thom Campbell is in charge of the builders . He is also the one handling government contacts at this point, and placing orders for the train shipments.

A couple of weeks ago we also started with a vegetable garden, and we’re hoping to have our first crops in a short time. Delly Cartwright…”

Delly raises her hand, but she’s hard to miss, her golden hair a light beacon amidst everyone else.

“... is in charge of the gardening crew. She reports to Thom as well. Do you have any questions regarding our logistics?”

Several hands go up, and Jack takes the questions, one by one. After a few minutes it becomes clear most questions are to inquire about the construction work.

“We’re only talking about logistics and coordination at this point. Don’t worry, Thom will soon tell you all about the new houses.”

Half the hands drop, but we get a few pertinent questions, about the showers timetable or supply orders. 

“We have a weekly budget from the Capitol.” I explain to them. “Every week I can only order what’s within our budget. It’s lenient enough that I can work in a few personal items every time. But the budget is for the entire community, so I need to be careful about my choices. If there is any particular item that you need, come see me, and we’ll try to work it out, if not this week, then maybe one of the coming weeks. Any more questions?”

Leonard’s hand goes up, and Jack nods for him to speak.

“So, we have a peacekeeper in charge?”

Read the rest on AO3

[aeoki]

Toyland - Chapter 1

Location: 1-B Classroom Characters: Touri & Yuzuru

Touri: Lalalaa~♪

(The boring string of classes have finished and it’s finally lunch! Maybe I’ll buy some bread from the school store. Or maybe I could eat at the cafeteria instead~?)

(I’ve got Yuzuru’s lunch box that he forced onto me, but it doesn’t taste like anything so I don’t feel like eating it.)

(Even if I know it’s healthy for me, I’ll get depressed if I eat it every day.)

(But he might force me to eat it if I give him the lunch box that hasn’t been touched at all…)

(No, he probably would have nagged me about every little thing back when he first transferred to the school.)

(But what about Yuzuru now…? It feels like he’s being considerate for some strange reason. I bet something definitely happened during the school trip.)

(He told me he had an exciting pillow fight, got yelled at by the teacher and then overslept – He said all that with a smile on his face.)

(We’re talking about Yuzuru here. That’s impossible!)

(He’s prepared to do anything for my sake.)

(He lives by dedicating his whole life to me and he was convinced that that was his happiness.)

(...But maybe he’s had a change of heart after having a fun time with his classmates on the school trip. It makes me a bit sad but it’s a good thing.)

(I’ve also made friends with Yuuta, Hinata and Hajime… and the other people in my class. I can’t continue being the way I was forever.)

(I’m sure my relationship with Yuzuru is also changing with time.)

Yuzuru: Young Master.

Touri: Eeek!? Y-Y-Yuzuru?

Yuzuru: Young Master, please calm down. You will set a bad example as the next head of the Himemiya family if you’re flustered like that.

Please make sure to be calm and composed at all times.

Touri: Well, you appeared out of nowhere, so obviously that would take me by surprise…

I’ve already finished my work for the Student Council early this morning, so you’re not here to tell me something suddenly came up, right? The Student Council President would contact me if that’s the case.

Yuzuru: It is as you say – I’m not here regarding your student council work, but I’ve received a message regarding a job from the Master.

Touri: From Papa? I’m keeping in contact with him through letters but I haven’t been calling him recently, so I kinda miss hearing his voice.

But it would bother him if I were to call him out of the blue, right?

Yuzuru: The Master is a busy man. There is the time difference as well. It may be noon here in Japan but there is a possibility that night has already fallen over there.

In any case, I’ve received a message from the Master that one of the toy companies the Himemiya family runs will be opening a new toy store in the shopping district soon.

And he says he’d like you to be in charge of the opening performance for the store.

Touri: Hmm~... I’ve never heard of this before.

Yuzuru: It’s confidential information, after all.

It would be a serious matter if the public were to find out. It’s information that the higher-ups want me to keep completely private.

Touri: I’m from the Himemiya family and not only that, I’m going to be the next head. Isn’t it an issue if I don’t know about this?

Well, one section of the family business has been left to your responsibility, though. It feels like I’m just a decoration on the side and I don’t like it.

Yuzuru: I’m simply an assistant until you come of age, Young Master. I’m sure everything will be left to you in a few years.

Touri: …When that happens, will you still stay by my side, Yuzuru?

Yuzuru: Of course. As long as you require my abilities, I shan’t leave your side. Please, rest assured.

Touri: H-Hmph. Do your best and make sure I don’t get tired of you, then.

Anyway, I wonder why they decided to open a new toy store at this time of the year? It’s already November…

Oh, I know! Christmas is coming up so they want to open in time for it, right?

Yuzuru: Yes, I assume it is exactly as you say, Young Master.

Halloween has ended and every store has already put up their Christmas decorations. Especially for toy stores where Christmas is the most important time of the year.

If they’re able to attract even more customers through the opening performance, their future prospects will be rather bright.

I’m sure both the Master and the Lady have high hopes for you and that’s why they’ve asked you to fulfil the task.

Touri: I see… Maybe it was worth crying and begging Papa and Mama to enrol into Yumenosaki then. Ehehe ♪

Yuzuru. Papa and Mama want me to put on a performance for the new store that’s opening soon, right?

And I can pick whoever I want to perform with?

Yuzuru: Yes, I’ve heard they’ll leave that to you.

Touri: Then I’ll invite the Student Council President and then “fine” can take part ♪

With my cuteness and the President’s beautiful performance, the customers won’t be able to take their eyes off of us. Kyahahaha ☆

Yuzuru: “fine”... If that’s the case, then I’ll need to contact Hibiki-sama as well.

Touri: Uuu~ I’ve got no choice, huh. I can’t leave Long-Hair out of the loop.

It’s been pretty cold recently and it seems the President isn’t feeling that well.

So I probably shouldn’t be selfish and say I want to take part as “fine”.

Papa doesn’t ask me to do things like this often, so I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.

Besides… “Eichi-sama’s” performance took my breath away and I chose to enrol into Yumenosaki because I wanted to follow in his footsteps.

I wanted to let the entire world and my parents know that “fine” are amazing idols.

Is that too selfish of a wish?

Yuzuru: Of course not. It’s not the first time for you to do this. You should push forward in whichever way you please.

You will not be walking down the same path as His Highness the “Emperor” – as the President. If you will walk down your own path, then nothing else can bring me greater joy.

No matter what path you tread, I will become your sword and shield and support you, Young Master.

There is no need for you to look back – all you have to do is keep facing forward.

However, I think it’s still far too early to refer to him as the “Emperor”.

I thought you had settled on calling him the President, but you referred to him fondly with “Eichi-sama”.

Good grief, it appears I must continue to keep a watchful eye on you…♪

← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[pigtailedgirl]

FICLET

The NAFTA trio returns:

“I swear if Vecchio has become MAGA even you won’t stop me from killing him Canadian”, says Anita Cortez, looking absolutely fine and lethal as usual even in her old age.

For his part Benton Fraser, now greyed but no less charming, gave her his very uncomfortable awkward look. He’s not even in uniform but stands parade rest.

Before he could speak Ray Vecchio glides into the room, classically suited still, having overheard. “ You wouldn’t have to. I’d rather shoot myself than work for the clown car that is the FBI and government state again. Now with the guy in charge who even fits the make-up? No. NEVER AGAIN. So explain why we are here?” and he turns mulish eyes on his husband.

“Well Ray, as duel citizens perhaps we can bring some needed clarity of judgment to the discussing parties. About mutual benefits of trades and balances between borders.”

“Oh yes and regulate me to third wheel again? Ay Dios Mio!”, Cortez scowls fondly at them.

“No Fraser, tell her the truth. The reality is we got forced out of retirement by higher Canadian officials who are only a bit less crazy for coco-puffs. I may live in Canada now Benny but boy is it’s governance bi-polar when it comes to how it’s run and also liking you.”

“It's bilingual governance Ray.”

“Well pardon moi. I voted no go.”

“No Ray, in that case it was Yes vote. And technically yes, he’s correct.”

“What I can’t figure out”, Cortez said eager to get them to the point as much as get home to her so much better life than this, “ is why OUR team to train another set? One; We weren’t very high profile. This did nothing for my career the first time aka. thank you but I made my own place as head of a district bringing down a cartel not a PTSD-ed homeless man. Two; no one thought we did a good job before despite actually succeeding. Also, we all hate our governments. Why would they even think we’d be helpful?”

“Because they think they’ll learn from what not to do. And because they always underestimate the cunning of Canada, the sheer bullish loyalty of a true American, and the grit of a surviving Mexico”, said a shadowed figure emerging. One Meg Thatcher.

“Ma'am! Uh Sir”, said Fraser automatically.

“At ease, Constable. Or make that retired Constable. I can’t believe you never got a higher rank but I also can’t say I’m surprised", she said smiling nonetheless.

“Lovely to see you too Dragon-lady”, Ray rejoined.

“I have my mission and I’m entrusting it to you. Impart your wisdom during training. I’m sure you can find some in local Chinatown fortune cookies Vecchio.

— And when that ‘reason’ fails, give these bozos such a massive headache that when they send you all home they can’t even consider what’s put on the trade table because they think we are all equally nuts. Or better, their guards won’t see me coming.”

And thus Meg Thatcher, no relation to that Meg Thatcher, saved the day by destroying NAFTA 2.0.

[arpov-blog-blog]

..."what everyone came to hear was the merits of Trump’s immunity argument, and the court’s reaction to it. Sauer and the judges soon obliged. Sauer warned, in effect, that the heavens would fall—ruat caelum, for fanciers of Latin legal axioms—were his client tried for his crimes. “To authorize the prosecution of a president for his official acts would open a Pandora’s box from which this nation may never recover.” He elaborated: “Could George W. Bush be prosecuted for obstruction of an official proceeding for allegedly giving false information to Congress to induce the nation to go to war in Iraq under false pretenses? Could President Obama be potentially charged with murder for allegedly authorizing drone strikes targeting U.S. citizens located abroad?”

Sauer never got the chance to answer his own rhetorical questions, because at this point, the panel’s most incisive and persistent questioner jumped in. “Can I explore the implications of what you are arguing?” inquired Judge Florence Y. Pan, a Biden appointee and longtime federal prosecutor in the nation’s capital who also served on the Superior Court as well as the United States District Court there. “I understand your position to be that a president is immune from criminal prosecution for any official act, even if that action is taken for an unlawful or unconstitutional purpose. Is that correct?”

Sauer’s answer: Yes, but with an exception. The exception being that, if a president is impeached by the House of Representatives and convicted by the Senate, then and only then can he be prosecuted in a criminal court, after he leaves office, for the offenses for which the Senate had convicted him.

This was not a great answer. As I wrote a couple of days ago about Trump’s Supreme Court certiorari petition in his Colorado ballot-disqualification case, appellate courts usually don’t find convincing a litigant’s efforts to combine two weak points in order to make a stronger one. Usually, the weakness in one bad argument bleeds into the other, and vice versa—producing a sum that is even less than its parts. And that’s what happened here.

As Judge Pan’s question pointed out, Trump’s main argument on this appeal is that presidents can’t be prosecuted for their official acts. That argument is based on a line of civil cases establishing that presidents can’t be held liable via monetary damages for their official actions—more specifically, as the Supreme Court held in 1981 in Nixon v. Fitzgerald, there is “absolute Presidential immunity from damages liability for acts within the ‘outer perimeter’ of his official responsibility.”

till, Trump’s immunity argument is at least an argument: Not a good one, not a winner, but not completely and totally ridiculous. I can’t say it wasn’t worth the old college try. The same cannot be said about the other major contention Trump has urged on this appeal, the argument that Sauer took to conflating with the immunity argument in response to Judge Pan’s questioning.

That second argument relies on what’s called the Constitution’s impeachment-judgment clause, in Article I, Section 3. That provision, in its entirety, says (with the relevant part italicized):

Judgment in Cases of Impeachment shall not extend further than to removal from Office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any Office of honor, Trust or Profit under the United States: but the Party convicted shall nevertheless be liable and subject to Indictment, Trial, Judgment and Punishment, according to Law.

By its express terms, all this language does is make sure everyone understands that double-jeopardy protections don’t apply when a federal public official is impeached, convicted, and removed from office. The clause makes clear that the official may still go to jail—that he remains “subject to Indictment, Trial, Judgment and Punishment” even after he is removed from his job."

[anthonybialy]

United Front and Back

A lack of internal criticism sadly isn’t as popular as giving up on printing money.  You never hear liberals condemn any of their own, whether it be failed policies or shady allies.  It’s the only discipline displayed.  I wish talking points fans could be as fervent while running a corporation, as they could create things customers want enough to buy.  Practitioners might be able to run a commercial enterprise if they could balance a payroll the way they ensure creepy unanimity.

Make sure you’re on a side willing to tell dirtbags ostensibly on their side to get lost.  Grudgingly accept their contempt for increasingly unfathomable debt without pretending they’re delightful individuals.

The naturally and delightfully suspicious already loathe politicians on principle.  They hold office, after all.  Foes of compliance scowl at candidates reluctantly backed as the less worse option should get extra scrutiny for verification.  The elected can claim to be undermining the system from the inside.  But they’re still collecting paychecks, which makes their claims of sabotage worth scrutinizing.

Being loathed for the wrong reasons is the abnormal normal from Joe Biden’s defenders who can’t understand why everyone seems so bummed.  Woke purveyors are calmly conditioned to treat anyone not on their team as minions of Hell’s supervisor paired with wannabe residents of Germany at its naughtiest.  Hating everyone and everything else connected to thinking differently is how to spread love.  Issuing welts to the other dodgeball team during gym class is school lesson that sticks.  Sports are icky savage meritocracies.

Democrats don’t grasp what to criticize just to be consistent.  Venomous seething furthers their type of goals.  Focusing on their opinions of individual personalities instead of ideas is a natural outcome in its way.  Mocking Scott Baio’s post-Charles in Charge career is easier than explaining why your money is better spent by Biden.

It’s always disappointing when Republicans halfheartedly copy whatever Democrats endorse lustily, from unfathomable spending and dole pittances to a refusal to criticize anyone tangentially affiliated.  Renounce from within instead of remaining partners with those who aren't.  Trumpology lieutenants show how much they loathe the other faction by acting as stringently.  Sean Hannity’s heart remains broken, while Kimberly Guilfoyle remedied that problem by marrying into her political dream.  All-time sellout Ann Coulter is undefeated in a way.

Some representatives who have backed things I back still shouldn’t be standing in for unfortunate districts.  I would change subway cars if Marjorie Taylor Greene started reading her tweets in mine.  And I wish I could get a restraining order against Matt Gaetz just in case.  Meanwhile, George Santos showed Jon Lovitz predicted the future.

The all-time example won’t go away.  A longtime Democrat who often acted as such provides equivalence.  Donald Trump leads a dwindling yet annoying faction that claims to adhere to the rulebook.  But nobody ever played his board game.  It’s easy for principled members of his ostensible party to oppose a comeback worse than Subway rehiring Jared because he’s an all-time dirtbag who dreams of again using federal power like a strongman to compensate for not being a strong man.

Persistent fans of the area cast in darkness by the Iron Curtain get deserved heroes.  A more objective analyst might want to point out that, say, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was the sort of bartender who’d complain when she finally got around to serving you a rum and Coke made with vodka and orange juice, Bernie Sanders likes the wrong directional Korea, or Rambo isn’t Richard Blumenthal’s life story any more than Elizabeth Warren tweets from a longhouse.  Lunatic ravers create a quandary when you need their votes.

The concepts are their problem.  Liberals should really be decrying their ideology, what with the way it punishes people for earning and behaving.  There may be kinder ways of reaching equality than making everyone poor.  At least having no money distracts from international chaos spurred by presuming America makes everyone hate us by being mean.

The most zealous fans never criticize their own team.  I didn’t say cheering was healthy.  Rabid followers flaunt unity in the wrong way.  Noticing who’s getting a little Khmer Rouge-y or taking corruption beyond typical cartoonish levels might prevent implementing coerced joy.  Dissent ruins collective dreams.  They may not be yours, but personal identity is presently out of vogue.  Enthusiastic enrollees are not big into deviating from unity.

Defending everyone wearing the same insignia is a byproduct of commitment to delusion.  We cope with a rather zealous show side who feels they’re saving kids from being hunted by bloodthirsty NRA executives, the poor from being dumped out of wheelchairs into snowbanks by heartless health care executives, and the planet itself from greedy capitalists who are in favor of a climate-controlled civilization.  The occasional fundamental fib or personal phoniness means nothing relative to the true cause.

The cultish quality of the hive’s beliefs conforms to communal identity.  Our leviathan’s lovers are not interested in individual achievements, what with punishing success, wishing guns could be prosecuted for crimes, and scoffing at rights confiscated in order to not stop a virus.  The most ardent adherents maintain government can cure all ills, including medical ones.  I double-checked and they’re referring to this government.  Don’t laugh.  Actually, go ahead.

It’s natural in a sick way to conclude politicians who want to impose sweet order must be legends.  Deranged believers don’t distance themselves from purveyors of glorious mandatory cooperation.  Policing one’s own is too reminiscent of law enforcement for Democrats to embrace.

[davidrivkin]

Justice Samuel Alito: "This Made Us Targets of Assassination"

By David B. Rivkin Jr. and Kristin A. Shapiro

April 17, 2023, in the Wall Street Journal

Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg’s indictment of Donald Trump could mean trouble down the road for Joe Biden. “I think our Republican AGs and DAs”—attorneys general and district attorneys—“should get creative,” Mike Davis, a Republican former Senate staffer, told the New York Post. Rep. James Comer told Fox that he’s heard from at least two prosecutors who “want to know if there are ways they can go after the Bidens now.”

Mr. Biden himself is currently safe under the accepted view that sitting presidents are immune from prosecution. But under the Trump precedent, what’s to stop an ambitious Republican prosecutor somewhere from bringing dubious state charges against him before a hostile jury after he leaves office? Likewise for his successors of either party. Every four to eight years, prosecutors would order up a presidential ham sandwich. Presidents might end up having to flee the country when they leave office.

But there’s a way Mr. Trump could stop the madness that would serve his own interests as well as his successors’. His lawyers should file a notice in the Southern District of New York to remove the case to federal court under a unique legal defense: immunity under the U.S. Constitution’s Supremacy Clause.

The clause provides that federal laws, including the Constitution, “shall be the supreme law of the land; and the judges in every state shall be bound thereby, any thing in the constitution or laws of any state to the contrary notwithstanding.” The Supreme Court stated in McCulloch v. Maryland (1819) that “it is of the very essence” of the federal government’s supremacy “to remove all obstacles to its action within its own sphere, and so to modify every power vested in subordinate governments, as to exempt its own operations from their own influence.” The justices invalidated Maryland’s tax on the Bank of the United States on grounds that the power to tax the federal government would make a state “capable of arresting all the measures of the government, and of prostrating it at the foot of the states.”

One pivotal aspect of the Supremacy Clause is its provision of immunity to federal officers from state criminal prosecution for actions relating to their federal duties. The seminal case is In re Neagle (1890), in which the justices held that California couldn’t criminally prosecute a federal marshal for killing a man in defense of Justice Stephen Field. If a federal officer “can be arrested and brought to trial in a state court for an alleged offense against the law of the state, yet warranted by the federal authority they possess,” the court found, “the operations of the general government may at any time be arrested at the will of one of its members.”

To be sure, the case against Mr. Trump involves conduct that wasn’t “warranted by the federal authority” he possessed. But there is a strong argument that Supremacy Clause immunity should extend to any state criminal prosecutions of federal officers undertaken because of their federal service, even if the charged conduct is unrelated to their federal duties. Permitting states to burden former federal officers on account of their federal services offends the Supremacy Clause’s core principles and makes it easy for aggressive state prosecutors to circumvent. As the Supreme Court warned in Neagle, “unfriendly” states could administer the law “in such a manner as to paralyze the operations of the government.” That threat exists anytime former or current federal officers are targeted for criminal prosecution because of their federal service. A president or other official can’t lead effectively under constant threat of retaliatory prosecution.

Mr. Trump’s foes like to say that no one is above the law; and Mr. Biden’s enemies would no doubt adopt the same slogan. But Supremacy Clause immunity wouldn’t vitiate that principle. It wouldn’t prevent federal prosecutions, and it would protect against state criminal prosecutions only when the prosecutor targeted the defendant for his federal service. Mr. Trump could still be prosecuted if he shot a passerby on Fifth Avenue.

A recognition of Supremacy Clause immunity in this context would involve an inquiry into a prosecutor’s state of mind, something courts are reluctant to undertake in most contexts. But not all—courts are regularly required to determine, for example, whether a prosecutor has engaged in racial discrimination in jury selection, or whether a state criminal prosecution is motivated by a desire to harass the defendant.

First Amendment case law also recognizes, in the context of protecting core constitutional rights, the impermissibility of disparate law-enforcement treatment. In Nieves v. Bartlett (2019), the high court held that probable cause isn’t sufficient to block a retaliatory-arrest claim “when a plaintiff presents objective evidence that he was arrested when otherwise similarly situated individuals not engaged in the same sort of protected speech had not been.”

An inquiry into whether a state criminal prosecution was undertaken because of the defendant’s federal service would involve judicially manageable questions such as whether a reasonable prosecutor would bring the charges and whether there are indicia of political retribution. Mr. Trump has a strong argument here. Does anyone believe he’d be prosecuted for anything having to do with Stormy Daniels if he hadn’t become president?

Federal officers, including former officers, have a statutory right to remove state civil or criminal cases against them “for or relating to any act under color of such office” to federal court (emphasis added). The U.S. Supreme Court has interpreted this language broadly, explaining in Willingham v. Morgan (1969) that “the test for removal should be broader, not narrower, than the test for official immunity” because the purpose of the statute “is to have the validity of the defense of official immunity tried in a federal court.”

In Jefferson County v. Acker (1999), the justices permitted removal of state actions against two federal judges seeking collection of a state occupational tax. The court explained that, even though the tax was imposed on the judges personally, it was effectively a tax on the performance of their federal duties, thereby providing the “essential nexus” between their official duties and the state prosecution.

Mr. Trump has 30 days after his arraignment—until May 4—to invoke the federal-officer removal statute. Because a novel and important constitutional issue would be at stake, the case could easily reach the Supreme Court, and it would be wise for the federal courts to delay any state trial until Mr. Trump’s immunity defense is resolved. With only 21 months remaining in his term, Mr. Biden might find himself quietly rooting for a decision in his predecessor’s favor.

Mr. Rivkin served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations. Ms. Shapiro served as an attorney-adviser at the Justice Department’s Office of Legal Counsel during the Trump and Biden administrations and is a senior fellow at the Independent Women’s Forum. Both practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

Source: https://www.wsj.com/articles/is-braggs-case-against-trump-constitutional-supremacy-clause-indictment-federal-state-court-new-york-6adffbaa

[atlanticcanada]

Parent reacts to teacher, YouTuber’s arrest for sexual assault

Stephen Blackwood is scheduled to make a court appearance in Moncton, N.B., Friday after the 37-year-old was charged with sexual assault and sexual interference in the Greater Moncton Area.

In November, police in Fredericton arrested and charged the YouTuber after receiving reports of him videotaping children in a pool area.

In a news release issued Wednesday, the New Brunswick RCMP asked any victims of sexual assault or anyone who may have had contact with Blackwood to come forward.

RCMP spokesperson Hans Ouellette told CTV News on Thursday he’s been in touch with investigators in the Moncton area.

“They tell me they are getting calls so people are calling and people are interested in the story as you can imagine,” said Ouellette.

One week ago, Blackwood was charged with sexual assault and sexual interference after an incident at a school in the Anglophone East School District.

In an email, district spokesperson Stephanie Patterson said they are aware of the situation and confirmed Blackwood worked as a supply teacher for one week in the fall.

"While we cannot comment due to privacy legislation, all staff must submit a criminal record/vulnerable sector background check prior to engagement,” said Patterson. “We continue to work with the RCMP on their ongoing investigation."

Blackwood also taught in Newfoundland for a period of time.

Police have received reports Blackwood approached children over the past four years in the Shediac area, Moncton’s Magic Mountain, The Greater Moncton YMCA and the Dieppe Aquatic Centre to appear on his YouTube channel “Blamzooka.”

Ouellette said YouTube has its own regulations when it comes to what can't be posted online.

“As far as we can tell, there's nothing on the YouTube channel that is strictly illegal. If it was, YouTube would have shut that video down and possibly the site down as well,” said Ouellette.

Cortney London says she came in contact with the accused during a public swim with her children in Riverview, N.B., last November.

London became concerned when she allegedly saw Blackwood taking videos of children by the pool and she confronted him about it.

“He got back in the pool approached me and said, 'I'm sorry. I didn't realize I couldn't have my phone in the pool area,' at that point, I said things to him and I advised him it wasn't good for him to be recording children in the pool,” said London.

London posted her concerns on a community Facebook page to warn other parents.

“I had parents reaching out to me wanting to know if this was the [same] person. If this was his YouTube [channel],” she said. “I have parents now messaging me from Newfoundland, teachers and they just want everything to get linked together so it can be looked into further.”

Ouellette said RCMP wants anyone to know that if they are a victim of sexual assault or misconduct they can contact the police.

“We want the parents to really speak to their kids because the kids may know him as ‘Blamzooka,’ they may know him as a substitute teacher,” said Ouellette. “We want parents to speak to their children to see what kind of interactions they had with him and there may be more victims out there.”

The investigation continues and police say more charges are possible.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/BL7lwsP