#please convict me of all crimes and let me do some service to make up for it

[wildsaltair]

UNMATCHED

[terras-domain]

Hell for Most, Heaven for Me

Prisoner Y/N / Sister JiU (Kim Minji - Dreamcatcher)

Tags: VIOLENT STORY (murderer background y/n), prison au,prisoner y/n (reader), nun JiU, rough sex,losing virginity, dub con, sex in VERY inappropriate places (please do not do this ;-;), hint of breeding I guess

Words: 3.8k

terra's note: helloooo terra here. This one was in my mind to do for so long, I wanted to make it but I was so worried if this is allowed or nah, cuz well, for some reasons. And an extra note I kept losing my works here and there i have no idea why ;-; But anyways, I hope this I a good read for you and as always, hope you have a nice day and love you all <33

"I hereby sentence you to 10 years of life in prison, and no parole" were the words echoing through my mind, after being convicted with murder. The bus, the last vehicle I'd probably ride for another 10 years, taking me to my new home. Looking through the dusty window, I could see the cold breeze blowing east, trees bending to the right, pointing to the gigantic grey building, lacking in life in joy. "Have a good look inmate. That's your new home" the guard, sitting across the bus, looking into my eyes, knowing the emotions I'm feeling all too well. He's sent plenty of people like me here.

Get in, check into your 5 star suite and wear your fancy orange jumpsuit; that was the process I was brought to, registering myself as the new inmate in a jail I don't even want to remember the name of. Dragged like a dog towards my cell, the guard slammed the door shut, leaving me alone with my thoughts. "Enjoy your stay, maniac." A stern voice echoes the area, the guard laughing as he walks away, making me curl up on my bed. The murder, the death and crimes I did, as much as they were right to call me a monster, it was deserved. Seeing my own wife cheating with my brother, nothing in my life could prepare me for that. The kitchen knife was just conveniently close to me, it took me less than a second to have it in my hand, and another second for it to be covered in their blood. I've lost it, yet I couldn't care any less. "Fuck that bitch."

Morning arises, the guards will usually brutally beat a bell to wake us up, forcing us to hard labour, often times picking up trash on the streets whilst supervised by them. "Quit slacking, y/n! You think I'm blind?" One of the guards yelled, her voice could easily break my eardrums, it hurts. What hurts more is the fact she's a woman, the same damn species that bitch, that cheating bitch was. I clicked my tongue, looking back and was on the brink of snapping, but my conscious got the best of me. "Yes ma'am." I obediently nodded, surrendering as I continued my community service, being a mere slave to the law. I was restless, my body could barely contain the anger. A sight of a woman in itself infuriates me. Getting a little rest in the restroom, washing my face was a right call. Looking into the reflection in the mirror, staring at the wet face of a man who's fallen down a rabbit hole of hatred. My eyes darken, my body slowly shrinking yet swollen, it just didn't make sense. "What am I doing?"

My restlessness needs answers, or at least, something to sooth myself. After community service, the guards let us have our own private time, wandering around the prison to do what you want. I stumbled upon the prison's church, seems like a good place to recuperate. It's like they always say, when in doubt, find God, or I hope they do. Entering the small room, it looks nothing bigger than 4 of my rooms, and my room looks like it was designed to fit a rat. There's probably not many visitors around here, it's a home for criminals. I sighed as I sat on one of the multiple free benches, crossing myself as I began to pray. My wish to find myself inner peace, my wish to fully heal myself from my sins, and most importantly my wish to have courage to forgive what has happened in the past. My prayers were going smoothly, but it was quite bothered when I heard footsteps. "Who the fuck goes to church, whilst being an inmate?" I monologued, looking behind myself to see the figure that was walking in the holy space, and that's when my eyes felt revived, seeing something so beautiful, my mind went blank.

"Welcome child. What brings you here?" Her voice alone made me lose my tension, it felt as if I was on a cloud. I was too stunned to speak, my mind couldn't process her beauty, let alone process human words to speak. "Forgive me, is everything okay? Or-" she paused, stuttering as if she's afraid of the next words coming out of her gorgeous lips. "...are you mute per chance? I know some sign language to communicate if so." She eventually found her best words to form a sentence. Looking from her expression, it seems like she's trying her best not to offend me. Unlucky for her, my mind cleared out the clouds of delusion, behind that beauty, lays a species of humanity I would despise till my grave. "Oh no! I'm not disabled or anything. I was just, spacing out..." My eyes wide open, the sight of a maniac is what could describe my face right now but my voice sounds ever so lovely, as if my past self was doing the talking, the goody two shoes that let myself marry such a wicked bitch. My eyes scanned through the curves of the nun in front of me. Despite her body well covered, I could see how curvy and hot she is, not too thick but she definitely is an eye candy. "Oh I see. Well forgive me for bothering your prayers child. I was not here to disturb your conversation with Him. May your prayers be replied and may your life finds itself towards the right path." She gives a short bow, before moving towards the pillar, the symbol of what I believe is the place where she usually carries out her religious speech, that is if anybody is going to her speeches. What's more important though is her walk, the way her hips move left and right, showing how curvy her ass is. I couldn't hold it, my mind doesn't want to keep imagining. It wants to live it.

My legs starts to move, marching towards her from behind as I grabbed her from the back, my left arm wrapping around her midriff whilst my right on her ass cheek. "ngh- what are you doing?! Do you know where we are right now, inmate??" She questioned, her voice sounds timid as my arms venture around her body, feeling the smooth cloth of her body hiding the treasures underneath. "I prayed for lots of things, sister. Seems like God answered the call pretty soon~" I grinned, my arm groping her ass, making me grunt from pleasure, oh how long have I waited to touch a woman's ass. That bitch of a wife wouldn't let me for months, eventually I found out that cheap slut's ass is for other guys. No worries, I'll take this nun's big ass now and fuck it the way I like it!

It was heaven for me, two days in prison felt like forever, and that forever bores me. With this bitch of a nun in my hands, I can do whatever I please. "No- Aaah! Please stop, this is not the place for such vulgar actions," the woman pleads. But unfortunate for her I don't take orders from women any longer, not anymore. Rubbing my cock underneath my pants while she grunts and tries to move away. Makes me want to have her even more. Despite my joyous time enjoying the body of the hot nun, there's always things that makes things complicated. "Y/N? Where are ya? You gotta get back to your cell!" A voiced shouted from a distance. It's the guards, I thought. I had to let the nun go, letting her pure body free this time, but I'm damn sure this isn't over. The guard steps in the holy space, seeing me stand in front of the nun, smiling at her. "Y/N, your times up, get back to your cell!" He ordered, before shifting his gaze to the curvaceous woman. "Sorry Miss Minji, he's new. I guess he spent too much time praying huh?" He giggled, completely oblivious to the fact I was groping her before he crashed the party. "It's okay, sir. The inmate was just....asking me some questions. It seems he is just starting his journey to find God." She explained, and obvious lie for the both of us, but to that stupid bastard of a guard had no idea. "Oh, I see. Well hopefully this rascal doesn't bother you too much, Miss Minji." The guard laughed it off, in his face reflects confusion as he took his baton and smacks my head, making me start walking out to head back to my cell. "Now that's enough learning for today Y/N, back to your little mansion you go!" He exclaimed, making me take my steps back towards my cell.

In my own cell, my legs are crossed while I rest on the crusty old mattress. Sure it feels like I'm laying on a rock, but in my mind I couldn't felt more relieved. In my mind is only Minju, I didn't even think a second of my late wife, the horrible woman that made me commit the crimes I do today. In fact, that crime is the sole purpose I have this opportunity, and I couldn't miss it for the world. "Minji....you will be mine!"

JIU POV

Getting home to my convent, my mind simply could not brush away the thoughts of y/n. He was a sinful man, and what he did couldn't be said any worse. But for some reason, my heart is racing, it screams for more of that. Is that what sexual pleasure means? Being a holy child of God, I was never interested into indulging myself into such filthy acts, but that was too much for me to resist. Resisting in bed that night I made sure to lock the rooms of my own room, hoping the rest of the sisters to not find me in this state, in heat and about to perform such sinful acts. My body naked without a thread, as I look down, my shaven pussy dripping wet. I gulped, my thoughts conflicting between each other, but eventually it was no longer in my head. I start to slowly touch my clitoris that made me instantly let out a moan. "Aaah~!" I covered my mouth, turning down the volume of my sexual voices as I touch myself, wishing nobody will see me. My fingers kept moving on its own, now penetrating into my pussy, fingering myself. I could yelp and scream, but my hand muffled the sounds to ensure it doesn't reach anybody's ears to listen. My fingers slide in and out of my pussy, touching myself as my body tingles, it couldn't last any longer. "nghhh- noooo...aaah!" Eventually my body gave up, spurting cum all over my mattress, making me moan out load for a few seconds as my urges got the best of me. I panted, looking around my room, nothing really catches my eye, only the fact my body was so into the pleasure of getting groped and touched by a dangerous criminal who so happens to hate women. But somehow with all those issues regarding him, I want to see him again, and I want all of that again.

Y/N's POV

Days gone by, and that hot nun just couldn't leave my mind. How I want to absolutely ruin her and use her as my own personal toy, I just couldn't stand it. Unfortunately, this isn't a lavish life where everything goes my way. Prison life is as horrible as it sounds. Humiliating tasks to complete, food that even rats wouldn't dare to touch, and to top it all off, the annoyance from the shouting yappers they call guards just makes life so tense. Luckily enough, I made acquaintance with a guy that sells cigarettes for some dirty money, and it's my only pathway to maintain my sanity in this new life.

With a blunt between my lips, my footsteps move towards the holy room, a place where it's expected to find the hot chick in prison area. Creaking the door open, I could see her stood in the room just as expected, cleaning the church area. Putting out the spark on my cig, I threw it to the nearest trashcan as I drop my footsteps towards her. "Missed me, Sister Minji?" I smirked, as my footsteps echoes the room. No reply, not surprised by that. I would expect her to actually make me leave or call the guards on me to make me go back to my cell. "What you did the other day....was a sin, my child." She responded after a minute of silence. She didn't flinch nor make a step back, making it more inviting for me to come closer. As we reach closer, only an inch apart of each other, holding her shoulders as I caress them a bit. "My wife was a complete asshole, Minji..." My voice speaks out, almost like a whisper to her ears. "...and I need you, to repent her sins." As I finished, my hands pulled her in, attaching my lips on hers. Kissing her deeply, my mouth tries to get a reply from the nun, hoping she opens up a bit more. "Mmmh...nghhhh~" Minji sounded her restrains, trying to resist. Eventually however, her lips part ways as she opens up, giving me a chance to make out with her deeply. "Mmmmh~ just like that Minji. Such a good girl" I groaned, enjoying my mouth on her innocent lips. After a while of making out, I pulled away and looked into her eyes, giving her space to breath. "God, please forgive me for my acts." Her face blushes, looking down, ashamed of her acts. "God won't hear nothing from you today. Might as well just use that mouth for something better."

I held her tight and guided her to fall to her knees. With zero resistance from Minji, it was easy for me to put her down. "You wanted this, don't you?" I grinned as I undo my pants, letting down the lower half of my jumpsuit to reveal my hardening boner. "It's not like that. I-I" she was hesitant. It was obvious in those pretty cat-like eyes her mind is going back and forth trying to get an answer. Unlucky for her, no is never an answer here. My cock is already out, twitching on her face as I rest it on her smooth pale skin. And I need her innocent body to relieve all the tension building up in me. "Suck." I ordered, but her small face shook in rejection, making me sigh in disappointment. "Guess I have to do it myself huh?" I grabbed the back of her scalp, gripping it hard enough to make her yelp in the bit of pain as I stuff her mouth with my cock, pushing it as deep as I possibly can in one push. "Nghhhh~! Accckk..!" Minji screamed, muffled by my member between her pretty lips yet echoes through the room. The muffled gags and chokes excites me, making my cock grow bigger in her tight throat as I plunge in deeper. Despite being her first time doing oral sex, taking it rough the first time too, she's doing well to stay awake. Even though tears running down her eyes and her face filled with her own spit and precum, the sight is such a beauty, it made me enjoy the whole process of my hips moving back and forth skullfucking her innocence out.

A few moments of thrusting in and out of Minji's face, I finally decided to pull out, letting her have time to breathe. "Bwaaah.... aaaah, goodness." She gasped for air, trying to gain her conscious, then moving away as she expected my little game is over. "Oh Sister Minji, where do you think you're going?" I grabbed her small forearm, stopping her movements. Her eyes widen, shocked from the revelation, and her tight body was immediately brought to one of the benches in the church, where I made her hands on the seats, bending her over. If it were up to me, I would've torn her garments apart and ravish her. But that would probably cause trouble for me with the guards, so I just took off her maxi and reveal her curved ass, only covered by her white panties, stained with her own wet juices. "Look at you~ so wet down here already~" I giggled as I gave her a firm spank, making her grasp the bench and scream out a moan. "I- It was too much for me to resist." She responded, her voice sounded so fragile and submissive, making my cock throb in excitement. My hand pulled down her white panties to her ankles. Now her untouched treasure fully exposed to me, I couldn't resist the urge to give a touch on her wet entrance. My soft touch on her pure innocence made her let out a sensual moan, resulting in a big grin on my face. It's a sign she's giving in. I keep exploring, increasing my pace on her touch-craving pussy, circling around her wet clitoris, where she constantly twitched and grunted from the sensation. "Aaaah...y/n..." Her voice sounds more sensual as her body looked weaker and could barely last. That's when I start to go rough on her again, pushing my index and middle finger inside her pulsing walls. Immediately as my fingers pushed in, she immediately screamed and moaned, enjoying the sensation as her body vibrates from pleasure. "OH GOSH Y/N NOOOO!" Her reaction only prompted me to go faster. "You like it, don't you? Being a slut in God's holy space? Showing off how much of a slut you are~!" I teased, my fingers reaching as deep as they could, while her moans escalated. "No...please do not say that...it is- aaah!" The moment she started to talk back, I immediately went faster and rougher, touching her sensitive parts to cause her to create a scene in the church with her moans echoing through the room. "No- nghhhh... I can not hold it any longer! Forgive me My Lord....I'm, kyaaahhh!" Her screams ignites her climax, cumming on my fingers and wetting herself as her juices drip down her thighs.

"Haa...haaahh" The gorgeous lady panted, laying on the bench as her mind process the depurification of her body unfold in such a holy area. But her eyes kept staring at mine, not with anger nor grudge, but confusion. As if she's having a war between herself, trying to pick up words of what she might decide to do after all this. I kneeled down, my eyes level to hers as I gave her a rub on the scalp. "Tell me, Sister. What is it in your mind?" I asked, as my cock throbs, waiting for more action. Minji gulped, her mind racing around looking for a decision. Or maybe she already does, yet too shy to ask. "P-please...please have sex with me more, Y/n." She muttered, sparking joy and lust within me. "Then in position, bitch!" I ordered, giving her face a firm smack to show her where she stands now, nothing more than a little slut for me, my entertainment in my 10-year sentence. She nodded obediently, her back now on the bench as she spread her legs to show her soaked cunt. And oh God, what a sight, a religious woman completely offering her pussy to a prisoner like a cheap slut she is, nothing makes me happier. I stroked my cock as I get closer to her pussy, slowly sliding my tip in. I looked at Minji's face looking at how she's taking my tip, since this is her first time. "Aaaah.....it's so big y/n" She whined, but eventually got used to my size as her breathe starts to ease out. "Seems like you're ready for the next step." I was never planning on going easy on this ass, and I won't change my mind. My hips immediately buck back and forth, fucking her tight cunt as hard as possible. "Aaaah! Wait no ngaaaaah you are- God too rough!" Minji screamed, feeling my cock plunging in and out of her tight virgin pussy, no mercy for her first time. "Fuck do I care, Minji? You wanna get fucked don't you? Then fucking take it!" My hips got into a faster pace, going rough on her with no sign of mercy, making her scream. Although her screams were getting louder, she didn't seem to want to stop. Her arms on my shoulders, holding on me tight.

With her arms now on me, it gives me a good excuse to hold her tight and carry her up, holding her tight body whilst my cock stays inside her sweet cunt. "Fuck- you're clingy aren't you?" I grinned as I humped her body upwards, making Minji move up and down my cock, with gravity helping drag her body down to take every inch of me. "Nghhh- forgive me y/n....I can't resist it any longer. I need your penis even more now!" The way her lips moved while she speaks, it turns me on, it drives me crazy. I brought ourselves near a wall, making the slutty nun's back face the wall. It gives me an easier pathway to thrust, fucking this bitch as rough as I want while holding her by her ass cheeks. "Aaaah~! Y/N it feels so good, gaaaah~!" her moans felt like music, a sensation I longed for so many years after my wife turned into the cheating bitch she was. Those memories can now be buried, a new sensation arises, with this tight slut being mine, and mine only. My lips now crashes onto hers, kissing her deeply whilst she took my hard cock in and out easily now after a lot of rough strokes. "Mmmmh~! Fuck- Minji, I wanna cum...I wanna cum in your fucking pussy!" I grunted, my cock couldn't hold it any longer as my shaft yearns to unload itself. "Wait no- that's too dan-" without waiting her to finish speaking, I already reached my limit, my cock starts to let loose, shooting ropes of cum deep inside her pussy, filing up her womb. "Aaaaah...kyaaaah!" Minji held me tight, accepting my rewards and my sign of marking, an officiation to being my slut. It wouldn't be enough to mark her insides, my mouth aims towards her neck, kissing and sucking on it before biting on it, my fangs leaving a purple mark, a hickey as a sign of ownership. My member took her time to finish, emptying myself in her womanhood. I panted, barely feeling my legs as I quickly walked towards a nearby bench to sit, with Minju still on top and my cock still inside her. I didn't want to say a word, and so does she. Our only exchange of communication were our lips kissing, tongues clashing between on one another. Our eyes interlock as we know from this day forward, heaven felt so distant, it's beyond reachable. But this sensation, for now, is our heaven.

[letarasstuff]

Normal People don't know their IQ

(A/N): Inspired by me, who recently discovered normal people don’t know their IQ, while I was tested two or three times already...

Summary: A certain someone is the only way to get the UnSub. But there’s also something different that makes her special.

Warnings: Angst (fluffy end, I swear), language, mentions of rape and torture, mention of dead people, the usual CM stuff I guess Wordcount: 2.0k

✨Masterlist✨ _________________________________________

“Garcia, I need you to look into high school teachers, who are suspended or fired for inappropriate behavior towards students and live in the area of the kidnappings”, Hotch orders in a stern voice. But you can’t blame him, after all there are currently six dead teenage girls and one missing. One can only hope and work as fast as possible to get her back to her parents alive.

The team is working a case in Sacramento, California. Teenage girls get abducted on their way home from school, are held for exactly a week and are killed by a simple cut to their throat. The torture they have to endure beforehand isn’t as simple. The last two also show signs of rape.

The dumbing sites are different parks all over the city. The placing happens overnight only to have the girls found the next morning by a clueless jogger or stroller.

“Let’s go over the profile again, I feel like we are missing something”, Rossi commands. His gut feeling tells him only that much, he just has to find out what it is.

“It’s a white male in his mid thirties to late forties. He blends in, so he has to be or has been a teacher. Someone who looks like they belong into a school isn’t suspicious”, Spencer counts the facts.

“The victims all look similar, probably resembling an ex-wife or girlfriend”, Morgan adds. Before he can get into the depth of the torture a phone rings.

“My lovely crime fighters, I got an address. Charles Collins. philosophy and history. Got suspended for suggestive talk towards his female students. He is also said to stare at them and certain body parts for way too long and way too obvious. Gross. Annnd that- wait”

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch asks after a moment of silence, which is unusual for the ever bubbly tech analyst.

“You got your profile wrong. Collins doesn’t take these girls because of an ex flame.”

The team looks at each other in confusion. Garcia always stresses how she isn’t a profiler and can’t judge over people, because she only wants to see the good in them. How is she able to tell that the profile is off?

“Shoot baby girl, we don’t have much time left”, Derek urges her. He wants nothing more than to have this SOB finally behind bars. The whole team wants that.

“He has a daughter. Technically it’s not his daughter, it’s someone else’s, but he is her foster father. Go and please save both girls!”

Penelope doesn’t have to say it twice. After a brief thank you and goodbye the team is on their way to the given address. As soons as they get there, everyone notices the absence of a car in the driveway. Hotch sends Spencer, Emily and Derek through the back door, the rest goes in from the front.

“FBI! OPEN UP!”

It’s needless to say that nobody opens up. There is no other way than kicking the doors down.

After entering the house and clearing the first floor, Rossi points towards the stairs that leads to the first story. There are only two rooms. A bathroom right hand and a closed door left hand.

Morgan counts quietly down before also kicking this door down and screaming “FBI!” But he seemingly talks with air, because there is no one to be found. Once again the team swarms out to look for evidence or clues.

As Spencer looks through the room they cleared last, he sees various things that make him smile. Several bookshelves are flooded with all kinds of genres, authors and covers. At first he can’t make out in which way they are sorted. But a closer look makes him realize that they are sorted by the author’s birth year. The doctor is kind of impressed, because that means the person knows when they are born in order to find a certain book. He likes the idea, it is a nice little challenge.

While he investigates further a sound makes him stop. He sends a text to Emily and waits for her. When she enters the room Spencer gestures to her to keep it quiet. Then he points to the bed.

They lower themselves down to the floor at the same time on each side of it. A girl, no older than 14 years, lays there shivering in angst. With big doe eyes she looks at Spencer and whispers:

“Please don’t hurt me.”

A while later the team is back at the station with the girl sitting in one of the interrogation rooms. The temperature is already set down, though Hotch feels really bad for it. Still there is another girl out there waiting to be safed.

“Baby girl, what can you give us on her?” Morgan sets his phone in the middle of the table and switches the speaker on.

“Our little girl’s name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), fourteen years old. Parents were deemed to be unable to look after her since they are both heavy drug addicts and didn’t even register her crying for two hours straight. Since the age of six months she bounces through the system with nobody wanting to keep her longer than two years. They claim she is too smart for them and want somebody to look after her, who can challenge her intellectually.

“Collins took her in one and a half years ago. He got her signed up in several activities after school, like chess and academic decathlon. As of right now she is a junior with an opportunity to graduate next year. Her teachers describe her as incredibly bright with a complicated way of thinking.”

“Complicated way of thinking? Her intelligence was neglected for years, so she gave herself her own challenges. I found her books sorted by the birth year of the authors. She found ways of making things more difficult for herself, that’s why she fabricated strange ways of thinking. This is often found in children with high intelligence, who are not boosted enough by their environment”, Spencer explains, getting more and more furious.

His colleagues feel that this is a sensitive subject for their resident genius. JJ comfortably puts a hand on his shoulder, making the tense go away.

“Emily and Dave, I want both of you to interrogate her. We need to know where he hides the girls. JJ, try to hold the press off for a bit longer. Morgan, Reid, I want you to watch and look for tells or anything else”, Aaron orders.

Everyone works on their given task immediately.

You don’t need to be a profiler to see that (Y/N) is scared out of her mind. She has her feet on her chair and her head lies on her knees. When the two agents enter, she tries to at least fake some kind of composer. But she fails miserably at it.

“Hello (Y/N), may I call you that?” Emily begins in a soft voice. The teenager nods shyly. “Good, (Y/N). My name is Emily Prentiss and this is David Rossi. We are agents from the Behavior Analysis Unit from the FBI. Do you know why you are here?” The teenager shakes her head.

“Ok, let’s cut the chase”, David's voice booms through the small room. “You know exactly why you are here. From what we saw in your room you are an incredibly smart girl. How high is your IQ? 130? 135?”

“147 a-actually”, she nervously corrects the agent, never meeting his eye. The team notices this fairly quickly.

“Even better, normal people don’t know their IQ. So you know what your forster father does. You saw the news, you read the papers, you heard your classmates talk. In addition to that, the girls look alarmingly similar to you. And all of the sudden Charles is more often out than usual. So do us a favor and come clear.” Then he pulls out a picture from a manila folder on the table. Emily tries to intervene.

“Rossi, don’t. She is not the UnSub. (Y/N) is just unfortunate to be at the wrong place.” “She might as well be another UnSub if she doesn’t do anything to help us. Do you know how long you are going to jail for helping hi-”

“I don’t know anything. I- of course I saw what is h-happening. A-and I connected the dots a long time a-ago. You know, Charles lost his job and that’s a stressor. T-then Child Service was investigating him, because of the suspension’s reasons. I-I couldn’t do anything. I had no evidence, the police wouldn’t believe me. I asked him once wh-what he thinks about, you know, what’s happening. He slapped me and told me to not talk about it again. I’m so sorry, I wanna help. The only thing that comes into my mind is an old cabin he once mentioned when I first arrived at his. B-but I don’t know if it helps you. P-please, I don’t want to go to jail or juvenile, I-” Then (Y/N) breaks down into tears.

Emily is in an instant by her side trying to calm her down, while Hotch gives the information to Garcia. As soon as she finds the location, JJ takes a seat next to (Y/N) and the rest of the team flies out.

“You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, Sweetheart. My colleagues will find him and he will be tried and convicted. He will never be a threat to you again”, the blonde tries to comfort her.

“Whenever I leave an abusive home, there will be another one that’s exactly the same. The only difference with Charles was that he seemed to understand me. He helped me. There’s nobody who is willing to do what he did for me”, she admits sadly.

It breaks JJ’s heart, because her words are true. Even though he is a killer, Collins did help her. But she is also determined to show the young girl that he isn’t the only one who can do that. That there are more people out there, who are kind and as helpful if not more.

Not long after this the team brings the man into the station, Morgan guiding him with a deadbolt-like grip.

Rossi spots (Y/N) in a break room with a hot drink in her hands. While making his way over there, Spencer follows him. He wants to talk with her as well.

“(Y/N) I’m sincerely sorry if I hurt you earlier. I didn’t intend to scare you, we just had to act quickly and you were the only source of information available. I also wanted to tell you, that your achievements are astonishing and I guarantee you a bright future, maybe even at the FBI”, he winks at the end of his last sentence.

“I understand, Agent Rossi. But doesn’t everybody know their IQ? I assumed everybody gets at least tested once in their life in some way”, she asks with surprise in her voice.

At that the older man is speechless. Of all things she could accuse him of legitimately, (Y/N) goes with the most innocent question.

“Actually, not everybody gets tested. A reliable test has to be done by a psychologist and most people don’t go to one. Furthermore there has to be a valid reason to do one, that’s why a great part of the population doesn’t know their IQ”, intervenes Spencer. He has to infodump, since the last time was over half an hour ago.

“But you also have to differentiate between the several kinds of intelligence, because intelligence is way more than being good at math. There…”

Rossi stopped listening to the excited interaction between the two geniuses. Instead he watches their body languages and facial expressions. He hasn’t seen both of them more at calm than they are now.

After all there might be a way for (Y/N) to get a little Happy End.

[misscarolineshelby]

Spanked

Part Two: First Day

Pairing: Modern Tommy Shelby x Reader Words: 1,345 Warning: None…This is only the beginning!

Original Blog: @queenshelby (this is just my backup account as I have been having Tumblr issues)

When you told your friends and roommates about what had happened to you that morning, they couldn’t believe it.

Whilst you were excited to be working for one of the largest enterprises in the UK, they were more intrigued by the fact that you were going to work directly for Thomas Shelby who was a well-known business man and who was quite popular with the ladies across the country.

The 39-year-old had quite a reputation which is what attracted these women. But you decided that you wouldn’t be one of them.

According to your friend, he was the perfect mix between an elegant business owner and a working a class man. He was different to many others out there and, unlike the other men in charge of other big corporations in the UK, he had built his wealth by himself.

Of course, when you read his name on the business card, you remembered reading the rumours in the papers. According to the London Telegraph, he was said to be involved in some illegal businesses as well and it was believed that he had built his empire through drug trafficking and illegal race fixing. But these were just rumours. Thomas Shelby hadn’t served any prison time and was never convicted of any crimes. It was only his brother, Arthur Shelby, who was charged with two murders but never convicted.

He was also involved in politics, having acted as an MP until it became too boring for him. Luckily for him, he maintained connections to other politicians and judges and, miraculously, he had no problems getting licences for any and all of his business operations.

But none of this bothered you much. You saw this job as an opportunity and stepping stone of some sort.

***

Despite your lack of interest in the man himself though, you listened to your friend’s advice when it came to appropriate office attire.

‘You cannot possibly wear this’ your roommate said as she watched you put on a grey coloured suit and a black blouse.

‘That’s what you wear to an office though’ you said somewhat confused while looking into the mirror.

‘Men like something to look at. At least wear a dress and show some legs. You never know, you might even find your prince charming’ your roommate then said with a cheeky smile before disappearing into her room and returning with three dresses for you to choose from.

Of course, she had a point. You had been single for two years and, before that, you had one boyfriend who was just as nerdy as you were. He was your first and your last.

After trying on all three dresses, you chose an elegant knee length black dress but, when you put on some stockings and shoes, your roommate shook her head again.

‘Oh god no. Please let me style you’ your roommate insisted.

‘No, I don’t have time’ you huffed out, looking at your watch.

‘I will style you up for your first day and then I will call you a taxi. I will use my father’s credit card. He won’t even notice’ your roommate said and, after some convincing, you reluctantly agreed.

Your roommate quickly found some suspenders and stockings in her draws and made you put them on. Then, she looked for some shoes, but none of the ones she owned would fit you.

Eventually, she found a pair of black high heels in your other roommate’s wardrobe who, luckily, had the same shoe size as you.

Finally, she applied your make up and straightened your hair. It looked perfect and she was certainly impressed with her own work.

‘Holy shit, I am fucking awesome’ your roommate then said and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘I look good’ you said somewhat surprised as you looked into the large mirror in your bedroom.

‘You fucking do. Go and get yourself a suitor’ she teased you and you shook your head.

‘No, I am there to work, not to flirt. Despite, I don’t even know how to flirt’ you admitted and your roommate couldn’t help but giggle.

***

When you arrived at the offices of Shelby Company Limited, you were greeted by a tall dark-haired woman who showed you to your new office.

It was near the reception area and you were surprised by the layout of the building. Everything was made of glass and the floors looked like marble. It was incredible.

Lizzie explained to you how things worked around the office and told you that you would be reporting to a man by the name of Michael Grey.

‘I thought I will be reporting to Mr Shelby’ you said somewhat surprised, causing her to laugh.

‘Sweetheart, please don’t flatter yourself. You are here on your merit but no one new reports directly to Mr Shelby apart from me and Michael Grey. He only likes to deal with people he knows and trusts’ Lizzie said before handing you your office swipe card and a stack of files for you to look at it.

Just as you sat down and Lizzie took a seat right next to you, talking you through the accounting software the company uses, you saw Tommy enter the reception area.

He was accompanied by a tall blonde woman who was wearing expensive clothes and was carrying a Louis Vuitton handbag.

‘Who is this?’ you asked curiously, causing Lizzie to look up from the computer.

‘Elaine Sutton. Apparently, she is the flavour of the month. He likes attractive women who don’t talk much, which makes her perfect’ Lizzie chuckled, seemingly annoyed by the woman.

‘How did you become Mr Shelby’s personal assistant?’ you then asked and Lizzie chuckled again.

‘I’ve known Thomas since he was eighteen. I used to be married to his brother, John Shelby, before he passed away’ Lizzie said and you were surprised by her directness and openness about it.

‘Any more questions or can we get back to work now?’ she then said and you apologised to her immediately.

***

Throughout the day, you developed an investment scheme to lower the tax rates the company was otherwise required to pay in the next financial year. This was what you had mentioned to Tommy at the café and you assumed that it was what he wanted you to do when Lizzie handed you the relevant files.

As you were working through them one by one, you also became to notice that Tommy himself was quite the talking point between the women in the office.

His blue eyes, his expensive suits and what tie he was wearing was on today’s agenda in the lunchroom and you couldn’t help but be amused.

Then, all of a sudden, there was dead silence. The room went quiet and no one said a word as the man himself entered the lunch room.

‘Can I get you anything Mr Shelby?’ one of the service employees asked nervously.

‘Can you tell me where the cable ties are kept, please?’ he said in his low gruffy voice and, just when the employee nodded and told him that she would fetch some for him, he approached you.

‘Office attire suits you much better than coffee-stained clothes Y/N’ he observed, causing you to swallow harshly, smile and nod.

‘Thank you for the opportunity, Mr Shelby’ you stammered out in response just as the service clerk returned with some cable ties for Tommy and he walked off.

‘He knows your name’ a short brunette woman observed. ‘I’ve been working here for a year and he hasn’t even noticed me’ she then said before offering you a cup of tea which you gladly accepted.

‘Well, I spilled hot coffee onto him yesterday at the Coffee Bean Café across the road which probably made stick’ you said somewhat embarrassed, causing the woman to laugh before introducing herself to you.

Her name was Emily and she was also working in the business advisory department. Just like you, she was smart and nerdy and you knew that you would be getting along well.

Tag List:

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@peaky-cillian  @queenyshelby ​

@severewobblerlightdragon​  @ysmmsy​  @midnightmystic​

[pilothusband]

Abducted Amphora

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol (not to an excess), food mention (they eat pizza), non-explicit tension, mentions of stealing shit, hints at a boss/employee relationship so there’s a slight power balance there, age gap that isn’t mentioned (he has years of service and she’s almost brand new)

Word count: 1,972

Author’s note: Written for @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday! Lightly edited, unbeta’d. This one is pretty tame compared to my other works. Thinking about turning it into a snapshot series. Let me know what you think!

A smattering of footsteps clatter throughout the courtyard, echoing off the old walls that surround you. Sprawling greens adorn almost every inch of the balcony, reaching out to an impossibly blue pool situated in the middle. You can’t help but gawk as you walk through the museum, trailing your boss by a few paces who is currently following the curator, a middle-aged woman with bouncy curls and a wardrobe to die for.

A few minutes prior, she had introduced herself as Vanessa Harrington, given a firm handshake to the two of you, and hastily made her way to the exhibit where an expensive piece of artwork was stolen.

“What’s weird is, this isn’t even the most expensive piece the museum owns,” she says, glancing backwards and waving her hands. How she manages to walk briskly in stiletto heels without looking forwards is a mystery to you. 

The stolen piece is a Panathenaic amphora from Hellenistic era Greece. It was most likely used to fill with olive oil to give to Olympic champions. Not to say it isn’t valuable, but it had sat nondescript amongst bright and flashy paintings that were incredibly rare and sought after.

“And the security cameras were disabled prior to the theft?” Your boss, Marcus Pike asks, scribbling in his notepad. Vanessa nods in confirmation. “Then they were enabled right after, as if the thieves knew how to hack into the system.”

“Either they knew how to hack into the security system or they had enough insider knowledge to disable it,” you voice your thoughts, not even aware that you were speaking out loud.

Marcus looks over to you, his warm brown eyes flicking over your face in acknowledgement.

Every time his eyes meet yours, you feel yourself freeze up for a moment. No matter that you’ve been working with him for nearly a year, it’s as if time stops every time you look at him. His jaw, square and strong, along with his soft brown eyes that give away to his emotions at any moment. His broad shoulders always manage to get your pulse going, along with his small waist, showcased by the form-fitting button downs he wore under his suit coat.

“We’re going to need all information regarding museum personnel, as well as any vendors that drop by regularly,” Marcus shifts his attention over to Vanessa, who nods decisively.

“Absolutely. I have that all on my office desktop and can get that to you ASAP.”

Vanessa doles out more details for a few minutes and Marcus jots them down– in his unreadable handwriting no doubt– and then Vanessa bids you adieu and spins on her heel to her office, giving you two free rein over the museum.

There isn’t anymore DNA evidence to go over. The local police already had their personnel collect it days prior and the scene was spotless once you arrived. The thieves had been meticulous in leaving as little evidence as possible. The only fingerprints found were already processed and pending a match. They were most likely from an employee, and there’s a good chance it was just normal prints left behind from dusting priceless artwork.

Once Vanessa is out of the room, Marcus turns and places a big hand on your bicep.

“Good job back there, agent.” He flashes an easy grin. Marcus is an incredible boss. He’s driven, observant, kind, and knows when he has to make the tough calls. He’s a natural-born leader. You haven’t been with the bureau for long, being a junior agent among a team of seasoned professionals, but comparing him to other supervisory agents you have met, he’s warm and kind, always making sure his team is in good shape. He’s the kind of guy who’s prepared for anything, whether it be backup for a shootout with an unsub or someone in the room needs a pen before a staff meeting.

You can’t help but feel flushed at his praise. Despite Marcus’ easygoing nature and his openness with the team, he always seems to keep you at an arms’ length. It was getting to the point where you were wondering if he was regretting hiring you in the first place. Marcus often rotates the team when it comes to working directly with him on cases, and you have only worked directly with him once– your first ever case. 

Initially you’re convinced you fucked up so badly that he didn’t want to pair up with you afterwards, but then the case report made its way back to your desk and your evaluation was normal, good even.

“Thank you,” you reply, ducking your face down to hide the growing heat licking its way up your face.

“Let’s grab some lunch, get those files from Mrs. Harringon and start digging.”

You nod in agreement and turn, walking towards the exit. You don’t notice the subtle movement, but Marcus trails you, arm raised as if he’s about to touch your waist, but pauses halfway through and scratches at his chin.

Later on that night, you’re holed up in Marcus’ hotel room, hunched over your laptop reading up on all of the museum employees. Marcus took on the task of reading over vendor files, his shoulders set much straighter.

Your back is screaming at you and your eyes are sapped of all moisture as you blink rapidly, trying to will your tear ducts into submission. It’s too early in the night to fall asleep with the amount of work you have to look forward to, and the longer it takes you to crack the case, the more likely the thieves are to get away with the crime.

“I think we could use a break,” Marcus says from across the room. You look up blearily, noting the look of concern he’s giving you, brow furrowed. He must have caught you in your tired state somehow, between poring over files and jiggling his leg absent-mindedly.

“Can’t argue with that,” you chuckle, rubbing at your eyes.

“I’ll order room service, compliments of the bureau,” he says, smiling sideways. “I’m feeling pizza, what do you think?”

“Pizza sounds heavenly,” you groan.

“What do you want to drink?” Marcus asks, his eyes scanning over the menu unfolded next to his laptop.

“Oh, uh,” you hesitate, trying to decide on caffeine or something healthier. “I think the room has plenty of water.”

“I was thinking something a little stronger,” he says, a small grin making its way over his features. “Nothing too crazy, since we still have work to do.”

“What’s your opinion on red wine?” You ask, wanting to select something you both can agree on.

“I love it,” he says, giving you a toothy smile. “Pinot Noir?”

“Sounds perfect.”

An hour later, you’re both seated on the floor, pizza box spread open between your bodies, munching away at the slices of pepperoni you both decided on and sharing the bottle of wine Marcus ordered.

“Turns out it’s bad optics for the boss to drunkenly sing 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton off-key, and I still get teased for it to this day, which is why I refuse to join the team on karaoke nights,” Marcus finishes. You’re clutching your stomach as you laugh at his story, head thrown back as you giggle. 

You’ve only had a glass and a half of wine at this point, but you can already feel a persistent buzzing in your brain, your head feeling much lighter and much heavier simultaneously. This is what you get for skipping breakfast and lunch, opting to replace them with an afternoon snack and a late dinner.

Marcus laughs along with you, shaking his head and looking down at his slice of pizza.

Your laughter dies down and there’s a moment where it’s quiet, the only noise in the room being Marcus chewing on the crust of his pizza slice, and you taking a sip from your glass.

“This is a nice change,” you blurt out, immediately regretting your outburst.

“Mmm,” Marcus hums around the bite in his mouth. He swallows and looks up at you in question.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Your eyes meet after he speaks and you can feel your heartbeat accelerating in your chest. God, why did you have to open your big mouth?

“Oh, nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just…”

You don’t continue and Marcus shifts on his knees, leaning forwards to spur you on.

“It’s just what?”

“Well, I don’t know, it’s stupid.” You say, studying the box of pizza below you, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Nothing you could ever say is stupid,” he says with conviction. His tone makes you look up at him in wonder.

“Tell me, please,” he adds softly.

“Well, I thought you didn’t like me. Or that you didn’t think I was a good agent.” You can feel your stomach plunging and your cheeks burning at the admission.

“Why would you think that?” Marcus almost looks hurt.

“God, it’s dumb,” you babble. “But I noticed you haven’t had me partner with you on a case in ages, and you seem to get on with the rest of the team so much easier.”

You risk another look into Marcus’ eyes and he looks absolutely crushed. He cards a hand through his locks and his eyes look far away for a moment. You physically deflate, feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet.

“Hey,” he says, scooting forward and moving the pizza box aside. “You’re an amazing agent. Everything I put in your evals are the truth.”

You don’t reply, but smile softly at him.

“I’m so sorry I’ve made you feel undervalued,” he puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes it. The look on his face, much closer to yours now, is absolutely putting you through the ringer.

Marcus looks disheveled, which is rare for him, as he always looks put-together in the office, not a hair or thread out of place in his tailored suits. His hair is sticking up and his tie is loosened. His brow is furrowed in concern and you have the overwhelming urge to soothe your thumb over it.

“I just–,” he starts and pauses, trying to come up with the right words. “I was so distracted during that case with you, and I never want to put you in that kind of danger again. Especially as a junior agent.”

Distracted?

“What do you mean?” You ask, blinking in confusion. What could have possibly distracted him from the case? This man, so motivated, so focused. He was diligent to a fault, at times.

“I–”

He’s cut off by his cell phone, ringing insistently in his pants pocket. He lifts a finger to pause the conversation and answers the phone.

His expression is focused as he listens to the other end of the line, murmuring affirmations as the call continues.

“Okay, sounds good. We’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

He hangs up the phone, shifts his legs and stuffs it back in his pocket.

“We’ve got a lead on the suspects,” he tells you. “A bodega near the museum has a security camera that caught a large utility van parked in front, right around the time the amphora was stolen. The owner said they’re only available to talk before they open, so we have to be there by 5:30 AM.”

You scramble to your feet and shut your laptop while Marcus clears the pizza and wine. You watch him silently as he finishes the task, noting his stiff shoulders and the carefully neutral expression on his face.

You’ll have to ask Marcus about the conversation later, if you can work yourself up to it. For now, you’ll let your imagination run wild and hope someday you can get over this juvenile crush you have on your boss.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov @sheresh0y @greeneyedblondie44 @blackmarketmummy @brandyllyn @gracie7209 @bootyliciousbilbo @dobbyjen @vanillabeanlattes @knivesareout​ @fastandfeminist @phrog-seeds @janebby​ @xoxo-callie​

[cowboyx2]

The Girl Behind The Screens

Prt 1

Summary: You get caught by the police and your friend from the FBI gets her team to help you out.

Warning: Curse words, and obviously typos

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Penelope Garcia was taking a small power nap in her office when she was jolted awake by a phone call. “Penelope Garcia at your service!” She chirped into her mobile phone which was unusual.

“Pen, it’s me...” you practically whispered into the phone. “Y/N? Oh my god this isn’t your number!! What’s wrong!?” Garcia was the worried to say the least. You and her worked side by side in her days as the black queen. “They got me. Look I know you work with the FBI now so I thought I should let you know. Don’t go and try to d-“ you were cut off by an obviously fuming Garcia.

“Where. The. Hell. Are. You?” You let out a chuckle knowing how silly she looks when she’s mad. “Quantico’s police station. Shit, I gotta go.” With the beeps on the other end of the phone Penelope grabbed her bags and leaped out the door.

“Woah there, Babygirl! Where you going off to in the middle of work?” Derek Morgan said as he tried to stop her from barreling past him by holding onto her shoulders. “I do not have time for this Derek!” She pushed past him into the elevator.

————————

An hour had past since Penelope had gotten to the station, she now stood sitting on a small bench waiting for her unit chief to arrive. The police weren’t releasing you and Penelope maybe had shouted in their face a little, just her luck they called her boss. Aaron entered the station with very concerned team behind him.

“Penelope, what’s going on?” Derek had dropped the pet names and had gone straight into worried friend mode. “The police won’t let me bail out my friend! She’s been sitting in there for a day and they only gave her a phone call now. She’s all alone and and-“ she was cut off by her own tears. Morgan pulled her into a hug while a police officer came up to them.

“Hello Agent Hotchner. Uhm” he glanced down at a crying Penelope. “Well you see she busted in here saying she needed to bail out a women were holding. We tried to explain the bail hadn’t been set yet because we were actually waiting for the FBI to come question her.” He sighed.

“Sir is the person in question Y/N L/N?” Hotch ask as his face stayed stoic. The officer let out a cough “Yes sir.” After Hotch explained his team was supposed to question her later today they were cleared to see her.

They all gathered into a small room that had a two way mirror that peered into a slightly larger room. In that said room was an upset girl who was wearing a striped sweater and black cuffed jeans. She looked to be quite annoyed with the cuffs she was in, her face held a scowl.

“What do we know about this girl?” Rossi peering past Penelope to look through the window. “Her names Y/N L/N, she has an eidetic memory like Reid. She worked along side Penelope when she was the black queen, a week before we caught Penelope she was convicted of assaulting a police officer and won her appeal after 4 months in prison. She has also been convicted of various other crimes all that were hacking related with minor sentences.” Hotch let out a sigh. Reid looked over to Garcia. “You’re friends with criminals?” She shot him a glare.

“Oh please, technically I am one too, I just decided to join the FBI instead of going to prison.” Penelope was fed up with this. Emily was curious though she watched the girl fiddle around in her seat, she was pretty. “Uhm why- uh I mean what is she being charged with?” Emily tried to hide her blushing face by coughing, let’s say it didn’t work.

“Same as Garcia.” Hotchs answer was cold his eyes didn’t leave the girl in the room.

————————

You were jingling you’re handcuffs as if that would somehow help the situation you were in. In defeat you slump down putting your head on the table when you here the door open. You were expecting some lame ass cop but to your surprise it’s your long time friend Penelope Garcia!

“You work fast.” You quickly remark while siding down in your chair. She smiles and throws her arms around you, your hands were occupied so it was a little awkward but nice nonetheless. “We’re gonna get you outta here!” She seems hopeful no she seems certain.

You look over to a black haired women and a muscular bald man. They were her team but you knew they were profilers, they judged your every move and made assumptions off them. You were already agitated by the fact of you being arrested but now you were being judged and watched. “Ah, Derek Morgan! You’re the man who trusts few closes others off. Love that, I relate.” You point to the muscular man. He opens his mouth but start again before he can say anything.

“Emily Prentiss, you overcompensate and hide your feelings for what you think is for the betterment of the team.” You pause and smile “But I will say you’re quite beautiful”

Emily was caught off guard by your bluntness, as you continued to list all the flaws of everyone else on the team. She was a blushing mess but tried to hide it to the best of her abilities.

“Oh and last but not least is Spencer Reid. Who hides behind his intellect to ignore his lack of social cues.” You let out a small smile though Penelope looks unimpressed. “Really Y/N, this isn’t helping you!” You sigh to look at her and mumble a weak sorry. Then the door swings open to reveal none other than Hotch.

“You did a background check on us?” His face keeps a stern look but you could feel the hint of confusion in his voice. “I had to make sure Pen was in good hands after I got outta jail.” He glances at your friend.

“Work with us or go to prison, your choice.” He wasn’t asking, yes it came out of his mouth but it was Penelope who was really saying it. The look of her glossed over eyes broke you, you didn’t want that life but her eyes pleaded. “What do I have to do?”

Before you knew it you were accepting the job offer and getting uncuffed. At least that agent was hot. Maybe Emily thought you were too, maybe.

This is part one of a new series! My Spencer Reid series is on hiatus for now because my dumb brain can’t think of what to add. Unfortunately I also deleted an entire fic I wrote for Spencer Reid accidentally, I’m in the process of rewriting it so look out for that! Thanks for the support.

-Much Love From A Gay Kermit

[wackygoofball]

Moodboard - Jaime x Brienne: Modern-day Pirates AU

When the crew of the Brightroar heads out for the next job Tyrion got them, Jaime and Bronn think that this will be a piece of cake: Wriggle the guns around in front of some suit and ties and construction workers on a base for water energy in the Narrow Sea. Their client wants them to deliver some documents of the rivaling company. So really, no big deal for this not exactly legal delivery company traveling the Narrow Sea for many years already.

That is until they find out that the documents are stored on a server and the only person who knows the password who happens to be on the base is some mannish assistant normally working at the HQ who was sent there to oversee the operations. And that woman has the audacity not to turn the passwords over, even when Jaime holds a gun to her head.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be messing with the man holding a gun to your head.”

“But I don’t know how bad your aim actually is if you have to hold it right to my head.”

“I am the best shooter across the Narrow Sea, bitch.”

“Didn’t you know? Some people just like to overpraise a name.”

The woman won’t budge, and Jaime is about to lose his temper with her. Not knowing what else to do, the two decide to take the woman hostage aboard the Brightroar to negotiate with the woman’s boss. Tyrion wants to trade the hostage for the codes to access the documents to give to their customer. But that solid plan won’t float either: When Tyrion calls the boss for the negotiations, the man basically tells him calmly and politely that this woman’s life is not worth the access codes.

And people say they are bad people for acting as modern-day pirates.

And so, they have documents they can’t access, a woman tied up under deck who is way too comfortable with someone threatening to kill her, and a client growing impatient. So no, this is definitely not a piece of cake.

If all of that wasn’t bad enough, Jaime soon finds himself playing watchdog for the mannish woman who is not nearly as afraid of him as she definitely should be. After all, he is a convicted murderer. Fine, it was Aerys Targaryen, but for all the people know, he murdered this poor guy in cold blood.

If only they knew how hot their blood would have been, had he not taken the shot.

But those days lie behind him. Military service lies behind him. The court hearing. The discharge. Keeping his mouth shut about what sleeps underneath the capital. Prison lies behind him. The Brave Companions fucking up his shooting hand to make him “One Hand” lie behind him. Everything is behind him. There is just living from one day to the next, doing the jobs they do. But at the very least, there is a blue sky above him and no prison bars to cling on to.

Then the unexpected happens: The woman manages to use a moment of distraction to break free, kick Jaime where it really hurts, and disarm him. Him! The infamous One Hand!

“What a bitch!”

The woman makes it back on deck, where she is cornered by Bronn and a very, very pissed Jaime, who definitely wants to throw her overboard, not only for kicking him but also for having the audacity to disarm him.

The woman demands to speak to the captain to make a deal, perfectly ignoring his threats. To Jaime’s surprise, his little brother agrees to speak to her alone almost promptly. After what feels like an eternity, the two return with an even more shocking announcement:

“Let’s welcome our newest crew member, guys! Give it up for your crew mate Brienne.”

Apparently, she made a deal with Tyrion, arguing that since she saw how little her life is worth to the boss she worked for for many years, she no longer wants to live that life. She wants their client to have the documents to screw up her boss’s business. Her one condition is that they make it seem like she was killed, so that she can start a new life.

Jaime makes sure to make her new life living hell, though. Every shitty errand job there is, he sends her to. Mopping the floors and getting the boring watching jobs on assignments. He wants her to leave, he wants her to see the shitty reality of their fucked-up lives and how that fucked-up life definitely has no space for people like her.

But she won’t quit. She is not quiet about her discontent either, but Brienne is no quitter, he will have to give the stubborn woman that much. Though that doesn’t mean he wants to be friendly with her. Because nothing about this woman makes sense. She is masterful at combat, which Brienne proves soon enough on their upcoming assignments, and yet, she acts high and mighty, talking about honor and all that shit. He just can’t make sense of her.

And Jaime long since learned his lesson not to trust anyone.

He finds out the truth soon enough on an assignment with just the two of them, though: The whole thing was a fake. Brienne was their client who ordered the documents, while a friend of the family called Goodwin acted the part of her calm and polite boss.

“Why would someone fuck up her life like that?”

“Because I have a purpose. And nothing will stop me from it. Even if I have to bring a little shit like you a beer while he is taking a piss off the railing.”

As it turns out, Tyrion figured as much once he found out that the company they were meant to destroy by turning over the documents is actually her late father’s business. She went with her mother’s maiden name to stay under the radar and primed herself as the hostage to be taken aboard Brightroar. Tyrion didn’t realize until she was onboard, though.

Apparently, Brienne made big news back in the day when she was charged for having murdered Renly Baratheon. While there was not enough evidence to prove that his former assistant killed him, Brienne since has to live with the stigma of being considered as the person who murdered him. And she won’t let that stand. She loved that man. She never could have killed him.

She tried to hire the crew as herself in an effort to find the man she thinks is responsible for Renly’s death: his own brother Stannis alongside his assistant Melisandre. But Tyrion refused to take her case the first time, so Brienne sought out more desperate measures to gain access to his resources. And so, she devised this plan to get herself right to the source, which is the Brightroar.

Brienne needs someone who has access to the underworld to dig up the man who disappeared into it shortly after Renly died. When she told Tyrion that during the hostage situation, the captain agreed to have her stay under the condition that she makes herself useful on the Brightroar for the duration of her stay. In exchange, he arranges for meetings and gathers information at her behest.

“And once I have the information I need, you can rejoice, because I will be out of here and go after Stannis. And you won’t ever see me again.”

Jaime is not at all pleased to hear that. He doesn’t like being lied to, obviously. And while, of course, he couldn’t care less for this woman, Jaime knows it is a dangerous path into the underworld. Not only because people don’t hesitate to shoot you in the face. It does something to you. It changes you. And someone who is so hellbent on justice, as that woman definitely is, will not thrive in the darkness. Jaime cautions her that she still has a chance to live a life in misery to return to, but Brienne remains steadfast.

“In contrast to some, I keep my promises.”

And so, the two agree to a truce, whereby Jaime won’t involve himself in her revenge and Brienne has his confidence as his partner in crime for as long as she happens to work on the Brightroar.

But that fragile truce continues to be shaken by revelations, growing feelings, a dangerous attraction, and the impending danger of the past coming to haunt the present as someone found out about what Jaime wanted to take with him to a grave in the deep blue sea…

————————————————

Note: This is vaguely inspired by Black Lagoon - but really just vaguely when it comes to the premise and the irresistible connection between Revy as Two Hands and Jaime as One Hand (c’mon, y’all know I had to do it). Though I am definitely turning it on its head. And if you want to treat yourself, read and watch Black Lagoon. It’s dark and great at portraying truly flawed characters.

[javierpenaspinkshirt]

By Force

Mando x Y/N

A/N: based on this amazing idea by @mandowhorian. I hope I’ve done your idea justice! Please forgive any ugly errors, it's very late and I am but a mere mortal incapable of spelling.

Warnings: violence (nothing graphic), descriptions of death, little bit of soft. Nasty formatting.

Words: 4.9k.

By Force

‘What have you got?’ The words were low and gravelly through the modulator.

Karga knew him well enough to know that that was the extent of the conversation he was going to get from his best hunter. Rather than bother trying to force a friendly chat between acquaintances he took the bounty pucks from his pocket and laid them out on the table.

‘I’ve got… a nobleman’s son, bail jumper, bail jumper, escaped convict…’ Karga held each one up to The Mandalorian as he named them but he raised and eyebrow and smirked slightly as the helmet stayed dead still in front of him.

‘What? None of these good enough for you, Mando?’ He laughed.

Mando hated how Karga would toy with him before giving him the bounty he actually wanted, but he needed the work and the guild was the only place he could get it. He tolerated Karga’s antics.

Karga stoped laughing and retrieved another puck from his pocket. He placed it carefully on the table right in front of Mando.

‘Now this one, this one is fun. She’s had several failed attempts on her already. And she…’ Karga looked around him before leaning in close across the table and whispering slightly, ‘she’s ex-Rebellion’.

‘Being a Rebel isn’t a crime, the New Republic has no problem with Rebels’ Mando was matter of fact in his response, turning his helmet to look away from the guild-man who was trying to enthuse him.

‘No questions asked, Mando, you know the rules’ Karga sat back against the seat of the cantina booth, ‘we don’t ask, we just take the puck’.

Mando knew the rules. He knew it was much better not to ask. The less information he knew about his bounties the better. He had a reputation as a fearsome hunter, skilled and efficient he could track quarries across the galaxy. And he did. If he pulled your number, you weren’t getting away. But below the Beskar he wasn’t some terrible monster. He was a man loyal to his creed, loyal to the Tribe, and dedicated to his work. But he wasn’t heartless. The less he knew the better he slept.

He sighed and scooped the puck up off the table, snatched the tracking fob from Karga’s outstretched hand and got up to leave, grabbing his Amban Pulse Rifle and securing it to his armour.

‘See you soon, Mando’ Karga crooned giving him a mock wave.

Mando didn’t bother to acknowledge him and strode out of the cantina on to the dusty streets of Nevarro. The sunshine glinted off his armour, as old an worn as it was. It had served him well on many an adventure and it would continue to do so until the time came for him to be able to earn new armour. But Beskar was not easy to come by, so for now he would continue to rely on the worn, battle scarred armour that was his second skin.

He made his way to the Razor Crest, hating the way eyes always seemed to trail him. Usually harmless and often just curious they would follow him as he moved, staring at the weaponry and the Beskar. He was grateful that his tall stature and powerful presence mostly kept punters from actually approaching him.

Finally he breeched the safety of the Crest and got off the ground as quickly as he could. His fortress of solitude sped away from Nevarro as fast as he could dare and finally he felt his muscles relax.

Sat in the pilot’s seat, Mando took a moment to properly examine the puck. The bounty was ex-Rebellion. Named Y/N and aged 35 she had evaded capture several times already. An ex-Rebel wasn’t his usual bounty and if she had already had several attempts on her she wasn’t going to come easy. Though he enjoyed a challenge he did wonder whether he should’ve settled for one of Karga’s numerous bail jumpers instead, just to take the easy route for once. But the covert was relying on his income and his loyalty to the Tribe outweighed his dislike of difficult jobs.

Y/N was suspected to be on some outer rim skughole called Tatooine that Mando had only heard mentioned when sat in bars frequented by guild members. It was a planet known to be used by smugglers and thieves. The ideal place to hide yourself away if you were looking to avoid capture.

Mando set course for the smuggler’s paradise and let the auto pilot take the reigns. He sat back in the seat and let his head tip back to rest. It would be several hours before he was anywhere near his destination. Enough time to remove his armour and get some rest.

Mando dragged his tired body to his quarters and began to strip the Beskar, carefully and slowly. He respectfully lined each piece up and inspected it for damage. The last piece was his helmet. He pressed the release and felt the cool air of the ship on his face as he shook back the sweat dampened hair from his face and ran a glove-free hand over the back of his neck. He stripped down further until he was wearing only a pair of undershorts and stretched. He felt every joint click and every sinew pull as he did. Sweet relief for a few brief hours.

He made his way to the ship’s small fresher where he showered and shaved the stubble that was growing itchy beneath the helmet. He cut a few loose ends from his hair that were untameable and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t hate what he saw but it wasn’t exactly his favourite view. Several cuts and scrapes adorned his face and scars covered a good portion of his shoulders and upper torso that he could see in the small mirror. His jaw line was sharp but to him it bore marks of fights and squabbles. His nose accentuated the beautiful symmetry of his face but to him it had been broken one too many times. His eyes were dark and enchanting but to him they looked like the muddy swamps of Mimban. He’d seen plenty worse than him in his time, but as he looked into his own exhausted eyes he was reminded how ever grateful he was for his creed. No living thing had seen him without his helmet since the day he had sworn it. Though he could occasionally find himself pining for the touch of another he had spent so long alone that those wants were infrequent and harmless.

He drudged back to his quarters and lay down on the make shift bed that hurt his back and offered about as much comfort as the cantina benches. It wasn’t much but it was safe. He would afford himself a little sleep.

*

After a few hours of much needed rest, the Beskar returned to its rightful place and the helmet once again obscured anything human about The Mandalorian from view. The location of his next bounty was well in view from the Crest’s cockpit and the tracking fob began to bleep in that familiar ominous tone.

There was a ship port in Mos Espa, one of the planet’s few port cities, and Mando decided that would be the safest place to leave his ship. He knew the planet was overrun with pirates and bandits and he didn’t want to run the risk of the Razor Crest being hijacked or stripped for parts while he was out working.

He docked in one of the empty bays and tossed a few credits to the Gamorrean manning the port and headed into the city.

It was hot and dusty and the suns were relentless already. It was early morning but the arid air was still dry enough to catch in Mando’s throat. The fob bleeped slowly, the bounty wasn’t likely to be in the city. But he knew that. No former-Rebel with a bounty on her head was going to hide out in a city. He was in for a long day.

Mando walked slowly through the tight streets and through the small market. Naturally, once again, all eyes were on him, an outsider – obviously there on guild business. The people of Tattooine were no stranger to bounty hunters or Mandalorians for that matter, but he still drew attention as a visitor to Mos Espa. He kept his eyes straight ahead, heading for the small cantina at the end of one of the narrow roads. It was a likely hang out spot for local bounty hunters and smugglers and he hoped that from there he might be able to procure some transport or at least a little more information about his former-Rebel quarry.

He entered the cantina, having to duck slightly to fit through the small door way. Automatically patrons turned to look at him but the band in the corner kept playing and no one seemed to pay him much mind as soon as it became apparent he wasn’t there to cause any trouble. He sidled up to the bar and rested his forearms on the sticky, unpolished surface waiting for the service droid to notice him.

‘Here on business, Mando?’ The voice came from behind him and Mando spun round quickly, braced for a fight. Instead he was met by a smile and two large hands reaching out to pat him on the arms.

‘We see plenty of your kind round here’ the smiling face and outstretched arms belonged to a tall, large man wearing a dirty apron and a pair of trousers all but dripping with grease obviously wiped on them by the hands now gently gripping Mando’s arms.

The man released him and motioned him to sit at the bar with him.

‘What can I do for you, traveler? Welcome to my humble cantina, can I get you a drink?’ The man kept smiling and clicked for the service droid to come over.

‘No thank you’ Mando replied as politely as he could, ‘I’m here for a job, I wont be staying’.

‘Figured as much’ the cantina owner shooed the droid away and pointed to the slowly blinking fob on Mando’s belt, ‘guild business?’.

Mando nodded but said nothing more, not wanting to give away his position.

The owner let out a bellowing laugh, it shocked Mando but the Beskar covered his reaction. No one in the cantina blinked an eye, this was obviously a regular occurrence.

‘Let me guess, you’re here for Y/N’ the owner offered, grinning at his own deductions.

‘Yes’ was the single word answer.

‘We have boys like you pass through nearly every week! But I admire the guild’s commitment to keep sending you guys after her’ the owner was pushing Mando to ask him questions, knowing he knew exactly what Mando needed.

Mando sighed and obliged, ‘tell me about her’.

The owner sat up on the bar stool and grabbed a drink from behind the bar.

‘She’s ex-Rebellion’ he began, settling in to tell a story Mando didn’t really want to hear, ‘she came here after the Battle of Yavin about 8 years ago. She’s been here since, legends say she’s waiting for someone’.

‘Being a Rebel isn’t a crime’ Mando offered.

The owner shook his head, ‘no its not, but the winds say there’s something about her that both sides of the fight want. They say she can move things with her mind and command the sands to do her bidding, they even say she can foresee things’ the owner nodded enthusiastically waiting for Mando’s equally as enthused response.

He didn’t get it.

‘Tell me where she is’.

The owner slumped back, visibly disappointed by Mando’s lack of curiosity but he continued on, ‘she lives out by the old rock formation north from here… you look like you’ve got a lot of heavy weaponry on you and that suit cant be fun to walk around in under two suns… if you go out back my boys will be happy to drive you’ something flashed in the owners eyes.

‘What’s in it for you?’ Mando’s voice was gruff and a little hushed.

A smile formed on the large man’s face, ‘maybe a few credits for the guys and if you do catch her’ he leaned in close to The Mandalorian, ‘and you survive her… you come back here and tell me if it’s true’ he tapped the side of his head and moved out of Mando’s space.

If he survived her? Who was Y/N? Exactly what was he walking in to?

Though he was about as far from trusting the man in front of him as he was from Nevarro, Mando agreed to pay his men for a ride to the rocky outcrop the bounty was supposed to live on.

The owner showed him out back where a group of four men were hanging around a beaten up old Landspeeder. Mando’s hackles raised, he felt uneasy and his instincts were usually right. He made sure the Pulse Rifle on his back was visible and hoped it served as a warning in case he was walking into an uncomfortable situation.

‘This is this week’s hunter looking for Y/N’ the cantina owner addressed the four men, ‘take him to the rock and he’ll pay you’.

He motioned for Mando to get into the speeder and went back indoors.

Mando stood still, no one spoke. He realised that he was in a small alley way, one end enclosed by walls of buildings, the other cut off by the four men who were now beginning to move towards him. None of them had blasters but all were wearing knuckle dusters.

This was a set up. He knew his instincts were correct.

‘Hand over the fob, Mando, and we’ll let you walk away alive’ one of the men called at him.

So that was it. They wanted to mug him for the fob in hope of getting to Y/N and collecting the reward.

‘I thought the other guy said you get hunters through here every week? If you know where she is why do you need me?’ Mando tried to reason, he didn’t need a fight.

‘What’s the use in a bounty without the puck for reward?’ The men laughed.

Mando flexed his fingers. He didn’t want a fight. But he guessed he was going to have to.

‘Come and get it’.

And with that the men lunged at him, all four of them in a frenzied and uncoordinated attack. Mando guessed they hadn’t been working together long.

One of them struck the Beskar with the knuckle dusters causing and almighty clang to echo out through the alley way. Mando all but brushed him off as the steel did it’s job and protected him from harm. The man shrieked in horror as his hand crumpled on impact and sunk to the floor.

Hand to hand combat wasn’t Mando’s forte, in fact he despised it. More often than not it ended up in another new scar and several days of nursing bruises. He didn’t have time for that right now.

Mando drew his blaster and shot the man that was furthest from him, hoping to draw the other’s attention away from him for a second. It worked and Mando stepped forward grabbing the two remaining men by the back of their heads while they were turned to look at the one with the blaster wound and slammed their heads together. Out cold they dropped like flies on to the desert dust.

The man who had first flown at him was on the floor cradling his probably broken hand against his chest. Mando grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to his feet and slammed him against the wall of the cantina.

‘Where is she’ he growled.

‘She’ll kill you, man you don’t understand’ the ‘wannabe’ assassin whined.

Mando slammed him against the wall again, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to break anything.

The man whimpered in pain, ‘she kills them all, she killed the guys we replaced! The last lot robbed the bounty hunter and went out to get her and they never came back, just like the ones before them and the ones before them! They just lose their minds and jump!’

‘What does she do to them’ Mando tightened the grip on the quivering man’s shirt and he yelped.

‘They say she makes them kill themselves, they say she can control their minds and they throw themselves off the rock, they say she drives them crazy with her thoughts’.

Mando let the little man go and he sunk to his knees and groaned in pain. Surely the sound from his blaster had been heard from inside the cantina and surely someone had realised that the four men had not returned with the fob.

It was time to go.

‘Which way?’ Mando didn’t need to shout, the man was so afraid he simply pointed to the north with his unbroken hand and sobbed slightly.

Mando tossed him a credit then leapt into the Landspeeder and sped off as the suns rose higher into the sky.

*

It was no more than an hour before Mando saw the shimmering outline of the rock formation in the distance. It was a large red stone lump in the middle of otherwise empty desert. Not exactly conspicuous, but completely inaccessible by foot and he had no doubt that she would have seen him coming long before he could see the rock.

He kept the speed up, unsure of what he was speeding towards. If she was as powerful as the men at the cantina had said then he was in for a fight.

As he approached the rock he slowed the speeder to a near halt. He hopped out and used the slowly moving speeder as cover until he reached the rock and flattened himself against it.

He checked over the Pulse Rifle, making sure it was in perfect order before he advanced further.

He looked up. There was what looked like a cave several feet up the rock and to his right was a staircase carved into the deep red stone. There was no wind, only scorching heat. He was grateful for the shadow the rock was casting. There was total silence. The only sound was of his own gentle breathing and the hurried bleeping of the fob on his belt. She was here. And there was no question that she knew he was too.

He sighed and made his way to the staircase. He slowly ascended, keeping his ears open for any sound that might indicate her presence. He arrived at the top of the staircase onto a carved balcony before the mouth of the cave.

He stopped and stared as he was greeted by murals painted on the stone face with astonishing detail. They portrayed men, bounty hunters by the look of their dress, being thrown from the top of the rock. Mando gulped. He put his hand up to touch the painting. If this was drawn by Y/N then she certainly had a knack for gory detail. The tortured twists of the falling men’s faces were horrifying but beautiful, but it was the drawing of the small woman, dressed in white with her hands above her head and eyes closed that grabbed his attention. It looked as though she were commanding the men to leap to their deaths.

It felt like he knew her?

Mando’s hackles raised again. Perhaps some of what he had been told wasn’t completely fictitious? Or perhaps she was just a talented artist marketing herself as a fearsome sorcerer? Only one way to find out.

Mando slunk against the wall and moved slowly towards the mouth of the cave. He drew his blaster before peering round the corner to look into the mouth of the cave. His blaster dropped to his side and if his jaw could have swung open it would have done.

The whole cave was filled with paintings. Lit by naked flame the cave was deep and silent. But the walls were plastered with paintings. Hypnotised Mando moved further in and admired the paintings, the detail was mesmerising. They were all portraits of a man with mirror like precision. And then stopped dead in his tracks. His blood ran cold.

He stared at the paintings of the man adorning the walls. He saw the unkempt hair and the forehead covered in scars. He recognised the sharp jawline and the nose that had been broken one too any times. He saw the tired eyes and the day old stubble. It was as if he were looking into the mirror in the small fresher on the Razor Crest.

He reached out expecting the stunning realism to reach back at him but it didn’t. Instead his gloved hand brushed at the face he recognised as his own.

The cave was covered in murals of him. Stood in various poses, sometimes smiling, sometimes scowling, all of them dressed in simple white – no armour.

He was lost in awe and panic when a quiet voice pierced the sharp silence.

‘Why are you here?’

Mando snapped back to reality and redrew his blaster and pointed it towards the voice.

Out of the shadow stepped a woman, dressed in all white, hair hanging around her shoulders, bare feet making gentle ‘paps’ against the cool, dark stone.

The fob bleeped relentlessly. Her.

‘Come for the bounty?’ She smirked.

As she came out of the shadows and closer to him he could see she was wearing what looked like a blindfold. White silk was wrapped around her head covering only her eyes. It was as if she radiated power and the way she moved was as though her feet floated inches above the floor.

Mando recovered his composure and lowered his blaster.

‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ his voice held firm despite the fear and confusion burning within him.

‘Do you like the paintings’ Y/N gestured to the walls.

‘Who is he?’ Mando asked before he could even think.

‘I don’t know’ she smiled gently, ‘I cant see him’.

Mando stood up tall. He looked back at the walls as if his eyes had deceived him the first time. But no, he was sure. The man on the walls was him. A stunningly real version of him looking back at him from a thousand angles around the cave. But she didn’t know?

‘You.. can’t see?’ Mando hated himself the moment the words left his mouth. That was a question right up there with ‘why don’t you take your helmet off?’.

She smiled at him again, ‘I’m not wearing this for fun’ she touched at the wrap around her eyes, ‘I was born like this. I’ve had to rely on the Force to guide me my whole life’ her smile faded and it was as if the energy around her turned to sorrow.

Mando tensed. Who was she?

‘So the mural out front didn’t put you off’ she laughed and the light around her returned.

‘No’ he said matter of factly.

She cocked her head to the side, the smile still dancing on her lips.

‘You’re not like the others that come here. You’re not so frantic, less hurried. Who are you?’ She moved closer to him, now only a few feet separating them. ‘Do I know you?’.

Mando gulped.

‘Who are you?’ She repeated.

‘I’m here to take you back to the guild’ he was doing his best to keep his voice solid and monotoned.

But she picked up the slight wobble of his cadence and stepped closer still.

‘Who are you?’

‘Who is the man in the paintings?’ Mando’s voice almost cracked, the fear welling up in him. The words of the cantina man ringing in his ear ‘if you survive her’. He had thought it was superstitious nonsense, a story hyped up to keep hunters like him away from her. But as she stood before him, questioning him, his own silhouette adorning the walls of the cave, he felt a chill travel through his body despite the heat of the desert around him. And yet she felt familiar, almost safe?

Suddenly her posture softened. The smile returned and she shrugged.

‘Okay’ she said, ‘before I have to send you away like the rest of them I’ll tell you’.

She stood perfectly still as did he.

She breathed in, ‘he’s my soul mate’.

Mando’s brow furrowed and his lips moved as though he was going to say something, to protest maybe, but no sound came out.

‘I see him in my dreams, sometimes I see him in the day. I see him so often it’s as if I know him. But I can’t speak to him, so I paint him. He’s the only thing I can see’, she began to shuffle under foot, ‘it told me to come here to wait for him, of course it did, where else but the birth place of the Skywalkers. Who knew the Force had a sense of humour?’ she laughed.

He didn’t laugh back. The chill still running through his veins.

‘Who are you?’ His voice was soft and nervous.

She responded with a smile again, ‘I’m Y/N, and now it’s time for you to leave’.

She slowly reached out her hand and Mando went for his blaster and suddenly stopped. He couldn’t move. Panic rose in him and he tried to squirm but he was being held firm in an in invisible vice.

‘Thank you for coming, bounty hunter, but today is not your day’ there was menace in her voice and as she lifted her hand he began to move back, slowly towards the mouth of the cave.

He was held fast, as if he was one of his bounties frozen in Carbonite. The eyes of the paintings of him seemed to watch as he was slowly pushed towards the drop down onto the sand below.

‘Stop’ he shouted, the modulator covering some of the fear in the plea ‘I know him! The paintings! I know that man!’

He dropped suddenly to his knees, his lungs filling with the hot desert air in hurried gulps.

‘Who are you?’ She repeated, this time less calm.

Mando caught his breath and rose up on to one knee. She was standing still, her arm lowered. What the hell had she just done to him?

He stood up tall, his breathing erratic. He stepped back into the cave.

‘The man you’re painting, who did you say he was?’

‘My soul mate’ she was matter of fact about it, ‘I don’t know whether he knows but I know one day he’ll come to me, the Force tells me so, I feel it. That’s why I stay here, I’m waiting. It’s why I cant allow you to take me away’ she moved to raise her hand again and Mando put both of his out in protest.

‘Stop! I know him! I know the man you’re painting’ his pleas worked and she lowered her hand again.

His breathing hitched and his heart raced, ‘do you promise me you can’t see through that blindfold?’

‘What kind of question is that?’ Anger laced her response and he understood it more than she knew, but he had to be sure.

‘Promise me’ he commanded.

She nodded, her stature timid at the tone of his voice.

He didn’t know what he was doing, he just felt compelled to do it. He couldn’t explain it, he couldn’t understand it himself, but he reached up and listened for the click and gentle hiss of the release of his helmet. He felt the warmth of the air on his face and brushed the sweat dampened hair from his forehead.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t say a word. She couldn’t see him.

He stepped forward and her fingers flexed.

‘I know the man in the paintings’ he stopped as he stood right up close to her, her heart leaping at the sound of his un-modulated voice.

Her breathing increased and her body tensed.

Mando reached down and took her hands. She flinched and pulled away but he caught her arms and held her gently, ‘trust me’.

She did. She couldn’t tell herself why but she trusted the bounty hunter.

He carefully lifted her hands to his face, ‘I know the man in the paintings’ he repeated softly.

She put her hands on his face, felt his hot skin and his sweat dampened hair. She felt the beautiful curve of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, every scar and bruise that told a story and she gasped.

‘I know him’ he repeated.

She smiled as she traced her fingers over his face, seeing him.

He felt her seeing him. He was used to stares from strangers, he hated the way they looked at him, but she was the only person he wished could see him. Finally someone he wanted to look upon him and she couldn’t. But she felt like home.

She kept smiling, touching the smooth skin, the chapped lips, the long eyelashes. She recognised it all. She could see him, his image as clear as her visions beneath her gentle hands. Her favourite view.

‘You’re him,’ her voice was shocked but her face gave away her joy.

‘You’re Din’.

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The Jailhouse Job

leverage 3.01

I love how they opened up s3 with all of their “codenames”/job titles

- - - - -

Hardison: Cameras are watching yesterday's footage. Locking down... which elevator?

[Elevator Shaft]

Parker: Huh? What? Oh, um, um, yes, I-I'm a go for elevator one.

[Courthouse Hallway]

Hardison: Were you asleep?

[Elevator Shaft]

Parker: It's very peaceful up here. Besides, I sleep better upside down.

(Parker is wearing her rigs, hanging upside down, elevator rises)

I adore her, okay + SHE SLEEPS BETTER UPSIDE DOWN ??? !!!

- - - - -

(Nate walks into the elevator with two men, one armed, the other the one whose gun Sophie stole. Parker jumps on the top of the elevator, opens it, and tasers both men before picking the lock on Nate’s cuffs)

Nate: You know, you could have just taken the keys off the guy's belt.

Parker: Eh, this is faster.

parker LOVES tasering people + it’s faster for her to pick a lock than to look for keys

- - - - -

(Hardison is walking along the sidewalk checking his phone, setting off car alarms)

Guard: What the hell?

(the guards at the door go to check, and Eliot disarms them, knocking one into traffic. Sophie pulls up in a car and just as Nate and Parker exit the building)

eliot’s F A C E when he accidentally makes the guy get hit by a car LMFAO

- - - - -

when it goes from “nate’s apartment” to “leverage hq”

- - - - -

Eliot: Spanish soap opera.

Hardison: Oh, yeah. Check it out, man. Look, it turns out Pepe's twin brother Peppi is actually Guadalupe's baby's daddy.

Eliot: Seriously?

headcanon: hardison and eliot were watching it earlier and eliot says “really” because god spanish soap operas are so dramatic

- - - - -

(Parker comes in with a bag over her shoulder)

Eliot: He doesn’t want to do it.

Parker: Oh, but I love jumping on elevators.

Hardison: I know.

Parker: This is my special elevator rig he got me for Christmas

we LOVE to see that nate (and sophie ?) get their children presents for christmas

- - - - -

Eliot: All right, look, Nate, you took the fall for us, so...

Hardison: After you lied to us. He's a liar.

Eliot: You took the fall for us. You went to jail so we wouldn't have to. We get that, so we're square. But now you got to let us get you out of prison.

Parker: But if we're gonna do that...

Hardison: And not all of us are convinced that we should.

Parker: Then we have to hit you at your next hearing. That prison's escape-proof.

Nate: Guys, no.

hardison is salty but eliot forgives him for the most part

+

I love it when the ot3 sits together

(also I take note when they’re in the same frame in these posts in case I (or anyone else) wants to reference when they are together for gif and or fanvid purposes)

- - - - -

Nate: I committed a crime, I got caught, and now I am gonna serve my time.

Sophie: Nate, what kind of world would it be if everybody that committed a silly little crime went to prison, huh? Complete madness. (Parker scoffs, Hardison makes an incredulous gesture with his hands)

- - - - -

Hardison: Okay, you know... You know what? Fine, Nate.

[Leverage HQ]

Hardison: We're still out here. We're doing the job. We help people nobody else helps. That's important. You want to stay around and miss out just because you got to figure out your guilty conscience, that's your loss.

Nate: Yeah, Hardison, I wa...

(Hardison severs the connection)

- - - - -

Worth: I am not a warden. I am CEO of National Prison Properties. I built this company, five prisons, from the ground up.

(The Italian laughs and lights a lighter)

Italian: Impressive. (lights a cigarette) You know what they say... That Rome was not built in a single day. But it burned in one. (blows out the lighter)

BADASS

- - - - -

(Billy pushes a cart of books through the room)

Billy (to Nate): Hey.

Nate: Hey.

Billy: Seamus Heaney. That Irish guy you asked for. (hands him a book)

Nate: Oh, excellent. Wow, thanks... Billy, right?

Billy: Uh, yeah.

Nate: Well, thank you. This could not have been easy to find.

Billy: Well, you seemed pretty down. And we got to stand up for each other, right?

Nate: Yeah. You're all right, Billy.

Billy: Yeah. Wish the judge thought so. (pushes cart away)

Nate: Yeah, I appreciate it

- - - - -

(Nate watches as Billy leaves the room, followed by some tough looking inmates)

Nate: I think something's happening.

Bellows: Thanks for your input. You can move on now.

(Nate follows them out of the common area)

prisons are the fucking worst but PRIVATE PRISONS are double that and john rogers agrees and that’s yet another reason why I love him

- - - - -

hardison tried taking up making a model helicopter in his spare time. cute

+ hardison likes to use the word hinky

- - - - -

Nate (puts hand on Billy’s shoulder): I'm sorry.

Billy: For what?

(Nate stabs Billy in the side)

Billy: Oh, sh...

(Billy falls to the floor, holding his side)

Nate: Oh. Uh, Hardison, why don't you gather the team and get me background checks on the... on the warden?

Billy: You stabbed me!

Nate: Oh, come on, just... just a little. It's... it's fine

this is the same as the “lightly stabbed” meme

- - - - -

Worth: The US has the fastest growing prison population in the world. Well, it's like the real-estate boom.

(Hardison plugs a flash drive into Worth’s computer)

Worth: Except, of course, the problem with real estate... You eventually run out of land. You never run out of people to put in prison.

Hardison: Hmm. We haven't had much success with private prisons concept in England. Our investment firm has large real-estate holdings for construction of facilities.

Worth: You see, any yahoo can lay some concrete and throw up some razor wire. The profit comes in proper management.

(Hardison looks at his phone, which is accessing Worth’s computer)

Worth: For example, the big money for us is in prison labor.

Hardison: Sorry?

Worth: Goods and services made by prisoners in America. $2 billion a year. One out of every five office chairs and desks "Made in America", made by convicts. And those jobs are not going to the Chinese. Bottom's up

john rogers was calling this bullshit out in like 2010 and still NOBODY LISTENS

- - - - -

(two guards are standing outside the room Billy and Nate are in)

Billy: Man, is this really the best plan?

Nate: Listen, the infirmary's under lockdown. There's cameras on both sides of the door, extra guards because of the pharmaceuticals. It's the safest place in the prison, really

- - - - -

Eliot (to guard): Abernathy, MD.

eliot still uses this alias that he picked up for The Rashomon Job

- - - - -

Eliot: We can just... well, you know what? It's fine. Just right in here, sir. And please have a seat.

(Nate sits in the chair and Eliot lays it back)

Eliot: It's just in case the guards come in. (buckles restraints on Nate’s wrists) Restraints. Here's an infirmary manual. (turns the light on Nate’s face and picks up a drill)

Nate: That's, uh, for the... for the guards, right?

Eliot: You know what I usually do, Nate, to people that run a con on their own team? Almost get people killed 'cause they're out of control?

Nate: Are we okay, Eliot?

(Eliot puts down the drill and plugs in a flash drive, typing on the keyboard. Images come up on the monitor)

eliot is mostly over it but would he ever give up a chance to fuck with him? nope.

- - - - -

[Judge’s Office]

Sophie: Key card and checkbook.

Parker: Keys and appointment book. Ooh, and this? (holds up keys) Safe deposit box key.

Sophie: Ooh, I love a secret.

(Sophie sits down at desk while Parker gets started on the safe)

COMPETENT WOMEN

- - - - -

Hardison: Yeah. See, Rockford can't drop below 70% occupancy. If they do, they lose their state funding. No state money, they close. And they came very close two years ago.

[Nate’s Cell]

Nate: Hmm. So, private prisons are like the hotel business. They live and die on occupancy, head count. Now, Worth wasn't gonna lose $100 million in profit just 'cause he didn't have enough hard-cases to fill the prison, so he puts a few judges on the arm to send him non-violent offenders, easy prisoners to supervise.

[Leverage HQ]

Parker: Yeah, but why these people?

Eliot: Because they're citizens. 'Cause they're honest, middle-class citizens. These are the people, they don't want to cause any trouble. They can't afford a lawyer, so if some judge sends them away, well, yes, sir. They were taught to trust the courts. They believe in the system

- - - - -

[Leverage HQ]

(Parker wearing a robe standing in front of a green screen, trying to pose. At one point she does a duck face.)

Sophie: You remember what I showed you. Just try some different-different shapes and-and-and that pout that we talked about. Ohh, no, not that one. (to Hardison) I didn't show her that.

Sophie: Kind of... just, you know, just relax. Try one up, one down. Maybe... So...

(Parker continues to pose)

Sophie: Ooh, yeah. Shoot that.

(Hardison snaps photos)

Sophie: Ooh, I like that. That's gonna work.

(Sophie uses the remote to place Parker into a photo of Worth)

Sophie: Okay. Yes.

Hardison: Looks good.

Sophie: I can work with that.

(Parker drops her clothes to the floor)

Hardison: Whoa. Oh! Whoa.

Sophie: Parker!

Hardison: Why am I looking away

this scene is iconic lmfao

also hardison you’re not looking because you’re a goddamn GENTLEMAN and we love you for it

+ she takes off all her clothes and puts on a baret LMFAO

- - - - -

parker and hardison smiling at each other as they map out the prison

+

THEY CLASP HANDS HAPPILY

- - - - -

Parker: Who's Sophie?

Hardison: You remember, we're not supposed to use her real name with, uh...

Parker: Right, Nate hasn't earned it yet. Forgot. Sophie. Sophie. So-phie. So-o-o-phie. Sophie. S-s-s-sophie. Sophie

we love parker trying to act cool and normal and fumble about it. she’s baby

- - - - -

Eliot: All right, we cut that wire.

Hardison: No. No, look, once a lockdown is called, all these sensors go hot and those door bolts drop into place.

Parker: I got it! The furnace room. There's no sensors because it's too hot. They crawl straight down along the heating pipes until they reach the sewage system. Ha ha!

[Prison Common Area]

Nate: Now, Parker, it's a 150 degrees in there.

[Leverage HQ]

Parker: The average human can withstand that for 27 seconds.

(Hardison and Eliot look away)

Parker: What? Come on

the ot3 is trying your honor

also parker is adorable playing with the model helicopter remote while laying down on the table

- - - - -

Worth: Then fire them. What's the use of being non-union if I can't fire people?

GROSS

- - - - -

Nate: Parker, please tell me you're at Hardison's new van.

[Exterior Prison]

Parker: Yeah, it's really nice.

[Prison Common Area]

Nate: Did you bring it?

[Exterior Prison]

Parker: Wait, are we doing that now?

[Prison Common Area]

Nate: Yeah, we're gonna breaking out right now.

[Exterior Prison]

Parker: Yes! (gets into van)

SHES SO EXCITED + she likes the new van!!!

- - - - -

Nate: A little sloppy.

Eliot: New glasses. (takes them off and looks at them)

OKAY SO DOES HE NEED GLASSES OR NOT ???

also he did the lil flip thing with the security guard nightstick

- - - - -

Computer: Lockdown.

Nate: Okay. (pushes door open and holds up a folded piece of paper) Newspaper folded eight times can support a ton of weight. Come on.

(they head down the hall)

- - - - -

Sophie: Motion sensor. Nate.

Nate: Steam's filling up now.

[Prison Kitchen]

(Nate walks slowly toward exit)

Nate: Motion sensor beat.

[Freezer]

(Nate enters and grabs a plastic bag, draping it around him)

[Leverage HQ]

Sophie: Breathe.

[Prison Mechanical Room]

(Nate pushes out a grate and enters the room, the bag covered in ice)

Nate: And heat sensor cleared. Last stop.

(throws off bag and exits the room)

- - - - -

parker was having so much fun with the model helicopter I love it

- - - - -

Hardison: You, yeah. Ha. See, I like this. I like when we pretend to kiss.

Parker: "Pretend"?

Hardison: Heeeey

- - - - -

Nate: What about my team?

Italian: They lead dangerous lives. Thieves die all the time.

Nate (steps close to her): Now that you should not have said.

Italian: I don't know. You seem highly motivated. (walks away)

- - - - -

Sophie: Damien Moreau? Are you out of your mind? Nobody touches Moreau!

Hardison: Nate, Moreau finances the Sicilians, the Russian mafia, the Colombian cartels.

Eliot: Yeah, he moves money for the North Koreans, stolen artifacts for Iraq, nuclear materials for Iran.

Hardison: Moreau is The Big Bad. He is the central bank for international crime.

Parker: N-nate, these files are CIA, FBI, Mossad, Japanese Security

poor eliot this season is gonna be Rough™ for him :(

- - - - -

Sophie: She's blackmailing us?

Nate: She's... she's... she's sort of... Yeah. Yeah.

Parker: Sucks to be on the wrong side of that, finally.

- - - - -

Eliot: We can't go straight at a guy like Moreau. They'll vaporize us.

ELIOT was the one that finally gave in and gave up some information on how to go at this. eliot. because he knows moreau. he knows how that man works. so he knows he has to be the one to start the conversation, even though he hates it with every fiber of his being.

[qqueenofhades]

Can you please explain why you like Warren more than Sanders? I was too young to vote in 2016 but I would've voted Bernie in that primary, and I plan to do so this year(I'll vote whoever the Democrat party chooses in the real election, I understand the dangers of not doing so). I don't know much about the differences in their policies except that Sanders is slightly more leftist and a relatively simple comparison between the two would help. And how big of a factor should his age play in my vote?

Thanks for asking!

I think the best place for you to start, if you want everything explained in depth on each issue far more eloquently than I can, is to simply read the Political positions of Bernie Sanders and Political positions of Elizabeth Warren pages on Wikipedia, which outline their positions on pretty much everything you could think of. The main difference in how people perceive them lies in the fact that Bernie has been a democratic socialist for his entire political career, while Warren became a Democrat in 1996, and is viewed by the hard left as still being too pro-capitalist and/or pro-military and/or too ethically suspect and/or untrustworthy and/or could change her mind and betray them again. For a certain subset of people for whom purity of ideology and/or the strength of conviction is only ever demonstrated by never changing your mind and only ever having held the right positions, the fact that Warren’s political positions have changed over time seems dangerous, and that she isn’t as purely “socialist” as Bernie means that she is, in their eyes, a lesser candidate. As I said in the earlier ask, we will never have an American president who is completely free from the toxic elements of American ideology. There are things that I don’t fully agree with Warren on, absolutely. But lashing into her as a secret spineless corporate shill who would completely betray the progressive movement if she was elected has nothing to do with reality, certainly nothing that reflects her actual rhetoric and voting record, and once again demonstrates the tendency of a certain subset of Bernie supporters to completely refuse anything less than their candidate no matter what, and that is… frustrating.

Let me be clear: Warren and Sanders are my top two choices. Policy-wise, they’re the only candidates proposing anything I want to actually see enacted. I completely support anyone who wants to vote for either of them in the primary, and indeed, I ended my last post by strongly urging the anon (and anyone else who identified ideologically with Bernie) to vote for him in the primaries. I myself get a cold shudder at the idea of having to vote for Biden or Buttigieg as the Democratic nominee (even if I don’t think it’ll happen). I don’t want to have to do it, which is why I keep urging progressives to turn out in droves and vote their conscience in the primaries: that way, we won’t even end up in a situation where we have to hold our nose and vote for a nominee we don’t really like, don’t support, and who will continue more ineffective centrist policies that don’t address the real problems in the country. If progressives vote in sufficient numbers, we will get a progressive nominee that we can actively vote for and feel good about, rather than one that we can barely stomach. If we sit home and only let the moderate/centrist white Democrats vote in the primary, that is the nominee that we will end up with. Gross. 

So in other words, I am not here to stoke the worrying and self-inflicted factionalism ongoing between Sanders and Warren supporters who have to outdo each other with My Ideology Is Better Than Your Ideology. That was exactly what I was critiquing in the earlier answer. I think both candidates align well with my values, I would vote for either one of them without qualms, and I think they are proposing policies that broadly target the major issues at hand. Destroying one to try to advance the other is unnecessary, counterproductive, and doing half the Trump/GOP machine’s work for them. It is a hollow moral victory in shouting echo chambers on the internet that has no real-world value and helps no one at all in the long run, except for feeling smug that you have The Most Pure Doctrine. Yay. Still not helping us get rid of Trump. So vote for whichever one you want in the primary, and then vote for whoever wins in the general. Like I said above, if progressives turn out in sufficient numbers, we won’t end up with a terrible candidate in the first place.

I like Warren because she has shown a consistent willingness to learn, grow, to take feedback and adjust her policies accordingly, to engage with community leaders, and, frankly, to demonstrate a more nuanced awareness of intersectionality and identity. Bernie has a tendency to struggle with differentiating class and race, dismisses “identity politics” and can confuse it with tokenism, and still holds the position that, essentially, socialism and economic justice will fix everything. Even the left-leaning The Guardian has found some grounds to criticize him on how he has handled this. I think that Warren is more aware on some levels as to how multiple factors inform an individual’s politics, not just economics and social class. But guess what: these are still minor quibbles and the kind of nitpicking that I get to do at primary stage! I’m still completely happy to vote for the man in a general election! Nothing that I say about Bernie here disqualifies him from my support if he’s the progressive candidate that comes out on top! And none of what I say below about Warren should be read as some sort of insidious attempt to prove that Bernie doesn’t hold these positions too/passive-aggressive slam on him, etc. etc. I’m simply explaining what I like about her particularly.

I like Warren because her plans are detailed, workable, based on extensive research, highlight multiple values that I have in common with her, and give practical recommendations as to how to implement them within the existing framework of the American political system (as well as, where needed, changing it radically). Her policy documents specifically highlight the African-American maternal mortality crisis, valuing the work and lives of women of color, protecting reproductive rights and access to care/abortion services, funding, respecting, and supporting Native Americans and indigenous people, supporting the LGBTQ community on many fronts, cancelling all student debt on day one of her presidency (as an academic with a lot of student debt, this is a big issue for me), confronting white nationalist terrorism, getting rid of the electoral college, regulating and breaking up market monopolies, taxing the shit out of billionaires, holding capitalism accountable, fighting global financial corruption and “dark money” in international politics, introducing immediate debt relief for Puerto Rico, overhauling immigration policy to make it more fair and welcoming, fighting for climate change especially as a racial justice issue, ending private prisons and federal defense budget bloat, recognizing that just throwing endless money at national security issues has not fixed them, drastically revising and ending a foreign policy currently based on endless money and endless wars, breaking up Wall Street economic monopolies and misbehaviour, transitioning to 100% clean energy and Medicare for All, reinvesting in public schools, and… I could go on, but you get the gist. She is a lawyer, professor, and senator with public and professional expertise in many relevant fields. She used to teach bankruptcy law and economic policy. She is smart and tough, but can break complicated concepts down and explain them clearly. She has earned the endorsement of black women’s groups and over 100 Latino leaders. And: yes. It’s time for us to have a female president. It just is. I feel strongly about it.

Warren was recently attacked for putting out a plan related to how the U.S. military could drastically reduce its wasteful carbon footprint and help combat climate change, as this was clearly proof that she was in fact just a lip-service progressive and didn’t want to, you know, apparently abolish it entirely and pretend it didn’t exist and personally tell everyone in the military what a bad person they were. I am not a fan of anything about the U.S. military-industrial complex. But if you don’t recognize that it’s largely composed of poor, working-class people of color and/or economically deprived people who have no other career option, that veterans are discarded instantly the moment they’re no use to the war and propaganda machine and that any politician is going to have to reckon with this, and that you can’t snap your fingers and make it go away, then that’s also not helping. Warren has also been attacked for not wanting to get rid of capitalism entirely, as if that is a remotely feasible or workable option in 21st-century America. She has voted for and suggested regulations and wealth taxes and major restructuring and everything else you can think of, she proposed and founded the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, and so on. But for some people, this still is Just Not Good Enough. Which…. fine. You don’t have to vote for her in the primary if she’s not ideologically the closest candidate to you. Once again, the point of the primary is to pick whichever candidate you like the most and to do everything to help them win, so you aren’t stuck with a bad choice when it comes time for the general. But acting like this is a huge and horrible disqualifier and that she’s an awful corporate hack who will just be terrible (her main crime not being Bernie/competing against him) has nothing to do with reality, and everything with having to win internet woke points and ideological militancy arguments. It’s not helpful. 

Since the earlier post went viral, I am now getting random hate or completely bizarre misinterpretations of my argument or whatever else, none of which I will answer and all of which will be deleted out of hand, because I am just not interested in trading insults about this and/or engaging in pointless arguments with people who have already made up their mind. But for some people, it’s apparently really threatening to say that if you only vote for the best ideology in the primaries and then quit in a snit fit before the general election, you’re not helping. You’re not doing anything useful. Everyone who was reblogging the post and agreeing with me was around my age or older; everyone who was reblogging it to slam me was usually a lot younger. And I’m glad that 21-year-olds feel that winning the ideology battle is more important than having a functional government, but: sorry. I’m old and I don’t have to listen to that, and I’m not going to. Perfect cannot be the enemy of good, or even better than what we’ve got now. And let’s be clear: anything would be better than what we have now. It would directly save lives and impact policies, and if you can’t admit that because you’re too hung up on how Elizabeth Warren might Be A Capitalist Pig Who Likes Billionaires, please, please get off the internet and go outside.

Would Warren, Sanders, or even Buttigieg or Biden lock immigrant children in cages and concentration camps at the border and commit deliberate slow-motion genocide by denial of care and access? No. Would they actively roll back Obama-era regulations protecting LGBTQ rights, the environment, climate change activism, and anything else you remotely identify as a progressive cause? No.  Would they start a needless war with Iran, build a border wall, stoke Nazis and white supremacists, pander to all the worst parts of American insularism and xenophobia, collude with Russia, lie about everything, destroy all regulations and policies that don’t benefit anyone but the rich, white, and male, fill their administration with convicted felons and homophobes and people who want to rob us blind, and be aggressively incompetent, unprepared, malicious,  stupid, angry, and dangerous to both the country and the world? No. So the various attempts to claim that there is “no real difference” between the presidency of a non-Sanders Democrat and Trump are… please, please sit down for a moment and think about what you’re saying. I realize this is, again, a hard position to hold when you depend completely on having The Right Ideology, and nuance, complexity, evolving positions, and willingness to be open to new ideas are not things that are valued in zealots on either the right or the left. I don’t know what fantasyland these people are living in, when they act like not voting for a non-Sanders Democrat against Trump would be a great moral victory or proof that they’re too good for the world that the rest of us have to live in, or think that the election into being about some magical chance to make the entire capitalist global military-industrial system vanish. It won’t. It won’t even if Sanders wins the presidency. Change only comes slowly and systematically.

This is once again, long. So to summarize:

1) If you want to understand the differences between Bernie and Warren from a place outside just what I say, go and read their policy summaries on Wikipedia and elsewhere. Look on their websites, compare their plans, do your own research, and don’t fall into the ideology-war trap just for the sake of looking better on internet arguments.

2) Vote for Bernie in the primary! Please! We want a progressive candidate who will make genuine change! We don’t want one who is just a moderate Republican but has to be a Democrat because moderate Republicans no longer exist!

3) I like Warren for many reasons and will be voting for her in the primary, but will vote for Bernie (or anyone else) who wins the primary and emerges as the nominee. I only wish that all Bernie supporters would give the reciprocal guarantee. There is a subset – again, not all – who are only loyal to him and nothing else, and who seem to feel that if they can’t have him, not voting is a better or more “moral” choice, even if the alternative is Trump.

4) For me, Bernie’s age is an issue. I can’t answer for what it might be for you, but he would turn 80 in the year he was sworn into office. He also did have a heart attack and would have a year of grueling campaigning to go.

5) Factionalism and ideology wars and loyalty to one person, rather than even trying to consider the lives and people that are at stake, that have already been lost, and that continue to suffer from Trumpism, is not helpful, not empathetic, and not more moral. You can sit and feel self-righteous all you want, good for you. People are dying. Refusing to make a change because it can’t be all the change, all at once, is not and will never be how this works.

Anyway. I hope that helped you. 

[akechicrimes]

it does matter, actually, that goro akechi is a minor. not because this somehow exonerates him morally, or because this somehow makes him not responsible for his actions, but because persona 5 is invested in children as a source of hope for a better future. 

once i saw someone complain that people will defend akechi’s murders on the grounds that he’s a child/minor and how they felt that this doesnt excuse multiple counts of murder. and i was like, ok, well, im not sure anyone was excusing him, but alright, sure. and i’ve seen a few rebuttals to that, one of which is that shido and the other adults in akechi’s life had a responsibility to support akechi in such a way that it didn’t come to murder, and of course it’s on shido to just not be a massive dick who endorses fascism and murders in the first place. and i was like ok, well, this seems a little patronizing and dismissive of akechi’s agency and autonomy, but alright, sure.

in a very roundabout way of explaining my first two sentences, there’s one thing that bothers me lately, and it’s selim bradley from fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood. 

for those of us not familiar with fma:b, selim, or pride, is the oldest homunculus/artificial human in the show and the second-oldest villain, despite the fact that he looks about eight years old. of the seven homunculus named after deadly sins, selim/pride is the only one to survive the show--with an asterisk, which is that selim gets the “homunculus” part of him erased by the end of the show. with the “pride” aspect of him gone, selim is mortal, without any special powers, without memories of any of his amoral acts, and is generally just a happy, normal child.

which is a weird exception to fma:b’s general rule in which every other homunculus dies. even fan favorites like greed and envy don’t live, despite the fact that greed and envy are far more sympathetic as characters. selim kills multiple people on-screen, shows zero remorse whatsoever, and is an active helper in all the other mass-murders that the homunculi engineer. selim’s not an innocent in any way. also, he’s like, 200 years old? 300? he’s very old. biologically, mentally, emotionally, selim is not a child.

but fma:b goes out of its way to make sure that selim gets a second chance at a future, just because his body looks like a child’s. cut another way, he gets an exception from a large number of terrible crimes, up to an including participation in genocide, just because he looks like a child. 

fma:b reminded me that, outside of tumblr’s purity politics over children, and especially so in japan, children are socially constructed in a very specific way, beyond biological age and legal majority cutoffs. 

yes, biological age is a thing. yes, legal majority is a thing. i’m not saying that being a child isn’t a biological thing--it is, obviously. but what i’m saying is that there’s a difference between, say, the sex assigned to you at birth and your gender presentation, to use an analogy. there is a such thing as biological age, but the societal status of being a child of a related but separate thing. and this status of being considered a child is a societal construct.

the social construction goes like this, insofar as i’m aware: children should be good and silent and dutiful and work hard and go to school and listen to their elders, and their elders in turn should do everything they can to guide the children to the right path and build a good society for these children to inherit. (if we want more details on this, please see the entire history of filial piety in asia.)

so that’s a social contract right there baked into the social construct of childhood: children don’t have power, but adults have an obligation to make sure they don’t need power, and to make sure that the future and their children’s futures look bright. 

children represent the future, essentially. they’re the next generation. they’re simultaneously without legal rights as adults and in a very vulnerable position, for sure, but they’re also simultaneously considered the country’s most precious capital: quite literally the people who will inherit and lead the country next.

which, personally, i think puts a whole new spin on the phantom thieves in general. they’re not just kids who’re being rowdy or kids telling abusive shitty adults theyre being abusive and shitty--or, they’re kids doing those things, but they’re not just kids doing those things. they’re kids who’ve been specifically let down by adults who did not fulfill their social obligation to them. they’re kids who’ve been abandoned and neglected by the very adults who should have been paving the way forward for them, as society has asked those adults to do, because those adults have instead chosen to line their own pockets and cover their own asses. 

so the kids said: alright, well, then i’ll take power for myself, and i’ll make my own future. (which is where we get a lot of those promo slogans of “steal back your future” and junk like that.)

sae’s comments about how adults should do their part to fix the world for the kids is just a resolidifying of the way the world “should” work, and we could talk about her comments on the matter, but actually i wanna talk about yoshida.

i especially want to talk about yoshida because yoshida and shido are the two politicians we see the most of, and both of them spend a lot of time reciting political rhetoric to speak to the hearts of the general japanese populace. we all know the way that shido thinks of japan: a large vehicle that one person is in control of, and the masses just compose the throne upon which the ruler sits.

we also already know that yoshida’s a Real G, but it’s worth really close-reading some of his lines. he speaks a lot about apathy, the lack of caring for each other in society--a general willingness to disregard your fellow man, to not uphold one’s social obligation to each other. but he also talks a lot about the “youth”--which is not really uncommon for a politician, obviously, since politicians are always talking about “the children” and “the kids” and “the next generation” and “those damn millennials” and all that shit. 

yoshida instead gives us these fun lines:

A world where the young exist only to be exploited... is a world that must be changed!

And while our society appears to be prosperous, many of our young people are quietly suffering. They lack jobs, security, savings... The next generation will lead us into the future and yet they have no plan for how to arrive there.

Passing on the societal ills we have created to the next generation... is not right!

...the current administration refuses to discuss their plans for the future... Can we really accept such an utter lack of transparency?!

If you make a promise, you must keep it. If you make a mistake, you must atone for it. These are basic human principles that we have all learned from the youngest of ages... 

yoshida’s entire thing about how the adults have let the children down isn’t just him saying shit--he’s commenting directly on the fact that the social contract has been broken, and he’s putting the blame on the administration for not upholding their responsibility to secure a future for the children, especially since the children are the future of the country. 

this is partly why he doesn’t blame the phantom thieves for acting the way that they do; rather, he seems them as a logical reaction to the injustice that’s occurred as a result of the society that the adults have left for them:

I bet [the Phantom Thieves] are a group of young people. Young people who have experienced cruelty and injustice... They bravely face the societal ills that plague our world without thinking of the consequences.

(i think also in part he admires the fact that they’re anonymous and don’t benefit personally from their actions, which is exactly the opposite of what he did as a young politician. he also doesn’t throw the real embezzlement culprit under the bus to exonerate himself presumably for the same principle of desiring selfless public service instead of personal gain.)

in both the early parts of the s link and later on when yoshida starts talking with matsushita more extensively, akira’s important because he’s young--he represents the young demographic that yoshida and matsushita are discussing the future of. akira demonstrating support for yoshida in a public way means a lot because he’s a minor. matsushita asks akira for his opinions on the phantom thieves and other issues because akira is a minor. akira’s opinion is supposed to be heard and valued by adults, who should take his opinions into consideration and do their best to not let him down. 

this is tied into the general thread of yoshida being a person who was self-admittedly just as corrupt as everyone else, who was blinded by glamor and fame and money, who got caught up in political scandal. yoshida’s general acceptance of his mistakes as a human being and politician ties over to his general belief that it’s not that the youth are rebellious no-good teens, but that the youth have been let down by politicians like who he used to be. he blames himself, and because he is not too different from the rest of the older generation and politicians in general, he implicates a lot of the older generation and politicians as also blame-worthy.

his quest for redemption and atonement dovetails neatly with his views on the broken societal contract. taken together, yoshida’s s link implies to us the idea that the entire general older generation in japan more or less owes the children of japan a formal apology, and the older generation better get on their redemption arc and start being the vanguard of the change for children:

The reason [the Phantom Thieves are] causing a stir is because they are addressing the world’s problems. Setting aside whether their actions are right or wrong... there is one thing I can safely say about the Phantom Thieves. A belief with conviction... has the ability to move a person’s heart.

I’m sure you are all aware that I am “No-Good Tora,” the one accused of embezzlement. However, because I was accused like that, I was able to understand the suffering of the weak. Why am I in politics? In the past, it was merely for personal gain. But why do the Phantom Thieves continue to change hearts? I believe they do it for the world and its people. And in choosing to do justice for others, they had no choice but to disguise themselves. No matter what the world says, I fully support them. 

I’m just an average citizen. However, I will continue to voice my beliefs. I may not be able to become a Diet member this election... and I may not be able to effect change during my lifetime... but I’ve made my peace with that. I will be happy as long as I can be a meaningful stepping stone for the future of our youth!

okay. so that was a lot of close reading about yoshida. why did we do this exercise, tumblr user akechicrimes. 

there’s two takeaways from this. the first is the one that yoshida has already talked about extensively, which is that the phantom thieves are just but not because Fuck Cops and Fuck Capitalism and Fuck Anime Jeff Bezos. the phantom thieves are just because the people who are supposed to be upholding society aren’t doing their fucking jobs. the phantom thieves are specifically saying: we’ve been let down by society, so apparently we have to do everything our goddamn selves around here.

(which also ties in neatly to the general “fuck cops” vibe of persona 5 which, i would like to say, is very specifically “the cops are not doing their jobs.” the TV station scene where akira speaks back to akechi is, if i’m remembering this right, maybe the ONLY time we really hear “akira’s” opinion on the morality of his own activities, which is fascinating because he just does these things without ever justifying himself to the player--anyway, his three options are: (1) They’re justice itself, (2) They’re necessary, and (3) They do more than the cops. so akira can’t ever at any point say that the phantom thieves are bad, but his most interesting and detailed answer is to point out that the cops aren’t doing what they’re supposed to do, so who can really blame the phantom thieves for doing what the cops aren’t?)

the second takeaway is that yes, goro akechi does get more leniency because he’s a minor. 

yes. seriously. this isn’t a matter of excusing what he did, or downplaying the fact that he committing murder. i’m not saying that he wasn’t old enough to make decisions (although i would never say that he was old enough to make decisions, because he was 14/15 when he got wrapped up in shido’s conspiracy). i’m also not saying that akechi, somehow for some reason, didn’t volunteer himself willingly, because all the evidence points to the fact that he did (although of course “free will” is also highly circumspect considering his living conditions at the time and the fact that shido makes it clear that he was able to manipulate akechi without ever infringing on akechi’s sense of autonomy). i’m not even saying that akechi was driven to the point of murder and had no other choice (although i think that might also be true as well).

what i am saying is that under the construction of childhood as japan’s future and japan’s hope, akechi is considered a valuable member of society, and is therefore worth saving.

or at least he should be.

akechi says that he’s an unwanted child, but “unwanted child,” according to yoshida’s rhetoric (and a lot of japan’s general rhetoric of children as hope for the future) is an oxymoron. (or at least it would be an oxymoron if japan weren’t so fucking hypocritical.) you can’t not want the future of the country. you can’t not want hope for a good future. the very idea that a child could be not wanted or not valuable doesn’t make any sense, because children are the future--in some ways, whether you like it or not, that child is going to inherit the earth when you’re dead.

the kind of person who’d not want those things is--well, shido. (this is why i used yoshida; yoshida and shido are two polar opposite politicians.) shido quite literally does not want a good future for anyone in the country and quite literally does not want akechi and quite literally does not see akechi, one of the very young-person citizens that shido is supposed to be serving, as useful or valuable in any way unless akechi is directly promoting shido’s fame and popularity. shido being akechi’s father is just a very neat and nice way of literalizing the ways that shido, as an adult, has let down akechi as a child--the ways that shido quite literally owed akechi something to make akechi’s life and future better, and instead did everything awful.

there should not ever be a thing like “unwanted child.” that in and of itself, from the start of akechi’s life, was nonsensical. and to the extent that shido being akechi’s father is allegorical of the ways that shido is a terrible patriarch for japan, i would say that akechi, as an unwanted foster child, is just another allegory for the ways that children nowadays are treated as misbehaving, lazy good-for-nothings who have to work themselves into the dirt to be given half the salary and half the praise. akechi, as an unwanted child, is just the personification and representative of an apparently unwanted generation. 

what i’m getting at is that akechi’s status as a minor (and yes he’s a minor even if he’s eighteen; age of majority in japan is twenty)--akechi’s status as a minor is a critical part of why akechi gets a shot at a redemption arc. so yes, actually, the other villains or palace-rulers don’t get redemption arcs because they are adults, who had a societal obligation to do better by their peers and by the children of japan. yes, actually, akechi’s informal “trial” in the hands of fandom is to be tried as a minor and not as an adult. yes, i know kamoshida didn’t kill anyone and akechi’s literal crimes are more morally repugnant, but yes, unfortunately, being a minor does actually exonerate him on the morality spectrum to a degree. 

being a child matters in the larger scheme of persona 5′s logic of who owes who, who’s responsible for who, and why we should not be apathetic. adults owe children a better future. adults have been letting children down. adults owe every single phantom thief, including akechi, an apology, a better future, and health and happiness; and they owe that to japan’s future not as a matter of exchange or morals, but simple social obligation. adults are supposed to take care of the kids--full stop. 

”okay but @ tumblr user akechicrimes?? akechi KILLED people.”

yeah, i know. i said “being a minor does actually exonerate him on the morality spectrum to a degree.” 

what degree? no idea. that’s up to you to decide. if you want to play in the black-grey-white morality scale that only goes two ways, you’re welcome to continue to ask “what degree.” we can argue that being a minor somehow reels akechi back from the “black” end of the spectrum into the “grey” or “white” parts. 

but (if i may be permitted to go completely off the shits into things that might make people pissed off at me for saying) i implore you to consider that this two-way scale of morality is not the line of thought that persona 5 is pursuing. 

this, again, ties back into the social construction of a child. i’ve said “a child is representative of the country’s future” so many times i think it’s lost meaning, so let me dice it a different way: a child is socially constructed as representative of potential and hope. a child is socially constructed as the capacity for things to get better. in persona terms, a child is the fool at the start of their journey, all futures contained in one present, a vast multitude of could-be’s. 

for a game very concerned with japan’s general societal ruin, children are not just in the position of having been let down by adults, but are--as the phantom thieves demonstrate--representative of better futures regardless of how terrible circumstances look in the current day. they are a source of believing one day this sad, depressing story might actually end with “and then they lived happily ever after.”

if i may go even more completely off the shits, take a look at this heckler from yoshida’s s link, which is the one that akira speaks back to in the middle of yoshida’s speech:

...I’ve been wrong this whole time. Even though someone has failed in the past, it doesn’t mean that person can’t try again.

this is to say, redemption arcs insofar as persona 5 (and also persona 5 royal, i think) is concerned is not a question of necessarily addressing the wrongs that have occurred. yoshida sets the bar pretty high in that yoshida does not ask for forgiveness for what he’s done, and instead simply accepts his actions and their consequences without attempting to lessen the blow. he embraces what he’s done in all its awfulness. 

but because akechi is a a minor, and because akechi as a minor is getting wrapped up in persona 5′s train of thought about kids as the hopeful futures of japan, akechi is at the very least owed a chance to do better. as a minor, japan is societally contracte to give him the space to have the potential to be better and do better. nobody is obligated to forgive him, and indeed neither royal nor akechi ever seem to entertain this as a valid possibility. forgive, forget, reconciliation, retribution, and resolution seem to be all off the table, as if the very idea would minimize haru or futaba’s losses. the very conceit of the dreamworld in P5R wants to shoot down the very idea that the past can ever, to any degree, be fixed, remedied, or even emotionally resolved. akechi will have always killed wakaba and okumura and this fact will always be awful--full stop.

nevertheless, despite the fact that the past cannot be changed, akechi is still a minor. rather than attempting to resolve the issues of the past, akechi is still owed the space to become a beacon of potential change for the better in the future--which is also known as hope. 

i’ve said this in other posts elsewhere, but persona games are like, obsessed with hope. they fucking adore that shit. why not? even in difficult times, even when things are terrible and you’re going through misery, if you at least have hope that one day things will be better, that life will change, that the new generation will step up to the plate and make the story have a happy ending, pain becomes easier to bear. and why not? persona games cover a breadth of difficult topics. 

especially in a game like P5, which talks at length about modern day japan’s ailments, what good is it if the player walks away with a defeatist attitude that the future will be terrible? 

if reality is malleable like morgana says, isn’t the first step to have hope that this is true?

this post has gone on a lot longer than i thought it would. but in any event. that’s why it is valid to say that akechi being a minor “exonerates” him to a degree. 

also selim bradley lives because fma:b concurs that children are a hope for a better future and fma:b is particularly invested in this line of thought because it’s a story about edward transitioning from a child to a young adult who is learning about the ways that the world works and is also still just childlike enough to propose that the world shouldn’t have to work in the bloody, awful way that it does. selim is representative that all children should be given as many chances as possible to do and be better because they are representative of potential. if that wasn’t clear. lmao.

[crackedoutgiraffe]

The Stars in Your Eyes

Part 2: Chapter 1 Part 2: Chapter 2 Part 2: Chapter 3 Part 2: Chapter 4 Part 2: Chapter 5

Master-list

A/N: Sorry this took so long to write. I haven’t really been in the right mindset to write this story. Thank you to everyone who comments, votes, and re-blogs! Ask to be added to the taglist.

2/20/2017

Reid was being held in the DC precinct. You spent all the time there that you could. Emily came in one morning to find you asleep on the chairs in the front office. JJ had been bringing him clothes and checking up on Diana. 

Every time you got to see him your heart broke a little more. He kept a smile on his face, but deep down you knew he was hurting. Emily made sure that you were given enough sick time so you didn’t have to leave Spence alone. 

The only day you weren’t with him was Friday. You had scheduled an appointment with your doctor to confirm your pregnancy, and she did. It was official in about 36 weeks you would welcome a brand new baby. 

“Y/N,” Prentiss called, “a really good friend of mine is one of the best defense attorneys in DC, I was hoping it was okay if she represented Reid.”

You rubbed your eyes and yawned, “I’m okay with it, but you have to ask Reid. I don’t want to do anything against his will.”

“I understand,” she sighed. “Do you want to ask him now?”

You checked your watch, it was a little late, but we really needed this lawyer, “I suppose.” You stood from the uncomfortable chair you were sleeping in and went with Emily to his cell. The door creaked open and the two of you entered the cell block. You got to Reid’s cell and saw him sitting up, wrapped in a blanket. 

“Hey,” he yawned. “You should be in the office.” 

“I'm right where I need to be, you nodded. “You ok?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile on his face. “I'm ok. How's my mom doing?”

“She's doing well,” you haad been by to check on her every day for a few minutes. “JJ's been by to visit every day since your arrest. She explained everything to your mom. Cassie's been great. That makes a big difference.”

“I'm such an idiot,” when he hung his head your heart broke.

You wanted nothing more to hold him at this moment, “Don't, Spencer, don't. You were trying to help your mother.”

His eyes were sad, “I fell right into Scratch's trap.” 

“He won't win,” you reached one of your hands through the iron bars. You watched as Spence stood from his bed and walked over to you. 

“He already has,” he said as he interlocked his hand with yours. 

You smiled at his touch, “just the battle, not the war. You didn't do anything wrong.” 

“You and I both know that doesn't matter,” he looked you dead in the eyes. “All that matters is what the prosecutor can prove, and Scratch has stacked the deck against me. Even the FBI's abandoned me.”

“I know,” you brought your hands closer to you. “But we'll keep fighting.” 

“I don't even have a lawyer,” he sighed. 

“About that…” Prentiss interrupted. “I have a friend, Fiona Duncan. I've known her forever. Her father was in the foreign service, and we met in Italy when my mother was chargé d'affaires at the embassy there. After college, she was a Rhodes scholar. You'd like her. Anyway, now she's one of the best defense attorneys in D.C. I would like it if you would let me reach out to her about representing you.”

“Emily, I really, I appreciate it, but you helping me could destroy your reputation at the Bureau,” he turned toward your boss and let go of your hand.

“My battle, my choice,” she shook her head. “Please, let me help you. Tell me I can reach out to my friend.”

“Thank you,” he smiled and returned to you.

“Good,” Emily said. “Spencer, listen to me. We are gonna get you out of here, I promise.”

“Emily, I hate to ask this of you, but can we have a moment alone,” you gave her a warm smile and soft pleading eyes.

She returned your smile, “of course, I’ll be outside.” She started to make her way to the door; you didn’t talk until she had left.

“How stressed out are you?” you turned to Reid.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“I have some news for you, but if it’s going to cause you more stress, I won’t tell you.”

He brought your hand to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on the back of it, “whatever you have to tell me I can handle it.”

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted out. You watched as the words registered in his head. He let go of your hand. “Spencer?”

“Actually?” he asked.

You smiled, “actually.”

The mortified look on his face turned to a smile as he reached both his arms through the bars and wrapped you in a hug, “I’m going to be a dad!”

“Please keep your voice down, I haven’t told anyone else,” you sighed into whatever part of him you could.

“How far along are you?” he whispered, letting you out of the hug.

You smiled, “about four weeks.”

You watched as he dropped to his knees and put a hand on your stomach, “Hi there baby, I’m your dad.”

“And you’re going to be out in time to meet him or her,” you smiled at the love of your life kneeling on the floor. “I should let you get some sleep,” you sighed as he stood back up. He gave you a quick kiss and went to lay back on his bed. You walked toward the doors and waited for them to open. 

When you arrived back in the waiting room, you saw Emily sitting in a chair on the phone. It was implied that she was on the phone with her lawyer friend, so you decided to get some sleep at home. 

***

You woke up to a call from Emily saying that she was ready to meet with Reid. You quickly got dressed and made your way to the DC precinct. You found Emily and Fiona Duncan standing by the doors. 

“You must be Fiona Duncan,” you extended your gith hand.

She reciprocated your handshake and smiled, “that’s me.”

“I’m Y/N. Thank you for defending my husband,” you smiled as the three of you walked into the precinct. You three walked to the interview room and talked for a minute before the officer brought Reid in.

“Spencer, hello,” she extended her hand for a handshake.

“Hi,” he gave her a small wave instead of a handshake. 

“Fiona Duncan. Emily speaks very highly of you.” 

“You, too,” Reid smiled. “It's nice to meet you.”

“I'm sorry to be meeting under these circumstances,” Fiona frowned. “Emily, Y/N,  this is an attorney-client meeting. We'll need privacy.”

“Yes, of course,” you smiled.

“Are you ok?” you asked Reid before leaving. He gave you his answer with a kiss on the cheek. “All right. Bye.” The two of you were escorted back to the front desk by one of the officers. The only way you could think to pass the time was to tap your foot and pace the floor. Surely Emily was annoyed with you by now. Within an hour Fione came out of the shadows on a phone call. 

“Alright, thank you,” Fiona’s heels clicked against the floor as she walked back. “That was the AUSA they want to make a deal.” The three of you made your way to Reid in silence. 

“The AUSA has offered you a deal,” as Fiona delivered the news you watched as Reid’s face light up. “They want you to plead guilty.”

“They want me to plead guilty?” he repeated.

“To involuntary manslaughter,” Fiona sighed. “The offer’s for 2 to 5 years.”

Reid sighed, “2 to 5 years.”

“That's a lot of time,” you frowned. You tried to give him a look that said ‘hey i want you there to meet our child,’ but didn’t know if he understood. 

“I understand,” Fiona nodded. “But it's all about perspective. It's a lot more than nothing, but a lot less than 25 to life, which is what you'd be facing if convicted.”

He turned to you, “do you think I should take it?” 

“I think, given what's at stake, you owe it to yourself to carefully consider it,” you said.

“I don't think I can lie and say that I did this,” Spence hung his head. Your first reaction was to start rubbing his back. “Is that foolish?”

“No,” Fiona shook her head. “No, of course not. I don't want to see you plead guilty to a crime you didn't commit.”

“Or maybe I should cut my losses,” he looked at you. Seeming him so upset broke your heart. 

“Well, the offer is so low, is that a good sign?”Emily asked. “Does it mean that the government thinks they've got a weak case?” 

Fiona nodded, “possibly.” 

“So that's good,” you smiled. 

“Well, not necessarily,” Fiona said with a frown on her face. “It could also mean they're trying to clear the case quickly with minimal publicity. I honestly don't know what it means. And I'm not in the business of second-guessing good offers. Which this is. But I'm also not the one who will be doing time.” 

“What would you do in my shoes?” Spence raised his head and looked at Emily.

“I'm not in your shoes,” Emily shook her head. “It's a decision only you can make. Whatever you decide, I'm always in your corner.” 

We all are.

“Spencer, if you want to fight this to the end, I promise you I will bring everything in my arsenal to the battle,” the fact that Fiona was willing to fight for Spencer made you much happier. “But what I can't promise you is a better outcome than the one they're offering you today.”

Spence looked down at you. You could see the gears turning in his head, “I want to fight.”

You cleared your throat, “Fiona, can I talk to you in private for a moment?”

“Of course,” she nodded. The two of you left Prentiss and Reid alone to talk for a moment.

“I wanted to let you know that Reid and I are expecting a baby,” you fiddled with your hands and waited for her to respond.

“Y/N,” she sighed, “I am going to fight for him. I will give my all to clear his name.” 

You met her eye-line and wrapped her in a hug, “thank you.”

***

You received a call on the day of Spencer’s arraignment that they had found the knife. Emily told you that they had offered a new deal of 5 to 10 years, but Spencer declined. You grabbed your keys and made your way to the courthouse. 

When you entered you found Emily pacing the halls, “thank goodness you’re here,” she called when she saw you.

“Of course,” you wrapped her in a quick hug. “He’s still declining the offer?”

She nodded, “according to Fiona, yes.”

“That means we have to fight like hell,” you said as the rest of the team made their way to you. “I'm so glad you made it in time for the arraignment.”

“What did the kid decide about a plea?” Rossi asked. 

“I don't know,” Emily shook her head. “I'm not sure he does.”

“I can't stand the thought of him being in prison,” Garcia said.

Emily shrugged her shoulders, “but 5 years is a lot less time than 25.”

“He must be agonizing over this decision,” you sighed. 

“Well, whatever he decides, he has our full support,” Luke smiled.

“He knows that,” Emily placed a hand on you back. “It means a lot to him.” 

“We have to prove that Scratch did this,” Walked sighed.

Emily nodded, “we'll get him.” 

“They're calling his case,” you heard Fiona call from behind you. The eight of you made your way into the courtroom. You sat in the front next to Penelope. 

“Case number 149-CR 0308, the U.S. versus Reid,” the bailiff announced.

“Ms. Duncan,” the judge started, “your client is an FBI agent, correct?”

Fiona stood from her seat, “that's right, your honor.”

“You're charged with murder, which is a very serious matter,” the judge addressed Reid directly. 

He too stood from his seat, “yes, your honor.” 

“All right, Ms. Duncan, does your client wish to enter a plea at this time?” 

“He does,” she nods. 

“And how do you plead, agent Reid?” the judge asked. 

“Not guilty,” he announces. 

“Thank God,” Garcia whispered. 

“And as to bail?” the judge turns to face the other lawyer. 

He stands from his seat and adjusts his suit jacket, “the people oppose bail and request remand, your honor.” The court was filled with various sounds. You almost had a heart attack there in your seat.

“Your honor, my client presents no risk of flight,” Fiona was trying her best to defend Reid.

“That's ridiculous,” the AUSA lawyer shouted. “The defendant was arrested after fleeing the murder scene in Mexico.” 

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” Fiona sighed. “He'd been drugged against his will.”

“By failing to notify the FBI of his international travel, the defendant violated the Bureau protocol,” the AUSA lawyer’s voice was becoming very hostile. 

“My client presents no flight risk,” Fiona started. “He has deep ties in this community. His mother suffers from Alzheimer's disease and schizophrenia and lives with him. He is solely responsible for her well-being. Additionally, he's been a decorated SSA with the FBI's behavioral analysis unit for over a decade. 

“And as an FBI agent, he has contacts all over the world,” the lawyer seemed to be fed up with Fiona’s argument.

“Agent Reid would be willing to turn over both his personal and government-issued passports,” she continued.

“If he wanted a counterfeit passport, he could easily get one,” the other lawyer argued. 

“He has no criminal history,” Fiona rebutted. 

“The defendant is uniquely situated to evade law enforcement should he flee the jurisdiction.” 

She turned to face the judge, “your honor, he wants to stay here and clear his good name.”

“He should have thought about his good name before sneaking across the border,” the lawyer quipped.

“I'm prepared to present multiple law enforcement character witnesses on his behalf right now,” you listened as everyone behind you shifted in their seats. “The witnesses are here in the courtroom, all highly respected FBI agents.”

“Simmer down, Ms. Duncan,” you could hear the bitterness in the judge’s voice. “It's almost 6:00 and I'm not inclined to hear from character witnesses. Actions speak louder than words, I always say.”

“We'd be willing to abide by a curfew and strict monitoring of his whereabouts at all times,” she offered.

“Too little too late, counselor,” she sighed.

“Your honor his wife is pregnant,” Fiona finished. You saw Reid look at her and then you. You could feel the eyes of everyone in the courtroom on your back. They felt like hot knives.

“If past behavior is the best indicator of future conduct, and I do believe it is, then your client presents a flight risk. Bail is denied. The defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.” You jumped at the sound of the judge’s gavel. Spencer looked back at you before he was dragged away. The panic in his eyes was enough to make your already broken heart shatter.

You stood from your seat and leaned closer to Fiona, “how long before his case goes to trial?”

“It's a complicated case. 3 months,” she shook her head before turning to face Spencer who was being dragged away in handcuffs. “Spencer, I'm sorry. I will come and see you as soon as I can.”

The rest of the night you refused to talk to anyone. The team tried to comfort you, but nothing worked. You cried yourself to sleep that night and every night after for a week.

Taglist:

@la-vie-en-amour1 @vixengustin88

[castrosaitabau-blog]

WISDOM OF THE MAASAI

In quest for a fathomable perspective, bunduzman had to go further north of Kilimanjaro to the wilderness of Maasai land. In pursuit of a lifestyle, cultural and cohesive human-fauna co existence I finally set my foot on the soil I always wanted to explore since years in memorial. Maybe we could say the time was right, destiny had aligned itself . little did I know of the pot of gold awaiting . I visited my late granny`s sister my only resource person I knew and a cultural hardliner to get the wisdom of the guru.

First impression and am pretty at peace, I knew this all I wanted. Hemming the landscape in abundance are dark black volcanic boulders but dispersed as compared to `shetani lava` free flow lava rocks. beneath the  blue skies, amidst hillsides, sparsely distributed shrub tower from the dark soil but there`s magic that this place offers, afore me is the most photogenic Kilimanjaro background and am sure this place harbours wisdom and treasures of the land.

According to maa culture , upon a meet up  a catch up is mandatory. My holism side is coming out alive strongly. The maa call it `lomon` and so do i. every minute here is a crucial learning opportunity for me so my indulgence is eclectic.

Soon am shown my accommodation and as per maa culture it is far from the boma (homestead) as am a moran(warrior). Morans sleep further from women and children . the set up is spectacular. Set in serenity and tranquility I must acknowledge my uncle Loserian sundowner`s eye for a choice of such a picturesque scenery.

My room`s background is the most perfect quaint I would ever capture of the Kilimanjaro. Certainly  kibo it`s stature like a benevolent giant embracing the Amboseli plains, it`s snow caped top like a kings crown and from my conservation and ecological proficiency I understand the sleeping giant role in providence and sustainability. Set near an oldonyo (hill) rocks are arranged symmetrically in the interference -free solace and solitude.

Everywhere I have gone as an adventurer I have always valued the virtue of making friends. It`s 1700hrs  and my uncle and I are sitted for a perfect sundowner moment. The view is blissful as the sunset glares are twilighting Amboseli national park plains.my guide who`s my uncle is quite familiar with the geo-location , a true warrior of the land!

My guide points out a large mass reflecting the gleams  and says it`s Lake Amboseli in the horizons, further north and to  the east a hill protrudes to my knowledge the landmark of Namanga town. From namanga you go to `sanya ya juu’ a vast area occupied by maas both in Kenya and Tanzania.am overlooking the pastoralists corridor from my sundowner`s point of view.

Deep to Tanzania is kijiweni,then to murtoni, sangarini, murtot, entonet, barazani ,kilombero, shauri moyo, bustani then to mtamburu heading west.day by day my stay opens up a deep understanding of the population dynamics, transborder cultural influence  and cultural role in identity and heritage.

My pursuit of a multi lingual perfection is bearing fruits. It`s a couple of days and my maa tutor `mr. ole Naanyu credits my efforts.am familiar with basic words likje ` aaoomon olorika( can I have a chair please?), endaah(food), kuleeh(milk), osoit(rock), oldonyo (mountain), sambu(brown),aang( home), enkaji(house) ndare(goats), enkolong(sun), alapa( moon) enkare( water) just but a few….

Culture is the antidote of propaganda – always my mantra. Basic rules first for a common entity and understanding of anything in my bunduz pursuit.i attribute this to my flexibility and open mindedness that I can morph and fit in anywhere if only I take care of the language barrier.couple of days and am totally in love with thebunduz in maa land.is it the solitude? Is it the simplicity? Is it the community unity and compassion? Sure I feel a sense of belonging every homestead I visit.

My maa is getting better as I can now structure a sentence, `aeeyoo adol ingwesin lo Amboseli’-( I came to see the wildlife around Amboseli) is my introduction everytime I meet a local . `Ayaauwa lomon ol la shumbaa pedol motonyik, ingwesin-(my work is to show tourists  birds and wildlife ) is the skeleton key phrase for my stay here . Am euphoric to meet even toddler named after me, `Fidel Saitabau’. it`s maa wisdom to name a child after a relative for matriarch continuity and remembrance.

My quest for a deeper `Ambo-kiili ecosystem burns deep within me . am in tune with the universe and so does my fate.i get a phone call from another uncle who invites me to visit them at their camp and this totally uplifts my spirit. The next Sunday  morning am amped in my combat  cargo pants and jungle green shirt ready  to be picked up. The first sight of his giant sized physique reminds me am in the land of warriors- a reassurance of some sort I must say.

`Big Boy’ I call him knows the ways of the land and totally the Amboseli-tsavo ecosystem and it`s neighbouring conservancies. It’s a Sunday so we on easy mellow chill mode as I get acquinted with his fellow warriors of the bunduz. Their hospitality is warm though in solitude , out in the cold lies the camp amidst bush ambience.

I harbour a great conviction and passion with the conservation inclined  personnel as we are in the same area of professionalism- CONSERVATION for future generations. To my surprise , Big boy has planned a reconnaissance survey and am totally stoked! In his Big boy boots , I board his offroad bike as we fade into the wildnerness.

Since my arrival I have been anxious to find out a story of a great tusker and am told not worry no more since I found the soldiers in the field who were there till the demise of the supreme tusker. slowly we cruise and transverse the plains of the conservancies.  Big boy showing me the wildlife and local maa terminologies . we go deeper into an eco-tourism perspective as we are sombre on how `Rona virus’ has robbed tourism it`s liveliness.

We are at the AA Amboseli lodge and it`s a perfect totaln dysfunctionality thus when I spot my first aves , the black flecked yellow throated francolin and marabou stalk. To the north we head leaving behind the `lemongo museum’- dedicated to the study of wildlife .Am impressed as am aware of a fully stocked  library.To the south west is the Osero house .

In a while we are at Sopa lodge and kibo safari camp all in a total shutdown.As an intrepid adventurer my soul cries as I understand the replica to the tourism kitty.intersecting the junction from sopa is the road down to the Kenya wildlife service headquarters and next to it is Amboseli National park kimana gate all in a total shutdown.on the main road is      `The Mada hotels kilima camp also is the same state.

My  point of interest is the Or kelunyet village – a maasai cultural village perfect for briefing of the maa culture but that not of my concern as of now. Outside or kelunyet  is a watering place that has natured one of the greatest tuskers that has transversed this plain. Compared to the mighty historical Ahmed  of marsabit who was mandated presidential escort.

As the water trickle down and fade so is the presence of the mighty tusker Tim who gave up ghost after five decades.But the glory still triumphs  the land as every villager around here knew or must have heard of the great tusker and even the global village where he won the hearts of many.my uncle Big boy is a marshal in the wildlife field under `BIG LIFE FOUNDATION’.

February `4th is the morning of demise of Tim. Big boy was one of the first person in the `scene of crime’ as he explains this was        Tim`s favourite feeding area just opposite or kelunyet the other side of the road to Amboseli gate.am glad am getting first hand information from  a ranger who witnessed Tim`s last presence here before being taken to the museum.

A peace loving, gentle and benevolent tusker he was for tourist to take photos of him sometimes pushing away other tuskers who tried to be vicious . Tim would relax for them to get a perfect caption- a photogenic legend he was.

December 1969 is when the great legend was born in Amboseli national park. four years later he got the name Tim from an intrepid American researcher Cynthia Moss who had arrived in Kenya in 1972-founder of Amboseli trust for elephants.

From her research ,Cynthia Moss reckons that Tim came from the  TD family led by his matriachial grandma Teresia and the  mum was Trista. For a while we observe the place as my uncle even shows me his last cloacal emittance a prove that this was his area he liked. Rather than outside or kelunyet Tim would sometimes change environment to the yellow barked acacia filled and water abundant kimana sanctuary for water or greener pastures or probably his females, a gentle bull who filled  Amboseli with his progeny.

Tim had survived the 1980 Amboseli severe drought an era when Tim lost his grandma Trista from spears of pastoralists. prior in 1977 he lost his  mum so he was left to wander alone but survived-a soldier of a kind. Tim`s death was a twisted gut but my uncle Bid boy explained to me he had found him lying and bleeding from injuries incurred from another Tusker perhaps a confrontation. Tim was gentle ,carefull and grandiose as his tusks were ground touching .probably it is the MUSTH that brought about a conflict of interest.

As we transverse the  airstrip outside Amboseli gate closer to Tawi lodge Tim`s memories just run my mind obnoxious in some way but I have to let nature take it`s cause. upclose sights of maasai giraffes distinctive by their yellow fawn, common ostrich and gerenuks divert my mind as I go back to the camp reminiscing my day.

Another day another dollar, but dollars won`t come easy here in the bunduz since Rona invaded. My mind is at ease when my uncle promises to show me Tim`s brother Greg, a great tusker like him and of close resemblance and supremacy he says.

Am euphoric by the mention of a foot patrol as I know this will give me an upclose  real time floral fauna encounter .For me euphoria is preceding vulnerability .As i rub mosquito repellant on my body ready to zip my self in my sleeping bag as I sleep amped.

At 0600hrs I wake up to the most soothing ambience of aves wildebeasts in the background. sorrounded by bones of great mammalia is our camp.my maa friend gives thanks in maa as we head to make breakfast. we collect `rigiek’ (firewood) as we catch up in a while breakfast is ready.

At 0700hrs we ared out of the camp ready for the routine foot patrol.My uncle takes me through the GPS mapping process and `The Black View IP-68’ for data collection and we begin mapping our waypoints and sightings in the field. We are amidst grants gazelles and wildebeasts as the hilly breeze hits us to a rude awakening .

My uncle Big boy is my resource person as I gain a lot of lessons on bushlife survival techniques. I can identify male and female ostricvhes , their milky like excretion and general ostrich behaviour like laying eggs at the same periodand the role of female and males to protect the eggs tillthey hatch.Bog boy explains the colour variation and advantage in terms of camouflage.

At night the dark feathered male take roll of roosting on the egg as the female feeds while during the day the female takes over brown feathered blending with the savannah. Am more amused by ostriches` behavior once the eggs hatch. The responsibility of caregiver is left to one of the females, the most ferocious one as the others leave.

Our mission is to transverse the conservancy on a `wreck patrol’ leaving no point unattended as the GPS maps our path indicating bordering conservancies.Am now well conversant with the interface and from a conservationist and wildlife manager to be perspective am  impressed. The app has  a ranger unit entity, members present, patrol method, patrol area ,are poachers armed? Additional is a record of  wildlife sighting, tracking live or dead, scat/dropping ,number of animals ,wildlife treatment, illegal human  activities, animal mortality, human wildlife conflict, community service by rangers e.t.c

Amboseli neighbours kimana group ranch an area which my grandpa Mr. Elijah Mwatee had demarcated in his tenure of duty long before moving to kwale and kilifi. The group ranches that make up kimana ranch are kilitome conservancy, nailepu, osupuko, naalarami and olitiyani conservancies anf far is the kimana sanctuary and the olgulului group ranch.

As an avid birdwatcher I enjoy spotting the augur buzzard, black flacked yellow throated francolin, the Kori bustard, superb strerlings, helmeted guinea fowls , just but a few. I encounter a rare type of ungulate and Big  boy tells me this is their hotspot area. Am talking gerenuks as they browse on the shrubs near the windsock area.

Despite the dominating grant`s gazelles, impalas, wildebeests, gerenuks attract my attention as these arid survivors are wise in their own nature. Gerenuks eat the fleshy part, buds, fruits, flowers and climbing plants and do not require water if ever, rarely reducing predator risk as they graze in open areas.

Gerenuks have a pre-orbital gland ( like topis) that emit a tar like scent bearing substance that is deposited between twigs and bushes. This alerts other gerenuks in the area that there is a claim of territory. Gerenuk itself is a oromo - somali name meaning giraffe like gazelle in Swahili(swara twiga).

A fascinating thing is also gerenuk`s male performing a courtship ritual to an oestrus female. He will approach herand horizontally lift one of his front legs and repeatedly tap the female under belly and flanks. Or else he will rub his pre orbital gland on her body marking her with his scent to mate. The local maas call gerenuks` enkoilii’.

Am glad beinga plant community enthusiast to learn their local maa names. The maa community widely cherish flora and have a name for every plant / tree and to my surprise a nutritional or medicinal value.

The acacia tortilis is treasured in most homesteads as a source of shade local name `ol tepesi’ and loved by elephants as they rub theirselves on their rough bark. The whistling acacia , local name `elwai’ is an ingredient for soup once they slaughter, oremit is a stomach cleanser, `elokii’ finger like euphobia for hedges, `entialong’ a stomach remedy, oltiasmat found  near Amboseli gate on the saline soil has an aesthetic value, olo songori ( devil`s whip).

It`s almost noon and the overhead sun is scorching , determined in our hats we beat the shrubs bearing in mind the vulnerability we are exposed to. Of worth recalling is a Laxadonta Africana in solitude usually  very vicious behind a bush who was throwing mud at himself. We came to such close proximity about five metres  unaware of the staring danger just that a gut feeling saved us.

We are now at Tawi lodge Amboseli as we surpass the thicket and to Big boy`s precision of his line of duty he teels me have a break at ` The zebra plain hotel’. Our GPS reading 37 0025E 12 79S at UTM. Pressure 96 99 690

As I heave a sigh of relief and down my cold concoction am humbled by the dedication the rangers have devoted from `BIG LIFE FOUNDATION’ to ensure a peaceful cohesion of humans and wildlife in the Amboseli conservancies  that stretches to kimana sanctuary and chyulu  hills.

By the time we arrive at the camp at 1330 hrs  we have done a pretty 28 km patrol leaving me with nostalgic memories. On the contrary to fatigue am motivated  to explore more of the camps in chyulu hills and the other conservancies.

As my maasai is getting better I can identify wildlife like `ol`  logwarak (lion), emuny (rhino), oloitiko( zebra), oe ngat (wildebeest), or birit(warthog), oyayaiii( porcupine) essuni( impala), or ngojine( hyena), or makao( hippo), or meot (giraffe), or kanjaoni (elephants), olo sokuan (buffalo).

                                                                                                                             By Saitabau Castro.

[sensoriella]

CANON DIVERGENCE: CRIME SORCIERE’S PARDON.

disclaimer: please note that this analysis does not necessarily reflect any personal out of character opinions. people who have murdered and committed violent crimes are obviously bad and deserve punishment. whether i think people like that can be redeemed in a realistic setting is a concept i don't even feel like fathoming in a casual roleplay setting. it’s simply incomprehensible to me because well, i don’t know any murders or criminals in real life. and if i did, i would probably pick the sensible answer and say no, or that it would take an immeasurably long time and probably lots of psychiatric council. ( much longer than the span of the fairy tail series ) BUT, i didn’t major in human psychology or criminal justice unfortunately, so i’m going to work with this pardon thing in a fictional sense the best i can.

it’s difficult to understand how exactly the justice system of fiore works. but given the amount of excused ‘crimes’ and disregarded acts that have occurred for other mages ( not in dark guilds ), the crime sorciere pardon isn’t that hard to believe. also please consider the fact that fiorian royalty isn’t exactly clean of non-violent acts themselves. i mean, they have a group of mage executioners than kill people ( maybe brutally, for all the royals know ) on their behalf! 

mind you, crime sorciere is not pardoned easily. per plotting with other crime sorciere muses, these former dark guild wizards participate in a series of ethic / criminal trials to answer for their sins and past crimes. their trials go on for weeks to months. after the alvarez war, they were held under strict probation ( via magic resistant trackers ) and were not allowed to leave the city of crocus during those trials. their pardon does not occur absent of conditions. so be aware that their freedom doesn’t come without a price, and their lives do not necessarily become easy nor more peaceful.

so how did this become possible ? why were ex-criminals and former fugitives allowed to walk free ?

firstly, why would crime sorciere wizards agree to the pre-trial terms at all? why would they all consent to magic trackers and even bother facing the trials ? they could’ve ran again, fled the country even, in the smoke of post-war chaos. yet it’s hard to believe that a guild who took arms against an enemy in support of fiore would abandon their home now. they could’ve just left the country ages ago, before the war got ugly at least. i personally theorize that they want their voices to be heard. they want to be forgiven in the eyes of the public in pursuit of a better future, because they do not enjoy the fugitive life! isn’t it the main purpose of crime sorciere to atone for their sins and find peace within themselves–––to be able to lead lives where they don’t have to feel shunned and hated by the world? one could argue that defeating zeref was the main purpose, but i truly can’t see that being a strong enough reason for them to risk their lives for years in service of fiore, when they can just leave and forget everything–––let the dark wizard be the light guilds’ problem! it’s always been about a bigger picture for them, whether it be survival, redemption, or just simply being able to live with themselves after all their lives hit rock bottom. it’s also possible that many, if not most, of them had no intention of returning to jail if things went sour. they are tired of running nonetheless. 

going into the trial period, they’re smart enough to know that their participation in the war helped the country immensely ( yes, i do believe they helped. even if most of what canon shows us is members being K.O.ed by august. ) every action, every collaboration, and their appearances at the war, some members making a bigger impact than others, made a difference in bringing down the common enemies. members of crime sorciere are smart enough to know that fiore can’t just ignore that.

so let’s go back to the beginning, to remember the extent of their past transgressions. jellal deceived fiorian leaders, abused his council authority, kept a slave operation afloat, murdered, and attempted to destroy many lives–––all under the influence of a higher manipulator. ultear did . . . most of the same, on top of her allegiance with grimoire heart who were involved in the destruction of various villages and mass killings. meredy was associated with grimoire heart, and it’s likely that she too took part in violent crimes. ( whether she personally killed mages or not ) the oracion seis also participated in the destruction of various guilds and mass killings. the oracion seis members, and this is canonly mentioned, killed for money or as a result of completing jobs. were those deaths warranted? does that make things better? not really, but it makes them slightly more manageable than the others, i’m sorry to say, with the proper conditions. the problem with the oracion seis, is they haven’t been freed from prison for very long, so they appear more unpredictable than jellal, meredy, and ultear. whereas, the original crime sorciere members proved that they are able live ‘peacefully’ in fiore for at least seven years. again they didn’t attack innocents only dark guilds, and they exclusively carried out their work in a non-public manner, for their own sake.

now, breaking convicts out of prison is definitely frowned upon. ultear and meredy participated in the prison break of jellal, freeing him well before the end of his sentence time. in regards to the oracion seis ‘prison break’, please note that one wasn’t even a prison break! the oracion seis was set free per official order of a man of the magic council. if anything, he should’ve been penalized for the same crime that ultear and meredy committed. but he wasn’t because justice is twisted in fiore. so these crimes are also hard to overlook, but with enough persuasion and the right ‘connections���, not impossible.

crime sorciere was always meant to be a stealth operation. they were quiet and lived under the radar. they didn’t disturb the innocent public, or interact with anyone else unless it was absolutely necessary. there main targets were always dark wizards and dark guilds, which provided more help than harm through the council’s eyes. meredy and ultear watched the grand magic games from a mountain, because they didn’t want to be within sniffing distance of the rune knights. it’s clear that they probably spent most of their crime sorciere years that way. while in crime sorciere, the oracion seis didn’t commit violent crimes under jellal’s rein. not just because of jellal watching their every move, but because they were smart enough to keep their heads down. given that fact, one of the platforms that they used to argue is that they have not truly committed any illegal acts after ‘disbanding’ from their original designated dark guild, under their original leader ( re: jellal participating in the gmg. since that act more so involved the grand magic games society, it’s not really within the jurisdiction, or concern, of the magic council. basically, cheating is bad, but it doesn’t warrant incarceration. ) this is assuming that it’s not necessarily an imprisonable offense to be an unofficial guild, so long as they don’t accept illegal jobs or disturb the innocents. which they hadn’t. i assume it’s not warranted to arrest to be in an independent guild, because crime soricere operated for seven years, while the council knew of their existence, without being caught. either the rune knights are terrible at their job ( probably ) or they didn’t care enough if said guild wasn’t bothering anyone innocent.

a huge argument that can be made in favor of their freedom, is their ‘community service’ to fiore that extended for up to 2 years. ( 7 years for some members ) yes, their actions were very ‘vigilante’ like, but their acts were more annoying, yet helpful, to the council than wicked. they also argued on how it would be unjust to criminalize them for being quiet and non-destructive as an independent guild, when some legal guilds are capable of demonstrating unethical and destructive results of their behavior, without receiving arrest. ( tips hat to fairy tail ) 

when it came to past transgressions, some could argue that they had received punishment. most of them were imprisoned for seven years. others were forced to live life in solitude, forcibly exiled from fiorian cities and towns. is that a suitable punishment? not really, but something is better than nothing. 

during their trials, individuals may have testified against or in favor of the pardon. it's safe to say an array of opinions came flooding in.

parents of children, whom which erik had saved from human trafficking, were in favor of the conditional pardon. human trafficking is a huge issue in fiore and often slips under the council’s nose. some found that this was an example of demonstrated acts of good will and capabilities of change. 

those affected by the nirvana incident, were not in favor. nirvana’s awakening specifically affected three official guilds. blue pegasus and lamia scale took the most damage at the hands of the oracion seis. unfortunately for them, some could say that having the original proprietor and mastermind of the nirvana plot, Master Brain, left behind bars was sufficient justice ( hey this headcanon where Brain was left alive came in handy! ) especially since many of the other oracion seis members were under the age of 18 during that crime. ( i’m not saying this is adequate justice nor does it excuse the oracion seis of their crimes. trust me, it’s a brutal situation and many people would’ve been rightfully angry. but it's a small detail that helped them down the road to granted redemption. )

some fairy tail members were also in favor of the pardon, due to personal / professional ties with certain members of the guild–––and due to lack of suffering by the guild. yes there’s biases were involved unfortunately! but this happens all the time in fiore canon, so why can’t it work here too? fairy tail may have fought all of these members at one point, but since they didn’t receive grave injuries ( and some even bonded with / forgave them after ) they simply didn’t feel the need the vote against a pardon. and unfortunately for some, fairy tail is a very powerful guild both physically and politically. fairy tail’s guild master has pulled enough strings in the past to make their voice exceptionally influential.

villagers, non-mages, mages, and anyone else who suffered as collateral damage at the hands of grimoire heart and the oracion seis would not have been in favor. it might not have been personal for the dark guilds, but it was personal to them. but given the amount of many years that have passed since their conflicts with those guilds ( both of which were disbanded, guild masters either dead or imprisoned ), and it’s difficult to place designated blame on ex-guild individuals. those witnesses may have to settle for probationary terms and certain pardon conditions. 

other guild members personally affected by some crime sorciere wizards like kagura, who have valid reason to hate jellal for the death of her brother, for example, may have also taken part in the trials. complicated opinions may have been made in favor or opposition of the pardon. ( i will not go into too much detail about this, as decisions of certain character opinions rests with those who write as them. ) 

unfortunately for anyone else who didn’t favor the pardon, most enemies of members of crime sorciere and the oracion seis were also dark guild wizards, or dead. so their input could not be presented before a judge as reliable input. yes, this is a loophole that really benefited crime sorciere the most. 

after the rigorous trials and ethnic screenings, crime sorciere was granted a conditional pardon. several terms had to be abided by for this to come to pass. the independent guild of crime sorciere, under the rule of jellal, was forced to disband. the council just couldn’t bring themselves to allow a guild, run by a man who betrayed the council in the past, to exist. per a idea thought of by jana and marcy, the crime sorciere members had to participate in a reintegration program. following disbandment, former crime sorciere members were made to enter this program if they wished to remain in fiore, otherwise leave the country in exile. the reintegration program was a means to encourage those ex-convicts to learn to live in the fiorian society as model citizens. members were not allowed to pursue jobs without supervision of approved s-class mages of legal guilds. the ex-cons of crime sorciere had to demonstrate ethical behavior and were forbidden to accept jobs without a ‘mentor’ consent. this probationary period may last between months to years, depending on the behavior of said member. crime sorciere ex-members were not allowed to pursue any independent jobs, until the probationary period was complete. of course, the mages of crime sorciere were not happy with this arrangement, but the outcome would far benefit the possibly of incarceration and, for some, banishment. crime sorciere ex-members were also held financially responsible for any transgressions they caused in the past ( ex: medical expenses of mages they harmed ). another condition would be that psychiatric / cognitive counsel ( aka. therapy!! ) is also a necessity in order for the ex-crime sorciere members to be confidently released independently back into society.

after the conditional period was completed successfully by all members, a new crime sorciere was eventually allowed to be legalized, providing a more trusting and suitable master ( in the eyes of the council ) would lead. meredy, a former crime sorciere / grimoire heart member with mostly misdemeanor crimes ( all of which occurred under the age of 13 ) was permitted to reform the guild under certain guidelines and close monitoring. meredy would present the idea before the council ( perhaps a year or so later ) and inform them of the benefits crime sorciere could have on the country. it was meredy’s goal, inspired by jellal and ultear, to rebuild the guild so that it would be recognized by the council to help reformed convicts and troubled mages to rehabilitate and integrate into society. most new members would most likely be those who recently served their debt to society, but were not trusted enough to be left alone. it would be the renewed crime sorciere’s aspiration to help future problematic mages become functional members of fiore. while other wizards may have been suitable for the role of acting master, meredy would demonstrate the most ethical improvement in character, the cleanest record ( of previous crime sorciere wizards ) and pose as a model mentor for mages who previously strayed from a moral path.

[michellehasmusings]

Here I sit on day 72 of the COVID-19 pandemic overtaking our lives. It’s still jarring and surreal to me to see everyone in masks, but it’s more upsetting seeing people without them. 100,000 Americans have died, and the virus rages on. As of today there is no end in sight and we kind of live day-by-day. Things are reopening everywhere in spite of those facts, and it’s not going to end well. It’s already unfathomably horrific, mostly because of the complete failure of the federal government under Donald Trump.

Even in times of darkness, light can be found. I look for it each day, because it’s all I know how to do to survive with this fear and death and disease. Find your light. For me, something very profound happened on Friday. For it to make sense in the present, I have to go back to the past.

In 1989, when I was 16 years old, a 29 year old woman named Victoria Cushman was murdered in my city. She was brutally killed in her own home; she had been beaten to death. A letter she had written was found at the scene. It was addressed to a man she had been having a brief affair with, and who she was struggling to move on from when he broke it off. His name was Jeffrey Scott Hornoff. He was a local cop she had gotten to know when he came into her place of employment relating to his duties on the police dive team. The affair burned hot and fast and then it was over. He was married and had a baby at home. There was never any hope for Vicky and Scott, but she couldn’t let him go. The letter she had written, but was never sent, expressed how difficult it had been for her to try to move on. This looked bad circumstantially to law enforcement. When they questioned Scott, he initially denied the affair. His alibi for that night left an hour unaccounted for. On its face, it looked suspicious. Scott was eventually charged with her murder and convicted. He received a life sentence. There was never a single piece of evidence that tied him directly to the crime.

I remember at the time thinking he must’ve done it. He was a police officer. Surely they would go above and beyond to prove the innocence of one of their own if he didn’t do it, right? Except he didn’t do it. He was innocent. Todd Barry, an on/off boyfriend of Vicky’s, walked into a police department well over 6 years into Scott’s life sentence and confessed. The guilt of living with what he had done and the knowledge that an innocent man was being punished for his crime became too much for his conscience. The news hit like a shockwave.

It was November of 2002. Scott had been living with this nightmare for 13 years, incarcerated for half of that time, for something he had nothing to do with. Before this, I had been more naive and pretty ignorant to the facts about wrongful imprisonment. I was horrified to discover that this wasn’t a fluke. There are thousands of innocent people behind bars even as I type. This immediately changed my views. I could no longer fool myself into believing that everyone in jails are guilty. It was a really life-changing moment. I had been raised in a strict, Conservative family. Law and order. What happened to Scott was one of many giant cracks in the worldview I had been raised to believe in. I wondered how he would survive the trauma, how he would carry on on the outside now with the justified anger and distrust he must be carrying. It kept me up at night thinking.

Two weeks later, my father died suddenly at work. He was only 58. This completely rocked my world. He was my rock. He was my protector. He was my daddy who loved me and hugged me and everything was okay because he was here. Then he was gone in an instant. It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt.

My aunt came over the next morning and gave me an angel pin, which I put right on my coat. In the haze of grief, my mom and I had to go shopping for things we needed for the services. I vividly recall walking around the store and looking at everyone else going about life as usual. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs and ask them how they can just carry on when the world had just ended. Then I turned around and found myself face-to-face with Scott Hornoff.

I instantly recognized him, and I knew he had only been released a couple weeks earlier. Almost immediately, my feeling of empathy for him overtook my own grief and I forgot for a moment the terrible pain I was in. He appeared to be overwhelmed, and I completely understood why and at that lonely, sad moment in time I felt like someone else was sharing my grief; separately, but together in that shared space. I felt compelled to let him know he wasn’t alone. I looked down at the angel pin on my shoulder, and everything in me wanted to take it off and give it to him. Having struggled with anxiety for years already by that point, I recognized that look in his eyes. I tried to put myself in his shoes and wondered how I might feel after everything he had just been through and being thrust back out into the world without any preparation. I decided that even though I might feel better by giving him the angel pin, that it wasn’t about me. Maybe he was hoping nobody noticed him. Maybe he felt stared at and judged. Maybe the noise and the busy world was scary. Maybe I should just send him some positive energy from where I stood and wish the best for him in this life. So that is what I did.

Over the years I have thought of him occasionally. I have hoped for his happiness and success. I have sometimes regretted not giving him that pin. I have wondered if maybe it would’ve helped to know someone that he didn’t even know cared.

Not long ago on twitter, I tweeted something about us being on lockdown due to the virus. Someone commented saying, “I’ve been on lockdown. This isn’t so bad.” It was such an unusual comment that it made me look at the name of the tweeter. You know who it was, right? That’s right. Scott Hornoff. What were the odds of this??? I noticed he was following me and I told him I knew who he was. I thought he followed me because I was local to him, but that turned out to be a complete coincidence. He had seen a tweet of mine and followed me randomly. This felt like the universe telling me to share with him that story that I had never forgotten about our paths crossing on the day I needed it most. He was really touched by that gesture I wanted to make for him so many years before. We got to be friends. This past Friday he told me he would be at a store that happens to be two streets away from where I was. We decided to say hi in person in the parking lot. It was such a profound moment for me that I felt tears welling up in my eyes, which I was hiding behind my giant Jackie O. sunglasses. He told me he had something to give me. It was a little gold pin of a DNA strand that supports exonerees. It is the same size as the angel pin. I will treasure it always, along with my new friend, Scott.

Please support The Innocence Project. They do amazing advocacy and legal work for the wrongfully imprisoned. They deserve their freedom and our support. https://www.innocenceproject.org

To read more about Scott’s story, check this link:

https://www.providencejournal.com/news/20190312/wrongfully-imprisoned-hornoff-appeals-to-lawmakers-to-compensate-ris-exonerees

[sparxwrites]

(it’s ya boy sparx, heelying in eight weeks late with starbucks and fic for a fandom none of my followers are in! gotta stay true to my incredibly erratic form. anyways, yall should play gw2, it’s a good game.)

[AO3]

“Canach.” There was, abruptly, a woman’s voice behind him, sweet as honey and dark as smoke. “How’s jail been treating you? Rather poorly, it seems. Pity. You looked like such a sweet young thing when you were bringing a horde of karka down on Lion’s Arch. Or so I’ve been told.”

Canach grit his teeth, suppressing a flinch of surprise. Not that there was anywhere to go, stuck in a chair with his wrists manacled to a table and the table bolted to the floor – and a pair of guards outside the door to boot. Visitor’s rooms at the Vigil Keep, it seemed, were irritatingly thorough.

And populated with invisible visitors, to boot.

“I’m sorry,” he said, infusing the words with as much irritated insincerity as he could manage, “have we met? I’m afraid I don’t do terribly well at recognising mysteriously disembodied voices.”

“Where are my manners?” said the voice, as its body walked into view. “Countess Anise– well. Ordinarily, I’d say at your service, but…” She smiled, and it was the smile of a predator faced with its prey in a snare. “I think, in this case, that you’re rather at mine.”

If he’d expected any visitors at all – and he hadn’t – it would have been a firstborn or two, come to tell him how terribly disappointed they were in him, and how very sad he’d made the Pale Mother. If she’d even noticed her wayward child’s misbehaviour at all, that was.

He certainly hadn’t expected a human, dressed like she had money and with voice like someone clever. A bad combination, in Canach’s books.

“That’s an awfully bold assumption.”

“Not really.” Her voice, initially so pleasant on the ear, was starting to burrow into his brain like a particularly tenacious insect.

“And what does that mean?” He was staring at her, blatantly, and didn’t much care that he was being rude. He didn’t much enjoy having conversations on the back foot – which he very much was, currently – and any kind of information he could glean about his mysterious visitor would be most welcome.

Low cut dress, expensive but tasteful jewellery, no visible weapons, and no guards other than the ones outside the door… She was either stupid, less important than she looked, or capable enough of defending herself without weapons that there was no need for a guard in the room. The first two options seemed unlikely, which left the unpleasant conclusion that he was stuck in a room with a powerful magic user.

Lovely.

Countess Anise ignored his question, instead leaning over the table to grasp his chin. Her touch was gentle, but the invasiveness of the gesture had him pulling away – as much as he could when he was stuck in a chair, wrists chained on a short leash to the table. It was futile, really, and all he managed was a sharp jerk of his chin and a baring of teeth.

The fingers on his jaw tightened, almost immediately, in subtle warning. Countess Anise turned his head this way and that, her eyes raking over his face. They lingered on the pale, ugly scars of thorns grown in too fast from the softness of his scalp, on the lines of tension carved into his brow, on the crushed-grass bruise around his left eye.

It gave Canach the uncomfortable impression of being a cow at market. No doubt the Countess, with her fingers dug into his jaw, could feel how hard he was gritting his teeth.

“How did you get this bruise?” she asked, eventually, releasing his jaw. One pale, manicured finger came up to tap the underside of his eye, just on the edge of the faded discolouration. “You’ll forgive me for saying so, but you don’t strike me as the kind of man to start fights in a prison. Given your track record of running away from confrontations, that is.”

Canach took a deep breath, and tried to keep from doing anything stupid – like, say, attempting to bite a certain rich human mage’s finger off. “Why are you here?” he asked, in a voice inches from a growl.

“Ah, ah.” Countess Anise tapped the bruise, twice, before finally, finally pulling her hand away from his face. Canach couldn’t quite hide his wince, and the Countess didn’t bother to try and hide her smirk. “I asked first.”

Canach ground his teeth together so hard he felt sure she must be able to hear it. “Some of the Consortium– I’m sorry, ex-Consortium– inmates here seem to have a bit of a problem with me, for some reason. I can’t imagine why.” There was a throbbing starting up behind his eyes, and it wasn’t from the week-old bruise. “Why are you here?”

“Several reasons,” she said. She was still staring at him like he was some sort of rare, fascinating object. It was starting to make the back of his neck prickle – moreso than it had been already, anyways. “The only one that concerns you, though, my little sapling, is that I’ve bought your bond. I thought it might be nice to have a quick talk, before I collected you formally. To get to know one another.” Her eyes settled on his bruise again. “And to check you weren’t… damaged goods.”

The silence that followed was a physical thing, a weight in the room, claustrophobic in its closeness.

“…You can’t buy me,” was the only thing Canach could think to say, eventually. The words snapped out of him, shoulders rigid, something thrumming bright and terrified deep within his chest. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “I’m not a thing.”

Countess Anise laughed, openly, in his face. “You’re a prisoner in Vigil custody. Convicted of crimes against the peace, no less. I’d rather not be crass about it, but… I can absolutely buy you. In fact, I think you’ll find I’ve already bought you. You’re mine, for the rest of your sentence. Which– remind me. A life sentence, wasn’t it?”

Canach stared at her, wide-eyed, disbelieving, chest heaving with every breath.

“Hmm.” Countess Anise pursed her lips at his lack of response. “Regardless. Everything has a price, Canach. Even you. We can either keep that as a little footnote in what I’m sure is going to be a very productive working relationship, or… well. I’ve got a little time on my hands right now. I can spend it on reeducating you, if you insist on being a brute about it.”

With a roar, Canach hurled himself forward across the table. The cuffs brought him up short, of course, and peeled a thick layer of bark off his wrists to boot – but it was gratifying to see the brief look of surprise on the Countess’ face.

Only for a moment, though. Then the world disappeared.

His vision went first, swallowed into black, his hearing following seconds later. It was as though someone had plugged his ears with wool, except he couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat, or his breathing. He could still feel his lungs working though, too-fast with panic– and then even that went. The texture of the table disappeared from under his fingers, and even the scents and tastes of the room – the bitterness of his own green, snapped-stem odour, the rich musk of Countess Anise’s perfume – vanished.

Canach was left suspended in… nothingness. The word darkness didn’t quite do justice to the all-encompassing absence of anything. No sight, no sensation, no awareness even of his own body or its subtle processes. Just blackness, and silence, and the infinite drag of horrified terror at his mind.

It could have been minutes he hung there, consumed by the endless, gaping absence, or it could have been hours. Days. Years. It was impossible to tell, without anything to measure by.

Even his frantic attempts to count were useless. One stretched on forever, an eternity in a single word. Two and three passed by so quickly he nearly missed them. Four seemed futile, after that, but he forced himself to count it nonetheless.

The panic drowned him, after five, and the only thing he could think was, Pale Mother, please, make it stop.

When Canach came back to himself, he was hyperventilating, gasping for every inhale like a scared child. Sprawled on his chest across the table, with his arms wrenched out beneath him, the cuffs dug deep and painful into his wrists.

“That,” said Countess Anise, mildly, “counts as being a brute, you know.”

He swallowed, a slow and laborious motion, and heaved himself back into his chair – carefully, so carefully, so as not to give her an excuse to do… whatever she’d just done, a second time. “You intend to torture me, then,” he said, picking each word with the delicacy of a man removing ticks from his flesh. His wrists throbbed, dark, yellowish ichor oozing out around the cuffs. “Until I behave myself.”

The Vigil guards outside the room, he couldn’t help but note, were still very pointedly facing away from the door. Who was this woman, to be able to pull such weight within the Vigil? Certainly not any ordinary human noble. He doubted they’d have even let her in the room without an armed escort, if she had been – and they certainly wouldn’t be turning such an aggressive blind eye to a mesmer pulling tricks on a high-profile prisoner in the heart of their most secure facility.

“Don’t be dramatic.” The Countess smiled, a thin, lipless sort of expression that set every thorn Canach had on end. “As I said. If you intend to be a brute about things, I’m willing to invest a little of my time in teaching you to… not be. If you cooperate, though, then we can dispense with all that unpleasantness.”

“And what,” asked Canach, warily, his heart still hammering in his chest, “would my cooperation involve, precisely?”

Not that the question mattered much. There was little he wouldn’t do to avoid getting sent back to that awful, endless absence.

The Countess hummed, examining her nails in a poor pretence at mulling his question over. “I like having useful people to hand,” she said, at length, eyeing him from under her eyelashes. “And you, flower, seem like you could be very useful, given your… ah, unique skillset.”

A spymaster of some sorts, then, Canach surmised. That explained the cleverness, alongside the money. Nobles, especially human nobles, were interminably dull and stupid to a fault, in Canach’s experience. He wondered which had come first – whether she’d been born into nobility, and was the exception to the rule, or whether she’d acquired her wealth and title via making herself indispensable to someone higher up in the human pecking order.

She was watching him for a reaction, he realised, and schooled his face into a carefully neutral expression. No point in looking too eager to get out of this hellhole – no matter the strings attached. Or in looking too afraid of what those strings might be.

“…At the very least,” she continued, and he couldn’t tell if she’d found what she was looking for in his face or not, “you’ll be useful at parties. I’m obliged to attend, but I can’t stand talking to the great and good of Divinity’s Reach. Having a convicted criminal at my side might at least discourage some of the more irritating attendees to keep their distance.”

Canach couldn’t help himself – he barked out a laugh at that, grinning a grin that was more a baring of teeth than a true smile. “I do hope you can find something a little more interesting for me to do,” he drawled, pulling on his usual, careless mask as best he could. “I don’t enjoy parties, and frightening nobles hardly seems like a challenge.”

“So you’ll take the position?”

“Do I have a choice?” The bitterness was back in his voice. He couldn’t help it. No matter how interesting this woman and her bizarre job offer seemed, she’d bought him. And then tortured him into consenting to his enslavement, to soothe whatever strange sort of conscience the monster of a woman still had.

He wasn’t a big fan of being caged.

Countess Anise laughed again, and raised an eyebrow “Not at all. But I do like to maintain the illusion of a mutual business relationship, no matter how… messy the finer details are. And it might help your poor, wounded dignity to pretend that you’re doing this of your own free will.”

Canach made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Illusions. How very true to form of a mesmer.” He hissed out a breath through his teeth, trying to keep his temper in check, to not let her know how badly she’d disarmed him. “Yes, yes, I’ll take your damned position. It can’t be worse than staying here.”

“I’m so glad we could see eye to eye.” Good gods, every time the woman smiled, Canach wanted to crawl out of his own skin. “I look forward to working with you, Canach. I think this is going to be a very productive… partnership.”

Canach bit the inside of his own cheek hard enough he tasted sap, resin-bitter and thick against his tongue. “I’m sure it will be,” he gritted out, only biting down harder when her smile widened. For one of us, he thought, but very carefully didn’t add.

Working for the Countess was, at the very least, going to be an interesting exercise in holding his tongue – in the face of, he suspected, severe provocation.

“Excellent. Guards!” she called, rapping smartly on the bars of the door. One of the guards, a young and fresh-faced charr, finally turned around to look into the room. It might have been Canach’s imagination, but the recruit seemed almost relieved – that the Countess was unharmed, or perhaps that the prisoner was still alive. It was impossible to tell.

“Canach is being transferred into my care, by order of Queen Jennah,” Countess Anise informed the charr, who immediately stood a little straighter at her tone. “Your superiors will have all the paperwork within the next twenty-four hours. Get him ready for transport – and for the gods’ sake, give him a bath and some new clothes. If I must play babysitter to a convict on the way back to Divinity’s Reach, I expect him to at least be tolerable to look at.”

“Yes, ma’am!” The charr saluted smartly, completely failing to hide her utterly bewildered expression. “Of course, ma’am!”

The Countess graced the guard with a smile, far more friendly than the ones she’d bestowed on Canach. “Wonderful,” she purred. “And Canach? Do try and stay out of trouble for the immediate future, would you? There’s a good boy. I’ll be back for you tomorrow.”

Canach, his wrists still throbbing in time to his heartbeat, still oozing sap onto the table below them, mustered up an exceptionally half-hearted baring of teeth. “I can’t wait,” he called after her. “Good talk, Countess! I look forward to our next one!”

Countess Anise neither responded nor looked back as she breezed out the room, and out of sight.

The Queen. Good gods. Canach leaned back into his chair, head spinning as the two guards came in to unchain his hands from the table. He barely noticed them tugging him to his feet, escorting him back to his cell. The thrice-damned human Queen. What in the name of the Pale Tree had he gotten himself into?