#preliminary examination | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

incognit0slut · 10 months ago

Text

Much Ado About Nothing (Act II, Scene I: The Suspicious Scheme)

The three times you sense something strange when everyone pairs you with Spencer, and the one time you understand why.

Part warning: Definitely inaccuracy in autopsy procedures and Spencer’s educational background, it’s hard writing a genius Words: 5.6k (not proofread, I’ll do it when I have the time so please excuse me if you see any mistakes) A/n: I tried to make this part shorter but I gave up. I hope you don’t mind reading more😌

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

I. The Forced Partner

There was usually a system when Hotch paired the team up, a method to his leadership that balanced skills and personalities to get the job done efficiently. But as Spencer and you were directed to the autopsy room together, you couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch was pushing his luck—or preferably yours.

It was weird. Two weeks had gone by since the last case where he had to witness you both sparring, and you would’ve thought he’d keep you apart. Yet here you were, together again, stepping into the cold, sterile room.

The faint smell of antiseptic filled the air as you pulled on your gloves, the latex snapping against your wrists. A woman in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, turned to greet you and Spencer. She extended a hand.

“I’m Dr. Nina Patel, I’ll be overseeing the autopsy today. You must be from the BAU.”

You nodded, shaking her hand firmly.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you introduced, gesturing towards Spencer, who offered a brief nod and a tight lip smile in greeting. Dr. Patel returned the gesture and motioned for you both to approach the table.

“Our Jane Doe was found early this morning in an alleyway downtown," she explained, pulling back the sheet to reveal a woman appearing in her late thirties. "There are no apparent injuries, and no ID was found with her.”

Spencer stepped closer. "Any indication of the time of death?"

"Preliminary estimates put the time of death at approximately eight hours before she was found."

You watched as she started pointing to various parts of the body.

"She was also found with her clothes in perfect condition. It’s possible she was placed there post-mortem."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Could suggest transportation from another location.”

You moved to the head of the table, examining Jane Doe's hands and nails. "No defensive wounds," you added. "She didn't fight back, or more likely, wasn't conscious during her final moments."

Dr. Patel nodded as she considered your observations. “It’s plausible that a strong sedative was used, which would leave minimal to no struggle marks. We’re running some tests as we speak.”

Spencer chimed in quickly after that. “The Unsub might have used succinylcholine, or even benzodiazepines,” he suggested. Then, turning toward you with a condescending tone as if simplifying it for your benefit, he added, “They’d metabolize quickly and would require a toxicology screen to detect definitively.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s impressive, Dr. Reid,” Dr. Patel remarked, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer than seemed strictly professional. You narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you study pharmacology formally, or is this a passion of yours?”

“I actually did a bit of formal study during my Ph.D. programs.”

“Oh, really? What did you study?”

“Chemistry and Engineering. Pharmacology intersects quite a bit with those fields, especially when looking at biochemical reactions.”

Dr. Patel seemed genuinely impressed. “That’s quite a formidable educational background. No wonder you’re so thorough with your analyses.”

You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Her admiration was professional, sure, but the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her voice dipped just so—it was a tone you recognized all too well.

She was flirting with him.

You watched them, your gaze sharp and assessing. Although it wasn’t like Spencer to notice her advances; he was smart, yes, but his brilliance often left him oblivious to the layers of personal interaction that didn’t involve textbooks or theories. And Dr. Patel, with her easy smile and obvious interest, seemed to have her focus on him rather than the body lying between you.

You cleared your throat, louder than necessary.

“Can we continue?”

Dr. Patel seemed to catch your eye, her expression shifting back to professional as she nodded. “Of course.”

She resumed her explanation, detailing the various findings and pointing out subtle indicators on the body that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. Spencer listened intently, his gaze shifting between Dr. Patel and you, noticing the subtle tension in the room, but didn’t comment.

It wasn’t until you had all the information you needed—and after you caught one last flirtatious look from Dr. Patel directed at him—that Spencer finally spoke up.

“She seems nice,” he remarked as you both stepped outside the building, heading toward the parking lot.

You shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”

Spencer glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Am I missing something?”

You looked over at him, debating whether to explain, before you finally sighed.

“It’s just... she seemed a bit more interested in you than the case,” you said, trying to keep your tone light but failing to hide your slight irritation.

And then he noticed it. The subtle tension in your voice, the way you avoided his gaze, the underlying frustration—it clicked. “Wait, are you... jealous?”

“No, I’m not!” You replied quickly, then softer, “I’m not.”

“You sound like it.”

You scoffed. “No, I sound like a friend trying to remind you that we have a case to focus on.”

“Oh, so now we’re friends?”

“I meant that in the broadest, most professional sense of the word.”

“Right,” Spencer replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realize jealousy was part of professional behavior.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you snapped. “Stop making it into something it’s not.”

“Sure.”

“Reid.”

“Y/L/N,” he shot back in the same flat tone.

Dear God, why was he so infuriating? How he had this ability, this perfectly annoying talent to get under your skin without seeming to try was beyond you. You both stared at each other for a while, until finally, you broke the silence with an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s just go,” you muttered, brushing past him.

You walked a few steps ahead, trying to shake off his words. It was absurd. The very idea was ridiculous when you were focused on the case, on solving the mystery—nothing more.

You were not jealous.

II. The Unavoidable Flight

“I’m telling you, she was definitely flirting with him,” you said, your voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance as you and Penelope made your way toward the plane. “It was so obvious, the way she kept looking at him, the tone of her voice. I mean, does professional decorum mean nothing anymore?”

“Why are you acting so surprised? Wonder Boy is actually quite the catch,” Penelope responded. “He’s not my type, but he clearly has admirers.”

Your eyes involuntarily drifted toward the man in question, who was walking a few paces behind, engaged in conversation with JJ. He was casually gripping the strap of his satchel bag, laughing at something JJ had just said. You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, I don’t understand what they see in him.”

“It might be that genius brain of his—totally irresistible to some.”

“It’s annoying, is what it is,” you grumbled, quickening your pace as the plane came into view.

Penelope responded with a sly grin. “You know what you sound like?”

“What?”

“Like someone who’s maybe a little jealous.”

You frowned, hating how she was the second person to conclude your irritation with something else. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. You seem unusually focused on how others interact with him.”

“I’m focused on maintaining a professional work environment,” you defended, trying to keep your voice even as you approached the steps of the plane. “Not about… whatever you’re implying.”

“Fine. If Dr. Patel makes her move and actually calls him, what would you do?”

Your eyes widened. “What? Who did you hear that from? Did he tell you? When did she call him?”

“Hypothetically, oh my god,” Penelope laughed, stepping onto the plane as you followed, slightly flustered. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if it happened, what would you do? How would you react?”

You paused at the entrance, processing her question. “I’d do nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?”

“Yes, I’d do nothing because I’m not jealous.”

“That’s what any jealous person would say.”

You narrowed your eyes at her as you walked past the entrance, and when you caught her making herself comfortable on the long couch by the front, you quickly made your way to the back of the plane.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To find a spot where my supposed jealousy isn’t your inflight entertainment,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I knew you were jealous!”

“Supposed jealousy!”

Her laughter trailed after you, ringing down the narrow aisle as you navigated through the plane, bypassing Rossi, who was typing away on his phone, and Hotch, who sat across from him with his eyes closed, leaning back against his seat. You walked further down the aisle until you spotted an empty spot at the very back of the plane, looking very isolated and inviting.

It was perfect.

“Garcia! That’s my usual spot,” Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed through the plane as you made yourself comfortable in your chair.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him standing over Penelope, a hand gesturing toward the seat while his other hand clutched his bag.

“But it’s so comfortable,” Penelope responded, settling deeper into the plush seat. “Come on, Reid, I don’t travel as much as you do. Let me have it.”

Spencer paused, his initial protest fading as he took in Penelope’s exaggerated comfort. “Where would I sit?”

“You can sit…”

You quickly closed your eyes. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t–

“Over there! There’s an empty spot in front of Y/N.”

You were going to kill her.

You sank deeper into your chair, hoping to avoid any forced small talk or, worse, awkward silence with him. Maybe if you were lucky enough, he’d pick another chair—perhaps next to Hotch, or Rossi, or—

A cough interrupted your thoughts.

“I know you’re pretending to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you opened one eye, peeking at him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

For a moment, you considered ignoring him, but the look on his face told you he wasn’t going to let it go. You rolled your shoulders, giving up the pretense, and sat up straighter.

“Actually, yes, I do mind.”

He raised an eyebrow but lowered himself onto the seat anyway, clearly unfazed by your objection.

"Reid,” you warned him. “I’m serious.”

"I know you are.” His eyes briefly swept around the cabin as he settled into the seat across from you, placing his satchel bag on his lap. "But every other seat is taken. Unless you want me to stand in the aisle for the next few hours?"

You rolled your eyes, letting out a resigned sigh as you crossed your arms. "Fine, but I'm reserving the right to nap, and you're reserving the right to not disturb that nap."

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know that you snore when you sleep?”

You gasped. “I do not!”

“You do. You sound like a little chainsaw.”

You gaped at him. The idea of a rough, grating noise being associated with you was almost laughable, and yet here he was, completely serious. You were unsure whether to be amused or offended.

“A chainsaw? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well, considering the average chainsaw operates at around 90 decibels, I'd say it's an appropriate comparison."

“Don’t make me throw you off the plane.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Just so you know, certain sleep positions can actually help reduce snoring. Maybe you should try—ouch!”

You nudged him with your foot, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your point clear. He rubbed his leg and glanced up at you with a wry expression.

“Consider that your first and only warning,” you stated firmly before closing your eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.

“See, your position is all wrong, if you slightly elevate your—”

“Good night, Reid.”

There was suddenly a moment of silence, the kind that feels almost tangible, stretching out in the small space between you. Then, you heard it—a slight, barely audible chuckle.

You wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you, the sound so faint that it seemed it could easily be a figment of your imagination. But no, there it was again, a soft, amused sound that had you frowning even with your eyes closed.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Maybe you were already dreaming.

III. The Lock-in Incident

“Y/N,” JJ’s voice chimed from behind you while you were gathering a stack of folders on your desk. “Can you take these down to the filing room? Spencer’s already down there reorganizing some of the older case files.”

You eyed the thick folder in JJ’s hands. When there wasn’t an active case, the team often spent time organizing and maintaining the archives. As tedious as it was, it was a necessary task, and normally, you wouldn’t mind lending a hand.

But the sound of his name made you pause because working with him in a confined space seemed very much unappealing.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Aren’t you going there?” She asked, her gaze shifting to the folders in your hands.

Internally, you groaned. Yes, you were headed there, that had been the plan. But now that you knew Spencer was there, every step towards that cramped, paper-stuffed room felt like walking into a minefield.

“Maybe you should go down there instead.”

“I can’t,” she responded, already adding her folders to your pile. “I’ve got to finish my other reports before the end of the day.”

Your eyes glanced over to Derek’s desk across from you. “Morgan?”

He turned over a page in the file he was reading, not even looking up. “Sorry, Pretty Girl, I got my hands full with this case report.”

“Oh, come on.” You stormed over to him, desperation edging into your voice. “I’ll do you a favor—anything you want.”

Derek glanced up, finally giving you his attention, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, but I really can’t. This report’s due in an hour.”

Frustrated, you glanced over towards Emily’s desk, hoping for a backup, but groaned when you saw it was empty.

You finally sighed, feeling the weight of your options—or lack thereof—settle on your shoulders. You gathered the heavy folders in your arms, the paper edges digging slightly into your skin. It was just a few hours, you reasoned; you could manage Spencer. He could be insufferable, but you had your own ways of being equally annoying.

With a deep breath, you headed toward the filing room, mentally preparing yourself. He was already busy sorting through a pile of disorganized paperwork when you got there, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I have more work for you,” you announced in a sing-song voice.

Spencer looked up, his eyes scanning the sight of the hefty folders in your arms. “Nope. They’re yours, not mine.”

You paused, leaning on the table filled with sorted files. “Are you sure you want me to do this by myself? Because, you know, I might just rearrange what you’ve already organized here. It would be a shame if all your hard work got… scrambled.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he quickly warned. “Hand them over. I’ll do it myself.”

You moved closer and placed the folders next to his neatly arranged stacks, deliberately nudging them just enough to seem accidental.

“Really?” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he carefully realigned the folders you had nudged. “You know, we could actually get this done much faster if you’re not acting like a child.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re the mature one.”

“At least I’m trying to get the job done, not make it harder.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight about every little detail, it wouldn’t be so hard,” you shot back, grabbing another stack of files to sort.

“I’m not uptight. I’m precise. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

Spencer opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get the words out, the sudden sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the cramped room. Both of you turned around simultaneously.

“Did that just…?” He began, stepping towards the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He jiggled it again, more forcefully this time. “Great, it’s locked.”

“What?” You walked over, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Who the hell locked it?”

“I don’t think anyone did. These old doors… they stick. It’s probably just jammed,” Spencer explained, though his voice carried a hint of doubt.

Yeah, right, you thought, your skepticism growing. Despite his logical explanation, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a coincidence. The timing was just too perfect, and you had a sneaking suspicion that someone might have been behind this.

But then the reality of the situation sank in. Your immediate concern shifted to the fact that you were trapped here, with him, until someone realized you were missing. The prospect was both frustrating and daunting.

“Look, let’s just keep working,” he suggested. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can figure out how to get out of here.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to argue. “Fine. But if we’re still stuck here by the time we’re done, you’re explaining this to Hotch.”

“We’ll get out, don’t worry.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” You picked up a folder from the pile, flipping it open to look over its contents. “How do I do this?”

“Sort them by case type first, then by date within each type.”

“So, this one would go under…?”

“Unsolved homicides,” Spencer replied, taking a quick peek at the document you held open. “And make sure it’s in chronological order with the others.”

You moved to the designated shelf, sliding the folder into its appropriate spot before returning to grab another. “Wait,” you opened the file, your eyes scanning the page. “I think this was my first case.”

You read through the document and nodded.

“Yes, look, it’s the one where the Unsub was targeting families with children,” you reminisced, your mind going back to the time when you were still new to the job. “That was such a hard case. Remember how I couldn’t stop crying? And how Hotch had to debrief me because I was still shaking even after we made the arrest?”

When you were met with silence, you looked up to see his back facing you, seeming too busy as he organized his files. You closed the document in your hands and walked back toward the shelf.

“Of course, you don’t remember,” you muttered under your breath. “Why would you even remember?”

A twinge of disappointment settled in your chest, even though you hated to admit it. It was stupid, really, to expect him to recall every little detail from the past, especially when it had to do with you. But just as you turned to grab another file, Spencer’s voice stopped you.

“October 19, 2011.”

You paused, turning slowly to face him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“The date you started working here,” Spencer said, still focused on his task. “You wore a black blouse and the brightest shade of red on your lips.”

You blinked, trying to understand what he was getting at.

“The case was in St. Louis,” Spencer continued, now looking up to meet your gaze directly. “Your first field assignment. You told Hotch you were ready, but the case really got to your head.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, realizing what he was trying to do.

“You cried when you came back from talking with the victim’s family. You cried when the second victim was found. You cried when we finally caught the Unsub.”

You continued to stare at him, not knowing how to process his words.

“You also cried when I sat beside you on the plane.”

He remembered.

The realization struck you hard, almost like a physical blow. A part of you had convinced yourself that he barely noticed you, that any memory involving you was erased from his mind. But here he was, recalling not just any memory, but your first week when you joined the team, right down to the color of your lips.

“You…” The frown on your face deepened. “You remembered.”

There was a pause as he looked at you, his eyes carefully assessing your reaction. “It’s hard not to."

You held his gaze. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you were still on good terms. Would you smile at him now? Would you tell him that, yes, you also remembered how he allowed you to lean on his shoulder during that flight back home, despite the awkwardness of your first meeting when it seemed he’d rather keep his distance?

You shook your head, looking away from him. It was wishful thinking. Letting yourself dwell on what could have been would only lead to another heartbreak. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep your distance, because hoping for a return to those days would only make the present hurt more.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your composure as you gripped the folder in your hand. “I forgot you have an eidetic memory.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, a quiet, lingering gaze that you felt more than saw. The room suddenly felt incredibly small, the walls seeming to close in around you as your fingers fumbled slightly with the papers, grabbing another file.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to regain control. The faster you finish your work, the sooner you can escape him.

IV. The Table For Two

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” You pressed, arms linked with JJ as you both walked down the sidewalk, your stride matching the quick tempo of your rising irritation. The accusation in your voice was clear, but JJ just offered a casual shrug, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe it was an accident?” Your skepticism was palpable, and you watched as a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. “That the door coincidentally locked itself when we were both inside?”

“The doors are old,” she said, keeping her gaze forward, her steps even and unhurried. “You know how it is, sometimes if you even just shut them too hard, they jam. Could happen to anyone.”

Her tone was too nonchalant, too practiced, and you tugged on her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Right, and I suppose it was also just chance that the door closed by itself?”

JJ paused, finally facing you with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t do it.”

“Then somebody did.”

“Y/N,” she replied, her smile broadening in a way that only heightened your irritation. “Nobody did.”

You groaned, resuming your walk as you pulled her along. “You guys are so annoying.”

JJ laughed. “How did you get out of there anyway?”

You sighed, the memory of the escape bringing a frown to your face. The entire time you were locked in that room, you had done everything possible to avoid talking to him, focusing on shuffling through files and pretending to be absorbed in the work.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence and strained small talk, you both gave up trying to ignore the situation and started moving around the cramped space, phones held high, desperately trying to find a signal. When you finally managed to get a single bar, you quickly dialed Penelope, who answered with her usual upbeat tone, clearly amused by your predicament.

"We had to call Garcia to let us out,” you said, your tone dry. “She found the whole thing hilarious."

JJ's laughter grew as she imagined the scene. "She would have loved that. Probably made her day to rescue the two of you."

“She’s already teasing us about it.”

Her laughter slowly died down as she gave your arm a light tug. “Did anything happen while you two were in there?”

You hesitated, recalling the awkward silence, the shuffling of papers, and that brief, tensed exchange. “Not really,” you admitted. “We just tried to organize the files without screaming at each other.”

“But did you talk at all? I mean, really talk?”

“Jennifer,” you warned, the tone of your voice hinting that she was treading on uncomfortable territory. The thought of delving deeper into what had—or hadn’t—happened in that room was not something you were eager to talk about.

“I know, I know, it’s complicated,” she conceded. “Just thought it seemed like a good opportunity to maybe clear the air between you two.”

“Well, you thought wrong. There’s nothing to talk about.”

JJ looked at you skeptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through your defenses. She seemed on the verge of pushing further, but then her phone rang, interrupting the moment. She glanced at the screen and sighed, giving you an apologetic look. "Hold on, I need to take this. It's Will."

You nodded and watched as she stepped a few feet away to answer the call. You waited and tried to give her privacy, but it was hard when her words were clear as you listened to her talk, and the more she spoke, the more you narrowed your eyes at her.

“…right now… sure… no, it’s fine… I can be there in ten… of course, honey...”

You crossed your arms when JJ finally ended the call and turned back towards you.

"I need to head home,” she said, a bit too casually. “Will got called into work unexpectedly.”

Suspicion started to creep in as you processed her words. The timing was impeccable—a little too perfect. You both were supposed to meet up with Penelope and Derek for dinner, and it was almost guaranteed that Spencer would be there too, considering Derek had taken it upon himself to drag him along at any given chance under the pretense that ‘the kid needs to go out more’.

But the thought of JJ bailing on you on such short notice seemed out of pocket, even for her.

"Really, right now?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. She shifted on her feet, her smile a bit forced. “Is everything okay?”

JJ nodded, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that looked more like amusement than guilt. "Yeah, I just need to get home to the kids. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

The more she spoke, the more your suspicion grew. Her demeanor seemed too casual, almost rehearsed, as if she was trying to assure you while simultaneously eager to leave. It felt like she was in on some inside joke that you weren't aware of.

“Well, if you really have to go…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” JJ flashed a quick, almost relieved smile and gave you a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good time tonight, and fill me in on all the details later.”

“Details? What details?” You called after her but she was already walking away. “JJ! Why do I have to fill you in the details?”

She simply waved a hand without turning back, leaving you standing there with a growing sense of unease. You slowly resumed your walk, taking out your phone to call Penelope but stopped in your tracks when you saw a message from her, sent five minutes ago.

Hey, Sweetie, so sorry I can’t make it to dinner tonight! Something urgent came up. Have fun without me :)

Your stomach dropped as you read the message. First JJ, and now Garcia? It was starting to feel like you were being abandoned, or worse, you were being set up. You glanced around, half expecting to see Derek lurking in the shadows with a mischievous grin, orchestrating this whole fiasco.

It wasn’t until you arrived at the restaurant and spotted Spencer alone at the entrance, trying to avoid any immediate contact with the other patrons, that you realized your suspicion was confirmed. The pieces clicked together almost too neatly, and the man seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

His discomfort was evident as he adjusted his stance, gripping the strap of his bag, eyes darting to you as you approached him.

“Morgan’s late,” he announced as a greeting.

“He’s not coming,” you said, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “And neither is JJ or Penny.”

“He told you that?”

“No,” you replied with a sigh. “But it’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?”

"What is?"

“That we’ve been set up,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “They’re not coming, and I’m willing to bet they never planned to.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “You think they did this on purpose? Why would they—”

“Come on, Reid,” you interrupted. “They’ve been nudging us to talk for weeks. What better way than to leave us no choice?”

Spencer’s gaze hardened slightly. “I don’t need to be manipulated into having a conversation,” he said sharply.

“And you think I do?” You retorted. “I’m not exactly thrilled about being tricked into a dinner date either, if that’s what this is supposed to be.”

“It’s not a date,” Spencer replied quickly, almost defensively.

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on,” you snapped, then sighed, trying to rein in your temper. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Let’s just forget this ever happened and go home.”

There was a pause as Spencer looked around, his eyes settling back on you. “You want to go home?”

“You don’t?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, we’re already here. Might as well stay and eat. It’s not like I have any better plans.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. A part of you had expected him to jump at the chance to escape, but here he was, suggesting you to stay.

It seemed like a bad idea. The tension, the potential for awkward silences, the possibility of yet another argument—it all pointed to leaving being the better option. But against our better judgment, you found yourself considering his suggestion more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at your stomach, or perhaps it was the realization that leaving now would only make things more awkward the next time you saw each other. Dinner with Spencer was the last option you’d choose, but it was better than coming home to an empty fridge.

“Fine,” you finally said, brushing past him. “But you’re paying.”

Spencer looked momentarily surprised but then nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked into the restaurant, but immediately stopped in your tracks when you took in the setting. This wasn’t just a restaurant, it was a place designed for dates. The realization made you pause as you looked around the room in horror.

The dim lighting cast a soft glow on polished wood and fine china, while a gentle melody played subtly in the background, setting an unmistakable romantic mood. Just as you were taking in the scene, a hostess approached with a warm, inviting smile.

"A table for two?"

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you realized how the evening was poised to look. Turning slightly to gauge Spencer's reaction, you found him even more flustered, his face turning a shade redder as he stammered a response. "Uh, yes, that's—um, that will be fine."

The hostess nodded and led you to a small, intimate table near the window. Spencer fidgeted with the strap of his bag as you both sat down, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on you. "This is... not exactly what I expected.”

You took the menu from the hostess before she left you both alone. “I’m going to kill them,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit extreme.”

You sighed, flipping through the menu without really seeing it. “They’re always meddling. They don’t know when to stop. I'm also convinced that being locked earlier was also part of their plan. And this—this is just so...”

“Annoying?” He offered.

“Infuriating,” you emphasized, throwing your hands up. “It’s infuriating. And embarrassing. And—”

“And yet, here we are,” he cut in, feeling the same way. Spencer paused for a moment, then leaned in slightly, sending you a pointed look. “You know, maybe we should just give them what they want.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a fact that humans are generally satisfied when they get what they want. And since what our friends want is for the two of us to get along, maybe we should just... pretend that we do.”

“Reid,” you pressed, mirroring his posture as you leaned forward. “They don’t want us to just get along. Look around us. They want us to really get along.”

Spencer paused, considering your words, his gaze lingering on the candlelit table and the other couples around, deep in conversation. He seemed to realize the full extent of the setup, the romantic undertone that wasn't simply incidental but intentional.

“You’re right,” he finally responded, leaning back in his seat. “Forget what I said. It was stupid.”

You studied him as he opened the menu, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his face. He was right. Not only was it stupid, it was crazy. Pretending to be civil with him was one thing, pretending that you shared some kind of unspoken, lingering feelings was another thing. The mere thought of it made your heart race, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anxiety or nervousness.

You quickly shook your head. It was ridiculous. How could you even begin to pretend to have feelings for someone with whom you shared such a complicated past? How could you act like there was something more between you when the reality was so different?

The whole idea was far-fetched, almost laughable. You couldn’t imagine yourself romantically involved with him, even if it was just for pretend.

#much ado about nothing #gifwriting #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #Fanfiction

722 notes · View notes

mynextexamss · 2 months ago

Text

Why Current Affairs Play a Crucial Role in the Civil Services Preliminary Examination 2025?

Current affairs are an essential part of the Civil Services Preliminary Examination 2025, as a significant portion of the General Studies (GS) Paper I questions are based on national and international events.

Reasons Why Current Affairs Are Crucial:

Weightage in Prelims – UPSC frequently asks questions on government schemes, policies, and international relations.

Interdisciplinary Relevance – Current affairs are linked to subjects like Economy, Polity, Environment, and Science & Technology.

Enhances Answer Writing in Mains – A strong grasp of current events helps in the Mains Examination as well.

Improves Decision-Making Ability – Analytical knowledge of recent developments aids in personality tests and interviews.

Aspirants must follow daily newspapers, monthly magazines, PIB reports, and Rajya Sabha TV to stay updated for the Civil Services Preliminary Examination 2025.

#Civil Services Preliminary Examination 2025

0 notes

gorillawithautism · 2 months ago

Text

A little over a year ago, on February 3rd 2024, Clark Joseph Harman was murdered. He was 12 years old. Not even 24 hours prior, He had been legally kidnapped by two men from a "transport" or "escort" company that had been hired by his parents. He was brought to Trails Carolina, a "wilderness program" and part of the troubled teen industry. The act of being legally kidnapped in this manner is often called getting "gooned" in survivor communities.

Before I properly start, I have a note: I learned of his name because someone in the r/troubledteens subreddit found it not long after I heard of his case. I did not learn his name because it was consensually released by his family. As such, I will use only his initials (CJH) throughout the rest of this post. I decided to head the post with his name because I think it's important that people know it. It was not consensually released, and that should be respected, but he was still a whole person. He was a twelve year old boy with a name and a family and so much life left to live. All of you should witness what was taken from him.

The medical examiner's preliminary report states that after CJH was gooned, he went through a check-in to process him into the program. He was uncooperative at first, demanding a phone call with his parents, but was able to cooperate after talking to them. He was placed on a 1-1 with a staff member who was with him at all times. The staff member says CJH chose not to eat dinner. Then they went to bed. According to Trails' protocol, he was to sleep on the floor of the cabin with a staff member sleeping beside him. His set up was a thin mattress with a thick plastic sheet folded into a canoe-like shape and set on top of the mattress. Above that, a sleeping bag inside a bivy with a zipper alarm that would go off if he tried to leave his tent. CJH slept but he was restless and mumbling. He had a (staff-permitted) moment outside his tent around 11pm but then goes back to "bed." Around midnight, he is restless and mumbling in his sleep once again, and he begins thrashing. It eventually subsided. Routine checks were performed by staff, but the bivy being opaque meant that they did not actually see CJH. I will note that this detail was against protocol. Normally, the bivy has a mesh interior door and the staff would have been able to see CJH in their routine checks. However, the mesh door on the tent they used that night was broken, so they used the weather resistant outer door instead. Despite these routine checks by staff, the thrashing at midnight is the last noted incident until morning.

And yet morning comes, and a little boy is dead. Staff find him in his tent lying on his right side with his feet at the head of the bivy and his head at the tapered end of it. He is cold and unresponsive. 911 is called, CPR is unsuccessful and a little boy is dead. A little boy is dead and they don't notice until morning. A little boy was kidnapped and now he's dead. A little boy was in the troubled teen industry for less than 24 hours and he's dead because of it. He will never get out of the industry and he will never leave that wilderness program and he will never heal from the trauma he was forced to endure because he's dead. They killed him. The program killed him, the staff killed him, our government killed him, those goons killed him, his parents killed him, you killed him. A little boy is dead, and an uncountable number of people are at fault.

There's an extent to which his parents are victims too. They lost their son because of an awful choice they made. And while I don't know these people personally, I do know enough about how this industry works to know it's highly likely that they believed in what they were doing. Everything they did was legal, and everything they did was advertised to them as something that would help their child who they didn't know how to care for. I'm not saying it was a good decision, but I know how predatory this industry is. A parent who doesn't know where to turn, a child who clearly needs help, and suddenly a web page. Or a hired educational consultant. Or another parent. Or a pamphlet. Something or someone that tells them "There are schools and programs for children like yours. There are options for parents like you." They say "Send your kid to Trails Carolina. It's like a summer camp for kids who need help." According to several cult researchers, the troubled teen industry is much like a cult. The parents are often people who genuinely care about their kids and truly believe this will help. The cult drew them in as cults do. CJH was killed by his parents and their choice to send him to trails. CJH was killed by his parents, and that cannot be changed. They will always have to carry that responsibility, and I cannot stress enough how it was their fault and they do have a part in this. But if I let a single person come away from this with the impression that they are entirely or even mostly to blame for their child's death, I will have failed to communicate just what this industry is and what it does to children and their families.

The system at large is what's at fault. The program itself, Trails Carolina, has killed kids before (Alec Lansing, 17, died of hypothermia after being injured while attempting to run away from the program, Trails Carolina, November 23rd 2014). Other programs have killed kids before, both recently (Cornelius Frederick, 16, killed in physical restraint, lakeside academy, May 1st 2020) and further in the past (Phillip Williams Jr., 15, official cause of death was a "brain aneurysm" but this was determined with no proper investigation and he had been severely beaten in some sort of "therapeutic boxing ring" before his death, Elan School, December 27th 1982). These programs are not made to help us. They are made to fix us. And in practice, all they do is kill us and traumatize us. They manipulate, they brainwash, they abuse, they hurt, they kill. All of them do. Even the ones that supposedly don't utilize physical restraint methods. Even the ones where staff don't sexually or physically assault the kids in their custody. Even the most tame and least violent of programs. Even the ones that don't interrupt our academics, even the ones that don't drug us with excessively or incorrectly prescribed medication, even the ones in tourist hotspots like hawaii, even the ones where a kid can work with horses or dogs or rabbits. They all abuse us. All of them.

And it's legal. It's all legal. Even our deaths are legal. Trails Carolina was forced to shut down after CJH's murder, but other programs still exist and the DA chose not to press charges. Let me say that again. The District Attorney. Chose not to press charges. For manslaughter.

On November 6th 2024, District Attorney Andrew Murray issued a press release where he stated that while CJH's case was "heartbreaking" and "tragic," that it "did not involve criminal intent or recklessness sufficient to warrant criminal charges for involuntary manslaughter under the law." The carelessness of having CJH sleep in an opaque tent where the staff could not get sights on him during their routine checks was not enough. Letting him to sleep in a tent where such suffocation was even possible in the first place was not enough. Having an alarm on the door so he would be unable to get out without consequences was not enough. Forcing him to sleep in this tent despite the fact that he was both "audibly and physically upset" about this sleeping arrangement was not enough. A dead child was not enough. And it will not be enough so long as these programs exist. Everyone that put him in that situation and everyone who allowed it to go without any sort of legal charges or reform is at fault for this child's death.

And that includes you. Every single one of you who is not a victim or survivor of the troubled teen industry. All of you who watch these children die and say nothing. All of you who force survivors and victims to trigger themselves over and over again in an attempt to speak up against the system that hurt us. All of you who don't listen. All of you who listen once and then let yourself forget about us. Every single one of you.

A child is dead, and more will die. And it feels like TTI survivors and victims are the only ones who care. How many of us will die because of you?

#swingset #sws tti #ask to tag #sources are in replies

236 notes · View notes

prentissmultiverse · 4 months ago

Text

No Strings to Hold Us - part II

Weeks of avoidance and unspoken tension between you and Emily come to a head when the case takes a deadly turn. tw: mention of death, violence

part I and part III

(words: 4410)

The weeks that followed your one night with Emily were a strange blur. She acted like nothing had happened—no lingering looks, no suggestive comments—as if she hadn’t unraveled you completely one night and then stitched herself back together before sunrise. It was all business as usual, as though she hadn’t pinned you against her bedroom door or whispered your name in a voice that still echoed in your mind when you least expected it. She was poised, professional, and utterly detached, and you played along, convincing yourself it didn’t matter. You’d agreed to leave it as a one-night stand, after all. Right?

You’d buried yourself in work, using every free moment to either assist Garcia with her endless data streams or pore over old case files that you could’ve sworn you’d memorized. Anything to keep your thoughts from wandering.

But late at night, when the bullpen emptied out and your mind was no longer distracted by the chaos of the job, the memories crept in. The way her lips felt against yours, the low timbre of her voice whispering things you hadn’t dared to repeat even to yourself… it all came rushing back. And just as quickly, you shoved it aside.

You were fine. This was fine. You could handle this.

It was a relief when a new case finally came in, promising to occupy every waking thought for the foreseeable future. The air in the briefing room was heavy as Emily stood at the head of the round table, commanding the team’s attention. She clicked a button on the remote, and the screen behind her lit up with five photos. Five women, each vibrant and full of life—until they weren’t. Their bodies had been found frozen solid on the outskirts of Anchorage, Alaska.

“The unsub has been active for just over six weeks,” Emily began, her voice steady and authoritative. “Five victims, all dumped along service roads leading into wooded areas. Preliminary forensics shows they were restrained for several days before being killed, and then… frozen.”

“Frozen?” Luke repeated, frowning.

Emily nodded. “The medical examiner’s report confirms they were kept in a freezer. The exact time hasn’t been figured out yet, but the marks on their bodies indicate prolonged exposure to sub-zero temperatures days or weeks prior to being dumped.”

Tara leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Freezing them could be a form of preservation,” she said thoughtfully. “He might be trying to keep them in a state he considers perfect or untouchable. It’s a form of control—maintaining his victims in a way that serves his needs, even after death.”

“And the dumpsites?” Rossi asked, gesturing toward the map on the screen. “Is there a pattern?”

Garcia’s voice chimed in; her tone uncharacteristically grim. “All the locations are secluded but within a two-mile radius of main roads. He’s careful to make sure the bodies are found, but he’s not exactly leaving a calling card.”

JJ nodded. “He might want them to be discovered but not immediately. It’s possible he’s testing something… maybe seeing how long it takes for someone to notice.”

The discussion continued, theories bouncing around the table as the team worked to piece together the unsub’s profile. You took notes diligently, your mind locked on the details. But then Emily licked her lips—a quick, absent gesture as she scanned her file—and your focus faltered.

It wasn’t the same as before. The maddening pull of desire had been replaced by something heavier, something that lodged itself in your chest and refused to leave. Every time her tongue darted out to wet her lips, your thoughts drifted. Not to the memory of her touch, but to the unspoken chasm between you. The wall she’d built, impenetrable and cold.

By the time the briefing ended, you were desperate for action—anything to shake the fog that clung to you. Emily’s voice cut through the lingering tension, sharp and decisive. “Wheels up in 30,” she said, and the team immediately dispersed to prepare for the flight to Anchorage.

You headed to your desk to grab your go-bag, the flurry of activity around you providing a welcome distraction. Tara caught your eye as she passed, giving you a small nod of reassurance. Across the bullpen, Emily moved with practiced efficiency, already coordinating with Garcia to ensure all the files and preliminary reports were ready to go. She didn’t look at you once, and you told yourself it didn’t matter.

As you shouldered your bag and prepared to head to the jet, JJ appeared at your desk, her expression concerned. “Hey, can I ask you something?” she said, leaning against the desk.

“Sure,” you replied, trying to sound casual.

She hesitated for a moment, her blue eyes scanning your face. “Is everything okay between you and Emily?”

The question caught you off guard, and you froze mid-motion. “Why do you ask?”

JJ tilted her head, giving you a knowing look. “Because you two have been acting… off. Like you’re avoiding each other. Did you have a fight or something?”

“No,” you said quickly, waving her off. “Nothing like that. We’re fine. It’s just… work stuff.”

She didn’t look convinced but didn’t press further. Instead, she added, “You know, Emily’s been through a lot over the years. She puts up walls, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. Sometimes you just have to read between the lines.”

Her words lingered with you as you boarded the jet, stealing glances at Emily as she reviewed the case file with focused intensity. Whatever had passed between you that night was a mistake—wasn’t it? You tried to push it from your mind as the jet soared into the icy Alaskan night.

The next two days were grueling. The cold seeped into everything, a constant reminder of the urgency of the case. The unsub struck again the night the team landed; his latest victim found frozen near an abandoned logging road. Every piece of evidence pointed to a pattern—one that suggested he was escalating.

Your thoughts about Emily faded into the background, replaced by the singular focus of finding the unsub before he took another life. Two could play the game of emotional distance, and you buried yourself in the case with a determination that matched her own.

By the third day, the team had narrowed down his location to the outskirts of Anchorage. A secluded property with a dilapidated warehouse stood at the center of your search. The unsub had a clear pattern: he always kept one victim alive while dumping another. This meant there was still a chance to save the latest woman he’d taken.

You moved in with the team, your FBI vest strapped tightly over your jacket and your weapon drawn. The air was sharp and biting as you approached the warehouse, the snow crunching beneath your boots. The team split up to cover all exits, the tension palpable as you readied yourself to breach the door.

The chaos that followed was a whirlwind of sound and movement. Inside, the warehouse’s narrow hallways twisted like a labyrinth, their walls dimly lit by flickering, outdated bulbs. Every step you took was cautious but deliberate, your breath visible in the cold air as you methodically cleared one room after another.

The tension in the air was suffocating. Furniture was overturned, and remnants of the unsub’s deranged mind cluttered the spaces—newspapers with headlines about missing women, scattered tools, and an eerie silence that felt like it could snap at any second. Then you found it. The freezer room was at the end of a dark corridor, its door slightly ajar. A faint mist of cold air seeped from the opening, curling around your boots like a warning. The sight sent a chill down your spine that had nothing to do with the freezing temperature.

As you moved closer, gun drawn, the hair on the back of your neck prickled with unease. The thought struck you like ice—the missing woman might already be inside. You hesitated for only a moment before gripping the edge of the freezer door and pulling it open slightly wider. A rush of cold air hit your face, and you squinted into the mist, trying to make sense of the shapes inside. But before you could process anything, a sharp blow landed on the back of your head. Pain exploded through your skull, and the world tilted violently. You stumbled forward, falling hard onto the icy ground, your gun slipping from your grasp as darkness threatened to claim you.

Dazed and disoriented, you turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of the unsub. He stood over you, his expression cold and detached as he muttered, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

The door slammed shut behind you with a deafening clang, the metallic sound echoing in your ears as the lock clicked into place. You instinctively reached for your communication device, pressing the button. “Rossi, Emily, anyone, I—” Static cut off your words, the thick insulation of the freezer walls rendering your headset useless.

The bluish light of the freezer surrounded you. You struggled to your feet, black edges creeping into your vision as you leaned heavily against the steel walls. Your hands fumbled for the latch, your breath visible in short, ragged bursts. Your head was hammering. You instinctively touched the back of your head where the blow hit you. When you pulled your hand away from your head, it was slick with blood.

Panic clawed at the edges of your mind as the realization set in—you were trapped, and no one knew where you were.

Desperation surged through you as you hammered against the door, your fists pounding on the icy steel with every ounce of strength you could muster. "Help!" you shouted, your voice hoarse and cracking from the cold. "Is anyone out there? Please!" The thick walls absorbed your cries, muffling them into the oppressive silence of the freezer. The metallic surface bit into your bare hands with every strike, the icy burn making you wince, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

Your breaths came in shallow gasps, visible in the frigid air as your strength began to wane. The pain in your head pulsed in time with your frantic heartbeat, and your hands trembled as they slid down the unyielding surface of the door. Still, the silence remained, as relentless and unforgiving as the cold surrounding you.

Slowly, your legs gave out, and you sank onto the icy floor as your strength faded. In the corner of the freezer, a pale figure caught your eye—the unsub’s latest victim. Her lifeless, frozen body was propped against the wall, her glassy eyes staring unseeingly in your direction. The sight sent a fresh wave of horror through you, but your body was too drained to react.

Your bare hands, sticky with blood, trembled as you tried to draw them closer to your body, seeking any scrap of warmth. The blood had already dried in streaks, a chilling reminder of how long you’d been here. You curled in on yourself, every instinct screaming at you to preserve your dwindling heat, but the cold was unrelenting, seeping into your bones. Each passing minute sapped more of your energy, and a heavy drowsiness began to settle over you.

“Stay awake,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible over the hum of the freezer’s compressor. Your eyelids grew heavier, and your mind fought a losing battle against the exhaustion that clawed at you.

The frozen woman’s empty eyes seemed to bore into you, a grim reminder of what awaited if you let yourself succumb. You clenched your fists, the movement sending sharp jolts of pain through your skull where you’d been struck. Your vision blurred, dark edges creeping closer with every passing second. You needed to stay awake. You needed to survive.

Inside the maze of hallways, the unsub bolted, his erratic footsteps echoing off the narrow walls as he searched for an escape. His chest heaved with exertion, and his head snapped back at every noise, panic twisting his features into a mask of desperation. He rounded a corner and skidded to a halt, his path blocked by Tara and Luke. Both agents stood firm, weapons raised and aimed directly at him.

“Freeze!” Luke barked, his voice sharp and authoritative.

The unsub hesitated, his eyes darting between them and the corridor behind him. Tara stepped closer, her steady aim and calm demeanor leaving no room for negotiation. “It’s over,” she said firmly. “Get on the ground. Now.”

Realizing there was no escape, the unsub dropped to his knees, raising his hands slowly above his head. Luke moved in swiftly, cuffing him as Tara kept her weapon trained on the man. The unsub smirked faintly but said nothing.

The sound of running footsteps signaled the arrival of Tyler and Rossi, both agents skidding to a stop beside Tara. “You got him?” Tyler asked, his voice taut with adrenaline.

Luke nodded as he tightened the cuffs. “Yeah, he’s secure.”

Tara’s gaze swept the area before landing on Rossi and Tyler. “Where’s Y/N?” she asked, concern creasing her brow.

Tyler answered grimly, “She split off to cover the north side. Haven’t heard from her since.”

Tara’s expression darkened as she keyed her radio. “Y/N, report in. Do you copy?”

Only static greeted them.

Emily’s voice crackled through the channel as she and JJ made their way through the hallways and down to their team. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

Rossi’s tone was grim as he explained. “Y/N’s M.I.A. She went to the north side and hasn’t checked in.”

Emily frowned, adjusting her earpiece. “Y/N, do you copy?”

Still nothing. Only the faint hiss of static filled the channel, and a cold knot of dread began to form in her chest.

“We’re heading to you now,” Emily said, urgency sharpening her tone. She glanced at JJ, who nodded, and the two agents picked up their pace.

Tara stepped forward, her gaze fixed on the unsub as she holstered her weapon. “Where is she?” she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

The unsub’s smirk widened slightly, his icy eyes gleaming with malice. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he sneered.

In that moment, Emily and JJ rounded the corner, their eyes locking onto the scene. Emily’s face was a mask of determination and barely contained anger as she strode toward the unsub. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll make sure you regret it,” she said, her voice razor-sharp.

The unsub’s smirk grew wider, his voice dripping with mockery. “Her heart’s probably frozen solid by now. Stone cold, like the others. But if you hurry, you might just catch a glimpse of her before she’s gone.”

Emily’s jaw tightened as the unsub’s words sent a fresh wave of panic through her. She didn’t wait for the others. She darted away, her boots pounding against the floor as her mind raced. The thought of losing you—of not being there in time—was unbearable. She couldn’t shake the image of you alone and in danger, her heart twisting with guilt and fear. She’d ignored you for weeks, burying her feelings about that night. And now, the thought of never having the chance to make things right was too much to bear.

JJ called after her, “Emily, wait!” But Emily didn’t slow down, her focus singular as she sprinted toward the north corridor.

Behind her, the rest of the team followed, Tara and Luke keeping pace while Rossi and Tyler stayed back to secure the unsub and escort him out. Emily’s breaths came in sharp gasps, her pulse pounding in her ears as she closed in on the north side.

The cold was consuming. It seeped into your bones, coiling tightly around you like a predator, stripping you of the last vestiges of warmth. Your breaths were shallow, each one visible in the frigid air before dissipating into the oppressive silence of the freezer.

Your body trembled violently, the shaking now beyond your control. You pressed your back against the icy wall, seeking some form of support, but it offered no solace, only a harsher reminder of your dire situation.

Each breath felt heavier than the last. You tilted your head back, the bitter chill biting at the exposed skin of your neck. Your vision blurred, the room warping at the edges, and you blinked rapidly in an attempt to focus. Your limbs were growing sluggish, the once insistent ache in your fingers now replaced by a creeping numbness.

"Stay awake," you muttered to yourself again, your voice weak and cracking. It felt more like a desperate plea than an order. Your mind clung to the sound, hoping it could anchor you, but the pull of exhaustion was stronger.

Your eyelids fluttered, heavy with the weight of the cold. The world tilted as your upper body slid down the wall, your legs folding beneath you as you hit the icy floor. The impact sent a dull ache through your already numbed limbs, but it wasn’t enough to fully rouse you.

You tried to focus on the victim in the corner, her unseeing eyes locked onto yours. She seemed to be watching, waiting for you to join her in the frozen stillness. Her silent stare bore into your soul, and for a brief moment, you wondered if this was how she’d felt in her final moments—alone, cold, and desperate.

The frost crept further into your body, stealing the last remnants of feeling from your fingers and toes. Your thoughts began to slip, disjointed and slow, as if the cold had reached your mind. It was so tempting to let it take you, to surrender to the darkness.

Your head lolled to the side, and your vision dimmed further. The sound of your own heartbeat was a dull, erratic thud in your ears. You exhaled shakily, watching the vapor dissipate into the air, and let your eyes close.

Then, a noise.

A rattling sound, faint but distinct, pierced the silence. The freezer door screeched open, a flood of light and sound pouring in. You could feel the rush of warmer air hit your frozen skin like a shock, but your body remained numb, unresponsive. Heavy footsteps echoed against the steel walls, and then she was there.

“Y/N!” Emily’s voice was sharp, commanding, but trembling at the edges with barely contained fear. It cut through the fog in your mind, a lifeline in the freezing abyss. You wanted to answer, to let her know you were still there, but no sound came.

Her hands found you, gentle but firm, as she knelt beside you. “Stay with me, Y/N,” she pleaded, her voice softer now but no less urgent. She leaned closer, her warmth brushing against your frozen skin as her hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your face toward hers. “Open your eyes. Come on, look at me.”

Your eyelids fluttered weakly, your lashes barely parting. You caught a blur of her face—dark eyes filled with something raw, unguarded. She shook you lightly, her voice breaking. “That’s it. Just keep looking at me. Don’t close your eyes again. Do you hear me?”

She shifted, slipping out of her burgundy coat and draping it over your trembling frame. The heavy fabric smelled faintly of her—woodsy and warm, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. “You’re okay,” she murmured, more to herself than to you, as she worked quickly, wrapping the coat tighter around your body. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Her arms slid beneath you, one looping around your back, the other under your knees. The chill in your limbs dulled the sensation, but you felt the press of her strength as she lifted you effortlessly. Your smaller frame was no burden for her as she rose to her feet, holding you close against her chest.

“Y/N,” she whispered, her voice dropping to something soft and almost tender. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re going to be fine. Just stay with me.”

Her warmth enveloped you, and though your body still refused to respond, your mind latched onto the sensation. It was a fragile comfort, like holding onto the edge of a cliff, but it was enough to keep you tethered.

As Emily carried you out of the freezer, the distant murmur of voices reached your ears. JJ, Tara, and Luke—calling out to Emily, asking questions—but their words blurred together, muffled and indistinct, like they were coming from underwater. None of it mattered.

All you could focus on was Emily.

Her voice, steady and constant, filled your senses. “You’re okay. Just keep breathing for me, alright? I need you to hang in there. We’re almost out.” Her hold on you was secure, protective, and you could feel the way her heartbeat thudded against your cheek where it pressed against her chest.

The cold still held you captive, your body a prison refusing to obey your mind’s desperate commands. Your fingers didn’t twitch; your lips wouldn’t move. It was as though you were trapped inside yourself, helpless.

Her voice grew sharper, tinged with hope. “I can feel you trying,” she murmured, her lips brushing the top of your head. “Come on, Y/N. Just a little more.”

And then, like a fragile thread snapping, your lips parted. Your voice was broken and weak, barely a whisper, but it was enough. “E…Em…ily…”

Emily froze for a split second, her dark eyes wide with relief as she looked down at you. “Yes,” she said quickly, her tone softening as she cradled you closer. “I’m here. I’ve got you. Just hold on for me, okay?”

Emily’s arms held you tightly as she moved with purpose, her every step swift and deliberate. You could feel the faint sway of her movements, her strength steady beneath you, but the cold clung to your body like an unrelenting shadow.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” she said, her voice firm, cutting through the fog creeping into your mind. Her breath ghosted against your forehead as she glanced down at you, her dark eyes filled with worry. “We’re almost there. You’re safe now.”

You tried to focus on her words, her warmth, anything that could keep you tethered to the present. But the exhaustion was like a siren’s call, pulling at you, tempting you to let go. Every breath was an effort, shallow and rasping, and your eyelids fluttered as the weight of the cold pressed down on you.

“Hey, no,” Emily said sharply, her voice a lifeline. “Keep those eyes open for me. Just a little longer.” She shifted you slightly in her arms, her burgundy coat cocooning you in its warmth as she quickened her pace. “You’re not allowed to give up on me, do you hear me? Not now, not ever.”

It was the desperation in her tone that struck you, even through the haze. It wasn’t the detached professionalism she’d shown you for weeks, the cool and distant demeanor she’d maintained since that night. No, this was different. This was Emily—unguarded, scared, and maybe just as broken as you felt.

The cold gripped you tighter, and as Emily carried you, her voice was a thread pulling you back from the abyss. But it was thin, so thin, and fraying with every second that passed. You tried to focus on her words, her warmth, the feeling of her arms wrapped around you, but your strength was slipping fast.

“Y/N, please,” she said again, and there was something raw in her voice now. Something breaking. Emily’s voice cracked as she spoke, her words stumbling out in a way you’d never heard before. “I’m not losing you. Do you hear me? You don’t get to leave. Not after… not after everything.”

It was the closest she’d come to admitting what you both knew but couldn’t say. For weeks, she’d avoided you. After that night in her house, when the world felt like it had shifted between you, she’d acted as though nothing had happened. She’d stayed professional, untouchable, and you’d mirrored her distance because it was the only way to keep yourself together. But that night had meant something. It had left marks you’d both ignored, pretending they didn’t exist.

But here, now, in her arms, all of that fell away. You could feel it in the way she held you, her grip too tight, her voice trembling despite her efforts to steady it. The walls you’d both built were gone, crumbling under the weight of the moment.

“You can do this, Y/N. You’re stronger than this. Just stay with me.”

You wanted to. God, you wanted to. But the tiredness was a force beyond anything you’d ever felt, a heavy, suffocating pull that dulled the edges of the world. Emily’s voice was still there, but it felt distant now, as though she was speaking through layers of cotton.

Voices echoed faintly around you.

“Emily, over here!” JJ’s voice cut through the haze, urgent and close.

“She’s freezing,” Emily snapped, her tone laced with both authority and fear. “We need to get her warm. Now.”

Tara’s voice came next, clear and calm but tense. “Notify the EMTs—she’s hypothermic and losing consciousness.”

The words registered faintly in your mind, but their meaning slipped through your grasp. You tried to fight the pull of the darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision, but it was like trying to hold onto water with your bare hands.

Emily’s voice was the last thing you clung to. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting you go.”

But her words, too, began to lose their grip on your mind. The warmth of her body against the cold pressing in from all sides blurred together, indistinguishable. The world grew softer, dimmer, until finally, you couldn’t hold on any longer.

The darkness welcomed you, silent and all-encompassing, as the last of Emily’s voice faded into nothingness...

to be continued...

#requests open #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction #lesbian emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds evolution

217 notes · View notes

cheshireliam · 3 months ago

Text

"Mystery Bag 2025" Story Sale

Fast and Agile! Team Stamina Monsters!

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Prologue (translated by @.judesmoonbeauty)

— Preliminary round. Group 1: Liam, Roger, Ellis, Ring.

…

Roger: This is just perfect. I’m teamed up with a bunch of real nasty fellas again.

Ellis: Nasty?

Roger: First of all, there’s you.

Roger: According to my investigations, your physical abilities are basically superhuman and easily one of the best in Crown.

Ellis: Really? I don't work out, so I’ve always thought I’m pretty normal.

Roger: Normal people don’t go jumping around on rooftops.

Ellis: Fufu, I got complimented.

Ellis: Speaking of which, Liam’s very agile too. He’s fast on his feet and has good stamina.

Liam: Unlike Ellis, I’m not naturally gifted with good athletic abilities. I worked out to perform better on stage, that’s all.

Roger: And then we have you. I think you’re the black horse this time, Vogel’s little brother.

Ring: … Me?

Roger: Just look at those firm muscles. I never knew Vogel had someone like you.

Roger: Mind if I perform a physical examination on you later? I haven't been able to collect much data on Vogel.

Ring: …

Ellis: Roger, you’re making Ring uncomfortable.

Roger: Oh, my bad. I got excited seeing such a fresh potential research subject—

Ring: T-that’s not it!

Roger • Ellis: ?

Ring: I’ve never been complimented like that before, so…

Ring: It made me happy to be praised. I’d probably be prancing around if no one else was present.

Roger: … You know…

Roger: Has anyone ever told you that you're kind of like a dog?

Ring: A dog?

Roger: Ring, paw¹.

Ring: L-like this¹?

¹ Roger actually says “hand” here but I just thought this would be funnier because that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

Roger: See? Exactly the same. Who’s a good boy~~

Ring: D-damn it…!

Liam: Ahaha, you’re now part of Roger’s favourites list.

Ellis: We should let him play with Ale sometime.

Townspeople: Ready, set, LIAAAAAMM!

Ellis: Aren't those your fans?

Liam: You’re right! Thanks for supporting me!

Townspeople: KYAAA~~!

Roger: Hm? What’s the matter, dog— I mean, Ring? You’re spacing out.

Ring: Ah, um! Liam Evans!

Liam: Whoa— y-yeah? Did I do something wrong?

Ring: … Umm.

Ring: … Uhhh

Ring: I’ve always thought you’re really cool!

Liam: Wha…

Ring: You’re very pink, sparkly, and captivating…

Ring: I’m not good with my words, but you remind me of a peacock’s feathers… you’re just super impressive.

Ellis: Those are some very… unique compliments.

Liam: Oh, um…

Liam: I’m really glad that you think of me that way. Thanks!

Ring: …!

Ring: … Ah, y-yeah.

Liam: Hehe.

Roger: This is the first time you two formally meet, huh.

Ellis: Ring, how happy are you right now?

Roger: Hey, Ellis. Don’t kill him before the competition even starts.

Event Official: The members of Preliminary Group 1, please gather at the starting line.

Ellis: Ah, looks like they’re calling for us.

Liam: Alright, from this point on, it’s all or nothing. No hard feelings regardless of who wins or loses.

Ring: Yeah, the competition will be fair and square.

Roger: It’s great to see you guys all pumped up, but don’t get yourselves injured. I’ve got enough work to do already.

Liam • Ellis • Ring: Got it!

Roger: I love that response.

Event Official: We will now commence with Group 1’s preliminary round!

Event Official: Who will be the first to reach the finish line and be crowned the 2025 Happy Boy!?

Event Official: Let's begin! On your marks… ready… GO!

*BANG!*

…

Loud Male Townsperson: Wha—!? Those guys are crazy fast!

Loud Female Townsperson: Everyone else apart from the four of them are falling further and further behind…

Roger: *pant*, *pant*... haha, I knew you guys were the real deal.

Liam: *pant*... It does look like it. Only one of us can make it past this preliminary round.

Liam: Ahaha, I can’t afford to lose.

Ring: As a proud member of Vogel, I can’t afford to lose either.

Ellis: Huh? Look, there's something over there.

Event Official: We’ve set up several obstacles ahead!

Liam: Don’t tell me, we have to struggle and crawl through that net?

Roger: Damn, Victor’s always leaving out the important stuff.

Ellis: Hmm. Roger, I’ll be going first.

Roger: H-hey! Damn it, that guy’s crawling through the net so easily!

Roger: My bulkier body is a disadvantage but… argh!

Liam: HE TORE THROUGH THE ROPES!?

Roger: No one said we had to crawl through properly now, did they? See ya!

Ring: I must catch up… whoa!

Ring: Tch, my right foot got caught in the net. Damn it…

Liam: Ring, don’t move. I’ll help you get it off!

Ring: Liam Evans.

Ring: I’m your opponent… so, why?

Liam: Because this is a fair competition, remember?

Ring: S-so sparkly…!

Liam: Alright, it’s off. Now hurry!

Ring: I owe you one!

Event Official: The fastest four contestants with extraordinary physical abilities have cleared the net obstacle…!

Roger: *pant*, *pant*... looks like Ellis’ taking the lead after all.

Roger: He’s going to win by a landslide at this rate. When it comes to times like this—

Roger: Ellis! You’re going the wrong way!

Ellis: Huh?

Roger: Not that way, it’s the other way! The other way!

Ellis: Thanks, Roger— wait, what?

Roger: Pfft, haha! Just kidding. See ya at the finishing line!

Roger: Playing nice isn’t our style, you know?

Ellis: If you’re going to play it that way— ha!

Roger: What the!?

Ellis: Got your glasses.

Roger: I can’t see! Ellis! Give them back, you idiot!

Liam: What are those two even doing— whoa!?

Liam: Don’t pull my shirt, Roger!

Roger: Huh!? Are you Liam? I can’t tell who’s who…!

Ring: A falling out!?

Ring: ~~!

Ring: S-sorry, sparkly pink. I’ll be overtaking you…!

…

Event Official: The leading contestant has reached the final obstacle!

Ring: What’s with this box?

Event Official: You have to take a piece of paper from the box and retrieve the item written on it.

Ring: So the final challenge is a scavenger hunt. I’ll take a piece of paper and—

Ring: This theme…!

Ring: P-pe-person…

Ring: “Person you like”!?

Ring: No, it doesn't say anywhere that it has to be romantic, so any kind of deep affection is acceptable, right?

Ring: Where's Nica—

Event Official: The person must be a romantic interest!

Ring: WHAT!?

Ring: I don't know anything about romance, I…

Kate: Ring!

Ring: This voice… robin?

Kate: You can do it, Ring!

Ring: !!

Ring: … Ggh, my heart… is racing…

Ring: Don’t tell me, the “person I like” is—

Kate: Riiiingg!

Ring: Ugh!

Liam: Ring, why’d you stop all of a sudd—

Liam: Whoa, nosebleed! Ring, your nose is bleeding!

Ring: …

Liam: Roger! Casualty! Ring’s having a nosebleed!

Roger: Huh? Nosebleed? Let me have a look.

Ellis: Roger, this is Ellis.

Roger: That’s why I’ve been telling you to give my glasses back to me already!

Liam: Whoa, it’s coming out of the other nostril too!

Ring: I… the robin…

Kate: Victor, umm this is—

Victor: All of them are disqualified :D

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #ikevil translations #otome #ikevil story sale #liam evans #ring schwartz #roger barel #ellis twilight

211 notes · View notes

abusedwh0re · 1 month ago

Text

Deleted User talking about the possibility of Nikita having schizophrenia or being schizotypical in the Molotochniki Vk Group. (Translation below)

Translation:

they both underwent forensic psychiatric examination. Both are sane. And what is the accompanying anamnesis?

26. Feb 2018

DELETED

Do you trust their expertise? The same thing happened there with the decisions on the boy, the homeless killer, etc., it's horrible. Moreover, schizophrenia does not cancel sanity - and the guys were most likely "sane according to the law" for one simple reason - they planned the murders, and were not in a state of affect

26. Feb 2018

DELETED

Although according to statistics, schizophrenics are rarely recognized as sane (if there is a diagnosis) (in the USSR, out of 2,500 murders, only 13 people were recognized), but they also need to be treated - it is a serious disease

26. Feb 2018

DELETED

As for the anamnesis. I am, of course, going too far with the diagnosis - no one diagnoses schizophrenia so quickly - sometimes a person is observed for several years after the preliminary diagnosis. I will describe it briefly:

26. Feb 2018

DELETED

Firstly, it is genetics: a relative is sure to have the same signs, only smoothed out, as the patient (remember the father). Secondly, neuroses, anxiety and obsessive states in childhood (in principle, prosperous).

26. Feb 2018

DELETED

Thirdly, the breakdown usually happens abruptly in adolescence: Arthur literally says in court "an abrupt metamorphosis occurred". The patient loses childhood friends, Lytkin's words "these are not real friends, childish" - just from some book about schizophrenia, I just forgot to put a bookmark.

26. Feb 2018

DELETED

Fourthly, he gets carried away by "overvalued ideas" - usually this is religion, esotericism, but attention! Rarely, but it happens - serial murders, maniacs, etc. The patient loses motivation, slides down in studies, skips school, neuroses intensify, relationships with relatives cease - all this exists.

26. Feb 2018

DELETED

There may be outbursts of aggression (according to Artem). The person becomes passive (behavior in court), sloppy, does not take care of himself (also exists), loses the meaning of life (exists), self-isolates. What is missing? Oh, and I forgot. Nikita loses sleep before the murders (according to his mother) and jumps with anger (according to Artem) - this is a very good sign of the onset of acute psychosis in schizophrenia AA

26. Feb 2018

DELETED

Venus, yes, his roof was really leaky))) I already wrote a short biography of him on 53 slides and showed it to one specialist. They said that schizophrenia is not easy to diagnose, but there are hints of a simple type (without hallucinations, just right), but a personality disorder (for example, schizotypal) is just right

—> in my opinion i feel like nikita is very likely to have suffered from a schizotypical personality disorder, as basically every argument this user and other studies about this disorder have mentioned fit together with nikitas biography very well.

#nikita lytkin #teeceecee #true cringe community #eric columbine #nikita and artyom #pekka eric auvinen #tcc columbine #tcc shitpost #tcc tumblr #kitty #tccblr #tcc fandom #tcc thoughts #tcc art #tc community #irkutsk molotochniki #tcc artyom #artyom anoufriev

123 notes · View notes

yeet-me-dad-dy · 4 months ago

Text

The Arcane - Chapter Four - Anomaly

Summary: You find an anomaly in Viktor's blood. He takes you down to see his old doctor. You meet Vander.

Characters: Viktor x Male Reader (Dr Raven) x Jayce (Eventually)

Warnings: Blood

Words: 2,408

After Viktor departed from your lab, you set the centrifuge, prepared a slide, poured yourself a drink, and sat down to examine his blood more closely. It was clear right away that something was wrong.

“What the…?” you mumbled as you gazed through the microscope.

His red blood cell count was fine and the cells were dispersed nicely – not too close together, not too far apart, not clumped up in groups. But there was an… anomaly. Around the white spot of hemoglobin at the center of each cell was a blue ring.

That’s why his blood seems purple. The red and blue are mixing. You made a quick, preliminary note of the observation. Without more testing, there was no way to know whether this anomaly was strictly discoloration, or if it was something more serious. Was it preventing the cells from transporting oxygen throughout his body? You would have to separate a cell and look more closely at the… mutation? Toxin? You weren’t sure. Normally, this kind of mystery would delight you. You were excited at the prospect of making new discoveries, of course, but you were also worried. Would the research you were conducting on your own blood be able to fix a problem you’d never seen before and hadn’t accounted for during testing? The best way to find out what would happen if you mixed your blood with Viktors was to do just that.

You prepared a secondary slide, focused the microscope, then pricked your finger. Carefully, you picked up a tiny bit of your blood on the end of a scalpel and dropped it into Viktor’s on the slide. You peered through the lens, holding your breath. With other samples of diseased blood, the common trend was that your blood would mix with the foreign sample and dissolve whatever anomaly it found present, whether that be an infection or something else, rendering it harmless. From there, the theory was that this bi-product would be filtered out of the blood when it traveled through the liver, and then be disposed of in the urine.

That was only a theory, however, because none of your subjects ever survived long enough to prove it. For some, death took seconds. For others, minutes, hours, or even days. For all of them, though, it was excruciating.

And this was why: After a few seconds of contact with your blood, Viktor’s cells began to burst. You expected no less. The main focus of your research was figuring out how to make your blood less volatile. You couldn’t figure out why it had the effect it did, and while some of your research had proven promising in delaying the inevitable, you had been unable to stop it entirely.

This small test was a good sign, despite the outcome. This proved that your blood could remove the anomaly from Viktor’s cells if it turned out to be harmful. You just had to find a way to get it to work without killing him, which is what you’d been trying to do for the last hundred years with no success. You sighed and leaned back in your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose. There were other tests to run, other observations to be made. It could be that the blue ring was nothing more than a strange pigmentation phenomenon and wasn’t hurting him at all. It could be that his previous doctors had been so focused on this strange blue ring that they had completely missed a more obvious answer. The human body, so intricate and complex… Everything was connected. If one thing went wrong, everything was affected.

You stopped by Heimerdinger’s office later that evening, around five, with dinner for Viktor.

“The apple wasn’t enough?” he asked slyly when you set the bag of take-out on the desk next to him.

“I’m afraid it’s going to take more than an apple to keep this doctor away. Sorry,” you smirked.

“What if I throw it hard enough?”

You chuckled and pulled up an extra chair to sit next to him. He put down the notes he was organizing for Heimerdinger and opened the bag to see what you had brought him. A fresh, hot, healthy meal awaited him, and while he didn’t usually have much of an appetite, the smell of it was making his mouth water.

“Any breakthroughs?” he asked as he fished the fork out of the bag.

“Breakthroughs? No. Curious observations? Many.”

“Do tell.”

“There’s still more testing to be done, but what I can tell you is that your blood is healthy, except for one thing.”

“Oh?”

You nabbed the orange out of the bag and peeled it for him.

“There’s an… anomaly," you explained. A blue ring around the hemoglobin in each red cell that shouldn’t be there.”

“Anomaly indeed,” Viktor agreed, his brows furrowed. “So what does this mean?”

“Like I said, there’s more testing to be done to find out what that ring actually is and what effect its having on your body. It could just be pigmentation.”

“But then, what’s causing it?”

You shrugged.

“That’s the million dollar question. A question I’m afraid I’ll have to take a lot more samples in order to answer. Samples of more than just your blood.”

He tilted his head to the side, not quite understanding.

“Plasma and bone, primarily.”

Oh. Those were not pleasant samples to give.

“But those can wait for now” you assured him with a soft smile when you saw the sick look on his face.

After dinner, you took Viktor to your lab to show him the slides and explained what he was seeing, chatting at length about the possible causes and effects of the mysterious blue ring. Then, when the sun finally dipped below the horizon, it was time for Viktor to show you to the Undercity, where you hoped his medical records could be found.

The Undercity was damp and smelly, with a comforting darkness pierced by blinding neon lights. The gaze of every Trencher was on you and Viktor as you wound through the narrow, muddy streets, some glittering with greed as they took in your expensive clothes, and others darkened by fear when your red-hot gaze found theirs. You were on edge and Viktor could tell.

“Relax, will you?” he said as he limped along.

“Not sure I can do that,” you chuckled dryly.

The streets became thinner, the buildings more dense and compact the farther down you traveled. The deeper he led you, the thicker and more oppressive the air became, as well. It didn’t take long for Viktor to start coughing.

“Stop, Viktor,” you said, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “I can find my way from here. I want you to go back where the air is nicer.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but another coughing fit overtook him. When he finally got control of it, he nodded.

“I’ll met you on the bridge.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I want you to stay close. Meet me at the edge The Lanes.”

Worried I’m going to get mugged, are you?” he smirked.

“Of course I am.”

His smirk fell, and he frowned.

“The people of The Undercity aren’t animals, doctor.”

“No, but some of them are desperate, and you would make an easy mark.”

“That applies to people in Piltover, too, you know.”

“I know. Which is why I would be asking you to stick close if we were up there, too.”

He sighed. He wanted to be offended, to argue that he could take care of himself, but instead, he found your protectiveness… endearing.

“At the edge of The Lanes, then,” he agreed.

It wasn’t a long walk back, and anyone who so much as looked at Viktor shied away when they saw you watching. He would be fine. As he limped away, you turned and continuing deeper into The Fissures. The air down here wasn’t necessarily toxic anymore, thanks to the filtration system that House Kirraman had installed years ago. But it was still heavy, and, gods, the smell. Like sulfur and sewage. The people down here regarded you with mistrust. Topsiders didn't come down here unless they were there for shady dealings. You didn't belong... Or did you? You were scary enough to fit in, that was for sure, but your clothes betrayed your status. You yourself were an anomaly in the veins of The Undercity.

You approached one of the first people you encountered, but she scurried away, hissing obscenities, before you could ask your question. It took you quite some time to find anyone willing to point you toward Viktor’s former doctor. When you did finally find him, you were not impressed in the least. Actually, you were appalled. The “hospital” was nothing more than a run-down shack. It may have been a proper hospital at one point, but now it was nothing more than dirt and grime on some old boards.

A bell chimed overhead when you opened the door and stepped inside. Somehow, the air in here was even stuffier than out there. You curled your lip, disgusted at the state of the place. It didn’t look like it had been cleaned in years. Bottles with various colored liquids filled shelves alongside ancient medical tools. You were thankful the glass on the bottles was so filthy. Some of the things floating in them were… questionable. You weren’t sure you wanted to know exactly what they contained.

An older man with a potbelly appeared from a door in the back. He wore a leather apron, stained with old, dried blood, and the frizzy white hair atop his head stuck out at odd angles. He was hunched and limped when he walked, and one of his eyes seemed to be glued permanently shut with some kind of greenish pus. He looked more like a mad scientist than a doctor.

“How can I help?” he asked with a voice like gravel, resting his fat, filthy hands on the reception desk.

“My name is Doctor Raven. I’m here regarding a former patient of yours, Viktor. I need his medical records.”

He didn’t react for a moment, and you wondered if he’d heard you at all. Finally, he nodded slowly.

“Viktor, yes… I remember now.”

“Do you have his records?” you asked.

He grumbled and looked around.

“I think… Yes…”

He shuffled back into the back room and was gone for ages before finally reappearing with a file. He handed it to you, and you were thankful you’d worn your gloves as you took it from him. You opened it. Three pages.

“This is it?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He shrugged.

“There wasn’t much to record. Bad bones, bad blood.”

You scoffed and shook your head.

“Thanks,” you mumbled as you turned to leave.

He cleared his throat loudly, catching your attention, and you heard him shuffle up behind you. He glared at you, his hand out, palm up.

Of course.

You fished a few coins out of your pocket and handed them to him, careful not to make contact.

You were frustrated and in poor spirits when you met back up with Viktor. He stood when you approached, eyes bright and curious.

“Did you find him?”

You held up the file.

“Not sure it was worth our time, but yes.”

He took the file and thumbed through it.

“This is it?” he asked.

“I asked the same thing.”

“I visited him hundreds of times while I lived down here, and this is all he has…” He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“I’ll make do,” you assured him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

You stuck close to his side as you picked your way back through the broken streets to the bridge, giving more than a few warning growls to those with greedy eyes and sticky fingers. You stopped halfway across.

“Go ahead,” you said. “I think I’m going to linger for a bit. I want to have a look around. This place disgusts me, I won’t lie, but… It’s also exactly the kind of place I want to help. The kind of people I want to help.”

Viktor smiled.

“Take your time, Doctor.”

You did take your time, talking with those that would give you the time of day, asking about their health and their woes. You knew that the Upper City didn’t care much for those below, but you didn’t realize the full extent of their neglect. You were glad that Viktor got out of there. Eventually, you found your way to a bar called The Last Drop. The barkeeper greeted you heartily and asked what you’d like to drink. You declined the drink politely and instead continued your investigation.

“Yeah, things can get pretty bad down here,” he said quietly. “We don’t have much in the way of medical attention, but the doctors we do have do what they can to help. On top of that, the food down here isn’t great. We have plenty of seafood, but fresh fruit and vegetables are few and far between.”

You nodded, listening intently. He leaned forward on the bar.

“What’s a fancy doctor like you doing down here anyway?” he asked, more quietly.

“I came with a patient, to get medical records from his former doctor. I’ve only been in Piltover for two days, and I have to admit, I’m not delighted to see how they treat this part of their population.”

He scoffed.

“Topside couldn’t care less about what goes on down here in the Trenches.”

“Yes, that’s the conclusion I came to as well,” you said quietly.

“Sure I can’t get you a drink?” he asked. “You look like you could use one.”

You chuckled.

“No, thank you. I should be heading back. Thanks for talking with me.”

You tried to give him some coin for his time and information, but he refused with a chuckle.

“No need for that, Doctor. You just do what you can to help the people down here, and we'll call it even. Hey, what’s your name, before you go?”

“Raven,” you answered as you stepped down from the barstool. “Doctor Raven.”

“Vander,” he said, offering his hand.

You didn’t want to touch the Fissures doctor, but Vander’s hand, you didn’t hesitate to shake.

“Until next time, then, Vander.”

You bid him farewell and made your way back toward home, following the path illuminated by the silver glow of the moon.

#my writing #arcane #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x male reader #vampire reader #viktor x reader #viktor x male reader

102 notes · View notes