#personally i think spence going to the military is truth

[swimmingchicken9]

it really makes you think about how much of this was jack projecting & how much was truth after youve read through the whole series

[notmrskennedy]

Bites and Bullet Holes

(Spencer Reid x Female leaning but sorta GN! Reader)

Summary: Spencer, during college, was bitten by a dog. Working a case involving dogs brings back old memories and friends...

W/C: 3,384

Warnings: Dog bites, bullet holes, bad writing? 

A/N: Guess what I found y’all? I haven’t edited it one single bit but I hope it goes over well anyway. When I was working at the kennel I kept having anxiety over one of my kids getting into a fight so I made this. Be a little extra gentle with this one. 

---

As he leaned over the victim, he made the mistake of thinking about you. Spencer thought he’d gotten over it. The whole randomly thinking about you thing—the thing that’s happened too many times before. He’d chalked it up to you being best friends 15 years ago. Told himself that it’s normal to miss your friends from college. 

But over a dead body? This was new. 

Though he supposes the dead girl could’ve looked like you in another timeline. There’s facial structure similarities—at least to you 15 years ago at 19. She’s been strangled with her dog’s leash and there’s some unspoken quality about her that just…jerks him into nostalgia over you. 

(You are probably the one that got away, but if he’s being honest, you live in DC. He could go see you right now if he wanted to.)

Morgan leans over Spencer and points at the dog leash. “It had to be someone she knew if the dog went off with our un-sub.”

Spencer nods, fidgeting with the 15 year old scars on the inside of his wrist. Whether or not Morgan noticed, he thankfully doesn’t press. Spencer is having enough trouble stamping down that knee-jerk reaction to think about you, let alone if Derek thinks to point out the magical, ‘hey weren’t you bitten by a dog?’

Spencer doesn’t remember the incidence well enough to comment. He wonders if you do. 

“We’ll have to check shelters for the dog,” Spencer remarks. “3.3 million dogs enter shelters every year in the US.” 

Morgan nods, pulls off a glove, pulls out his phone. Spencer looks around the park. Behind the police tape are plenty of people walking their dogs. The sorts of breeds that you’ve gushed about 15 years ago. His brain knew too much about dobermans, shepherds, mallinois—he could even hear that pretty little gasp you had when you’d point out a particularly well trained monster of a pet. 

Spencer wonders if you ever did anything with your finance degree, if you even ended up finishing college at all. You’d come close to dropping out over calculus—he hadn’t been around long enough to help you through the even harder stuff. This wasn’t the first time he’d wanted Garcia to look you up, but it was the first time he’d considered it. 

“Music to my ears, mama,” Morgan laughs into the phone and Spencer tunes back in. 

“I’ll get that puppy BOLO out,” Garcia chirps back. Spencer can imagine her wringing a fluffy pencils through her fingers. “We’re going to find this doggie and make sure that psycho didn’t get him too.”

Spencer smiles despite himself. Penelope would’ve liked you. 

#

JJ sets coffee down in front of his stack of files. She smiles, gracefully sits down next to him. Spencer tries his best to ignore her insistence. Tries to ignore the ever prominent eye contact screaming ‘We’re going to talk about something uncomfortable!’ 

“So, Spence,” she says, pausing for his attention with a sip of her own coffee. He looks up for half a glance before going back to the files. He doesn’t know why, but he’s sure there’s something in this stack of work the first victim had brought home with her. They all knew the un-sub, he had to be somewhere. 

“Spencer,” she says more insistently. He makes the mistake of looking up, of letting her place a hand on his. She gently turns the wrist over and pointedly glances towards the teeth marks. “Are you doing okay?”

He opens his mouth, but decides some things are better kept to himself. He thinks about saying that no, he wasn’t alright, that being plagued by thoughts of the first-love-of-his-life is haunting him more than the dog fight. 

That he can see your face in each of these victims. In their dogs. In the places they died. 

Dogs didn’t like him. They never did. The dog bite wasn’t the big deal out of the altercation. 

JJ won’t understand, so he offers her a truthful smile and says, “I’m okay. Seriously. More than 4.5 million people are bitten by dogs each year. I’m not special.”

JJ nods. Spencer goes back to his files. He forgets to hide his lovesick agony. JJ forgets not to notice. 

#

It’s 4AM and he knows he’s remembering it wrong. That the dog hadn’t been that big. That the teeth hadn’t really gotten him that bad. The bright red devil eyes and thousand yards of slobber were more than grossly incorrect. 

He sits up in bed and forces himself to remember the parts that were real. How real you had been. Before and after. 

Your car had broken down as you were leaving for work—already late—and you’d begged him for a ride. Promised calculus homework on your boss’s couch and only having to let the dogs out. No shit. No bleaching crates. No nothing. Just you, him, and some calculus homework. 

He’d caved. Now, running his hands over his eyes, he laughs at how obvious he had to have been. A skinny little 19 year old pimple of a boy majorly crushing on the first person to pick him out of a crowd and decide they’d be friends. The first friend who’d forced him to a tailgate at a football game. The only person he’d do absolutely anything for. 

And it was just like you promised. Your cute little nose wrinkle. Your horribly frustrated glares. Your over dramatic ‘I’m dropping out!’s every fifteen minutes. And it’d been great until you both heard a thunderous snap of a wooden fence and the wildest, most murderous howling he’d ever heard. 

You’d both bolted for the door, scrambling to get through the gates into the back. There’d been a moment of calm. Another beat. Another. And…you both had stumbled around the corner to find the next door neighbour’s dog, broken chain, trying to kill one of the kennel’s dogs. 

There had been no moment’s hesitation on Spencer’s part. He’d stupidly rushed forward, lodged his hand between the neighbour’s mutt and the sweetest dog he’d ever met. He’d yanked her free from the mutt’s jaws, only to find his own wrist dragging along the teeth. 

(He realised later that he’d always had a propensity to run head first into danger. No calculations needed.)

There’d been two beats for the dog to process it’s chew toy was in Spencer’s arms. To process that Spencer made a better victim. That Spencer’s throat and limbs were softer and easier to tear. Thankfully, he’d scrambled back enough that when the dog launched, it didn’t catch flesh. It chomped on air. Less than three inches from him. 

Fangs. Tightened lips. Black gums. Slobber. 

The mutt could be equated to Stephen King’s The Sun Dog. Always hesitant to process his trauma, it’s the one book—gifted by you during a Halloween birthday for him—that sits untouched on his bookshelves. There’s too much of you in the inscription in the cover. Too much of that horrible mutt in the pages. 

The next part of the night blurred in his memories. In his near perfect memory, it blurred. Trauma, right? 

You’d screamed. You were in front of him. You had the dog’s chain in your hands. He was running. The dog was heavy in his arms. His arm stung. You were screaming. He should’ve gone back. 

Five god-awful minutes later, you’d come into the house. Limping. Clutching onto your arm. You’d taken one look at Spencer running his wrist under the tap and forgotten about your own injuries. Despite the blood dripping off your arm. Or the quiet yelp every time you stretched. You’d barely taken ‘I’m fine, you’re the one bleeding’ as a reason to not bandage him up first. 

The only thing that calmed down the dream every time he had it was the memory of holding your hand while you got stitches. How your face pinched with the pain. How you’d said, ‘next time, it’s your turn to take the bullet.’ How he’d smiled and promised. 

Spencer watches the clock tick by and decides it’s too late to go back to sleep. Hotch’ll be up in an hour. No need to delay his start. Women were dying. Women you would’ve been friends with.

#

“Okay, crime-fighters, I found our connection,” Garcia chirps over the speaker phone. “All of our victims attended very specialised dog training courses at a facility just outside of DC. The owner said they’d send in one of their trainers to talk to you. Should be there anytime now.”

“What kind of specialised training?” Emily asks. Spencer feels like he should be contributing, should be processing any of this, but his head is pounding. He doesn’t have a hangover, but god does it feel like it. 

Garcia hums as she types. “It’s a military facility. Awww, they’ve got puppy pictures on their website!”

“Garcia—“

“Right, right. It’s a top notch facility and oh! A bunch of the FBI dogs graduate from there. I wonder if they get little caps and gowns and—“

“Hey, baby girl, the trainer’s here. We gotta run,” Morgan interrupts, though he’s all smiles to stare at whomever is plaguing his interest. 

There’s another squeal of please get puppy pictures before the call cuts and Spencer finally has the self preservation to look. And god does he look. 

15 years has made no difference on your skin and he can’t believe he’s not staring at you from across a lecture hall. The only indication you’ve changed is the nervous smile you’ve plastered on and the dog at your side. Every fun fact about german shepherds instantly crosses his mind and he can’t help but drop his jaw a little further. 

It sinks to the floor when you spot him and wave. You wave. At him. In front of coworkers. 

He’s out of his seat before he can stop himself. That easy smile reserved for movie nights falls back into place on your lips. Twinkles in your eyes. 15 years haven’t passed. Maybe he needs to check for pimples again. 

“Y/n,” he croaks and the same time his name leaves your lips. The dog at your side stands and you correct the gesture with a harsh word in what he’s sure is German. 

“FBI, huh?” Your eyes trail over every inch of him, crossing your arms in a relaxed, familiar kind of way. “I expected more math, Mr. I Like Derivatives.”

“The shepherd there doesn’t look like finance either, y/n,” he teases back like no time has passed. Like he doesn’t immediately feel incredibly guilty for ditching you for the academy. 

“Oh come on,” you huff, “you really think that I was cut out for an office job? I lasted six months.”

And before he can warn you, even think about warning you about the team that’s slowly creeping up behind him, they are all suddenly there. Very keen on knowing the ins and outs of how you know Dr. Spencer Reid. 

“Reid, you gonna introduce us?” Morgan smirks, clapping a painful hand on Spencer’s shoulder. You busy yourself with petting the dog at your hip, looking everywhere but Morgan’s insistent gaze. 

“Guys, this is my friend y/n from college.” 

JJ raises an eyebrow at the lack of explanation, but plows ahead with introductions. Takes charge of guiding you to an interview room. Gets through the entire interview without once asking about your relationship with him. 

Morgan watches Spencer rubbing the scars and makes the leap. “You okay, kid?” 

Spencer breaks from staring at your face as you talk about getting your start in Germany—Germany—and swallows. This was fine. It’s okay to tell his friend—his brother—about the story he’s never really talked about. 

“I stupidly put myself in the middle of a dog fight,” Spencer grits out, flexing and un-flexing his fingers. Every scar burns and he can’t help but stare at your smile again. “Y/n saved my life. She choked out the dog, Morgan, before he got a hold of me. Left the hospital with 12 stitches.”

“Oh,” was his all too helpful response. They both turned back to the interview. How everything jovial about your entire countenance shifted once JJ started mentioning the victims. 

“Look, Agent Jareau,” you say, leaning dangerously far away from the conversation, “They are—they were really smart women with some dangerous dogs. I don’t know—I just—there’s a lot of sickos out there.”

Every profiler within a 20 mile radius can hear the change in tone, can hear the fear. Spencer knows a lot can change in 15 years, but he thought for sure you’d never become a serial killer. He doesn’t know if it’s all his years in the bureau or if he’s still too attached to you, but you don’t seem like the killer. Not like JJ seems to think so. Sure, you’re terrified, but the dog you have is nosing your arm. Giving you big ole puppy eyes. Spencer doesn’t think a serial killer can pour that much into a relationship with an animal. 

“What do you mean?” JJ clocks the movement and switches to a maternal type of body language, tone. “Is there something going on?”

Your hand pauses on the dog’s head, and it noses your hand into action. “I, uh, just got a weird letter two weeks ago. It wasn’t—it was just weird. Off-putting.”

“Right before the first victim,” Spencer mutters. Weird letters indicated stalking. Victims with you as a central point meant stalking. Stalking meant you were probably next. Oh, god, you were next. 

JJ stretched a hand across the table and took yours. “You’ll get through this. You’ll get through this, y/n.”

#

Spencer didn’t know what to do with his hands. It was so much worse than normal. Should he stand? But what should he do with his hands because crossing them seemed too defensive? Or should he just sit down? But where? And was that rude?

Instead, he just took the cup of tea you offered and followed you like a lost puppy. Granted, it was your house and he was definitely lost. He also felt vaguely at home—there were a decent amount of bookshelves by his standards and even more mismatched furniture than he had. The house was well cared for and when you sat him down on your couch, you swept away a stack of training manuals, all sporting worn covers. 

Was it wrong to feel like he was settling onto your old apartment couch for movie nights?

You puff out a breath of air and lean your head dramatically into the back of the couch. “So, since you’re my FBI escort, is it wrong to ask if you still like cheesy 90s movies?”

He shakes his head. Grins. “You still have Legally Blonde?”

You just giggle as you head for a stack of movies. You strike up some conversation as you rummage and he knows he’s hooked all over again. It’s going to take weeks to get over you again. It’d taken months the last time, and he feels slightly less attached this time. But did he really think it would take more than a simple question about the latest thing he’s read? He wishes he knew you better, just as well as you seem to still know him. 

Though by the end of the movie, you’ve both returned to your college days. Practically curled into each other’s side. You still have horrible commentary about the movie, peppered in with Spencer’s annoying movie trivia. If it was anyone else, he figures, he would’ve been kicked out long ago. 

You still distinctly smell of vanilla, flailing the scent around as you move closer and further and closer again. You wear enthusiasm with your whole body and if you aren’t turning rapidly between facing Spencer and the movie, how could you possibly begin to explain correctly? 

Your shoulder keeps a constant pressure against his, your knees half over his thigh. There’s too many instances of hollering and laughing that you grab onto his knee to steady yourself. If this hadn’t been a protective detail, he might’ve lost his mind. 

Thank god for focus. Work. Work. Work. Not your hands on his knee. Definitely not your smile as you declare your affection for scented resume stationary. Totally not how hot it’s getting under your too affectionate gaze. 

“Spence, I really missed this,” you whisper, nudging your shoulder with his. “I know it’s weird to be thrown together after 15 years, but I—I missed you.”

“I—“ missed you too; fell in love with you in college; think I love you now. 

But there’s no time for heartfelt declarations when someone’s incessantly banging on the door. Spencer’s got half a mind to get the door for you, holster his gun, focus on keeping you safe. The banging doesn’t soften as he calls out that he’s on his way. If anything it gets worse. 

And it should’ve been the first red flag of the night. 

Spencer opens the door and thinks very loudly, “why the fuck do I always run headfirst into danger?” 

Their un-sub, a buzzcut that looks more Army that not, shakes a pistol at Spencer and demands to be let inside. There’s only so many ways to defuse the situation, so he back ups, tucks you behind him. Their un-sub winds a little tighter, shaking like one of those monkeys with cymbals. 

“McLaggen?” you whimper behind Spencer and the Army man fires a shot into the floor. You grip tighter onto Spencer’s shirt, digging in your fingers dangerously close to his skin. 

The buzzcut is red, boiling over with rage, words bubbling out of his throat. “Y/n, I just can’t stand to see you with them. You never notice me. You’re always working, so I thought I’d get your attention. Cut the competition. I just—you mean so much to me, y/n. You mean too much.”

Spencer is sure he won’t remember this day accurately as he pushes you just a little further behind him. He’s about to do something so incredibly stupid. Dear lord, why the fuck is he like this? And he lunges. 

The gun’s trapped in both of their hands. There’s one more bullet fired—at the ground he’s sure. There’s a squeak of fear. Just enough of a distraction. One more ounce of weight thrown around. One more lasting punch. McLaggen lands on the floor. The gun skitters away. McLaggen groans as he’s handcuffed.

You gasp and he realises immediately that he’s bleeding. That he’s on the floor. That there is a bullet lodged in his thigh. Again. 

One string of swears later, you’re on the phone with 911. Yes, he’s shot. Yes, there’s another in handcuffs. No, I’m not a whore, send the damn ambulance.  

You take his hand as he lays there, much like he did in the hospital 15 years ago. Unlike then, you’ve got tears pricking at your eyes. You’re sniffling like a school girl, and he’s not sure if you’ve said that aloud. 

“Spencer!” You wipe a stray tear. Squeeze his hand too tightly. “Why the hell, you freakin’ moron, did you take a bullet for me?”

He laughs, bubbling up out of his chest before he can stop it. You are too pretty to be this upset at his laughter. You are too lovely to be worried about him. To still be worried, like nothing has changed one bit. 

Every inch of him is trembling. Blood loss and bullets are bitches.

“Y/n,” he wheezes through dry lungs and more leg pain than he remembers there being, “I promised.”

You blink your eyes. What the hell are you talking about, Spencer Reid, you absolute idiot?

“I promised I’d take the next bullet. In the hospital.” He grins, groans as he moves to drag you into a hug. “I’m a man of my word, y/n, and I promise that if I keep the leg, we’re going out. Properly.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you grumble into his ear and squeeze his neck tighter. If the paramedics don’t bother to pull you off, who’s to say you won’t stay like that forever? Attached to the loveable, danger prone idiot, who traded dog bites for bullet holes?

[tenaciousarcadeexpert]

The Switch(Part 6)

@marvelfanlife, @dontshootmespence, @literallyprentissstwin, @butsomeofusarelookingatthestars, @ultrarebelheart, @itsmeedee, @thebutterflyxx​, @cynbx, @jaqren, @sunflowerpsalms

Note: I apologize for the really long wait due to some personal issues as well as a shift in focus on other fics like The Good Ol’ Days. But I hope the wait is worth it as part 6 of The Switch is finally here. For those who are unfamiliar with it, it’s a body swap au where Reid and Matt mysteriously swapped bodies. (I’d recommend reading previous chapters to get a better idea of this fic) Anyway, enjoy.

Previous chapters:(I’d recommend reading them first for those who have not read it or to jog some memories) Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Half an hour has passed and both Reid and Matt were still unconscious. As Kristy tries to figure out what just happened, she heard the doorbell ring as she opened the door to see Emily and the rest of the team arrive.    In the meantime, both Reid and Matt found themselves at a bar, where they suddenly see a server offer them two glasses with a yellow-greenish liquid. "What is this?" Matt asked. "The Green Fairy?" The server shook her head. "N-no, just a special recipe I made. I hope you guys enjoy." She gives them a wink before leaving, much to their dismay. Matt took a whiff of his drink, along with Reid. "I don't know about this, should we....?" Matt shrugged his shoulders. "I guess one drink won't hurt. Bottoms up." He and Reid tap their glasses together before chugging down on their drinks, where a flash up light shines them, promting them to wake up. "Are they up? Are they up?" They heard the voices from the team echoeing in their head as the wake up to see the sight of Luke and JJ waking them up. "Are they up?" Kristy asked. "They're up." JJ said as she and Luke turn back to them. "Rise and shine sleepyhead.....you okay?" Luke asked as he taps Matt's face, unaware that it's still Reid. "We're okay." Reid groans as he emerged from the couch. "What are you guys doing over here?" Matt asked, rubbing his eyes. "Kristy told us that you guys collapsed so we came here to see what happened." Emily responds. "Luckily, you guys are okay." "Yeah, we are." Matt responds. "But that's not all." Luke leaned close to Reid. "What do you mean?" Matt raised an eyebrow. "We're oka-GAH!" He and Reid suddenly felt another sense of light-headedness in their heads as they clutch their heads. "Easy. Just take a deep breath." Luke consoled. "Kristy, do you mind telling us what happen here?" Emily asked. The redhead scratched her head. "Uhm, I don't know how to describe it. They seemed fine when they got here and then all of a sudden they collapsed and............oh man, I think you'll get a better explanation from them." She looked at her husband and friend. "Matt, Spencer. I think you're better off telling them." "Wait, telling us what?" JJ turned to her friends. "Matt, what is Kristy talking about." Both Matt and Reid looked at each other and looked to their teammates. Seeing that there was no other choice, they took a deep breath. "Okay, seeing with all of you here, it seems that we have no other choice but to tell you guys." The team raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" Emily asked. "Wait a second..." Garcia adds as she looked at Kristy as she bites her thumb. "You two aren't-" "No, no, no, no." Matt hastily responds. "That's not why." "Oh okay." "Well, then spit it out and tell us what the hell is bothering you too." Rossi blurts out. "Okay, okay. Have you guys seen the movie, Freaky Friday?" The team nods. "Oh yeah, Em and I watched that movie before. Isn't that when the mother and daughter magically switched bodies one day?" Tara said. Reid snapped his fingers. "Yep." "Yeah, but what does that have to do with you guys." "Well." Matt scratched his head. "Funny you should ask that, cause that's what happened to us." "Wait, what? I'm confused." "Okay." Matt, in Reid's body stood up and put his hands together. "How should we put this." He muttered. "Okay......" He then looks to the rest of the team. "The truth is...................is that Reid and I swapped bodies, similar to Freaky Friday." He points to himself. "I'm not Reid, I'm Matt." He then points to Reid in his own body. "That person over there is actually Spencer." "It's true, believe it or not. We don't know how this happened but it did and now, our minds mysteriously swap." "So?" Matt released his hands as the others try to process the information both Matt and Reid gave them. After a brief period of silence, the group suddenly burst into laughter, much to Matt and Reid's dismay. "Seriously?" Matt groans. "Aw Reid, you're hilarious." Luke laughed as he pats Reid's shoulder, unaware that it's Matt. "I'm not Reid, I'm Matt!" "Oh come on, enough with the jokes." Emily snickered. "We're not joking, this is serious." Reid begged. "Okay, whatever you say, doctor." JJ teased. Matt sighs. "Kristy, come on, they won't believe us." Kristy then pats JJ and Emily on the shoulders. "Em, Jennifer, guys. I hate to say it, but they're telling the truth." "Oh Kristy, not you too." "I mean it, Jen." "Really?" She nods. "Yeah, well I mean at first I didn't believe them till Matt started saying things that only the two of us would know and that a IQ genius like Spencer wouldn't." "Okay, okay." Rossi said as he goes up to Reid and Matt. "If what you're saying is true, then prove it." "P-prove?" Reid croaked. "Yeah." Rossi nods. "If you managed to convince Kristy, then you might as well prove us that this actually happened by telling us things the other wouldn't know." "Like what is something Reid knows but Matt doesn't and vice versa." Tara said. "Oh okay." Both Matt and Reid try to come up with a few things about themselves that would prove to the team that they actually switched bodies while the others sat down on chairs and the sofa. "And take your time." Emily adds. "Ooo, I got one." Reid said. "Well, what is it?" "I remember the one time I thought JJ was a Redskins fan and took her to a game once." "Really?" Luke asked JJ. She nods. "Mm hmph." "Wow." "But that's not enough." She then turns to Matt. "What about you, 'Matt'. How do we know that its actually you and not Spence trying to fool us?" She squint her eyes. "Ooo." Garcia then kneels beside Reid, unaware that it's Matt she was staring at. "Say something?" "S-say what?" "Something quirky." "Like?" "Come on, if you're really Spencer, you could've ramble on about the average number of kernels on the average cob." Matt glares at Garcia. "I don't know how many kernels are on a-" "800 kernels exactly." The room was suddenly silent as the team and Matt turn to Reid, who answers Garcia's question, despite reciting his answer in Matt's body. "What did you say?" The bubbly blonde asked. "There are about 800 kernels of corn on the average cob arranged in 16 separate rows." "How do you know that Matt?" Reid shrugged his shoulders. "I just do, it's all in my head. And it's not Matt, it's Reid/" "I see......if you're really Reid, then I have one thing to ask: How many words can you read?" "About 20,000 words........per minute." "Wow." Rossi said, agaped. "Anything else you wanna say, 'Reid'?" He rubs his chin. "Let's see." He then snaps his fingers. "Ooo, how many existentialists does it take to screw in a light bulb?-" "Yep, that's Spencer." Rossi replies. "My god." JJ groans. "I can't believe it." Garcia stammered. "I thought you guys were just playing tricks on me but no. Apparently this has happened to my sweet nerd and military hunk." "Yeah......it has." Matt responds. Luke then turns over to Reid. "I still can't believe that it's you Reid." "Yes I am aware how weird this must be." "Weird? It's hard for me to imagine you sprouting these random facts straight outta Matt's mouth." Matt chuckled. "Yeah, even I find it hard to imagine." They started to laugh as Reid saw Emily and Rossi sat down. "Uh Em, are you okay?" "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." She then motions Kristy as she walks up to her with a bottle of wine and some empty glasses. "You sure about that?" "I am. I-I just give me some time processing this. She pours some wine in her glass and drank, still unable to fathom the fact that Reid and Matt swap bodies. "Nope, not yet." She groaned as she squeezed her forehead, much to Reid and Matt's dismay. "Relax boys, Prentiss will be fine, just give her some time. I know I still need to process this." "So, you believe us?" Reid asked. "Yes Spence, we all do. It's hard for us to understand what's going on, but we believe you." JJ said. "And we'll do anything to help you guys get back to normal." Luke adds. Matt shrugged his shoulders as he and Reid looked at the rest of them team, seeing that they're serious about it. "Well, to tell you the truth, we don't know how this happened." "What do you mean?" "W-we just don't know. I mean, before, things were normal. Then all of a sudden, this happens the next day." Reid adds. "Well, there has to be some sort of cause to all this." Tara reassured. "I mean, what happened to the two of you couldn't have happened all of a sudden." "Well....." "The dreams." Reid snapped. "The what?" "Matt, remember on the plane you told me about that dream you had and how I also had the same dream as you?" "Yeah?" "Well......it's possible that whatever it was, it might have something to do with our situation." "But how? All I can recall are blurry visions and noises so loud it that it gave me-us headaches." Just then, the two and the team turned to see Emily stood up as she approached the two men after some time processing the situation in her head. "Guys, I think it's time for a cognition."

[666nkcryan]

So close to developing my own platform same as trump want to die to lproblems locked ourt of functionality .but this crap has been going on a long time I usually post private not for others to see .what fucking good does that due the semi private mental health court reads and uses anyways so public Andy don’t have to stop I only tell the truth no lies and I may come across as stupid or crazy .don’t make any judgments till you meet me in person .the conversations taylor and I had weeemt typed with all errors I made Spence and used punctuation most of the time .they also weren’t altered or changed .but I tolerate it and I only lost a friend I thought but so many reasons or excuses and so many I’m tayylors boyfriend bullshit .I only take so much befor I blow my top ! I fell so much better breathing fresh clean air vs the air that came up from basement or first leval to my bedroom that made me high and fucked up having a hard time standing up .now I can go back inside ro find out who is I n my house and how they came in .if I don’t return here or to instafram it means they killed me or got me forced into a cop car or ambulance there usual . I defenseless controllable guy is a miserable man cuz things like thie stuff I typed today on Instagram and tumblr can happen and if I stopped when asked if would just continue .I have been silenced in past .I was attacked by rainbow army Taylor’s friends .I started manican challenge .I posted a pic said anymake up artists help me make it look like taylor ? She says I’m boyfriend I wanted a taylor with me .crazy shit I know but under opression and basic control I have to find angle and than the rules and than I can do a counter action .I think it only fair that I watch taylor in shower , or naked , or sleep ( read her brain and tell her I know what u dreamed about .ect for the next seven years . I don’t think I could or would but fair is fair .watching taylor shave theirs legs every day as she claims she does witching mnothing more to be the razor she was using would be fun but nonstpop for seven years fuck bitch would stop or give a break and I’m to point I only shower kn dark and about every three to foe

R or five days it’s a fuck story of haunting me in every possible way .I’m sure the doctors will try demanding I need a drug that will silence me and dummy me up so they can start at

Again .I won’t be stopping till I stop breathing ir seven years expires .a video chat or a meeting only feeds to and get cuz I begged a thief is always a thieff a bitch is always bitch ect .I was made to be full of electricity Elon musk talked about my junk with military sirus and I was a real life sexy electric toy for a spying bunch of fucks .