#the FBI agent watching you will sympathize probably

[callsign-joyride]

Heroes | B.R.B

Summary: A tough case leads to you quitting your job, but Bradley is with you through everything.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x wife!reader

Content warnings: Angst with kind of a happy ending, FBI jargon, gun violence, blood

A/N: This is kind of self-indulgent and inspired by the last two episodes of season 9 of Criminal Minds. You don't really have to have seen the show to understand what's going on, though.

Word count: 1.5k

You had first met Bradley while working on a case in Virginia. Everyone had drilled it into your head that you weren’t allowed to get personal with civilians involved in cases, and you weren’t allowed to work on cases that involved people that you knew. Technically you didn’t start getting personal with each other until after the case had been over, anyways. Everything ended up working out almost perfectly. Both of you had jobs that required travel, and being part of the FBI was pretty flexible. When you got married, things became more lenient. You were able to travel with Bradley when he got stateside deployments with some work from home opportunities occasionally available.

The two of you had been able to permanently live in San Diego after the success of the uranium plant mission, and things had been pretty relaxed. You both woke up to your phone ringing. You normally didn’t get work calls in the middle of the night, so something had to have been going on. Bradley watched as you snuck into the hallway to take the call so that he could go back to sleep.

“What’s going on?” He asked when you walked back into the room.

“I have to take a case. Gotta be in the office in thirty.”

“Okay.”

While you took a quick shower, Bradley packed your go-bag and tossed the dirty clothes in the laundry basket. It wasn’t often that you got called on cases like this, but you were on standby. One of the agents had been in labor and you had to take her place.

“Call me when you land,” Bradley said after kissing you by the door.

“I will. I love you,” you said.

“I love you, too.”

You got the briefing on the case and used the twenty-minute break to get something to eat. The case involved a series of murders in a small Nevada town, so the flight wasn’t very long at all. You called Bradley once you checked into the hotel and dropped your stuff off. The conversation was pretty short, but he had been getting for work at that point so you knew that he was kind of in a rush. 

Everything with the case had seemed to be going pretty well. The media had been fairly respectful of the ongoing investigation, which was pretty rare for cases taking place in small towns like this one. Media was usually up everyone’s noses about what was going on. You had been reviewing files with the team when one of the deputies walked into the room. (He didn’t walk, he nearly kicked the door down.)

“We’ve got a problem,” he said.

“Okay, and that is?” One of the agents asked.

“Someone leaked everything to the media. The unsub knows that we’re onto him and he probably knows that we’re coming.”

The team leader immediately stood up and started giving everyone directions.

“He has a hostage, probably a minor. We can’t wait.”

Hostage negotiation had been one of your specialties, so it wasn’t surprising that they sent you into the closed restaurant without a vest. It wasn’t hard to act like you had a child in order to sympathize with the guy, but getting the child out was your top priority. 

“Hostage secured, moving out now.”

Things felt too easy. Getting a hostage was usually a lot more difficult than this, and something told you that it wasn’t over. 

“Get down!” The team leader yelled. In a split second, you were on the ground, hiding behind the door of a police car. One of the deputies made a move to go inside and get the unsub which resulted in a shoot out. It was probably the scariest moment of your life, because there was no way that the door was going to hold long enough for more authorities to get there and you still weren’t wearing a vest.

It felt like everything stopped when you saw a member of the team sink down with blood coming out of a bullet wound in his neck. You ripped one of the sleeves of your button down off before using it to apply pressure to the wound.

“You’re gonna be okay. We’ve got an agent down!” You yelled. Someone took off and pursued the unsub, which made the gunfire stop entirely. An ambulance pulled up after a few minutes of you trying to keep the agent conscious and you rode with them. 

You hadn’t realized how much blood was on your hands until you took your wedding ring off so that you could wash your hands. They were all red except for the part of your finger that had been covered by the ring. This was something that you had never experienced before. Sure, you had seen agents get shot in the past, but it was never anything this fatal. The tech expert of the group saw the shocked look on your face when you walked out of the bathroom and told you that you could go and give Bradley a call, and that she would keep an eye on your things. You decided to go outside and make the call.

“Hey, babe. Are you on your way home yet?” Bradley asked.

“Um, actually, no? Something happened… We caught the guy and everything but one of my team members got shot and it’s bad.”

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine. I’m shaken up but I’m okay. I think I’ll be home in a couple days. There was so much blood, Bradley. I don’t even… He got shot in the throat and I watched it happen. I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” you said as you broke down in tears.

“Hey, it’s okay. Let’s talk about it when you get home, alright? Try and get some rest for now.”

“Okay.”

“I love you. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. I love you, too.”

Everyone had been able to go home within three days. It was just past midnight when you got to the house, and you could tell by the light coming through the living room window that Bradley was still awake. He instantly stood up when he heard the front door open and smiled when he watched you enter the code that would disable the alarm system. You put your bag down and hung your keys by the door before almost running into Bradley’s arms.

“It’s okay, I got you. Let’s go upstairs, okay? You must be tired.”

All you could do was nod your head as Bradley walked you up the stairs. He waited outside of the bathroom as you took a shower and only left for a few minutes to get you a glass of water and turn off all of the downstairs lights. You put your head on his chest like you always did, and the steadiness of his heartbeat seemed like the only thing that would relax you.

“I’m quitting,” you whispered.

“Okay.”

You sat up, surprised at the simple response. You and Bradley rarely got into arguments, but this seemed like something that a couple would fight about.

“That’s all you have to say? I’m not mad.”

“Yeah. I’m not gonna argue with you about your job. I know how hard it can be and I know how distraught you were the other night. I’m not worried about the money if that’s what was on your mind.”

“I love you. All I could think about that night was that you couldn’t lose another person that you love. He got shot right next to me. It could’ve been me. Actually, it probably would’ve been me if I moved an inch. I’m sure that I can teach some college courses with my PhD. Hell, maybe I could even finish that book that I’ve been working on.”

“I still think the sexiest thing you’ve ever done was get that PhD, doctor Bradshaw.”

You chuckled at his remarks. He always knew how to brighten your day like that. There wasn’t much left to discuss. The decision had been made, and even though it was a hard decision to make, it was one that you were okay with. That didn’t make turning in your badge and clearing out your desk any easier, but Bradley was with you through everything. He even waited outside of the director’s office for you. No one in the office really wanted to see you go, but they were understanding of the circumstances. It was kind of funny when they all realized that Bradley was “the Navy husband” and the teasing felt pretty relentless, but it was going to be the last time that you saw all of your colleagues in the office like that so you let it happen.

When you got back to the house and started unloading your things, Bradley looked at you and smiled.

“What is it?” You asked.

“I’m proud of you,” he said.

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07

[once-and-future-alaskan]

Nicole-Rileys Guide to Pirating the Legend of Korra out of Pure Spite:

Download Utorrent. If you already have it, skip to step 2.

Find a source for all 4 seasons.

Download the files and drag them all into Utorrent to unpack them.

Go to bed at this point and wait till tomorrow.

Maybe go visit friends or a relative or something all day, basically, this is gonna take a while and it's best if you not bother the WIFI till it's finished.

Put the files on a USB drive and plug it into your TV.

Discover that your TV cannot process the audio of .MKV files, this is unfortunate as the only available downloads of Korra are blu-ray rips.

Download VLC Media Player.

In VLC, go to File > Convert/Save > Add. Shift click all the episodes of your chosen season and hit Open or press Enter. (Doing them one at a time will take much longer but allow you to add subtitles.)

Convert the files to .MP4. (Specifically the h.264 + mp3 version which only takes about 12 minutes per 24 minute episode. h.265 is noticeably choppier and takes literally twice the time to convert per episode at essentially 24 minutes per 24 minute episode.) I would recommend putting them in a dedicated .MP3 folder to preserve the original .MKVs.

Go do something else for the next couple hours or sleep again.

Repeat as needed and enjoy, congratulations! You have successfully saved 8 to 12 dollars and gotten the warm feeling that comes with circumventing Capatalist bullshittery. Give yourself a pat on the back and pet a cat or something.

NOTE: If you go to play the converted file on windows 10 to test it and find it has no audio in any program but VLC, do not panic. The converted file WILL work on the TV with no issue. Windows is just whack like that.

[anthrotographer]

Mindhunter (2017)

Mindhunter is one of the best shows Netflix has ever put out. What sets it apart is its focus on human psychology, both criminal and civilian. Our FBI agent protagonists Bill and Holden try to scour the minds of serial killers through in depth interviews to better understand what made them kill. What led a human being into becoming what society deems a monster? The show and these interviews within it make you see the grey where society sees the black and white. These men (because they are mostly men) grew up usually with terrible upbringings that warped their world views and sent them onto dark paths. Not to say some wouldn't have become killers without the bad upbringings, because I believe sometimes its just somebody's wiring that sets them up for failure. The old 'nature vs. nurture' debate and which has more power inside of us. The phrase should be 'nature and nurture', because science says that we are all shaped by both. Mindhunter details that it's probably a bit of both too. The premise of the show is summed up best by sasisami on IMDB "Two FBI agents, fighting the departmental stigma of backroom boys - those who try to complicate the status quo of simple Means, Motive, Opportunity (MMO) of crime-solving with academics - work to develop an innovative investigative field incorporating psychology, anthropology and sociology as a method to reveal the motive. They acknowledge classic crime-solving - MMO - as no longer sufficient because criminality is becoming more complicated as Motive graduates from need and greed to inexplicable and irrational reasons. They theorize applying deeper psychological evaluation will posit new questions. Simply, asking Why will lead to the Who. This series focuses on the development by two men, two agents, of a new criminal field and does so through story lines of visiting the sociopathic mind." Agents Holden Ford and Bill Tench team up with psychologist Dr. Wendy Carr to start this Behavioral Science Unit. I love the way they portray the inception of the unit. All three are willing to take this huge career risk because of genuine curiosity and a belief that this new work can benefit society. Sure some are skeptical, mostly Bill Tench, but that doesn't dissuade them from doing the work. A lesser show would have more trivial storylines where the characters waste time fighting the objective or fighting each other, but the show focus's more on genuine dramas within the characters; like how their taxing work messes with their minds. Holden has panic attacks, Tench lets his family life suffer, and Carr well, she's relatively unfazed... for now. I predict she will have more to deal with when Season 3 eventually gets dropped (heres hoping).

Whats more, the show doesn't overly demonize these serial killers. There's no over-sensationalizing. It's because we get to see what shaped them; abusive families, absent parents, failure of support systems. You can't help but sympathize just a little. That's not every case though. Some of them are just as interesting because you see how inhuman a human can be. And partly why Mindhunter gives off such strong feelings is due to the amazing performances throughout.

The attention to detail in all aspects of making the show is what takes it from good to excellent. The casting is perfect whether it be for the main characters or the killers themselves. The slow striking score really sets the mood every time. An original score for a show always tends to give it that much more identity. Lighting, costume & set design, editing, everything. It made me decide that the next movie I watch has to be by David Fincher.

Rating: 9/10

[moonflower-31]

I Won't Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

(This is gonna be a series, so keep an eye out for this one if you like it.)

Summary: So imagine you're in the CM universe if you will. And you're just graduating from the academy. You're looking to join the BAU. You have hyperthymesia, the ability to never forget anything. Except for rare occasions. After the final exam, you run into one Dr. Spencer Reid. Eventually, you get accepted to shadow the BAU on a trial run as an agent. But you have a past that may endanger those you work with. Also, you love Spencer. Cause who doesn't?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader (this makes sense only for storyline, sorry 😞)

Masterlist

Please leave comments! I love reading them ❤ 💕

~~~~~~~~

Nervous. So dreadfully nervous you were and am. But here we are. No turning back now. 

"Hello, cadets. And welcome to your final exam for your graduation. We hope all of you do well. The FBI, as you know, has many branches. 56, to be exact. We hope that for those of you who pass, that you'll find your calling in one of our offices. For those of you who don't, don't fret. We always allow you to retake the last semester and the exams. The FBI is in desperate need of new agents." The speaker in front of me is seriously loud. Though you don't dare speak up about it. 

Associate Deputy Director Gail Franklin spoke with such elegance. She obviously has had practice, you think to yourself as you watch the grey-haired woman speak atop the raised portion of the testing room. You couldn't count how many people even if you tried. And you don't forget anything. 

"Psst!" 

You groan quietly and try to ignore your idiot but golden-hearted friend who couldn't sit still. 

"Psst! (Y/N)!"  

You ignore him again, focusing on Franklin's closing commentary.  

"I wish you all good luck. Please refrain from beginning your exam until all test-takers have received their tests. Thank you." She then proceeded to turn and begin her trek out of the room, the click of her heels being the only reminder she was even here. 

"Psst-! Come on, (Y/N/N)!" 

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. Finally, you turn your head and give your dear friend a very annoyed look. "What is it, Gabe? Like seriously, you couldn't sit still through one teansy tiny lecture? From the ADD herself?" You tease, pulling out a #2 pencil from your bag. Sure, most everyone will be using pens, but you remembered that the test scanners prefered graphite.

Gabriel whined teasingly at your jap. "No fair, (Y/N/N)! I just wanted to talk to one of my best friends. That too much to ask?" He sassily remarks, flipping his floppy golden-brown hair. 

You rolled your eyes and couldn't help but feel a smile form on your face. You loved him like a brother. But that also meant he annoyed you like one too. 

"You couldn't have waited till she was done?" You couldn't help but question him further. It was one of his weaker points. Under pressure, he tended to get uncomfortable. 

"Nope." Popping the 'p' he blew a kiss at you. "Anyway, how prepared do you think you are for this test? I almost made it an all-nighter trying to cram everything in again. Fuck me and my terrible memory." You grinned and giggled under your hand. 

"Gabriel, I told you, if you ever needed help studying I would be there. You're gonna do fine." 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say. You didn't even have to study with that god-given gift of a memory you got." 

You bite the inside of your cheek, faking a slight chuckle. Everyone thought remembering everything was a superpower. Sure, if you call superpowered headaches and occasional dizzy spells a super-side-effect. 

So, yes, you had the 'gift' of having hyperthymesia. The disorder where you never forgot anything. Of course, there were a few rare occasions, like you could only remember a handful of memories from before you were four. But other than that, you had nothing from your earliest childhood. It made you feel semi-normal. 

"It isn't a gift, Gabe. It's only a gift in the academic field. And I'm lucky to have a 'genius' IQ." You huffed in response to Gabriel's little comment. 

"Yeah yeah, but you have a filing cabinet for a memory. So why study? You have it all up there." He asks, taking the test packet from the assistant that had finally made it to him. 

"Studying, as a science, is a great way to improve your memory, quicken your speed of processing data and important information, and you stretch your mind's capacity for learning. Also it helps me understand a topic better. Just like anyone else." 

You take the packet from the assistant and widen your eyes slightly at the size. It was massive. At least the size of your tiniest textbook. You could almost hear Gabriel whimper next to you as he saw how big the packet was. At least you all had three and a half hours. And it wasn't required to get through all of them. Just try to do your best on the written response ones.

You turn to Gabriel and hold out your fist. "Good luck." 

Gabriel sighed and gave you a smile before pumping his fist gently against yours. Soon after he made a dramatic explosion noise that only you could hear. You roll your eyes and shake your head again, turning your full attention finally to the large test in front of you. 

Here goes nothing, you tell yourself. 

○●♡●○  

Remarkably, you think you did okay. Of course, you finished the test in the first hour and a half, but who's counting? Certainly not you. 

You rub your aching wrists from so much essay work as you exit the testing room. Even with an unbeatable memory like yours, your hands were still human. So they hurt like a bitch. 

You sigh and take a quick seat on the bench outside the room, probably sticking out like a sore thumb in a crowd of other cadets who weren't in your graduating class. But you tried not to pay it any mind. You were used to being the 'odd man out'. 

You check your phone and smile down at the message your other friend, Iris, had sent you. She wasn't testing for the FBI like you and Gabe. No she was a barista with some mean skills at mixing new drinks. She wanted to open her own cafe and Gabriel and you wanted to support her. She'd been there for you every second of the last five years. You owed her at least a little thanks. 

When you look up, you couldn't help but notice a tall, lanky looking man with long, curly hair walking towards you as he looked for…something. You couldn't tell. Probably a map. He had a gun holstered on the side of his belt along with a blurry ID you couldn't read from so far away. But it looked like it said FBI. 

You stifled a soft snicker. This guy could say he was a teacher's assistant and if he didn't have the gun on him, you would've believed him. 

And that's when you caught his eye and instantly you recognized who this lost puppy was. More specifically, who he belonged to. 

"Hi, uh I'm Dr. Spe-" he began, looking a bit nervous as he began to introduce himself. 

"Dr. Spencer Reid. From the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I've heard of you." You accidentally interrupt. "Sorry. I don't forget names easily. I don't forget them ever, really." 

Nervously, you rub your hand on your neck, waiting for his response. And surprisingly, it wasn't one you expected. 

Spencer widened his eyes a bit in wonder that someone knew of him that he hadn't met before on a case. And she knew which branch he worked in. He blushed a bit, growing a tad tongue tied. 

"S-sorry, I'm Cadet (L/N)." 

Spencer raised an eyebrow. He wondered why you didn't give him your first name. But he didn't pry. It was your personal business. And besides, it wasn't like he needed to know your first name. 

"U-uh yeah, actually. I-I wanted to ask you if you knew where I could get a glimpse of a map. Just so I can find my way around. I'm here for a 'lecture' that I'm helping give the graduating class of FBI agents." He couldn't help but brag a tiny bit. "It doesn't start for another 3 hours, but I like to be prepared." 

You smiled up at this tall nerd. And an incredibly cute one at that. He was so out of place you sympathized with him. He was basically you. In like, every academic scene you've ever been in. 

"Understandable. I'll be seeing you there hopefully. I'm a part of that class." You grinned. "But yeah, here's the map," you say, pulling up a digital map on your phone. Spencer leaned over your shoulder and looked it over. You couldn't help but shiver slightly at the sound of his breathing so close to your ear. It felt eerily calming. 

"Really?" He asked after he pulled away from your shoulder. "T-thank you for the map, by the way." He adds last-minute. You giggle gently and nod. 

"Yep. The test only started an hour and about 45 minutes ago, so I gotta wait a little while." Groaning playfully you shrug at him, crossing your arms to get more comfortable. You wouldn't lie, he was seriously cute. Of course, you'd seen him before on your secret internet dives. But in-person was so much better than sitting behind a screen gawking over a photo. An ID photo no less. 

"You already finished?" 

There it was. The immediate doubt of your intelligence everyone had when you accidentally showed your smarts. You sighed. "Yeah. Kinda hard not to with an IQ of 167 and a memory that pretty much never fails." You shrugged nervously, looking away as you braced yourself for his incoming doubt. 

"Oh. Hyperthymesia, right?" He inquires. You blink a few times and look at him like he just said something so foreign you didn't know how to respond. 

"U-uh...y-yeah. It's rare, but I got it. How'd you know?" 

"It was more of an educated guess. See, you bite the inside of your cheek when you're nervous," he points out. You in fact, were biting your cheek as he spoke. "And you seem unintimidated by me despite knowing of my position. You only grew nervous when I mentioned anything academic. Which proves to me you're used to being the smartest kid in the room. And having to explain why every time." He finishes, leaving you a gigantic puddle of impressed and embarrassed that he had profiled all of that from only a few minutes from conversation. 

"Geez, didn't expect to get profiled today. You're really good at it, you know. Well, I mean you would be. 'Cause you w-work for the BAU." You begin to ramble, groaning internally for suddenly turning into an awkward blob in front of this professional. 

Spencer smiled a bit wider and let out a soft laugh. "So, y-you want to work for the BAU?" 

You look at him puzzled for a moment before you remember that he'd been profiling you for the past five or so minutes. "Right, profiler…" you mutter. "Y-yeah. It's kinda been a dream of mine for years. Police officer never really appealed to me. I wanted to get into the real deal. Catch the hard criminals. Give myself a challenge, you know?" You rattle off, realizing just how comfortable you'd grown to Spencer in the short conversation you've had. 

Spencer nodded. "It was always a dream of mine as well. I was kinda groomed for it." He admitted. "S-so… any jitters at all? Did you know that t-the common feeling of nervousness or 'butterflies' is actually caused by the reduced blood flow to the abdomen. Your stomach's sensory nerves sense the lack of oxygen and blood and it produces the fluttery feeling you get before a test or before a big performance." 

You smile brighter. "Really? I never thought of that. I always just thought it was a signal your brain sent or something. That's interesting. I'm kinda glad I won't forget that." 

Spencer felt his surprise increase again. You hadn't cut him off. There was no 'Sorry I asked' or awkward asking if he always did this. You actually listened. And you wanted to hear more! He didn't think he'd ever find someone willing to listen. 

"H-heh…" Spencer chuckled. "W-well did you know that most people will forget 50 percent of the information you've been taught in one hour will be forgotten? A-and in 24 hours more than 75% of the information is gone. That's why studying is so important. It helps retain that information so it doesn't 'slip' as easily." He begins to rattle off again, quite glad he found someone who actually wanted to hear his statistics. It was a good cover for his nervousness about talking to this incredibly gorgeous woman. 

You tilt your head in interest, laughing gently. "That's what I keep saying! Yet everyone always asks 'Why study if you remember everything?'" You exclaim, making a whiny voice expression for the impression of absolutely every bully you'd had ever. 

A darker skinned man, who was much more gifted physically walked over as you and Spencer continued your conversation. He wrapped an arm around Spencer teasingly and nodded to you. 

"Hope this pretty boy ain't bothering you baby girl." He greets. "He's great once you get to know him." 

Spencer just looks annoyed at this man's sudden presence. "Seriously, Morgan? We were actually having a conversation before you butted in." He grumbled annoyedly. Then you remember the face. This was SSA Derek Morgan. You'd seen him in some pictures with Spencer. He wasn't too bad looking. In fact, you knew Iris would climb him faster than a squirrel did a tree. But Spencer was a bit more your type. 

Morgan raised an eyebrow and smirked at you. "Oh really? So now pretty boy's talking to girls?" He teases, letting Spencer free from his suffocating hold. He then extends a hand out to me. "Derek-" he started. 

"Derek Morgan. SSA from the BAU. Yeah, I know about you." You grinned. He looked you up and down a bit in the same interest that Spencer had. That soon was replaced by a confident smile. 

"So you know of me." He said in a clearly flirtatious tone. "Don't tell me you've been searching up my pictures in your freetime, babygirl." He flirts. 

You roll your eyes and take his hand, shaking it firmly. "No, I haven't. Though I have heard of you from my classes. But if I'm honest?" You begin. "I'm really wishing I could forget that comment." You sassily respond. He laughed. 

"No one ever forgets, Babygirl." He grinned. 

Spencer sighed and turned to Morgan in annoyance. "Morgan." He deadpanned. You looked towards him and giggled a little. It was clear Spencer had wanted to talk to only you. Maybe it was something to do with the statistics. You had a feeling that he felt he was finally being listened to. 

"What? I'm just introducing myself to one of the new cadets." He insists, raising two hands up in defeat. 

"Did you just profile me without my permission?" You ask him with fake offense. He laughed. 

"Did I need to ask, sweetheart?" He asks. You chuckle. 

"Guess not." You shrug. 

"What's your name, beautiful? A pretty face has got to have a pretty name." He flirted. 

"I'm Cadet (L/N)."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, fully ready to ask why the hold-up on your first name when Spencer thankfully saved you an explanation. 

"She didn't share it with me either. Probably a mode of trust." He explains. Morgan shrugged. 

"I'll find out eventually. You'll give it away." He insists. 

"Uh huh, sure I will." You tease. 

"Reid, Morgan, we need to prepare." You hear a third voice call the two men away from you. You stand a bit on your tiptoes to get a good look at who it was that was speaking. 

Aaron Hotchner walked towards the three of you almost with a purpose. So much confidence in one man. 

"Who is this?" He asked. 

"I'm Cadet (L/N), Agent Hotchner. It's a pleasure to meet you." You greet, holding out a hand to him. Hotch raised an eyebrow at you in interest before shaking your hand in earnest. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well. I've heard of your excellent grades and work in your studies. I hope to see you among the enlistees requesting the BAU." He greets, letting his hand fall back to his side. 

"That's the plan, Agent Hotchner." You chip pleasantly. Morgan seems genuinely surprised.  

"Wait, you're interested in the BAU? Profile me." He insisted. You blush from the sudden spotlight. 

"W-what?" You ask. 

"Morgan, that's enough." Hotch warns. 

"Leave her alone, Morgan." Spencer expressed. 

"No, it's fine." You assure. "Well, from the looks of your attire compared to your colleagues, I'd say you hate wearing formal clothing. Prefer to be comfortable. Your consistent flirty personality is mostly a show, as you wouldn't really flirt with someone you just met the way you flirted with me. So you either have someone in mind, or have a partner at home. And besides that, the way you greeted Dr. Reid proves you think of him as a younger brother, and you treat him like the brother you never had." You finished, a pleading voice in the back of your head screaming at you in hopes that you hadn't gone too far. 

Instead of being offended, Morgan began to smile and grinned, clearly impressed. "She's actually pretty good." He comments to Hotch, glancing to Spencer and then back to you. "You'd make a good profiler." He compliments. You smile happily and full of relief at him. 

"I sure hope so. Anyway, you should probably get going to the auditorium. The mics are a pain to tune and figure out, so I'd get it done now." You giggle slightly. 

Spencer nodded and smiled at you. "T-thank you, again. Cadet (L/N)." 

You couldn't help but blush a tad as he said your title. "Of course, Dr. Reid. Anytime you need directions." You tease. 

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "What about me?" He teased back. You mock think about it for a moment before you reply. 

"Sorry, I think you can figure it out, pretty boy." You joke, winking at him. He smiled brightly at your sass, chuckling a bit. 

Hotch then got your attention very easily. "It was a pleasure to meet you again, (L/N)." 

"You too. Good luck on the lecture." You bid them all fair well and turn around to take your seat again. 

"Ooh, somebody's in looove~!" You hear Gabriel sing in a sing-song voice. You chuckle and shake your head. 

"I am not in love, Gabriel. You just started eying the pretty boy I was talking to. You know, handsome black guy?" You tease. 

"Hmm, yeah, probably. But seriously. I saw you looking at that other kid, the professor's-aide-looking guy, like he was a mountain of sugar. And I know sugar." He teased, sipping a coke he had obviously bought after the test. 

"Oh shut up. Have you heard from Iris yet?" You ask. 

"Nope. She's probably busy over at The Bean. We should go visit. Tell her about your rendezvous with Mr. Teacher's aid." Gabriel snickered. 

"No, we are not telling Iris anything. You know how she gets. She gets all protective, and then nobody wants to go out with me cause they're all scared of her." You groan, stealing his coke for a moment. 

Gabriel smirks at you. "So you admit that you like him?" He teases. You immediately realize your mistake and groan, covering your reddening face. 

Gabriel chuckled and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. "Come on, sugar-tits. Let's get out of here for a lil' bit. Come back for that 'lecture' in like an hour." He teased. You bring your hands away from your face and sigh. 

Did you really like him? Maybe. It was probably just an internet crush. Nothing more. It wasn't like it could get worse. 

[ceterisparibus116]

I sometimes struggle to sympathize with Ray Nadeem. All of the elements are there to show he was supposed to be a sympathetic character... the relative with cancer (which has financially impacted him heavily), the difficulties at work, his family being terrified of the latest developments, and the whole fact that Fisk is manipulating him. But the way they're presented, Nadeem comes off sort of shallow and bland, rendering these just a collection of cliches that have less impact than they would if he seemed a deeper or more thoughtful person; so when he makes arguments to get Fisk things he wants, or goes around hassling Karen and Foggy because Fisk fingered Matt, he comes off as more of a jerk and a pest than a principled FBI agent doing his best in trying circumstances.

Hi, thank you for the ask! This is a really interesting take! The thing is, I’m...not quite sure why you sent it to me. Are you simply sharing a meta because sharing Daredevil metas is super fun? Or...are you asking if I agree?

Because I really don’t. Which is fine - we are allowed to have our own interpretations! But, since you bravely entered my ask box, I’m gonna expound why I, personally, interpret Ray differently.

First, though, I’ll acknowledge what I agree with: namely, that Ray’s collection of sympathetic experiences are not enough, by themselves, to make him sympathetic (to me). A tragic backstory and a susceptibility to manipulation by Fisk aren’t enough to make someone sympathetic. At least, not to you, and not to me - although we should acknowledge that those elements might actually be enough to make him sympathetic to others, and let’s try not to disparage other people’s opinions!

However, to me, Ray is more than just his tragic circumstances, because we saw him turn around at the end and own his mistakes fully, even going so far as to tell Matt to stop advocating for him and let him go to jail - because he knows that’s what he deserves. That, to me, is probably the biggest reason why he’s sympathetic.

I’ll also point out that Ray questioning Foggy and Karen does not make him less sympathetic (to me). After all, we know that Foggy and Karen are good guys, but Ray doesn’t. The fact that the firm put Fisk away is not a good enough reason for the FBI to ignore a credible warning that Matt, at least, worked for Fisk. (And Fisk’s warnings, legally, are credible; legally, even a witness who is a criminal can be deemed credible if they have a history of giving accurate tips, which is exactly what Fisk has done by this point, as we saw with the Albanians and other criminals.)

Wouldn’t you agree, then, that Ray, as a character, would think that questioning Karen and Foggy was a necessary part of his job? Moreover, wouldn’t you agree that there is a lot suspicious about Matt’s life, once someone bothers to look closer? And so wouldn’t you agree that Ray’s suspicions of Matt (and, by extension, Matt’s friends) are doubly well-founded? Therefore, I, personally, don’t see it as “hassling,” as you characterized it, at all.

Your point about Ray’s questioning of Foggy and Karen is also fascinating to me because, when I watched Season 3 with my family, one of my brothers piped up at the end of an episode about how, if we didn’t know more about Ray, we’d hate him for how he’s treating Foggy and Karen. But my brother said that we do know enough about Ray to understand why he’s doing this, to understand that he can’t afford to give anyone the benefit of the doubt, to understand that he’s not actually being a jerk at all but is, in fact, being a “principled FBI agent doing his best in trying circumstances.” In other words, my brother came away with the literal opposite interpretation from yours!

Which is not to say that one of you is right and the other is wrong. Again, I just find the subjective nature of art truly fascinating.

And that, really, is what your message shows me: art is so subjective. When I watched Season 3 with my family, all five (5) of us absolutely loved Ray and found him deeply sympathetic. (My mom teared up at the end, in fact.) To be fair, Ray’s character has a lot in common with one of my brothers, and for my mom (and me, I think), that made him resonate with us even more.

Anyway, my family also connected with Ray because we saw a man who got in over his head, clearly felt conflicted (just watch his face; man, Jay Ali can act), and yet didn’t have enough space to breathe to figure out when or how to safely extricate himself (and his family) from the situation. (After SAC Hattley’s warnings about how she used to have another kid, it’s not like Ray could reasonably expect to try to escape Fisk without risking losing his wife and/or son.)

Another reason Ray resonates with me, personally, is because I think Season 3 was all about analyzing fear and relationships from different perspectives. We have Matt, whose fear of harm coming to the people he loves causes him to make terrible decisions. We have Karen, whose relative lack of close relationships arguably causes her to be reckless. We have Foggy, who so far has seemed so ignorant of the dangers that come with being friends with people who challenge evil, but now suddenly has to face the fact that his family was targeted - because of his choices. (And I desperately wish we’d seen Foggy acknowledge that to Matt, acknowledge that Matt’s fears really are valid.) And, of course, we see Fisk kill Julie to manipulate Dex, and we see Matt use Fisk’s connection to Vanessa to manipulate her. So to me, Ray being manipulated out of his desire to provide for and protect his family is just another way to explore that theme. Which goes a long way towards making him sympathetic to me.

(And another twist: yes, Ray arguably prioritizes the safety of his family over the safety of other people - like Father Lantom and everyone at the church. However, in addition to the fact that he owns this and apologizes for it without making excuses for himself, we should also acknowledge that Foggy does the same thing. All the time. Every time Foggy lectures Matt and Karen about not putting themselves at risk, every time Foggy hesitates to take a risk with the firm (anything from hesitating over defending Karen to hesitating over defending Frank), it’s Foggy choosing to prioritize the things he cares about over other people who need help. So if prioritizing one’s family over other people makes a character unsympathetic, then Foggy should, in my view, also be considered unsympathetic. However, my personal opinion is that this value that Foggy and Ray share doesn’t make them unsympathetic - I think it makes them human, and creates a wonderful contrast with Matt and Karen.)

Anyway. I’m not saying this to prove you wrong. In fact, I don’t think I can prove you wrong, if you’re talking about your subjective interpretation: if you’re saying that you, personally, don’t sympathize with Ray, then that’s your interpretation. (If, however, you’re saying that Ray was objectively poorly written...well, then I’d have to argue with you.) All I’m doing here, though, is discussing this character from another angle, another approach, and another interpretation. Which, imo, is one of the beauties of fandom.

Thank you again for the ask, and the excuse to analyze one of my favorite characters!

[trillian-anders]

suspect - iii

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: descriptive violence, graphic descriptions of crime scenes, angst, slow burn

word count: 4.3k

description: au detective!bucky barnes x investigative journalist!reader;

still wet behind his ears, detective barnes is given his very first homicide case, a woman no one seems to care about had been murdered. it’s only when investigative journalist reader brings the small details to his attention that he realizes there’s a bigger problem. a serial killer no one was paying attention to.

The smell of death. It is unlike any other smell and once it’s something you experience; you’ll never forget it.

Bucky thought he’d seen bad crime scenes. He thought the last body he’d seen had been the worst one. But he was proven wrong. He gagged entering the small apartment, immediately being hit with the smell. Even through the face mask it hit him fully that this body must have been decomposing for a while.

He walks to the back bedroom, the forensics team snapping pictures and bagging evidence in the living rom as he walked by. The first thing he sees when he enters the room are her feet. Her ankles bound to the bed with rope, her skin puffed up around the rope itself. The ties are tight. She’s naked, her eyes are swollen shut, he could see the ligature marks around her neck, her wrists bound to the top frame of the bed. A pool of blood under her left arm, dried and crusted. Her ring finger gone.

“How long do you think?” Bucky asked. The head coroner, Bruce, his arms crossed staring at the body. Bruce shakes his head and sighs heavily.

“Anywhere from… five days to a little over a week probably.” He squats down by the side of the bed, peeking into her nostrils, Bucky gagged when he noticed the maggots. Leaving the room and trying to keep his vomit down. As he stepped out on the asphalt outside, he ripped the mask from his face taking gulps of fresh air.

Later he would wash himself with lemons and stick his nose into a bag of coffee grounds. The smell burned itself into his nostrils and the image was hard to shake. He didn’t know if he would ever sleep again.

This time he did shave, his shaky hands nicking the skin of his neck. He tied his clothes in a black trash bag and set it with his laundry, something to be tackled later and he grabbed the manila folder on his coffee table. The ripped open envelope of Cheryl Hansen’s toxicology report.

The diner was familiar to him now, and he found you at the exact same booth you’d been in last time. The notebook in front of you, laptop closed off to the side. You had a cup of coffee sitting in front of you and an empty one across. The stainless thermos pot left on the table for him to serve himself.

“Jean is the only one on right now,” You explain to him, and the woman he assumed was Jean was dealing with a couple drunks and other late-night patrons. He pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Sorry for being late,” He sighs, “I had to get the smell off me.” You hum and he watches you shiver.

“It’s powerful.” You agree. And he wonders how you know what it smells like.

“Cheryl wasn’t the first victim.” He explains, setting the manila folder on the table, the open toxicology report of Cheryl’s on top. “Christine Jones was.” You sigh, looking over his hastily written notes. Everything he’d written down at the scene. How he found the body. What it looked like. What the apartment looked like. He gave you a minute while he made his coffee, plucking a creamer out of the bowl that had been left for the two of you.

“This had to have been his first,” You sigh, “The copycat… the Butcher usually doesn’t leave that kind of bloody mess.” Where her ring finger had been cut. The blood dripping down her arm.

“He usually cleans them up after.” He agrees. The blood from the finger was always cleaned before the body was disposed. His mind goes back to Cheryl’s hand. Her finger cut off at the joint, the blood half clotted like it had been done… “He cuts them off when they’re still alive.” You look up at him from the paper.

“What?”

“The finger,” Bucky explains, “He cuts them off while the girls are still alive.” It rolled like acid in his stomach.

“The Butcher didn’t do that.” Both of you know he didn’t. The Boston Butcher would take the ring finger, but it was always postmortem, the blood unable to clot. The blood unable to pump out through a cut off finger. He watches you cross your arms, leaning back against the booth, thinking. “So this copycat… he wants to murder, but he’s not confident.” You offer, “So he finds Christine… and ties her up.”

“And he removes her finger, and then strangles her.” Bucky finishes, sighing and placing his head into his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening, honestly.” A rough chuckle, “You were right.” The clink of your spoon on the little dish.

“I didn’t want to be.” You admit, “Honestly, but if this guy just killed twice in the same week…”

“Then he’s going to strike again soon.” He watches you swallow harshly, looking out the window of the diner into the parking lot.

“Where are her kids?” Bucky hadn’t known she had kids, but they apparently had been taken away by child protective services and were in foster care. Christine was struggling with a drug habit and had been disowned by her family.

He could tell how much it affected you.

“Tomorrow,” He says, “After a good night’s sleep…” which he sorely needed, “Are you able to help me talk to some of the girls?” He watches you nod, still staring out into the parking lot. You seem dazed and off kilter.

“Of course.”

Bucky wasn’t prideful, you decided. Which was a good quality in a person. You admired the fact that when you saw him in the coffee shop yesterday, he gave you faith in his belief, that maybe you could be right. He didn’t downplay it then. You admired him in the diner when he asked for your help even though 24 hours before he hadn’t truly believed you.

But you couldn’t sleep. You felt restless and sweat through your sheets. The normal lullaby of sirens and drunk yelling on the street was causing you stress and you were paranoid. You cleaned your entire apartment, clearing out your fridge, wiping down every surface and scrubbed the grout until you were to the point of exhaustion, falling asleep with the smell of bleach on your fingertips.

“You look like shit.” Sam said the next day, passing by your desk on his way in. You groaned, accepting the coffee he’d brought for you. The first sip as life’s blood, the first coffee of the day emptied and discarded in the trash can under your desk. “So, we’ve got a bigger story than we originally thought.”

“I’ll have five hundred on your desk in an hour,” You yawn, “Then I have to work on collections for the food drive.”

“When are you seeing the handsome detective again?” He asked, slight smirk as your brow furrows, “You told Riley he has strikingly blue eyes.” An eye roll made him laugh, “I’m just saying, maybe it’s kismet.” Like him and Riley.

“I’ve got work to do Sam.” He raised his hands defensively.

“You know where to find me if you want to talk.” A playful smirk on his face as he disappeared into his office.

Bucky was feeling a little better, sleeping in his own bed for longer than two hours made him feel far less fatigued and ready to tackle the day. Walking into the precinct he had a strange feeling and that feeling was further enraged by how serious Rumlow looked and Rumlow hardly ever looked serious.

“The Chief is here.” Rumlow tells him. Bucky’s eyes meet the glass window of Steve’s office, but the blinds are shut. “We’re going to have a meeting after this to talk about your vics.” Bucky’s stomach turned, which seemed to happen a lot lately. Queasy. The protein bar he shoved down for his breakfast sat like a brick in his stomach.

Alexander Pierce was a hard ass. In the three times he’s met Peirce face to face the man always had some kind of sneer on his face, like he knew he was better than everyone else.

“He likes the power.” Steve told him once while they were sitting on his back deck, and taking a sip from his beer Steve said, “He’s a prick.” Steve hated the guy and Bucky had to agree with him.

“We are starting a task force.” Pierce announced. “Our aim is to keep it under the radar,” His hands held the sides of the podium, like he was the President giving the State of the Union Address. “Which means the following, no talking to the press, no interviews, no leaked information. This is a closed-circuit case.” His eyes scanning the room, “The task force should not deter other normal duties and the numbers we require from you.”

The arrest numbers, a fucking joke. Like looking good on paper mattered more than serving and protecting. His eyes rest on Bucky, “Seeing as Barnes is the one who discovered the copycat, he will be leading the task force along with Rumlow. An agent from the FBI will be coming up to assist with the investigation. You two will decide who else will be helping you track down a suspect. I expect this not to get out to the media.” His eyes focused in on Bucky, “Under no circumstances do we want attention pulled to these murders. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Rumlow answered beside him. Bucky felt himself nod. He’s going to have to figure something out, or at least something to tell you.

…

Wanda and her brother Pietro were just two of the children left behind by one of the Boston Butcher’s victims. Magda Eisenhardt. Right at the end, Magda had been one of his last victims in the 90’s. But the twins kept themselves busy, while they worked for the victim’s relief fund, they also ran their own food collection and homeless shelter. The hand they were dealt, even after foster care was much worse than your own and they sympathized heavily with people left on the streets.

Your bag had quickly been discarded in the back office and you went to join Wanda in wiping down and organizing cans and packaged goods. It was a big drop off day, which meant you might be able to grab some to bring Sophie some groceries later. Someone, very kindly, donated the rest of their baby formula. A Boston mom who had enough money to buy in bulk.

“You think we can give her a couple cans?” You lift the two in your hand. “I think she’s pretty low.” Wanda nods, scribbling onto the clipboard before tapping it down on the counter.

“Is he really back?” Soft and unsure. Like she didn’t want the actual answer. She looks at you, terrified. You let out a deep breath.

“I think so.” She sinks into the chair behind her and you set the two cans down on the table before walking over to hug her.

“I talked to Nick yesterday.” Her hand rubbing your arm that was wrapped around her shoulders. “Maybe this is what we need to help us get him out.” You sigh,

“I think it’s a copycat,” She looks up at you, “but if he sees that it’s happening maybe the real Butcher will get angry that someone is doing such a sloppy job.” A moment of silence, Wanda sheds a tear and quickly wipes it away.

“I think we can give her those and you can take her some of the pasta and canned veggies.” Standing and removing herself from your arms, grabbing a cloth tote and putting the formula and aforementioned items inside and putting it off to the side. Wanda took the death of her Mother very hard. She had been in therapy for a long time and to your knowledge she still goes, once a week like clockwork.

Pietro told you once that she feels guilty, but you couldn’t imagine why. “She feels like it’s her fault.” Over coffee, “Like our Mom buying her a barbie dream house was the thing that got her killed.” Wanda knows it wasn’t her fault. Realistically. But more in practice it was a nagging guilt in the back of her brain that made her feel like she needed to do so much good in the world to make up for the fact that her Mom needed to make money and she’d cried and whined about wanting a Barbie dreamhouse for her birthday.

“Selfish.” She’d said once.

“You’re not selfish,” You would say, “How would you have known?” How could anyone know? You don’t know when it’s going to be the last time you talk to someone. You can’t possibly know when it’s that person’s last day. And there’s no way of knowing at six years old that your Mother will be ripped from this world by a psycho.

She always answered with a shrug.

“I’m meeting with the detective tonight,” You tell her, “We’re going to go try to talk to some of the girls.” She nods, turning to you her face a little red and blotchy,

“I’ll put the feelers out here,” She says, “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” You wrap her into a hug. Her arms tight around you.

“I’ll check back in tomorrow?” She nods, squeezing you a little harder before letting go. “Tell Pietro I said hi.”

“I will.”

…

Bucky was struggling and it wasn’t just because Rumlow hadn’t shut up since the meeting. But because he didn’t know what to do with you now. He knew the girls wouldn’t talk to him, and they definitely wouldn’t talk to Rumlow, but Pierce seemed to know about you. He seemed to know about the contact that Bucky had with you. Or maybe Bucky was just paranoid.

“He’s hoping to see you fail.” Steve told him, “That’s why he left you in charge… don’t let him win.” It made him uneasy. This could make or break him now and that fact did not go over his head. He could feel it as soon as Pierce said that he would oversee the task force. Just waiting for him to fail and slip real easy back behind his desk.

He sunk down behind his desk, drafting a text. Rumlow was going to be going with him to try to question some of the girls and Bucky knows that if you went with him to meet them Rumlow would have an issue with it. Especially since Pierce made such a big deal about it. No doubt he would try to kiss ass and gain favor by exploiting you.

Can’t meet up to interview. Meet at diner later?

He sighs, phone dropping heavily onto the desk. He looked across the room watching Rumlow speak closely with Pierce. It gave him a strange feeling. Like they were in on something he wasn’t. It wasn’t a secret that they knew each other. Pierce was the reason why Rumlow had even became a detective. Rumlow liked to boast nepotism between Steve and Bucky but he forgets that his own Stepfather is Chief of Police.

Rumlow doesn’t like to mention him and from the very few times Pierce had been brought up in his presence he’d visibly tensed. Bucky assumed that their relationship was strained, but the close and intimate conversation they were currently having would tell him otherwise.

Bucky cracked his knuckles. His phone dinged. Your reply,

I can go alone, diner when?

A huff, he texts back.

DO NOT GO ALONE. Just meet at diner around 12.

How dumb are you? Trying to go out alone when an active serial killer was on the loose, strolling around the red-light district by yourself. You either had a lot of confidence or a death wish.

I know someone, I’ll go talk to them and then meet you at the diner.

His brow furrows and he shook his head in disbelief,

Who do you know?

“Let’s go.” Rumlow grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and walks past Bucky without stopping. A glance up at where Pierce and Rumlow had just been talking showed Pierce glaring at his stepson’s back, his eyes flit to Bucky’s and his face became stone before turning his back.

The girls stood in small groups. Two or three, occasionally four. Whittled one by one until there would be a single girl standing alone. That’s when it would get dangerous. The goal, overall, was to see if the girls had dealt with anyone out of the ordinary lately.

Typically, serials don’t just start killing out of nowhere. There’s a steady progression of assault. Maybe there’s a guy who is a little aggressive. Maybe there’s a guy they get a bad feeling about. And hopefully someone would be willing to talk.

…

Sophie gave you a name when you’d dropped off the formula and canned goods. A girl Cheryl was really close with. “She said they were coworkers.” Sophie told you, “So she’s probably in the same situation.” A quick look found her address, not too far from where Sophie lived. You were going attempt to drop by, see if she was in and if not… then you would just have to go see if any of the girls would talk to you.

A knock on the apartment door, you could hear something going on inside. She must be home. Or at least, someone is. The door is ripped open, the chain jerked tight against the opening as a man looks out at you from inside.

“Can I help you?” Not friendly, not that you expected him to be.

“Is Angel here?” He pauses, looking behind him for a moment and talking to someone in the room before turning back.

“Who are you?” He didn’t turn you away so that’s good at least.

“I’m a friend of Sophie’s.” You cross your arms across your chest, feeling a chill. “Sophie told me to come talk to Angel about Cherry.” He looked back into the room, shutting the door and then reopening it, stepping back.

“Come on.” His head poking out into the hallway and shutting the door behind you. You could see the girl you were looking for, sitting just before you on the couch, curled up into herself, sniffling. Her eyes were red, hair messy and a tissue in her hand.

“What do you want?” She sounds congested and she doesn’t get up when you walk further into the apartment.

“I’m Y/N,” You offer, “I work with the VRF for those affected by—”

“The Butcher.” She nods, “I’ve heard.” You nod,

“Do you know who Cherry went with that night? Have you seen anyone suspicious?” A humorless laugh,

“Most of the johns are suspicious.” She shakes her head. But that’s fair, “I saw her get into the car, but I wasn’t paying attention to the plate or anything. It was normal…” A harsh swallow, “It just seemed so normal.”

“Do you remember anything about the car itself?” Sinking down onto the couch next to her, “Anything identifiable? Color? Make? Model?” She shrugs, balling the tissue into her fist.

“It was like… it looked like a cop car, but it wasn’t.”

“Like one of the ones they sell at auction.” The man spoke from his spot in the doorway, “An old police cruiser that had been stripped and sold and probably sold at auction.” You nod,

“Okay,” That’s helpful. Really helpful. “Did you get a glimpse of who was in the car, by any chance?”

“No.” She looks at her knees, “I’ve been afraid to go back out, since they found her.” Understandably so, “But I’m going to have to…” A pause, “I think you should go.”

It was clear she was having a hard time, you truly felt bad for her. The situation she must be in. “If you think of anything else.” She nods, taking the business card. Stepping back out onto the street you found yourself a little more confident than before.

A police cruiser gone to auction was a lead. It would at least give you a list of suspects. The excitement in that, was unreal.

…

Bucky rest his head on the steering wheel after having parked in front of the diner. His head pounding. He honestly didn’t know how much longer he would be able to do this and it just started. He felt like he would gain an inch, a girl willing to say something. Anything, and as soon as she started to open up and get some real ground with him, Rumlow would say something cheap.

He’s fucking up the investigation.

But it’s just him. Bucky thought Rumlow was a good detective. Before this. But now, how did the guy solve anything? He clearly made the girl uncomfortable. And he wanted to throttle Rumlow when her voice resigned, said, “I have to get going.” Before moving to a different block.

“They’re disgusting.” Rumlow spat on the ground. Bucky groaned at the smell of dip spit. “Like talk about lack of dignity.”

“They’re people too.” Bucky wanted to go. Maybe this is how he fails, Rumlow is his iron anchor, drowning him. A knock on his window startles him, sitting back in his drivers’ seat and sighing he sees your face through the glass and kills the ignition.

“You good?” You ask him as he steps from the car. He scrubs his hand over his face, head still pounding.

“Yeah, I think I just need to eat.” He watches Marie give you a strange look as the two of you walk to what seemed to be your normal table, something you shrug off as you drop your bag heavily on the seat squished between you and the window as he sat across from you.

Soda and iced tea. Bucky ordered a burger and you a club sandwich.

“They don’t want me talking to you,” He starts with. “Chief made it clear that he wanted no press involvement.” You sigh across from him,

“So what are you going to do?” He was trying to read your face, but you seemed as though you’d been expecting him to say that. Like it didn’t surprise you in the slightest. He thought about it.

He thought about what he wanted to do. He’d been thinking about it all day. “My gut is telling me to work with you.” He sits back as Marie comes with the plates, a soft thank you and a smile. “I want to work with you.” And he wanted to know more. Why you ran this relief fund. Why you were so passionate about it. He had a theory. But he would need to look into it a bit more, or he could just ask.

“I got a lead.” You grin at him, plucking a fry from your plate, “So Angela Bennet, she goes by Angel, a friend of Cheryl’s, she said she saw Cheryl get into a retired police cruiser, like the ones they sell at auction.” He feels his mouth drop slightly,

“Like the old white and blue Fords?” You nod, popping another fry into your mouth.

“I can run a search for cars gone to auction.” He takes a bite of his burger. Maybe that’s something else he can talk to Steve about. Steve bought his Dad’s old cruiser years ago as a novelty. Steve often cleared stuff for auction and would maybe help him profile someone who would want to buy a police cruiser, maybe the type of guys that would go to those auctions to buy. “My friend Steve, he would know more about the old cruisers.” They’d had a huge overhaul in 2015 at their precinct. New, updated cruisers with more bells and whistles. They’d gone out in reliability in the last decade of having them.

“If you could get a good picture of one,” You start, “We can start asking around.” That was a good idea.

“Tomorrow, maybe we should go talk to Fury.” If Fury was the Butcher, then he would be able to give them some insight into what kind of person they’re looking for. If he wasn’t… well Bucky could cross that bridge when he got to it.

“I can’t tomorrow.” You take a sip of your drink, “We have the group meeting tomorrow for the VRF.”

“Do a lot of people go to that?” How had he never heard of this before? You shrug,

“We pull a descent crowd.”

“Well maybe that’s what we could do tomorrow.” And he could talk to some of the people attached to the 90’s cases. Get some information, “But I would have to bring Rumlow.” He just wanted to get rid of him, this pain in his ass, Rumlow the insensitive shit.

“Why?” Bucky sighs, sitting back against the booth.

“He’s my partner for the case now that it’s a serial.” A shake of his head, “They’re sending someone up from the FBI too, trying to get ahead of it.” You roll your eyes across from him.

“Ahead of the bad press, you mean.” A harsh sigh, “Back in the 90’s they did the same thing, no one even knew that the Butcher existed until they took Fury in for questioning.” Maybe he should ask. Maybe he should just…

“How do you know so much about this?” He watched you stiffen slightly, “Why are you so invested?” You dropped the fry you’d been toying with back on your plate before sighing and leaning back, matching his posture.

“Because my Mom was one of the victims.”

[13eyond13]

Comparing Manga!Near to Anime!Near

Sure! I actually found Near’s character very wooden and boring the first time I watched the anime, and then was very pleasantly surprised at how interesting and full of personality he seemed when I read the manga later, so I think comparing Near’s character in both sources is a great idea. I’ll outline the major differences I found between them below.

(This post is using the official English translation of the manga and the English subtitles from Netflix for the screenshots, by the way):

1. MELLO AND NEAR’S PERSONALITIES AND MOTIVES ARE DIMINISHED IN THE ANIME’S VERSION OF THE WAMMY’S CHILDHOOD FLASHBACK:

This is a scene that was changed slightly in the anime, and at great detriment to both Mello and Near’s characters and the audience's immediate understanding of them, I think. When we are first introduced to these two in the manga it shows a few panels of Mello being a bully at Wammy’s who gets right into the center of the action, and Near being a loner who is invited to participate but prefers to do puzzles by himself:

The anime begins directly at their meeting with Roger in the office, so we know nothing about how these two normally behave at the orphanage or how their peers perceive them / interact with them:

When asked to work together Mello refuses and explains to Roger that he and Near have always been at odds. The manga shows a flashback to Mello studying very hard to surpass Near's scores and always failing to do so, which sets up his inferiority complex and his strong work ethic. It also shows Near being surrounded by admiring students, which indicates he was probably well-liked despite being a loner, and shows that he’s very competent, the most successful student in the school:

 The anime simply has Mello say that they've always been at odds and competing with each other. Mello describes himself as overly emotional and Near as logical and cool-headed, and then they just leave it at that.

It isn’t until much later in the anime -- after the kidnapping, when Light finally finds out about Wammy’s -- that the difference in Near’s and Mello’s academic ranking is even mentioned at all:

I think the manga gives a much better sense of the successors’ personalities and motives right away than the anime does. All we see in the anime is that Near seemingly doesn't give a shit about L's death, nor care much about how the successor choice is made, and that Mello is temperamental and thinks that since Near’s unemotional he will be able to better solve the Kira case. I remember finding Near extremely cold and wooden the first time I watched it, because his reaction to L’s death is so callous, and none of that other stuff about him was shown or explained.

2. THE SPY IN THE SPK IS TAKEN OUT OF THE ANIME STORYLINE:

In the manga once the NPA Director is kidnapped by the mafia Near starts to suspect there is a mole in the SPK who would've leaked their plans to the kidnappers (which there is, Ill Ratte):

In the anime Ratte's role as the spy was cut out of the storyline altogether, so Near just immediately figures it out and then orders his FBI agent to cooperate with Soichiro:

I’m guessing they cut that spy bit out of the anime due to time constraints, but Near being betrayed by one of his employees and being shrewd enough to suspect it adds an extra little layer of vulnerability and sympathy to his character beyond just “smart, blase guy who never loses his cool.”

3. NEAR NO LONGER SUCKS AT DARTS IN THE ANIME:

The scene of Near and Light first talking on the phone and Near calling Light “L number two” is basically the same between the two sources:

Except that in the manga Near is shown to absolutely suck at darts, lol:

In the anime Near is just sitting there building a basic tower out of dice:

Little detail changes like this might not seem that consequential, but I'd argue they make all the difference; sucking at darts adds an endearing aspect to Near beyond just “humourless successor of L who sits around playing with toys a lot.”

I love it because it seems like exactly the opposite of what you'd expect them to show in order to get the audience on his side and believing he's L's super-competent successor, you know? It made me laugh and feel affectionate toward him in the manga, because he looks so dang serious about it; plus I love that he sticks with it for so long despite clearly not being very good!

*(side note: Tumblr’s image uploader glitched out at this point, so unfortunately the rest of the post won’t have any visuals, apologies:)*

4. THERE IS NO “WAS HE EATING CHOCOLATE?” SCENE IN THE ANIME:

Near never detains Sayu and Soichiro after the kidnapping to interrogate them in the anime, so sadly we don’t get that hilarious little manga moment where he deduces it was Mello behind the kidnapping because of the sound of him eating chocolate over the phone. 

5. NEAR’S RESPONSE TO THE SPK DEATH SEEMS LESS EMOTIONAL IN THE ANIME:

His reaction to most of the SPK getting murdered is different in anime, and I would argue he comes off much less sorrowful or shaken by the deaths. He seems pretty matter-of-fact about it, and almost like he'd predicted and planned for it to happen that way. The main emotional reaction we see is his dice tower falling and his face looking intense/angry. 

In the manga Near is caught off-guard by the deaths; he laments that he didn’t find the spy in the SPK before it was too late, and then he says to Light: “I was somewhat prepared for this the moment YOU gave the notebook away to the kidnappers, but it sure does hurt.” He is shown looking very sad about it. Light asks Near to share information, and Near has to deliberate for a while internally about whether he wants to trust Light with any information about Mello or himself before he agrees.

In the anime Near calmly predicts the deaths right before they happen, then tells Light that they died, then says: “L, you helplessly handed over the notebook.” Light asks him if he would have done anything differently if he was in charge, and Near says: “No, with that kind of preparation it would’ve been taken either way. There’s no point in us arguing. Let’s help each other and tell each other what we know. I have some idea of who the culprit may be.” MUCH LESS EMOTIONAL, and a bit overly willing to immediately volunteer information about Wammy’s and Mello to Light.

6. NEAR COMFORTING AND INFORMING THE SPK ABOUT MELLO AFTER THEY ARE DISBANDED BY THE GOV’T IS CUT OUT OF THE ANIME:

In the manga Near spends a good deal of time explaining Mello’s thought process to his team and warning them about his dangerousness before they ever meet up with him. He tells Halle in particular to watch out, because he believes Mello will target her home because she’s the most vulnerable, and then says to whole group: 

“If you’re scared, you don’t have to participate. But please don’t leave the headquarters. I’m scared, so I’m not going to go outside.” 

This display of thoughtful consideration for his team’s feelings and safety and his honesty about his own fears is not shown at all in the anime, as it skips directly from the news of the SPK being dissolved to Mello breaking into Halle’s apartment and taking her hostage to the SPK HQ.

7.  NEAR SEEMS A LITTLE MORE EXCITED BY MELLO’S ARRIVAL IN THE MANGA THAN HE DOES THE ANIME:

And there was a more in-depth explanation given in the manga about why he continued to defend Mello and sympathize with him. But even so, I would say these scenes are for the most part very similar between the two sources. The anime did a great job adding some lovely stained-glass visuals behind the boys and such here, too!

8. THERE IS NO SCENE OF NEAR AND MELLO WORKING TOGETHER TO QUESTION MOGI IN THE ANIME:

This is a real shame, because it’s basically the most fun interaction these two have and the closest they get to collaborating in a personal way after their dramatic reunion at the HQ (even though it could also be seen as Mello just attempting to taunt/use Near, but Near doesn’t seem to take it that way). Near’s interactions with Mogi and Mello are weirdly cute in this scene, as he often compliments them on their impressiveness and such, so it’s too bad that the anime chopped it out!

9. THE ANIME PUTS A MORE POSITIVE SPIN ON NEAR AND MELLO’S COLLABORATION AGAINST KIRA:

It’s left very ambiguous in the story if Mello was trying to save Near or beat him by kidnapping Takada. The manga takes a typically unsentimental view of Mello’s intentions, and the anime takes a more hopeful view of them.

In the the manga, Near says this: “I find it hard to believe that Mello thought that far ahead. But I am sure that he was always trying to get ahead of me. And that’s not all. Even if he didn’t surpass me, Mello always said that he was going to be number one, and that he was going to be better than me and L. But I always knew I would never be able to surpass L. It could be that I lacked the action and he lacked the calm; and even though we couldn’t surpass the one we admired on our own, together we can stand with L. Together we can surpass L.”

In the anime, Near says this: “I believe Mello knew in his heart that alone we aren’t able to reach our goal, to surpass L. But together... together we can stand with L. Together we can surpass L!”

10. NEAR’S PHILOSOPHICAL SPEECH IN THE WAREHOUSE IS CUT OUT OF THE ANIME:

It’s probably my favourite thing he says in the entire manga, so that’s too bad! He says it in response to Light’s passionate Kira monologue.

In the manga, after Near shuts Light down, Light says: “Near, you're wrong. I'm the icon of justice now.”

Near replies: “You may be right. I'm no different than you. I believe in what I think is right, and believe that to be righteous. Nobody can tell what is right and what is wrong, what is righteous and what is evil. Even if there is a god, and I had his teachings before me, I would think it through and decide if that was right or wrong myself.”

I loved getting these little deeper thoughts from Near in the manga; it made him come off less cold and uncaring and more human and insightful to me.

11. NEAR HAS A PLAN TO LOCK LIGHT UP FOR LIFE IN THE MANGA THAT ISN’T MENTIONED IN THE ANIME:

When Light tries to stall for time by attempting to tempt Near into testing the Death Note, in the manga Near replies:

“Light Yagami. Kira. I have no plans to kill you. I really don't care if the notebook is real or not anymore. From the very beginning, my goal was to capture Kira. All I want is for everything to become clear and for Kira to be captured. You're as good as arrested now, and I'll confiscate the notebook Mr. Aizawa has. That should be enough. And I will not announce Kira's arrest or the existence of the notebook to the public. I believe that everybody here can keep that secret. I'll take full responsibility for locking you up in a place where nobody will find you until you die."

I find this both refreshing and scary, because it shows Near’s definitely not doing this for his own glory or his ego (like Mello and L might), but it’s also a very ruthless and scary side of Near that adds a lot of spice to his character! I can’t imagine much of a worse fate for Light than that had Ryuk not gotten to him first, yikes.

12. THE EPILOGUE CHAPTER IS LEFT OUT OF THE ANIME:

In which Matsuda and Ide speculate about Near possibly “cheating” with the Death Note (aka being behind Mikami messing up with checking for tampering and dying in prison ten days later and such). Near is shown doing well as the new L, playing with toys and eating some of Mello’s trademark chocolate and collaborating with the NPA on their new work. Which is nice!

So in conclusion to this massive post, I would say that most of the characters in the second half of the story kinda got shafted by the anime because of how the plot was condensed; it didn’t help that the animation portrayed the subtler characters like Near in a less dynamic/expressive way than the original manga art did, either. Despite what it may sound like, I do love the anime a heck of a lot, but I think people will probably miss out on a lot of Near’s charm if they never get to experience the original manga version of him, as well!

[cinema-tv-etc]

Review: ‘The Comey Rule’ and What a Fool Believes

Showtime’s political drama is a scattered but searing picture of failed self-righteousness. By James Poniewozik   Sept. 24, 2020

The thing that James Comey will probably like best about “The Comey Rule,” if one believes its characterization of him, is that his name is in the title.

But he is not exactly the hero. He is not even, really, the star.

Comey (Jeff Daniels), the former F.B.I. director, gets more screen time than anyone else in Showtime’s two-night, three-and-a-half-hour special. But the real lead is Donald Trump (Brendan Gleeson), in the same sense that, regardless of its minutes on camera, the true lead of “Jaws” is the shark.

Given how much it rehashes recent events, albeit with a fine cast, I’m not sure what interest “The Comey Rule” will have beyond people whose copies of the Mueller Report are already well thumbed. (There’s more to be learned from “Agents of Chaos,” the chilling Alex Gibney documentary, which premiered on HBO this week, about Russia’s 2016 election influence campaign and its American enablers.)

But if you stick to the end, there is at least a lesson and a warning, if not the one that Comey — either the screen version here or the real-life one who’s become a media figure — intended.

In his book “A Higher Loyalty,” he appears to see his decisions, which very possibly swung the 2016 election and failed to keep the president from interfering in investigations, as noble if tragic acts of principle. As translated by the director and screenwriter Billy Ray, this is instead a slo-mo horror story, in which the worst lack all inhibition while the best are full of fatuous integrity.

The first half, which starts Sunday, is basically a prelude. It walks us through the role of the F.B.I. in 2015 and 2016 when it investigated Hillary Clinton’s use of a private email server — with Comey making unusual public statements that damaged her campaign — while also looking, much more quietly, into increasingly disturbing signs that Russian intelligence was out to help Trump.

The first two hours blitz through the timeline and establish key players. So many familiar faces captioned with headline names pop up — Jonathan Banks as James Clapper! Holly Hunter as Sally Yates! — that it plays like a long, stone-cold-sober episode of “Drunk History.”

Daniels is inspired casting. Physically, he resembles the real Comey somewhat in stature (the ex-director still has a few inches on him). But having played figures of high-minded duty in “The Newsroom” and “The Looming Tower,” he captures his character’s starched righteousness wholly.

This time, however, there’s an ironic spin on the character. Comey’s actual rectitude is complicated by his fixation on the appearance of rectitude, his homey decency by smugness.

His precedent-breaking decisions to speak out on Clinton’s email practices were driven by worry over how he and the bureau would look later if — in his view, when — she became president. (He writes in “A Higher Loyalty” that he assumed she’d win.)

His guess proves wrong, but the day after the election he assures his devastated wife, Patrice (Jennifer Ehle), “We’re going to be OK.” True enough for him. He lost his job but wrote a best seller.

With that self-justifying memoir as a source, Ray makes the sharp choice to make Rod Rosenstein (Scoot McNairy), the deputy attorney general who wrote the memo recommending Comey’s 2017 firing, the quasi-narrator. Rosenstein bitterly introduces Comey as a self-righteous “showboat” (though, we discover, Rosenstein has his own blind spots and failings).

This is not, however, a production out to win over MAGA viewers. (At one point, it dramatizes one of the more eye-popping accusations of the Steele dossier.) The first night, we see Donald Trump only as shot from behind, a leering hulk parting the curtain at a Miss Universe pageant and pawing at a contestant’s bikini strap. He’s like the barely glimpsed monster in the first act of a creature feature, a rough beast slouching toward Pennsylvania Avenue.

It’s on Night 2, when President-Elect Trump emerges as a character, that the show really begins. In part, it’s simply that his crew of artless amateurs, relatives and B-list pols make for better TV. Not every portrayal works — Joe Lo Truglio as Jeff Sessions? — but it gives the proceedings a “Burn After Reading” flair.

But mostly, Gleeson kicks the program to life. Strictly as an impression, his performance is mixed. Gleeson, who is Irish, slips occasionally on the accent. But his rendering of Trump’s wandering diction is the best I’ve seen outside a lip-sync. Half his performance is in his bearing, chin jutted forward like the prow of a swollen yacht. 

More important, Gleeson has a thorough idea of his character. His Trump is not the orange-haired clown prince of “S.N.L.” and late-night talk shows. He’s a crass, heavy-breathing mobster (Comey’s comparison, and Gleeson makes the likeness vivid) driven by spite and vanity. A heavy-handed musical score portends menace whenever he turns up.

He, too, is concerned with appearances, but in a more literal way than Comey. His version of “good morning” is “I saw you on TV”; he and his staffers keep referencing his “eye for interior design.” His brassy presence in the halls of power is as much an aesthetic statement as a political one, which Ray underlines by showing a White House staffer serving him a Filet-O-Fish sandwich on a gleaming silver platter.

All the while, it gradually settles on Comey that his new boss may not be an entirely scrupulous man. Their White House dinner — the “honest loyalty” scene, for Comey buffs — takes only a few minutes, but you could imagine it as an entire movie, “Frost/Nixon” style.

It’s like an uncomfortable date with a persistent suitor. Trump, cleaning out his ice-cream dish, pushes and prods on the Russia investigation, pressing his advances. A pained Comey guards and parries, finding ways to say things that resemble what the president wants to hear.

Comey survives that battle but loses the war. “The Comey Rule” is not out to damn him. It strains itself to sympathize with his falling into one impossible position after another, and it suggests that public life might be better if everyone in it were like James Comey.

But it also shows how catastrophically inadequate he was to a world in which not everyone is like James Comey. He becomes a stand-in for an entire class of Trump-era elites who believe that respect for norms will save them. (The president “can’t fire me,” Comey tells an associate. “It’d look horrible.”)

As for Donald Trump, he’s not precisely the villain, in the show’s view. As “The Comey Rule” depicts him, he’s a creature, an appetite. He is what he is. He doesn’t know how to be otherwise.

Comey, on the other hand, is, if not a villain, then a tragic, hubristic dupe, precisely because he believes he knows better, and because he should.

“The Comey Rule” is not good drama; it’s clunky, self-serious and melodramatic. But it makes an unsparing point amid our own election season.

It says that anyone, like its subject, who complacently assumed in 2015 and 2016 that everyone would be fine, who thought that propriety and rules could constrain forces that care about neither, who worried more about appearances than consequences, was a fool.

Then it leaves you to sit with the question: What does that make anyone who still believes that today?

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/09/24/arts/television/review-comey-rule.html?action=click&module=RelatedLinks&pgtype=Article

THE COMEY RULE Trailer (2020)

 Brendan Gleeson as Donald Trump

Jeff Daniels and Brendan Gleeson star as former FBI Director James Comey and President Donald J. Trump in this two-part event series that tells the story of two powerful men, whose strikingly different ethics and loyalties put them on a collision course. Watch the premiere on September 27 at 9/8c on SHOWTIME. #TheComeyRule #DonaldTrump

Brendan Gleeson portrays Trump as a crass mobster.

[vivi-tran]

Problematic Disclaimers

I am incredibly biased towards David Fincher’s work, and that in itself comes with a few other more specific disclaimers we’ll get into later on in this review.

This is a largely historical piece, taking place during the 1970s-80s. If you’re looking for groundbreaking representation for POC/LGBT+/female characters, you may be disappointed.

This show famously deals with the analyses of behavioral science, specifically in dealing with serial killers. This kind of subject matter can be tricky: it’s one thing to be intellectually fascinated by the psychological aspects of these cases, and another thing entirely to sympathize or rationalize these murderers. Mindhunter, of course, makes this type of tightrope act the centerpiece of their story. However, real life serial killers are depicted and dramatized in the show. This could ultimately play into the kind of dangerous romanticizations the show attempts to subvert.

I encourage audiences who correctly assess the character of Holden (Jonathon Groff) as a pretentious shithead to watch till the end.

You could probably make the argument that this series is riddled with ableism. Given, again, the historical background of these analyses, however, mental illness is not something assumed to be well understood in this context. But how we should approach mental illness in storytelling such as this is not my area of expertise, and I am open to anyone bridging that gap for me if I’m being too tone deaf in that respect.

Trigger Warnings

The only instance of gore that you see actually happen in real time is in the first scene of the first episode.

This show is about researching serial killers. There is blunt and often irreverent discussion about murder, gore, torture, masturbation, incest, pedophilia, and sexual violence. 

Even protagonists who are regarded as the “good guys” in this show are expected to put on a front in order to coax information out of their serial killer interviewees. Lewd, inappropriate, and disrespectful language is used in these contexts.

Some nudity and sex scenes. 

Drawings and photography of violent images from serial killers’ case files are shown.

Final Verdict: I loved this show.

As to be expected with a story of this subject matter, there’s a lot of ground to cover with disclaimers and triggers. This is exactly the kind of taboo audiences love to indulge in at a distance, telling each other that it’s the psychology of examining a serial murderer that makes these sorts of films and shows so exciting. But these dark and horrendous accounts, interesting as they may be to so many viewers, have to come with a certain amount of responsibility.

This is something I realized with a cold flush while in vacation in Los Angeles, perusing the Museum of Death. I examined a series of figurines modeled after a number of real life serial killers such as Charles Manson and John Wayne Gacy. I tried to imagine what kind of mindset drives a person to buy these kinds of collectibles, much less manufacture them for purchase. 

Putting such a far distance from these murderers and placing our attractions in the same realm as a hobby takes away from the true horror of what these criminals have done. There’s a line between wanting to learn more and becoming part of a subculture that turns monsters into celebrities. 

Luckily for us, that is exactly what Mindhunter addresses.

The story begins with bright-eyed bushy-tailed young FBI agent, Holden Ford. Ford, initially specializing in hostage negotiation, is discouraged by a recent failed case. Behavioral science calls to him, and in pursuing this trade he joins forces with FBI agent Bill Tench (Holt McCallany) and psychologist Wendy Carr (Anna Torv). Together they pioneer a new wave of behavioral science methods in order to better understand the way these murderers think, and, ideally, find them before they can take any more victims.

As I said before, engrossment in this field of study is, as I have come to recognize it, not uncommon. The rise of a show like Criminal Minds, a prime time television series dedicated to the analysis and capture of fictional serial killers, is a strong indication of this. Most of us would find it difficult to wrap our heads around the idea of somebody with such perverse and twisted desires to be as mundane as you or me. We form this distance maybe to avoid the other side of this obsession that the living can afford: that it could have been us. Because it is far easier to gawk at a monstrous form of evil, than to imagine ourselves as their victim.

Mindhunter attacks this line of thinking at its origins and its source. Based on a book by the same name that details the true events of real FBI investigations, the show uses fictional stand-ins to perhaps convey more dramatic representation of these ideas. But I haven’t read the book, so this is just speculation. 

I mentioned in the disclaimers that our supposed hero of this tale, Holden Ford, explicitly presents himself as an utter jackass. Nothing drives the point home harder than Ford’s development which sees his confident rise and his perplexing downfall. Like many rookies in your stereotypical crime story, Ford wants results. He wants to make a difference, and he wants to see the fruits of his efforts now. He thinks that by acting on instinct and asserting himself, he can change everything around him to his favor. This kind of brazen naivety is nothing new and also not inherently wrong. It’s Ford’s intentions, however, that complicate things.

“Why are you here, Holden?” “I don’t know.”

What starts out as a justified practice meant to stop serial killers in their tracks becomes a battle of the minds where Holden Ford manages to put himself on top time and time again. And yet, even after outmaneuvering and coercing valuable information out of several different murderers, Ford’s life crumbles around him. His long-term girlfriend leaves him, he is formally reprimanded by his superiors for his actions, he confronts the consequences to his impulsiveness, and a tell-tale press release puts an almost complete halt to his investigations. 

The first season ends as Holden Ford hits rock bottom. We realize, seeing him fall this far from grace, that by jumping through all these intellectual hoops in order to get the information he so desperately craves, Ford has played right into the hands of some of the most notorious serial killers in history. He’s in too deep. In his hubris, he placed himself so far above these murderers in his own mind because he believes what he is doing is for the sake of justice, that he actually sunk down to their level.

It probably isn’t too difficult to see this progression throughout the first season. We, as the audience, start out rooting for Ford. Yes! We should study these serial killers and put clearer terms to their behavior in order to catch these criminals early on in the game. Horrid as their crimes are, they are actual human beings and as such we need to understand what went wrong as well as when and where. And then Ford’s behavior becomes deplorable, cringey both in and out of interviews. The show poses the question: is it worth it to stoop so low so as to gather this information?

And in reverberating response, the show also answers in the same breath: no.

In some instances, we are drawn to resent characters like Tench and Carr when their bureaucracy stands in the way of Ford’s justice. But, ultimately, Ford becomes unhinged as he learns that by trying to locomotive his way into success, he has shrunk that distance I had previously stressed and learns he has never been fully in control. 

The moral comes effortlessly enough. And while he isn’t the sole director or writer for Mindhunter, we see this kind of thing a lot in David Fincher’s work: well-intentioned men being crushed by a weight they did not take the time to fully grasp in scope, all under the guise of something thrilling and grisly. Fincher’s most famous work, Fight Club, is perhaps one of the most widely misinterpreted pieces of film in cinematic history thanks to every knee-jerk reaction-having male who came out of those theaters wanting to start their own fight club or project mayhem. Fincher himself has advised his own daughter from associating with young men who romanticize the movie. Fincher takes on these topics all the time. I’m having trouble finding the interview that cites this, and I’ll update this post if I find it, but there has been a point in his career where Fincher has been accused of producing torture porn. But this brings me to the meat of what I love about this series.

Mindhunter is told masterfully. The most disturbing and action-packed part of the show is at the very beginning of the first episode when Holden Ford is trying to talk down a man at the forefront of a hostage situation. But, even then, the way the situation is presented is crude and somewhat sad - you immediately understand there is an inherent problem with how criminals with complex mental faculties are treated and handled from this opening scene. After that? The most unnerving images are shown in photographs and drawings, but never played out for the audience. In fact, when was the last time you saw Fincher play out half the gore he alludes to in his films aside from Fight Club? And thus we can be certain this show was not made for the serial killers, but for us. This is a cautionary tale. There’s no reason to show the whole terrible ordeal - just the effects.

At no point did I feel this series was dragging on either. You forget that what you’re watching is mostly comprised of dialogue. There’s no compulsion to show exploitive material. The characters and their responses compel the story forward. You don’t need a SWAT team to break down an unsub’s door and catch the perpetrator mid-dynamic-action. You’re already amongst some of the most ruthless real-life villains in our country’s history. Anything more than that would be jarring. This is not a show for the serial killers. This is a show for how we react to such a tragic brand of evil, or how we should react. It needs to be said because it’s important that we tell the difference.

In the disclaimers, I also mentioned there being little to no ample representation for POC/LGBT+/female characters. While I don’t necessarily retract that statement, I do need to point out that we are given two supporting female characters in the series who play a significant role in both the story and Holden Ford’s life. The first we see is Debbie (Hannah Gross), Ford’s long term girlfriend. Debbie is a smart, independent woman who is able to banter intellectually with Ford and initially finds his thirst for knowledge to be charming. Gross does a wonderful job with this character, but I felt she wasn’t fully done the justice she deserved, especially when she abruptly displayed disloyalty that was never actually addressed in one of the episodes. Had it not been for this scene, it wouldn’t be as obvious that she was probably just a placeholder made to show all the aspects in which Ford’s life was falling apart. 

More prominent than Debbie is Wendy Carr, a well-established psychologist as well as a lesbian. Carr is perhaps the better-written of the two female figures, being decisively driven by her own moral compass and toting the kind of calculating patience that Ford could have afforded to learn from. Torv plays the kind of character we never question, that we trust, that we know is making the most diplomatic calls possible. And even here, I am left wanting more out of her story, out of where she found herself towards the end of the first season other than just a ghost of Ford’s consequences.

Maybe it is for personal reasons that I felt the need to praise this show for distinguishing the difference between feeding a killer’s ego and not losing sight of what is truly important under these investigations. Maybe I am just a fanatic for whatever Fincher touches. And to be sure, it certainly does have his trademark cinematic touch - from seamless and compelling editing to the intense portraits of its characters. But, in any case, this show far exceeded my expectations in its mindful storytelling and is an important piece in a society obsessed with the grotesque.

[verdigrisprowl]

Jan 4 random movie night - Mindhunter: Episodes 1-5

On Rung’s recommendation and with Soundwave’s participation, Prowl’s trying out a new TV show, about FBI agents trying to develop a new method to track down serial killers based on what they can guess about their psyches from the gruesome crime scenes they leave behind. Prowl is not exactly persuaded of the validity of the science behind the technique, but he considers the show a work of fiction and so isn’t too fussed by it. There’s almost too much psychology in the show for him to handle, but so far it’s been tolerable.

But, he’s enjoying the mysteries, he likes that the main character is a socially incompetent but brilliant do-gooder who no one really likes but has proven very successful regardless, and the show’s spawning some great conversation with Soundwave.

ItsyBitsySpyers 6:54 pm *One couch, one Soundwave, one working caster, and another surprisingly large stash of fuel, because he's been using more than usual lately. Blame the interface, constant flying, and severed limb.* FakeProwl 6:55 pm *One Prowl, who's very curious about what it is Bonecrusher and Scavenger did. They weren't willing to fess up.* ItsyBitsySpyers 6:58 pm *Lifts his helm to look up at Prowl just so he can dip it again in an appropriately respectful manner.*

[[Greetings, O Captain, my Captain. Thank you for the suggestion.]] FakeProwl 7:01 pm *Stops dead. And for a second, a self-conscious but pleased little smile creeps across his face.*

*It hastily disappears, though. Back to neutral.* The credit goes to Rung, he recommended it to me. *He takes his seat, then nods at Soundwave's welded and braced arm.* Is THIS what they did to you? What happened? ItsyBitsySpyers 7:06 pm *He'd hoped one would. He's pleased with and proud of Prowl for taking that step. There'll be a few details to go over once Prowl actually settles into his position of authority, of course, but that can wait.*

[[He will transfer his gratitude if he sees the mech.]] *Nods to his arm.* [[It is. Scavenger approached him on Bonecrusher's behalf and punched his arm off.]]

*Casually, like having a limb severed is no big deal.* FakeProwl 7:08 pm He did WHAT?! *It's a big enough deal! Especially when the mech who lost his arm is a nigh-on undefeatable gladiator.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:13 pm *Soundwave uses his good hand to motion for Prowl to quiet down.*

[[It's fine. He needed to have the joint replaced anyway; it's been weak and poorly repaired since the first time his arm was severed.]] *And now it's been given proper treatment, as Prowl can no doubt see.* [[It made Scavenger look impressive in front of Bonecrusher, evened out what he owed Bonecrusher, gave him a reason to stop avoiding the hospital, and lets the Constructicons think he is more fragile than he really is. He's pleased.]] FakeProwl 7:15 pm *Well. That was all personally rational and reasonable. Prowl still didn't like knowing Soundwave had been so badly damaged.* ... Take care of it while it heals. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:17 pm *Nod.* [[Of course.]]

*Then, after a moment:* [[...He does appreciate your concern.]] FakeProwl 7:19 pm Good. Because it's not leaving until that brace does. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:20 pm [[In a couple of weeks. He promises.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 7:21 pm *He still has to pick Prowl up like he said he would when Prowl got his freedom, after all.* FakeProwl 7:22 pm *Nod.* I'm sure you've got more than enough spare limbs to compensate for the loss, but, if you find yourself in need of another couple, you have my comm. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:24 pm *Appears to think this over. In reality, he's already noted that and is letting Prowl sit in the hopes his reply will be more amusing for the brief silence.*

[[He -would- like one around his shoulders while we watch.]] FakeProwl 7:25 pm *A tiny huff.* I think I can manage that. *Drapes an arm around Soundwave's shoulders, careful of the fresh welds.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:26 pm [[Hmm. Good. Good.]] *Settles in, minding not to get the brace snagged on Prowl's fingers as he wiggles into place.* [[Shall we?]] FakeProwl 7:27 pm Let's. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:28 pm *The tiniest startle. What big font the show has. The better to see words with, he supposes.* [[The location must be very important.]] FakeProwl 7:30 pm *Pennsylvania. Has Prowl ever been to Pennsylvania?* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:30 pm ((HAHA)) [[...Sectioned? She wanted to have him cut into pieces?]] FakeProwl 7:31 pm Involuntarily committed to psychiatric care. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:32 pm [[Ah.]] *Slight frown.* [[Strange choice of word. But he sees, thank you.]] FakeProwl 7:33 pm *starts.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:33 pm *Joins.* FakeProwl 7:33 pm *... well that was a hell of a start to the show* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:34 pm *Soundwave leans forward.* [[He has heard of these old recording devices.]] FakeProwl 7:34 pm ... I have—had—a friend who was a hostage negotiator. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:34 pm *Hmmwhat? Focus back on Prowl. Listening.* FakeProwl 7:35 pm I'm fairly certain that he's a walking example of why Functionism is wrong, because I don't know how he got the position, but he's the single most socially inept bot I have ever known. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:36 pm [[...Did they often end like the one we just witnessed...?]] FakeProwl 7:36 pm I didn't know him then. And I'm a little concerned to find out. FakeProwl 7:38 pm I met him only a couple of times before the war, never saw him work, and by the time I got to know him he was a soldier and a detective in his free time. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:38 pm [[Who are they? Does he know them?]] FakeProwl 7:38 pm Nightbeat of Yuss. *listens carefully to the lecture on hostage negotiation* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:40 pm *Light wrinkling of faceplates.* [[He has heard of them.]] FakeProwl 7:44 pm ... For the record, on Earth, the majority of murders are still between people who know each other. The claim that murder has become something largely between strangers is false. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:45 pm [[It is a poor one.]] *Mental equivalent of a mutter at her "do you like my approach" thing.*

[[Was it false at the time this is set?]] ItsyBitsySpyers 7:47 pm *...This conversation they're having feels somewhat familiar.* FakeProwl 7:48 pm I'd have to look it up, but from what I've seen, that massive a demographic shift in crime would likely have been evident while I was on Earth. FakeProwl 7:50 pm *Prowl knows it's a variation on conversations he's had plenty of times.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:54 pm *Minor optic roll. At least it's back to the police business.* FakeProwl 7:54 pm *optics glaze over for the organics fucking.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:54 pm *At least they're on the same wavelength on that.* FakeProwl 7:55 pm *... what IS a backroom boy?* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:55 pm *He doesn't know. He's looking it up right now.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:56 pm [[...Someone who does important thinking and work for an organization in secret. How is that something not to aspire to?]] FakeProwl 7:59 pm Ah. Well, those aren't the people who are respected. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:00 pm [[But they get what needs to be done, done.]] FakeProwl 8:01 pm Of course they do. But the people in charge don't respect them for that. And will ignore their opinions as often as they think they can. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:05 pm *Disgruntled puff. It's true. He still thinks it's not the best idea to tell someone trying to get something done "do you want to be mistaken for someone who gets something done?" if you're trying to discourage them.* FakeProwl 8:07 pm *Unless the person you're talking to also disrespects them.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:07 pm *Fffffair point.* FakeProwl 8:09 pm *Hey, brilliant law enforcement mind who's totally clueless about normal relationships with other people. Prowl can sympathize with that.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:10 pm *Glance.* [[For the record, he is not intimidated.]] FakeProwl 8:11 pm *Glances back* I haven't been law enforcement as long as you've known me. Talk to me in a week. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:13 pm *A thin but wide smile.* [[He'll be sure to do that.]] FakeProwl 8:14 pm *they're saying a name that sounds like "Froid" a whole lot* *while talking about psychology.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:15 pm *Has not met a Froid and does not know to be intrigued by that.* FakeProwl 8:16 pm *it's making Prowl nervous.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:17 pm *Visibly?* FakeProwl 8:18 pm *for a little bit, he went very still.* *but now he's just normal still.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:19 pm *Then it'll have been noted, but it will probably take at least another few incidents for him to think something connected is going on.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:23 pm ((ah gotta pause be back in like three minutes)) FakeProwl 8:24 pm *ugh, can't stand those people. the ones that lash out at the people who are trying to help because they're upset. as if saying "I can't tell who the murderer is" is the same as saying "I'm the murderer."* FakeProwl 8:27 pm ... So what's the other one's solution? Does he think they SHOULD make up things to tell the officer that they don't know with any certainty? He's telling the main character that he's full of scrap because he said they don't know anything. I didn't hear him say otherwise—I didn't hear him offer anything. He's just mad at the main character for admitting they can't conclude anything. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:31 pm [[It doesn't make any sense to be mad about that. Were they not on that trip to find answers to the things they don't understand? Admitting they don't is -important-.]] FakeProwl 8:31 pm Exactly. Claiming they've figured out more than they have—making up rubbish to offer the officer—will only achieve two things: it will feed their egos, and it will hinder the case. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:32 pm [[Three things. If they do find a way afterward, it will make others unlikely to pay it attention.]] FakeProwl 8:33 pm Mm. That too. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:34 pm [[Eurgh.]] ((...*checks the name on the teacher's actor because the voice is familiar*)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:36 pm ((*doesn't recognize. damn.*)) FakeProwl 8:40 pm ... How can he claim that he's an authority on criminal behavior and psychology when he won't even deign to speak to the criminals he claims to be an authority on. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:41 pm [[And risk proving himself wrong? Losing status?]] *Soundwave is only half looking at the screen.* FakeProwl 8:41 pm *Huff.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:44 pm *His turn to huff.* FakeProwl 8:46 pm He really needed a better cover story before going in. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:47 pm [[...Why would he want that for himself.]] FakeProwl 8:48 pm I don't think he's talking about what he wants. I think he's judging, from a practical standpoint, what he believes would let society get the results they want out of him. FakeProwl 8:51 pm The criminals I've known are all mostly quite self-aware about the difference between their behavior and what society expects out of them. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:51 pm [[No arguments.]] FakeProwl 8:52 pm He wasn't asked "what do you want," but "what do you think society should do with you." ItsyBitsySpyers 8:55 pm [[...Good point. He can't say he would have agreed with what he knew society would want to do to him.]] *Pause.* [[What some in it still think should happen to him.]] [[Though most of them are at least a third as accomplished.]] FakeProwl 8:56 pm ... I... don't think that's what that hole is for. *is learning SO MANY new things about human anatomy and the things you definitely shouldn't do with them.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:58 pm *Indeed.* FakeProwl 9:01 pm ... This time, he does have a point. There IS a distinct probability that that's all manipulation. FakeProwl 9:02 pm He was asking him about his psychological history, asking "how does this make you feel," with his little notepad out to take notes—and he fed him back tailor-made psychological explanations for his behavior. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:02 pm [[Perhaps. Though there's something to be learned from that too.]] FakeProwl 9:04 pm Oh, there's always something to be learned from someone lying. As long as you know it's lying. You learn, for instance, what he's been taught a psychologist looks for. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:05 pm [[And then not to be that, he assumes?]] FakeProwl 9:06 pm Oh, no, if that one was lying, he was lying by trying to be exactly what a psychologist looks for. He presented a very obvious psychology-based motive for his behavior. *points at screen* He's wildly speculating on insufficient evidence. "Doesn't bathe because bathing is what his parents want," or maybe he's homeless and can't shower. You don't know. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:10 pm [[That was the one he expected. It seems more likely than... defiant filthiness.]]

*Soundwave sits up to see if things differ between people.* FakeProwl 9:12 pm He's even using psychiatric terms. FakeProwl 9:15 pm He might be funneling his own, real experiences through the framework of the psychology he's learned; or he might be making up a pile of motives based on what past shrinks have told him ought to be the root causes of his behavior. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:15 pm [[Do you think - if it is the latter - that he has come to believe them?]] [[Or is it simply convenient to regurgitate them?]] FakeProwl 9:17 pm Either is a possibility. I don't think anything about it. It's psychology, and it's aliens. It's not my forte. But he's basing his beliefs on his /instincts./ *shakes his head.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:21 pm [[Hm. At least he listened to -one- of them.]] [[He must ask what you do when faced with a case like the ones they are trying to work out if you don't apply these psychology things, though.]] FakeProwl 9:23 pm Mm. And yet he still can't comprehend that maybe understanding a criminal makes it easier to catch the criminal. Psychology is good for theories. It works for guesses. Guesses give you somewhere to look if you don't have anywhere else. FakeProwl 9:25 pm Where you WANT to look? Facts. Evidence. Paint, tread marks, dents. Objects that have clearly been removed from the crime scene that should be there, objects that were left at the crime scene that shouldn't be there. THAT'S where you want to look. FakeProwl 9:28 pm If you have imagined up a theory of what the suspect ought to look like, and then you find a suspect that matches your fantasy, that doesn't prove anything. No matter how good your theory is. That doesn't make your suspect guilty. Once you HAVE that suspect, sure, you can look for REAL evidence. You find a hammer in his home with scrapes of the victim's paint around the edge—great. NOW you've got your killer. Because now you have EVIDENCE. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:29 pm [[Then the point of his work should be use as a helpful tool, not the ending of the search.]] [[Correct?]] FakeProwl 9:30 pm Exactly. And he's—overreaching. Like the theory with the kid with a problem with authority. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:32 pm [[Is that a common problem? Making up too much?]] FakeProwl 9:32 pm Ugh. SOME people. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:33 pm *A little startled by the ugh and the emphasis on '"some".*

[[...What? What is wrong?]] FakeProwl 9:34 pm Nothing's wrong. I've had some coworkers I didn't like. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:35 pm [[Oh. You were - he thought something on screen was objectionable and he'd missed it.]] FakeProwl 9:35 pm No, no. I was answering your question. Terrible investigators. They could make up a whole novel based off the shape of a scrape. FakeProwl 9:37 pm Trust me on this—as the most meticulous report-writer in the Iaconian Mechaforensics Division—the maximum you can /actually/ get out of the shape of a scrape is eight pages. Single-spaced. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:38 pm *He looks at Prowl, slightly open-mouthed even though he doesn't intend to speak out loud, closes his mouth, opens it.*

[[...Do you still have any? Reports like that.]] FakeProwl 9:39 pm From IMD? They probably didn't survive the war. The only person I know who /might/ still have some of my old paperwork is— Oh, no, he's dead. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:39 pm *Yes, yes? Who? Wh-- oh. Damn.*

[[...If he found an interesting scrape, could you write a sample?]] ItsyBitsySpyers 9:41 pm *Gestures to the screen with his free hand.* [[They can't possibly--]] ((one sec i cro'd my food)) FakeProwl 9:41 pm ((oh my god)) Hm. They revised their theory based on new evidence. The bad investigators don't do that. FakeProwl 9:43 pm Psychology is still a dangerous game, though. Anybody can make up any one of a dozen stories to fit the known facts. Maybe one of that dozen fits the actual profile of the actual perp. FakeProwl 9:44 pm But what if the theory that the investigator actually thought up and settled on was one of the OTHER dozen? His optics will glaze right over when the real suspect goes by, because he didn't fit the profile. It's bound to be no different on Earth. Their minds are no less varied and complicated than ours. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:45 pm [["Now what has he done"? Has he done other things?]] FakeProwl 9:46 pm She clearly despises him. Maybe he's never done anything—that she knows of. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:51 pm [[...It still seems lucky.]] FakeProwl 9:51 pm It IS lucky. It's also TV. They got to script an easy capture. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:54 pm [[Well, yes. But if it is meant to reflect how things are done - that's all.]] FakeProwl 9:55 pm It's sci-fi. The sci is scicology. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:56 pm *Looks at.* FakeProwl 9:56 pm *poker face* ... It wasn't very good, was it. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:57 pm [[It was very good. He was trying to think of how to compliment it without you denying the compliment.]] FakeProwl 9:57 pm Oh. Thanks. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:59 pm *Nod nod.* [[He likes when you dabble in wordplay. You tend to find unexpected moments for it.]] *So Prowl doesn't feel pressured for the future, and because it is true:* [[Though he likes the more obvious ones too.]] FakeProwl 9:59 pm It isn't my forte. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:00 pm *See? Denying the compliment.* [[Then it is all the more impressive.]] FakeProwl 10:02 pm I do what I can. *He knows Soundwave appreciates them.* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:02 pm *Better.* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:09 pm *Munch munch munch.*

[[Sometimes he has wondered - no. Hold on.]] *Tries to rearrange his thoughts some.* [[He is not truly meant for law enforcement. You know that already; he told you. And you have working optics.]]

[[But sometimes he wonders what things would be different if others had his abilities. In this case, if a better officer had them.]] [[How that would change dealing with suspects, and the laws around it.]] FakeProwl 10:10 pm Mm. ... It'd make interrogations a lot easier. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:10 pm [[He can confirm that one.]] ((AAAAGH OJ IN MY EYE brb washing eye)) FakeProwl 10:10 pm ((oh no)) ItsyBitsySpyers 10:12 pm [[Whether or not that would - hmm. Should? Be legal to use. Information gathered that way.]] FakeProwl 10:12 pm ... This character again. Is he going to be a mass murderer? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:13 pm [[Perhaps they'll use their invention to catch him.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:14 pm [[...He's in security system work. He's going to break into places he's already secured, isn't he.]] FakeProwl 10:14 pm ... It probably would be legal, under the right circumstances, with the right supervision and clearance and evidence that it was both justified and necessary. I don't know whether it SHOULD be. ... Well—yes. It should be. But /should/ it be. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:17 pm *Soundwave vents quietly.*

[[Do you know how many illegal things he hears others being tempted to do? How many he listens to every day?]] FakeProwl 10:18 pm Give me a rough number. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:19 pm [[You don't want it.]] FakeProwl 10:19 pm I wouldn't ask if I didn't. FakeProwl 10:26 pm *jumps* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:26 pm *Soundwave shakes his head. No, he really doesn't think Prowl does. At least, he won't once he sees how high the number climbs even on a good day.*

[[But he can't act on them. Not now, anyway. Under Megatron, it was--]] Never mind. [[Not now. He has to wait until something comes of it, if it does. Which is rare, compared to how often he hears things.]]

[[It is good for an intelligence officer to have. It is not for a p--]] *JUMP* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:28 pm *Long vent. What timing.*

[[...Not a good ability for a police mech, he thinks.]] FakeProwl 10:30 pm *he DOES want to see that number, thank you.* ... It sounds like a nightmare. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:36 pm [[It was less of one when he wasn't trying to do your job.]] *Soft huff.* [[So. You see why he wondered what would happen to the system if there were more like him.]]

[[...It is probably for the best that there aren't.]] *Flicks a hand.* [[He doesn't mean to derail. He was thinking about the idea of 'useful tools'.]] FakeProwl 10:37 pm I don't know. It's hard to extrapolate from a sample size of one. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:44 pm [[He is a Pit of a one sometimes, if he says so himself. Forgive him if he's not eager to increase the sample size.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:46 pm [[...And he doesn't see what an interest in bondage has to do with criminality.]] FakeProwl 10:47 pm You'll be pleased to know we're not going to ask you to sign up for any tests trying to replicate your brain. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:47 pm [[...He is, actually.]] FakeProwl 10:47 pm It's an awful stereotype, the bondage thing. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:48 pm [[Have you run into it yourself?]] FakeProwl 10:53 pm The worst I ever encountered was a mech who believed it was impossible for someone who got off to tying people up to be psychologically stable. FakeProwl 10:54 pm I took out a set of bright, red, and obviously toy handcuffs. He shut up. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:55 pm *Amused.* [[Do you still have them?]] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:58 pm *LOUD huff.* [[Buzzsaw is highly intelligent and he could not find a thing in the correct spot in his deployer's room if everyone's life depended on it.]] FakeProwl 10:59 pm Like I said. Science fiction. That particular set of cuffs? No. I like cuffs like them, though. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:02 pm [[...Do you have any now?]] FakeProwl 11:03 pm Not currently. Lost my last set on the Lost Light. Rodimus borrowed it. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:04 pm *The return of the wrinkled faceplates and some munching.* [[Let's leave that pair where it is.]] FakeProwl 11:05 pm If he's still got it, it's somewhere halfway across the galaxy by now, so I think that's fair. FakeProwl 11:06 pm That's the third time he's shown up. He's definitely going to be the big villain. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:09 pm [[The to-be villain is off to a slow start.]]

[[...This reminds him. He has had a silver handcuff key for some time now, but nothing to go with it.]] [[An anonymous gift. He's often wondered what to do with it. Perhaps he'll have a set built around it.]] FakeProwl 11:10 pm Hm. An interesting concept. Building a lock to fit a key. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:12 pm [[More complex things have been reversed before.]] This message has been removed. FakeProwl 11:14 pm If you want /recreational/ cuffs, I'll have to give you specifications. They have to be designed differently than regular cuffs. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:15 pm [[...He didn't say they were for him. But that would probably be helpful.]] FakeProwl 11:16 pm Hm. Well, whoever they're for. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:17 pm [[Yes. Whoever they're for.]] FakeProwl 11:18 pm *a brief ghost of a smirk* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:22 pm [[It amuses him when others mistake cuteness for an inability to manipulate.]] FakeProwl 11:26 pm ... Why is the girlfriend in this show? I thought when she was introduced that she was going to contribute her psychological education to the development of this whole system. But she's... not part of the plot. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:28 pm [[Perhaps she has a greater role yet to come?]] FakeProwl 11:28 pm Perhaps. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:32 pm [[So be rude.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 11:34 pm [[...What does hair have to do with confiding.]] FakeProwl 11:35 pm *shrugs. hair is mysterious and kind of hard to look at.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:35 pm *He knows there is an Earth movie claiming someone's hair is full of secrets, but he never worked out what that meant and this seemed to have been a dead end too, so... oh well.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:40 pm *Polishes off the last of his snacks and sets the stash on the ground by the couch. He'll clean that up later.* FakeProwl 11:40 pm *for the record—that was an impressive quantity of snacks.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:41 pm *He won't have thought about it as such. It's just what he needed to refill on.*

[[Cleaning supplies.]] FakeProwl 11:42 pm *And Prowl has changed his estimates for the capacity of Soundwave's fuel tank.* The magic words. FakeProwl 11:44 pm There will likely be blood in the drains of the sink and tub still. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:44 pm [[...Still?]] FakeProwl 11:44 pm Still, yes. Dried. Traces. But detectable, even without luminol. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:45 pm [[But humans bathe more often than we do.]] [[Shouldn't that have washed it down?]] FakeProwl 11:45 pm From what I have seen of forensics on Earth, blood is /extremely/ hard to get rid of. Traces of it will dry and stick around forever. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:46 pm [[Hmm. That... sounds odd, but he will trust you.]] *And maybe not tell Knock Out there are probably traces of Silas all over his tools still.* FakeProwl 11:47 pm Even once it's been completely cleaned up to the naked eye, invisible traces of it will remain and be detectable with proper chemical tests. I think it's the... lllipids? Some component of the blood. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:48 pm [[...Human blood has components?]] FakeProwl 11:48 pm ... Yes. There's multiple ingredients. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:49 pm [[And those don't separate in their fuel lines.]] FakeProwl 11:50 pm No. It's all very thoroughly mixed. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:50 pm [[...He will be reading up on this.]] FakeProwl 11:51 pm I don't know all of the components. But I know it contains mitochondria and DNA. And I'm told it contains iron, but tastes like copper. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:51 pm [[That part is true.]] FakeProwl 11:52 pm Please tell me you haven't tasted human blood. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:53 pm [[He hasn't, no.]] *Disgusting.* [[But Ravage licked some once, and it was not too different from the blood of the creature they call e-mu. Which he has hunted.]] FakeProwl 11:54 pm *... eating organics. yeah, okay, great. just keep your mouth shut and nod, Prowl. yes. fascinating. e-mu.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:54 pm *Eyeing Prowl. He can hear that awkward silence, you know.*

[[He said it smelled like metal and wanted to find out why. The emu was for a plant.]] [[Those without hands have to have -some- way of carrying things.]] FakeProwl 11:55 pm "For a plant"? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:56 pm *...Oops. He'll carry on like it's nothing.*

[[Yes. Our Ratchet maintains a... what is the word. A greenhouse. Many Earth plants benefit from the presence of dead organic matter and some consume other organics.]] *And so does the one in his shed, but they're not talking about that one right now.* FakeProwl 11:57 pm *oh. that's much better than what prowl was thinking. he was picturing a pink alchemy production plant.* Yes, ah... fertilization, I think it's called? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:57 pm [[That is eggs.]] FakeProwl 11:58 pm Oh. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:58 pm [[...He thinks.]] FakeProwl 11:59 pm ... You're probably right, I've been researching eggs far more recently than I've been researching anything that might concern plantlife on Earth. Yesterday ItsyBitsySpyers 11:59 pm *One of his optics twitches ever so slightly with the effort to keep a straight face. He doesn't normally bother when his mask is off, so it's not easy.*

[[He's not surprised.]] FakeProwl 12:01 am *oblivious to the twitch. probably would have been oblivious to whatever expression soundwave was suppressing, too.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:02 am *Good. It'll make him happier not being called out on the difference between the blank visor and his rather mobile features.*

[[He wouldn't mind seeing the data you've gathered, when you have a chance to share it.]] FakeProwl 12:03 am *Barely manages to keep a straight face himself. Most of the "data" he's gathered is Tarantulas's porn.* ... I'll see what's shareable. ItsyBitsySpyers 12:04 am *Helm tilt. That's an odd thing to say. Has he been interviewing other egg-layers or something?*

[[Very well. Thank you.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 12:06 am [[For now, though, he should rest. Frames heal faster with fewer systems running.]]

[[Would you like to join him? He does not yet know how your new schedule changes things...]] FakeProwl 12:07 am I am, once again, diurnal. So I'd be delighted. *The Constructicons are letting Prowl sleep NEAR them again, but not WITH them.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:12 am *Perk. Then he doesn't need to rush off right away?*

[[Good.]] *He wobbles slightly standing up, but gets his balance quickly enough and offers his good arm. He'll carry the avatar up there with him if Prowl wants.* [[Let us go. Here, for now, though he -would- like to see your apartment in person and not through a camera lens some time.]] FakeProwl 12:14 am ... Sometime when the Constructicons are out. And confident you won't bug it while they're gone. *that's going to take a while.* *takes Soundwave's hand. no carrying. not with your arm the way it is. no matter how light avatars can get.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:16 am [[He is a very patient mech... and they'll have even less reason than usual to worry about that if you keep him busy enough.]]

*Ah? Not a problem. He likes that, too. And toward the stairs he goes - after giving the back of Prowl's hand a kiss.*

[fursasaida]

Context: I’m watching all of NCIS because i’m a trash person fascinated by the recent past and I’m having a Thought

A recent episode centered on a female navy commander who was back from deployment in Afghanistan, having killed ten civilians in ~the fog of war~. the incident is ruled an accident but they let us know she feels guilty about it, you know, cause she’s a good person and all. Al Qaeda wants her dead in revenge (please note: none of the geopolitics on this show make even the remotest sense, don’t even try to make it work) and so The Team has to protect her family after her car blows up. They catch al Qaeda and all (l o l), but in the process they have to have a turf war with the FBI, who wants to leave the family out there as bait to wrap up a bigger al Qaeda cell. Gibbs gives the lead FBI agent a whole spiel about how isn’t it just so wrong for “our FBI” to use “an American family” as bait; the show has absolutely no notion of how ironic this is given that the episode started out basically handwaving the deaths of ten Afghan civilians.

Where it gets really interesting though is in The Big Twist. Turns out, the Commander’s husband had an affair while she was gone, but she and he are reconnecting and all, so he goes to dump the other woman. But oh snap! She’s trying to kill the Commander too! The second car bomb was Susie Suburbs the whole time! The whole thing ends with a confrontation where the other woman tries to shoot the Commander in the family living room, and at the last moment the Commander shoots and kills her instead. And the final line from the Commander, surveying her corpse, is this:

“At least it wasn’t an innocent civilian this time.”

Very surprising for NCIS, a show for reactionary dads across America! Lots of weird dissonance here! The Afghans die offscreen and no one much cares, but the Commander (who we’re supposed to sympathize with; there’s a whole thread about her retiring early to be with her children and just be a mom, it’s all very...neo-retro, I guess) feels bad about it. The other woman dies onscreen in a big moment of drama and tragedy, but the Commander is like, this is way better than the time I killed all those Afghans. The story knows what it cares about in terms of screentime and drama (white lady > ten Afghan civilians) but the writing on the literal, surface level has it the other way around. I think this has to do with the Commander being this kind of ultimate all-encompassing mother/wife fantasy: she’s improbably hot, she’s unfazed by being car bombed, she just wants to be with her kids and her husband (literally, “I’m just Mrs. [whatever the name was] now. I kind of like the sound of that”), she defends the country and the family home, and she has compassion for Those People. Actual line from the episode: “Mom packs a Glock.”

Her husband is super duper emasculated pretty much throughout, I assume so all those Reactionary Dads can imagine themselves with the Commander, or maybe just because the writers don’t know how to write any kind of dynamic without one person in it being walked all over in some way. That contrast between the Commander--played by a Latina, but pretty white-coded--and her husband is foiled by the power struggle between Gibbs (the Ultimate Man on the show, always) and the cold, hard-ass lead FBI agent, who’s a much more racialized Latina. The FBI agent, of course, is implied to be attracted to Gibbs, who has no interest. (He only goes for redheads, which in this show means white women.) He ultimately wins their contest, natch.

What’s interesting about this to me is--well actually there are a few things, some of which I can’t get into here. But this seems to me like a repurposing of the Pioneer Woman idea: she maintains house and home, is devoted to the family, all of that, but can use a shotgun to protect her family. The whole Mama Bear, Sarah Palin thing. There’s probably a lot more of this in conservative media that I don’t even know exists, but in more mainstream/high profile stuff, you don’t see it as much. Generally the ass-kicking hot lady doesn’t have so much of that maternal, protective dimension, even if she’s married (which she usually isn’t). The FBI agent is there as a contrast because as written, she makes the Commander appear much more warm, loving, and emotionally open, even if she can and will hold her daughter’s boyfriend at gunpoint or shoot her husband’s ex-mistress in her own living room. The first thing said after this is her husband assuring the NCIS agents who have just burst in the door, “It was self-defense! She was just trying to protect herself!” That doesn’t explain in-story why she, a trained military officer, killed a civilian instead of just wounding and disarming her, but the point is made: she was protecting. She’s Mama Bear. Meanwhile the other woman, who’d committed several cardinal sins of womanhood--she’s not innocent, remember--has to be killed. Not for any reason justified in the story, but in the ideological framework that supports the story, she had to be extinguished. So: blood on the carpet.

[elfnerdherder]

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 8

You can read Chapter 8 on Ao3 Here

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Chapter 8: The Man of the Crowd

           Kelly Brown, sitting demurely in her prison cell where she’d declined to give any new information, promptly fell from her chair at 11:42 A.M. and began screaming.

           It was not the screams of someone grasping for attention. Jack Crawford stared at the image on his smart phone, and even with his lack of empathy that oftentimes came across as callous, he could see that it wasn’t an act. It was the sounds of genuine pain, of an agony that was more spiritual than physical, and even he could see exactly what it was that took her to curling up into a ball and begging for it to end:

           Soulmate severance.

           “Sir, should we…?” The guard hesitated, unsure if he should step in or not. His voice was disembodied, off to the side of the live video.

           “Leave her,” he decided, watching her writhe. “The only thing we could do is administer a sedative, but that won’t stop this from happening when she wakes up later. She’ll have to endure it now.”

           “We lost the suspect who was in possession of her vehicle,” Zeller said beside him, in person. “He did take fire before losing them in interstate traffic. The helicopter couldn’t get to the air in time to track him.”

           “If the suspect was her soulmate…” The guard murmured, disquieted. His mismatched eyes were a testament to his own fears. Once, a long time ago, Jack would have also felt a shiver of unease down his spine for the pain he’d one day feel so acutely it tore at his very being. He’d stopped feeling that fear a long time ago, though, probably around the first time he’d been to the doctor with Bella and found out what terminal cancer sounded like coming out of her mouth.

           He’d sat in pain with her every day since then. The idea of severance, if anything, meant she’d no longer hurt.

           “We’ll question her after,” Jack decided. “She’ll be vulnerable.”

           “I don’t think we can do that, Jack,” Zeller said. “Soulmate rights and all.”

           The right to grieve the death of a soulmate without pressure from law enforcement. Jack mulled the dilemma over, a curl to his lip. Her screams were subsiding, giving way to sobs that couldn’t quite get traction due to the loss of breath she was experiencing. Her body thought it was dying. She thought that she was dying.

           He could relate, although he could certainly choose not to sympathize. She’d almost killed one of his men, after all. Bowman’s fate still hung in the balance.

           “Question her after she regains consciousness,” he said after a moment of thought. “No, I don’t want to hear it.” He gave Zeller a dark warning look, then looked back to the video. “Soulmate severance is a serious concern, but so is finding Will Graham and stopping the people that first decided to start attacking our men for standing for what was right.”

           “Yes, sir,” the guard replied.

           Zeller followed him down the hall after he’d disconnected the livestream, and he didn’t comment on the way Jack’s hands were clenched to large, capable fists.

           “Do you think Graham is still alive?”

           “Yes.” At Zeller’s dubious expression, he continued, “If he’d killed him by now, he’d want me to know. He’d probably leave pieces of him scattered into the shape of an arrow leading to where his head was mounted.”

           “Jack…”

           “What else have you got for me?” he asked, curtailing that sort of line of questioning.

           Zeller frowned. “Due to his good behavior, Lecter was able to meet with these people in a private, unrecorded room rather than the public room,” he said after a brief hesitation. “Chilton said that he has several recordings of psychiatrists going to see Lecter, but they’re discussions of death, focusing particularly of our awareness of our own mortality.”

           “How did he muster such a large following?” Jack wondered out loud. “Was he allowed near computers, or did he have access to any technology? Something to reach out towards others?”

           “No, but we’re still getting information about those that helped him escape. The nurse and the orderly…who knows who else was involved?”

           “God damn,” Jack murmured. “All that he had to do was look like the poster boy for acceptance and tolerance for their psychotic tendencies, and they’d have flocked to him.”

           Wherever you go, death follows.

           “I’ve got a meeting with the director here.” They paused by the door, and Jack sighed. “We’re going to start looking for places that he could keep a large amount of people under the radar. I’m thinking either vastly rural area, or a predominantly large city like Atlanta. So far, I’ve got Atlanta PD on our side.”

           “Do you think they’ll keep information from us if they find it?”

           “It’s a serial killer.” Jack smiled grimly. “If anything, I’d say the guys on the brass don’t want to handle it at all, but if it’s on their back doorstep...they’ll cooperate.”

           “I’m used to pissing contests with these guys.”

           “They don’t want a pissing contest when it’s Lecter. They want it clean, easy…” Jack rubbed the nape of his neck, pressing down the hairs that stood on end when he thought about the bastard slipping right through their fingers. “If you need something from them, don’t hesitate to ask.”

           “Right.”

           “Why did Chilton allow so many different people to meet with this man, one-on-one?” Jack wondered. “That’s what I want to know. Why he thought it was safe to let Lecter talk to these people privately.”

           “A lot of what happens there isn’t always run through Dr. Chilton,” Zeller explained. “And the head orderly that would have been the eyes and ears of that place was one of the men that helped Lecter escape.”

           “Get a few guys on the inside…” Jack murmured, disgusted. “Get a hold of Dr. Chilton, too. He ducked out of our phone conversation, and I want screenings of all of his staff.”

           Zeller turned and strode down the hall of the FBI Atlanta division, headed towards the tech department.

           Jack Crawford sighed, collected himself, and strode into the department head’s office to give him news about their only suspect in custody.

           How does it feel?

-

           Molly Foster stood in a room with six other people and desperately tried to blend in.

           It was difficult to, all things considered. While in the house itself, she tried often enough to spend time with Wally and no one else, but with the tasks she’d been given, people tended to view her with awe-filled, wide eyes. It was her job to keep Will from moving on. It was her that kept him stagnant, waiting for that perfect moment when Hannibal would relieve her of his love. They hadn’t put hands to her the way they’d tried to with Will, and for that she was eternally grateful. Although she had no aversion to touch the way he did, it would have made her uncomfortable, all the same. They loved her, even as they kept their distance and watched.

           It was a nuisance, to say the least.

           “He didn’t want dinner,” Beverly said in the unkempt quiet. She stood near the fireplace and appeared distinctly troubled. “I’ve seen him like this before.”

           “Internalizing, no doubt.”

           “Usually he’d go on walks with his dog when he gets like this, but…” Beverly shrugged. Winston was back in DC, and Will was here. Captive. No one would say the word, but he was very much captive. Molly could admit it to herself, although she wasn’t so dumb to say it out loud.

           Hannibal sat at his desk and steepled his fingers, staring over them with his normal, sanguine expression. The fire popped and cackled along a poplar log.

           “Nate’s death is a troubling thing,” he said at last. “Matthew, you never heard word from Alyss?”

           “No.”

           “News in DC is that she attacked Agent Bowman, as planned. He was able to apprehend her before she could get away though, and they traced Nate through Alyss’ car,” Saul said. He sat close to Beverly, his eyes tracking her casual pacing in front of the fire. His adoration was clear, although when he looked from her to Hannibal, it was difficult to see which one he cared about most. That rankled at Molly, made her spit taste sour.

           “Francis?” Hannibal looked to him expectantly.

           Francis always looked one breath away from biting someone, in Molly’s eyes. He had the sort of eyes that seemed to hold a thousand secrets, but closer inspection gave way to the kind of fear a person only has when they’ve lived under the thumb of another for most of their life. She thought of the wet sound one of the agents had made in the back of his throat as Francis took his knife to their neck, and she had to suppress a shudder. She heard that noise whenever she dreamed.

           “I’m not hearing a lot,” he said at last. He always took his time speaking, the words stiff on his lips. She’d seen his writing, though, and that in of itself was an elegant thing to behold; far from the way he puzzled over the sound an ‘S’ should make. “Crawford doesn’t…want a lot of chatter because of me. Nervous to trust his own agents. They have her, though, and he’s in Atlanta right now.”

           “Atlanta?” Hannibal looked up from his fingertips and appraised them, expression shifting. It was that face that Molly most feared, the kind of face that made him appear utterly human, even when he wasn’t thinking like one.

           “They think we’re in Georgia.”

           “We are in Georgia, Francis,” Saul said, looking away from Hannibal to scowl at him. “How’d they find that out?”

           “Did something slip through the cracks?” Hannibal asked.

           “I’ll find out, Dr. Lecter,” Francis promised.

           “I’ve got a guy that can keep us posted on their movements with the Atlanta PD,” Matthew informed them. “Last he said, Crawford was promising utmost transparency so that they could find us faster.”

           “I commend Agent Crawford on such designs,” Hannibal said with a thin-lipped smile. The rest of the room laughed, and Molly joined in, although she kept her arms firmly wrapped around herself. “Molly, how was your walk with Will this morning?”

           Everyone looked to her, and she forced herself to let go of her self-soothing embrace. Her back stiffened, her chin lifted, and she smiled humorlessly.

           “As I expected. Whatever sway I had was gone the moment he realized that I was involved in this.”

           “You pointed a gun at him,” Beverly said defensively.

           “He would have fought otherwise, and that wasn’t the sort of publicity we needed in a gas station parking lot,” Molly returned. They stared one another down, weighing, assessing. It was often like this between them, a difference of opinion on just how Will was to be handled. Molly wondered what it would be like to have a room full of people assessing and weighing her psyche; she’d probably have a laundry list of mental problems, just like Will.

           “He was not receptive to you.”

           “No.”

           “Is he at risk for running at this moment?”

           “He might have been, had he not seen Nate,” Howard stated before Molly could say anything. “He helped me take him to the medic room, and he went to his room without having to be asked afterwards.”

           Hannibal looked to Molly for confirmation, and she nodded in agreement.

           “We’ll have Nate buried in the cemetery just a mile into the forest,” he decided. “Matthew, if you’ll look into the matter of Agent Crawford’s movements, and Francis, see if you can ascertain just where they have Miss Alyss. I’ll speak with everyone about the matter, keep them calm.”

           “Are we going to begin the next act?” Saul asked, mismatched eyes glittering.

           Molly looked to Beverly rather than Saul at the question because she always found it fascinating to watch the two of them together. There was always a sense of desperation, like time was running out. She could never quite place why she felt that way, but she supposed in was in the manner that Beverly always sought him out, eyes shadowed and haunted. She hadn’t made it a secret that she didn’t like the connection at first; years of it gave way to acceptance, though, and Molly supposed that the love followed after that. Saul looked to Hannibal, and Beverly looked to Saul. It made anxiety curdle in Molly’s mouth.

She never gave voice to the feeling though because it was just that –a feeling. Still, though, she watched them now and saw that same haunted look on Beverly’s face that she always did; like one day, all of this would be too much for her, and she’d blow her brains out.

           “Given the circumstances, Saul, I think that it’s time to begin the next act,” Hannibal said in the silence that followed. “Matthew, you understand your part?”

           “Intimately,” Matthew replied.

           “And Molly?” At the sound of her name, she turned towards Hannibal expectantly, hands on her hips. With Hannibal, one would be stupid to look like a victim where he could see. Victims were devoured by wolves, a sheep to be picked off at their leisure.

           Molly wasn’t a survivor. She overcame.

           “You know what we discussed last. Despite everything, you’re doing wonderful.”

           On cue, she gave a bright, chilling smile.

           “Thank you, Dr. Lecter,” she lied through her teeth. “In reality, this is the happiest that I’ve ever been.”

-

           Hannibal stared down at Will Graham while he slept.

           It was not the calm, quiet sleep of the well-rested, but the anxious sleep of the fearful. He studied the thin membrane of Will’s skin against the pillow, a thread count high enough that Chiyoh had informed him of it when she’d purchased them. While Hannibal couldn’t care less about the number of the tread count for sheets one slept on, he could care that despite its comfort, Will still couldn’t sleep easy.

           Granted, he was sure that Will Graham hadn’t had a good night’s rest in a long, long time.

           “I’m already dead,” he murmured, and that small thrum of pleasure curled down his spine, settled at the base with a warm, heady hum. He blinked slowly, languidly, committed to memory the short, sharp inhales with the too long pauses between exhausted exhales. The way he slept was much like the way Will Graham lived; curt, hesitant, and altogether worrisome.

           He paced the room at his leisure, steps silent since he’d removed his shoes and left them just outside of the door. He tried to imagine it how it could be; fishing lures on the desk by a window, books on soulmate psychology tucked onto the small bookcase, a dog bed that lay unused by the window because despite Will’s best efforts, the dog slept on his bed. He imagined art work just above the dresser, a gift that Will would accept with an awkward shift of his stature before he held it close for the rest of the night. He’d put it up with a level to ensure that it was straight.

           Sleep didn’t often elude Hannibal, but it did now. He silently paced the space that Will spent most of his time in, committing the scent of fear and suspicion to his memory. It was a refreshing, something reeking of the bergamot soap he’d left in the shower; a lovely replacement of the memory of the last time he’d smelled him, fear and Wal-Mart cologne blended into a nauseating concoction. Skipping meals, avoiding people as a whole, and locking himself up in his room while he no doubt planned his reckless escape; Hannibal felt each and every step that Will took across the floor, each aggravated thought as he mulled over Nate’s unfortunate end.

           He’d thought to put him closer to his own personal quarters, but logic had proceeded ahead of desire. Hannibal needed him in a place where he could learn to become familiar, a place to call his own while he navigated through the house and everything within. If Will could find a safe space in the house, he could become acclimated to the house. Comfortable.

           He just needed to take his time. Patience in this, Hannibal knew, was the ultimate key.

           “Sir?”

           The whisper brought him to the door where Saul and Beverly waited patiently. He gave himself one last glance back to Will who turned violently to the side in his sleep. A sigh, one of mourning and pain passed his lips as he readjusted, and Hannibal noted the curve of his hip, the slant of his shoulder as he turned in towards himself. Even in his sleep, there was a relentless chasing, it seemed. Even in his sleep, he could not dream with ease.

He closed the door behind himself silently, then followed them downstairs with shoes in hand. Once at the bottom, he put them on and strode towards his office, their steps trailing after him. Saul smelled of the forest, and Beverly smelled of secrets and vanilla musk skin cream.

           “Everyone is in position for tomorrow,” Saul said the moment that the door to the study closed.

           “I’ve gotten confirmation from our guy on the inside that no one is expecting a move like this,” Beverly added. Her hand brushed against Saul’s, and Hannibal tracked the motion. While Saul was an easy read, an open book that begged to be seen and loved, Beverly was the spine of that book, stiff and unyielding unless one knew how to apply the right pressure.

           “Jack Crawford is in Atlanta currently,” Hannibal said. “What do we know about Alyss?”

           “Francis informed me that Alyss is kept at the HQ right now. Because of soulmate grieving rights, they can’t question her until tomorrow.”

           Hannibal hmm’d quietly, taking a seat at his desk. Splayed across it lay his current drawing, an art piece of his favorite tableau. The scalpel for cutting fine points for graphite lay just to the side, turned at the perfect angle -45 degrees with the point facing whoever sat diagonal from him. For those of utmost faith in his abilities, they hardly noticed the sharp edge. Those who doubted, who were unsure of him, stared at the scalpel, their eyes darting from his hands to his eyes to the fine point, sweat soaking the collars of their shirts.

           “It’s too risky to retrieve her,” he said at last. “With Nate now…indisposed, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the backlash in letting her wait at the illustrious FBI.”

           “We’re not going to rescue Alyss?” Saul asked, unsure. His pinky linked with Beverly’s, seeking a grounding rod.

           “It’s too risky,” Beverly agreed. “After tomorrow, it will be even riskier.”

           “But she…” Saul stopped at the look Hannibal gave him, something even-tempered and smooth. Time had given him the ease and practice of shaping his face, his expressions subtle but powerful in the way they conveyed his innermost thoughts.

           “She’d understand,” Beverly said, interlacing their fingers and squeezing. She was the spine, and he was the rice paper that fluttered at the slightest breeze. “Alyss wouldn’t be so selfish as to put herself above the plan.”

           The plan. Hannibal thought of it and leaned back into the supple leather of his chair, a recovered item from his old office. While most of it had been taken to auction, sold to the highest bidder with an affinity to the macabre, Francis had seen the return of his things with a focus most delightful. The man that’d bought his chair in the aftermath of his unfortunate detainment had come to a certain sort of understanding, according to Francis.

           That, and he no longer had a mouth capable of calling for help.

           “It’s regrettable, Saul, but we cannot deviate now,” Hannibal said at last, looking him over. Under his gaze, Saul was clay, malleable to his whims. He was much unlike Will, who was steel that only bent to the right elements, shaped because he willed it, because he saw fit to be shaped.

           It was a fitting person to be a soulmate to him, if Hannibal was being honest with himself –he tried often to be honest with himself, even if it was an ugly sort of honesty. While Will was the steel, he was the heat that would mold him, aid him as he Became more than what he thought himself to be.

           “Matthew is going to begin the next step of his part tomorrow as well, sir,” Beverly said.

           “In truth, he plays the biggest part,” Hannibal said, and he stood, fingertips brushing just along the edge of the paper.

           “He’s braver than I am,” Saul said with a laugh. It was quelled under Hannibal’s stare, snuffed out like the puff of breath to a weak flame.

           “Do you mean to say that if asked, you could not do as he does willingly?” Hannibal wondered. He tracked Beverly’s hand, how it twisted to grip and hold onto Saul’s wrist. A warning. A warning and a worry. Beverly Katz was far smarter than Saul, far smarter and far cleverer.

           “I…I mean, sir, that…” He paused, struggled with the words, then laughed sheepishly. “Dr. Lecter, I’d do anything for you,” he said instead. A new direction. A misdirection.

           Hannibal circled the desk, caught Saul’s chin in hand with the barest of touches. Of all the things to fascinate him in this puzzle he currently pieced together, it was how easily people bent to him, to him and his machinations. Manipulations had always come easy to him, the simplest of words twisting and ensnaring even the brightest of minds –Will Graham had described it so poignantly as he stood his ground and said, ‘we were blind because you wanted us to be blind.’

           These people specifically, though, with all of their failings and their desires, were manipulated because they wanted to be manipulated.

           “I do hope so,” Hannibal murmured, staring into his eyes. Saul couldn’t keep his gaze, mismatched eyes dropping instead to the collar of Hannibal’s shirt. “Because if Matthew fails, you were who I was going to rely on next.”

           Saul balked under his words, but he held still, allowing Hannibal to glide fingertips along his jaw, pausing just at the dip between ear and neck. Just below it, underneath his invasive touch, his pulse hammered. Saul feared him, even as he loved him.

           People, with all of their odd and exhilarating unpredictabilities, were utterly predictable. Utterly, utterly boring.

           “Good night,” Hannibal said pleasantly to them. He released Saul and turned away, heading towards the decanter he kept on a shelf in the corner. “Matthew will be the one to wake Will tomorrow.”

           “Good night, Dr. Lecter,” Beverly said for the both of them. She turned Saul about and led him out, and through the distorted reflection of the glass Hannibal saw her spine, stiff and deliciously unyielding, even under pressure.

           He idly wondered just what it’d take to make it snap.

-

           Will’s door was unlocked when he tested it early the next morning. The gum was still in place, and he checked it once more before heading down the stairs. No steps squeaked underneath his feet, and the locks at the main doors were nothing more than short chains and dead bolts. He slipped out into the crisp morning air, everything still blanketed in a dark, calm embrace of night. When it was cold in the south, it was wet, and he felt it just along his skin even though he’d layered appropriately.

           He took off at a brisk trot and skirted the car that Nate had all but fallen out of hours before. He hadn’t left his room after that, busy instead with scrubbing every inch of his skin and posting up near the window to test just how sturdy the locks were. Beverly tried to coax him downstairs for food, but he’d silenced her with a long, steady stare that finally made her leave him to the silence of his bedroom and the instability within.

           Bugs screamed and complained in the early hours, and he absentmindedly swatted a mosquito off of his neck. Definitely the south. He hadn’t seen that many mosquitos hovering in droves in a long, long time.

           Down the gravel driveway took him to trees curling in on either side, dark and imposing with limbs stretching overhead. He picked up his pace and followed the curving, winding road, and in the darkened distance, he spied a wrought-iron gate. The sight of it made his heart lurch, and he tripped over his feet as he picked up his pace to reach it faster. If there was a gate, there was a property line. If there was a property line, he could find someone to help.

           Maybe even get a phone to call Agent Crawford directly.

           He reached it and pushed into it, a curse hissing from his lips at the heavy chains and padlock that sent the gate forward then jauntily back. The top of the gate was lined with sharpened metal spikes, as well as the iron that continued on, on either side of it. He’d have to risk it. Nothing said desperation like passing your junk along sharpened metal, but it was now or never, and Will wasn’t quite in the mood for never.

           “Good morning,” someone said pleasantly behind him.

           Will whirled around sharply, and he had to cover his eyes as a bright light was flashed in his face, blinding him.

           “A bit early for a morning walk, don’t you think?” Matthew Brown asked thoughtfully. Will blinked a kaleidoscope of colors out of his burning eyes, and he took a step back, brushing against the gate.

           “I couldn’t sleep,” he said.

           “I like to go on walks when I can’t sleep, too,” Matthew agreed. “It’s not all that safe to do that out here, though, Mr. Graham. Wild hogs will eat a human if they can get their mouth on them, and believe it or not, I’ve even seen coyotes that’ll get desperate enough.”

           “I’ve seen that.”

           “You just never know what’s out here,” Matthew continued, bobbing his head. “Allow me to show you back to the house, just to be safe.”

           “…Thank you,” Will managed, even as he felt his hope shifting beneath him. Thank you. The only words he could muster when he realized that no matter where he was, they would always have eyes on him.

           “You’re welcome,” Matthew said pleasantly, falling into step beside him. “I don’t know what any of us here would do if something happened to you.”

           The implication was clear: don’t make me be that something.

           “You put a lot of work into my safety,” Will said because despite both of them knowing he wasn’t just taking a walk, he felt that pretenses needed to be endured. “I don’t always know what to say.”

           “Just a thank you is more than enough for me,” Matthew assured him. They broke the tree line, and the moon sinking in the distance gave them the faintest of light to follow towards the house that stood in sharp relief to the darkness around it.

           Matthew saw him into the house and all the way up to his room, and he hovered in the doorway as Will turned on a lamp and made a grand showing of removing his shoes by the bed. When Will looked back to him, the same exact expression of distaste was reflected in his eyes, the intensity of it just enough that it rocked him back onto the bed.

           Distaste and a singular, obvious sensation of crippling jealousy.

           “Good morning, Matthew,” Will said, mouth suddenly cotton.

           “Good morning, Mr. Graham,” Matthew replied, and he closed the door behind him. Will heard the deadbolt turn, heard the heavy retreat of booted footsteps.

           He also heard the deadbolt not quite set as the gum did its job.

A special thanks to my patrons: @Hanfangrahamk @matildaparacosm @sylarana @starlit-catastrophe Duhaunt6 and Superlurk!

[mia6363]

The Kindness of Strangers Overview

Well, here it is, an unloading of how the now complete The Kindness of Strangers came about. I hope this is fun to read! 

It could be said that I’ve always been fascinated with spies and infiltration. And I don’t mean James Bond, he’s a lousy spy, but a true spy who never has to use a weapon other than intellect and wit. And with fic, I like putting humans on an even playing field with supernatural monsters (but let’s be real, sometimes I put humans above the monsters they play with).

But where did Kindness of Strangers really begin?

The Seedling of an Idea 

If I have to think back I’d say that the idea struck me when I was in college years ago. I was going for screenwriting and I was dating a lovely young man who was majoring in Information Systems/Security. And because he loved me and knew me, when there was a private FBI seminar for his class, he invited me along. I was ecstatic, a Special Agent was going to be in a small classroom talking about cyber security on the international scale. Who wouldn’t be excited? 

Well, let’s just say that the seminar was disappointing in regards to cyber security but luckily I was able to find a silver lining.

The Special Agent was a woman who was a sweetheart. Matronly, told us sweet stories about her kids as she was setting up, she was quite nice. However once she got started I, and the rest of the attendants, were disappointed to discover that the seminar was not about cyber security as advertised, but boiled down to “Don’t betray the United States and don’t talk to foreigners on planes.”

No joke.

We watched a shoddily put together DVD about how a kid tried to sell state secrets to China, they paid him to apply to be in the CIA, and now he’s in jail. Yay. And I remember how it felt so pedestrian and elementary-school-esque when she would ask us, “so what did he do wrong that led him to betray his country?”

Yawn.

I will say I did enjoy her candid nature. A kid in the back who was much braver than I, asked if we also bribed international students to spy on their own country and she didn’t bat an eye as she said yes.

What did interest me was her spiel about planes. Her reasoning was that we don’t know who we’re sitting next to, and wouldn’t it be so nice if they just so happened to study the same things at school, or they are working in the same field? Once a conversation got going, wouldn’t you be happy to talk to them, to exchange information as peers? I didn’t agree with her staunch “don’t talk to anyone,” but I did like her paranoia.

It got me thinking about spies, and how it would be so brilliant to operate that way. I LOVE flying, I love airports, it’s paradise for me once I make it past security. I’m happy to talk to anyone, and I’ve had so much fun talking to people who sit next to me, if they’re open to it of course. It’s just something I enjoy, and I thought it was funny how if I told that to this woman she’d have a conniption. So I wanted to make a story about that.

 Nuts and Bolts of the Story

The inspiration was the start, but that was years ago. This story went through a ton of iterations before I was able to finally settle on KOS. Back in college the idea started as a person infiltrating families and tearing them apart (metaphorically)  from the inside for money. It’s still a fun concept but I found it near impossible to make a protagonist that people could sympathize with. It also veered into a chemist who would find the perfect drug cocktail for the individual person to make them the most happy.

Like I said, it took me a while arrive here, and constraining it to the Teen Wolf fandom helped narrow the narrative.

I like to push humans to be even or better than expected in terms of being able to go toe-to-toe with a supernatural being. Werewolves are about strength, scent, and hearing, and spies should never have to use their strength, so how do you beat the other two things? One of the first things you learn about werewolves is that they can tell when a person is lying-- so what if I took that ability away from them with someone who can lie flawlessly? All of a sudden you’re on a much more even and suspenseful playing field.

I’ll admit, KOS was cathartic for me in terms of expressing issues I hadn’t dug up since I was teenager so yay, writing therapy. I wanted to explore the psychology of lying, why do we lie, what excuses do we tell ourselves to justify lying?

The ex who brought me to the seminar pointed out that him and I had different practices in telling the truth. For example, on our first date I was very honest because I didn’t think it was a date at all. In fact, I was trying to figure out which one of my friends he was interested in and was being as weird/honest as I could be since he’d have to pass the litmus test. He was charmed by me, and later on he asked if I would have lied if I knew we were on a date. And I said absolutely I would have-- and we probably wouldn’t have dated at all. It was an odd moment to be rewarded for being honest, which I wasn’t used to.

Enough about me. Back to KOS.

I started going through the Stilinski Family Feels tag and… I was surprised by what I saw. Moments that people captured as funny, like when the Sheriff said he didn’t trust Stiles but trusted Scott, or that Scott was the son he wished he had, in front of Stiles-- that stuck out to me.

With the cathartic nature of the story for me personally, I wanted to expound on that toxic relationship. It’s not the worst father-and-son portrayal, but it’s not the fluffy rainbows and hugs for days that people implied in the tags. When a father says that out loud to his son, how else are you going to take it other than: I wish you were different? 

The Sheriff’s arc, to me, was realizing your mistakes too late, knowing you’re too late, but running to try and stop the consequences anyway. If any part of the KOS finale is truly open-ended, it would be the Sheriff and it’s intended that way. It’s up the reader, do they want the Sheriff to be a part of Stiles’s life? Do they think he’s earned it?

 In KOS I wanted (and hoped I succeeded) in showing the varying consequences and types of lying. From white lies on the day-to-day, the long cons, vengeful lying, and of course the lies we tell ourselves so we can sleep at night. Also, and though I didn’t get to explore this as much as I wanted to, but the lies we’re told in marketing. The book I mentioned in one of the chapters titled Buyology: The Truth and Lies About Why We Buy by Martin Lindstrom is fascinating and I highly recommend it. He breaks down the usage of colors in music to trick our brain into trusting brands. It’s truly excellent.

Stiles starts lying because he’s punished for asking an honest question. It happens young, and when he’s not rewarded for telling the truth, he lies. The Sheriff has lied to himself for years by pretending he has no idea why Stiles doesn’t call-- but it’s a lie we tell ourselves so that we don’t suffocate from self-loathing. Stiles lies for his job and it’s a wonderful rush-- until he meets the one person who enjoys him for who he is.

I’m also a huge sucker for twisting expectations. Peter Hale is usually the Machiavellian manipulator and that’s all fun to read, but of course I wanted to switch it up. While Stiles’s weapons are his lies and charm, Peter Hale uses his honesty. He’s not guilty, he’s honest, and he’s recovering from the trauma of losing his Pack and the entire werewolf community believing he is responsible for all their deaths. It made me smile that Peter Hale is the personification of the strength of truth over the strength of lies. Stiles is a great liar, best in the world, but he almost condemned an innocent man and trying to undo that almost killed him, while Peter was vindicated and effectively pardoned for the crimes he never committed.

Long story short: I wanted to play with expectation by making Stiles a master manipulator and Peter an innocent man.

 Bits and Pieces or Things Mia Likes to Put in Her Stories

Found families and very close friendships are a big staple of mine. I know that sounds cheesy but there’s just something about friends whose loyalty remains unquestioned-- it makes me smile. This also extends to Packs, and breaking the expectation that Pack has to be blood relatives. Peter is the lone Hale Alpha, but by the end of the story it’s easy to see he’s not alone. He has Lydia and the Bakery Betas. And Derek, who Allison labeled an Omega at the beginning of the story, has Finstock, Allison, Stiles, and Chris as Pack at the end of the story. 

In the spirit of reversals, I liked a touch repulsed Derek slowly learning to love tactile comfort again.

When it comes to love, I try not to make it fluffy. It’s just a thing with me, and KOS was no different, where you have an uneven relationship, Peter is being lied to about Stiles’s motivations but not about who Stiles is at his core components. And when the truth comes to light, it’s Stiles who has to tell the truth and risk himself for Peter’s sake. I don’t know if I succeeded, but I did want the readers to know that Stiles and Peter BELONGED together, even if getting there in full was a mess, that Stiles and Peter would be worth it for each other.

ENSEMBLES ENSEMLBES ENSEMBLES. I’m a huge sucker for a good ensemble. With KOS especially, several cast members were needed to build the dramatic irony and intrigue. Unwrapping everyone’s motivations and backgrounds needed a big cast for a bigger story. Plus, it’s character writing 101. Never believe what a character says about themselves, but believe in the way other characters ACT around them. Ensembles help with this concept, so it’s easy to know who all these people are because we see how others treat them. Also ensembles make it easier for me to include Finstock, who I love dearly.

At the end of the day we just want to be loved for who we are.

Special shout out to @dialmformaledictions for being the BIGGEST cheerleader. I was going to scrap the fic after the first few chapters, but Mal convinced me not to :) <3 

Did you guys find this helpful? Illuminating? Please let me know! 

[tortuga-aak]

You might sympathize with serial killers while watching Netflix’s ‘Mindhunter,’ one of the best shows of the fall TV season

Netflix

Netflix's "Mindhunter" is a thrilling origin story of the team that studied the psychology of serial killers.

The series includes real-life serial killers like Jerry Brudos, Ed Kemper, and Richard Speck.

It is reminiscent of executive producer David Fincher's 2007 film "Zodiac."

The show never shows an actual murder or crime scene.

Within ten episodes, it successfully reinvents what a crime procedural can be.

You probably think you know what Netflix's "Mindhunter" is like — but you're wrong.

The new drama, whose executive producers include David Fincher and Charlize Theron, is set in the late 70s and follows the FBI team that studied the psychology of serial killers and murderers, and even came up with the term "serial killer." Playwright Joe Penhall adapted the series from the non-fiction book co-written by John E. Douglas, the FBI agent who helped invent modern criminal profiling.

"Mindhunter" is, probably not coincidentally, similar in tone, pacing, and look to Fincher's excellent 2007 film "Zodiac."

Essentially, "Mindhunter" is an origin story of the team who figured out that serial killers are likely to harm animals, wet the bed over the age of 12, and have terrible relationships with their mothers — and by default, hatred toward women, who are usually their victims. 

"Mindhunter," like 2016's "Stranger Things," seemingly came out of nowhere.

Screeners of the first season were not available to the press, which is quite rare especially for new shows. Besides the usual teaser trailer and full trailer, there wasn't much marketing for the show. I live in New York City, where ads for TV shows haunt me for months on my commute. Usually light marketing and no screeners is a sign that a show is really, really bad.

So I, and many TV critics, were surprised to find that "Mindhunter" is incredible.

Netflix

In ten episodes, you'll never actually see a murder, and you'll barely even get a glimpse of crime scenes. You might see, for example, some episodes begin or end with The BTK killer, Dennis Rader — who wasn't caught until the early 2000s — leave or arrive at a crime scene. But you don't see him kill. The violence is depicted and evident in photos, dialogue, and the tension in every scene with one of the killers in prison. 

FBI agents Holden Ford (Jonathan Groff) and Bill Tench (Holt McCallany) travel around the country educating law enforcement about the psychology of criminals, in hopes that it can help them catch a killer or a criminal. They call this "road school." While they're on the road, Holden and Bill visit high-profile killers in prison. Holden and Bill visit Richard Speck (Jack Erdie) in one of the show's most chilling scenes at a grotesque prison in Joliet, Illinois. In 1966, Speck murdered eight nursing students in Chicago in one night. 

Netflix

At first, their visits are unknown to their boss at the FBI. But after their research helps solve a few murders, their boss gets the project approved, adds Boston University professor Dr. Wendy Carr (a very excellent and underused Anna Torv) to the team, and gets them funding.

Every actor playing the real-life killers is so haunting that the performances will stay with you. And though their performances are terrifying, killers like Brudos and Kemper are so charming and empathetic when they share their troubled childhood that you might end up feeling bad for them, just like special agent Holden eventually does.

What separates "Mindhunter" from other crime dramas is the way it intertwines the agents' personal lives into the story. A lot of crime shows, particularly on network TV, have a heavy-handed approach to applying a law enforcement character's personal life in to their work life, and vice versa. "Mindhunter" is different.

Holden is a weird guy, but he's a good one — or so we think. We watch his first real relationship with grad student Debbie Mitford (Hannah Gross) blossom, and slowly unravel. As Holden continues his research and casual, explicit, and disturbing conversations with murderers, the sympathetic character established in the first episode shifts completely.

Netflix

Throughout the season we learn more about Bill, who is at first reluctant to do personal interviews with killers. Bill has a wife and an adopted son, who's not adjusting well after three years — and ironically, might exhibit some of the personality traits they're finding in the killers they're studying.

Dr. Carr, who unfortunately doesn't get as much alone screen time as she deserves (she likely will in season two), establishes her past and personal life in quick scenes that don't need to explain anything to the viewer beyond what we see. 

The show's showcase (or lack thereof) of its female characters is its primary flaw, with Dr. Carr — an educated, intelligent closeted lesbian who doesn't answer to anybody — losing screen time to her partners, Holden and Bill, despite the fact that she's one of the reasons their department exists. Holden's girlfriend, Debbie, only seems to exist so we are aware that Holden has a sex life. Her only thing, really, is that she is a grad student. Bill's wife, Nancy, is arguably the most developed female character. She only appears in three episodes, usually to support her husband, and demonstrates her struggle to parent their adopted son, Brian.  

In just ten episodes, "Mindhunter" packs significant character development, mystery, subtle-yet-powerful performances, and beautiful (but creepy) cinematography, in what turns out to be a thrilling and educational psychological drama that you should be watching right now.

You can watch the trailer for "Mindhunter" below:

Youtube Embed: http://www.youtube.com/embed/7gZCfRD_zWE Width: 560px Height: 315px

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