#to the fbi agent watching me: for legal reasons i of course mean this in the context of trump connecting w/ the people
Text
I know that this ratfucker is gonna weasel out of this because he's a gutless fucking coward and guilty as the day is long, but I could deal with that if it meant there's a chance of him getting slapped with a charge of contempt of Congress and thrown in jail with Bannon.
#i also know they'd never throw him in general population but GOSH imagine if they did#the stuff dreams are made of#to the fbi agent watching me: for legal reasons i of course mean this in the context of trump connecting w/ the people#(but also after all the shit he's been talking about you guys since mar-a-lago don't pretend you wouldn't love this too)#trump for jail
0 notes
Text
—MAKE YOU SAY “OH” EXTRAS: TINDER
extra meaning non-canonical occurrence; can be placed anywhere in the “make you say oh” timeline after couple (cha. 14) and before the final “oh”.
pairing—corpse husband x f!reader
warnings—tinder profiles, tw: men, swearing.
word count—2.6k.
format— written.
─── ❥ req by nonnie: y/n makes a youtube vid/live stream where she's just swiping through her tinder acc and corpse literally blocks her lmao
author’s note—akldsljfs this was such a funny idea i could not not write it lmao
ultimate masterlist. myso masterlist
You have pulled the biggest brain move by setting up both a facecam and a screen recorder on your phone. All is beautifully displayed and visible during the stream. Your fanbase is particularly intrigued on what exactly are you planning on doing today, seeing as your tweet of “strea” had been a bit vague, if not downright ominous. No emojis. No elaboration. You couldn’t even be bothered to finish the word. Truly, a mystery. Everyone tuned in and are currently waiting with bated breath.
A few of your fans must sense upcoming doom because the overall mood in the chat turns from optimistically intrigued to...evil. It’s an entity all on it’s own now, clawing at you through the screen with various renditions of laughter and devil emojis. A few eggplants thrown in there for good measure, accompanied, naturally, by the scandalous water drops. At first the common consensus is that you’re biting the bullet and going through your camera roll on stream. Definitely an idea worth considering, though you frankly don’t know what lies at the start of the 11k photograph journey, and you are afraid to check in public. Could be a harmless meme, could be a salacious pic you had saved of an OF star. It’s really a gamble. Either way, you would definitely get banned. You might still get banned. Why do you insist on doing shit like this?
Because it’s funny. Because you’re kinda stupid. Because it’s just so absolutely laughably easy to do.
A smile quirks your lips, and while it is not explicitly smug, the look in your eyes sure is, “Greetings,” You utter lowly, dimming the lights--the budget for this stream! Ugh, you went all out, “my children.”
mother i crave violence
sensing evil energy rn!!
i do not claim the energy in this video for myself or anyone else watching this 💖💖
^with peace and love shut the fuck up
“I know y’all lowkey hoes-” Upon your words the chat splits into two: one side eagerly agrees (even shares a few OF accounts! How helpful, supporting small businesses!), whilst the other feverishly insists on innocence. You make a face stuck somewhere between offended and bewildered, “Now c'mon now-I know you. I know you all. We’re the same, don’t-what was that?”
You try to scroll back to the comment but it’s loss in the sea of incoming messages, “I swear to God I just saw-”
Corpse_Husband: i love late night streams it’s not like i have anything better to do.
“COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPSE!!!!”
rip headphone users
i cant feel my face when im with you by the weeknd but instead of face its my fucking ears
yall think full vol on pc is better?my parents woke up 😭😭😭😭
To think he’s spending his last waking moments for today with watching you (he probably still would have anyway, because you do not posses an ounce of shame or self-control and pester him relentlessly)! It makes your heart sing, and suddenly, a traitorous, fun hating idea barges it’s way through the crowd of incoherent buzzing and states: don’t do this. For some reason it also has the voice of Rae. As if that would work in guilt-tripping you- Rae never succeed, and her fictitious rendition in mind won’t fare much better either.
Still, you thought about it. That must count for something. Corpse will understand, won’t he? Why don’t you want to upset it in the first place? Men look so funny when they lose their shit, like hello, don’t you have anything better to do? But the image of Corpse just sitting there, hurt, distraught, leaving you on seen because he’s in his sad boy hours leaves a sour taste in your mouth.
queen rly went from 🥺😊 to 😕 u ok bbgirl?
Corpse_Husband: no pouts cutie
akjdjoeijdfse cUTIE??? deadass boutta r.i.p.
Well that succeeded in eliminating everything from mind, doubts included. If this was an anime, the scenery would shift into something roseate, with flowers and bubbles and sparkles all around you along with a halo or two. Alas, not an anime, rather reality. The led-lights, however, seemingly possessing a will of their own, slowly turn from deep violet to pink. You smile brightly, like the absolute dumbass you are, and you are met with a ray of heart and blushing emojis. You are just so cute, a real cutie! Still in your disguise adorable state, you swipe your finger on your phone screen, the grin never leaving your lips.
There, among the plethora of apps, nestled sits a red square with a white fire plastered on it. The delicate calligraphy on the bottom reads: TINDER.
The mood changes once again- you’re giving the roaches emotional instability by how quickly everything flips over- and the chat spams eggplants vigorously; some, of course, bravely fight against the thirst.
nooooooo i thought y/n is gonna stream in a god honoring way!!!
^pack it up girl defined
“So, Charlie and I-” You note a few awfully curious comments and squint, “-yes, we talk a lot. Charlie is a really good friend of mine. We’re best friends. Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. The whole fucking family tree-no, that sounds weird. Delete. Anyway, Charlie, being the absolute fucker he is, said, hey, you know what would be funny? And I was like, nooo, what would be funny, Charlie? And he says to me, he says, says, making fun of men on Tinder. And if y’all need any more proof that Charlie and I are platonic soulmates, then dunno, my children, my roaches, I dunno-I dunno what more to give you.”
You can’t be bothered reading the comments, there’s too damn many. You also need to save your reading comprehension for the actual bios. It has a time limit, that darn thing.
“Okay, so I made a profile earlier, but I hadn’t swiped on anyone yet-” Despite the fact, Tinder helpfully informs you that already 99+ people have swiped right on you, “So, this is me,” You show the pictures you have of yourself, and damn, not to be a conceited narcissist, but you look really good. Like if you saw yourself on Tinder, you’d super like instantly. “Uhm, so, my bio-my bio says: let’s sauce in the tub together, ya dig? splishy splashy, giggle giggle.”
i cant believe we are witnessing y/n trying to form a coherent sentence live
shes trying give her time
ya dig??? y not capeesh
what scene from the godfather is this lol?
“My anthem, is,” You laugh, covering your lips with your hand, “Corpsie, this is form you-” Proudly, you show that indeed, Corpse’s E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE is listed as your anthem on Spotify, “Hehe.” Yes, you say that aloud.
Corpse_Husband: you’re killing me
Corpse_Husband: thanks baby
Corpse_Husband: now delete tinder ❤︎
You ignore his last quip, deciding it’s finally time to get this show on the road, “Right, let’s do this shit. I’m not actually going to swipe on any guys that look, uh, decent? Yuck, can’t believe I just said that, uhm, because I-because I feel like some actually deserve a chance with someone? I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up, as I am currently in a long distance relationship with Chrollo. So I’m just gonna swipe on, like, frat boy assholes. Because I don’t care if I hurt their feelings. Quite frankly I don’t think they possess them in the first place.”
The chat voices their agreements. With the ground rules set, you, giddy, click on the first profile.
Does Tinder know what you’re doing, your plan? The FBI agent watching you through your phone must be working overtime, bless his heart. They must, because the the first guy to meet you is named Jason, and there he is, blond hair and blue eyes, holding up a fish the size of his torso. Marginally adequate in looks, pretty good muscles. A solid 7 bordering on 8. He’s the same age as you, 15 miles away, and he studies at some college you don’t care enough to look up. Bio reads:
I like to drive fast. Fishing is my passion, but if you can’t catch me by the ocean, you’ll catch me catching waves, bro! Love a good gym date. You do squats, and I’ll keep a close eye to make sure you’re doing it correctly ;) You probably saw me at a party. Leader of the The Phi Kappa Psi. I’m a Gemini, if that matters lol.
You, of course, read it aloud, dramatically; provide some constructive criticism-he seems nice, but he’s a Gemini, so naturally, you can’t trust him at all! Also, that gym date session leaves little to be desired. With your rant done, you swipe right, and shocker! (not), it’s an instant match.
“Okie, I still wanna swipe of some profiles, so I’ll see what he’ll text later-” For a second you wonder the legalities of this stream, but you’re having too much fun to think of it further, “guys, I won't get sued, right?”
NOW she considers it
well....
if you do, we’ll kickstart your lawyer dw <3
Onto the next profile. Kevin, 25, is seen fixing his car- or, you assume he’s mid-fixing it, you don’t really know why else he’d hold a wrench and be covered in oil. He’s shirtless, and the caveman part of your brain echoes something closely resembling AWOOOGA!, but...but!...blonde hair, blue eyes. You pout again, “I don’t...I don’t really like blond boys, ya know? With the blue eyes and all, it’s just not my thing, uhm, unless it’s like-like...Armin from Attack on Titan. Else I don’t care.”
Onto the bio:
You have to treat a car like you treat a woman: go on long rides, take the lead, but most importantly, keep her oiled up 😜
“What the fuck did I just read?”
The chat is equally confused. You swipe right anyway- another match. Too easy.
The stream continues without incident for a solid thirty minutes- all of your matches, expect a few that genuinely looked like normal dudes that really couldn’t write a decent bio to save their lives, had been blond hair blue eyed gym rats with ranging forms of misogyny. Some opened with asking for nudes out right, some asked about your day first before asking for nudes. You prefer the former. Straight to the point! You admire the gall.
But then, down the forty-five minute mark a profile popped up that made you still by your phone, your smile dying as your eyes bulged. Dear God. Lord in heaven. Who is this demonspiit lookalike and why is he so fucking hot? The neck tats, the skateboard, the clothes- holy shit, you gotta close your mouth before some drool dribbles out.
No bio, just his name, Tyler, and that he’s 23.
“He boutta be 23 in me.” You mutter, swiping right with lightning speed.
WHAT DID SHE SAYYYYY?????????
tyler is y/ns karma for relentlessly mocking that one guy that had a whole ass list on what his “female” partner should be
^he deserved it and also tyler seems like a typical fuckboi y/n grow a braincell
look at mom 🥺 her eyes are sparkling
It wasn’t a match right away. You somehow expected as much, but it still upset you. Simp behavior, pathetic. The stream continued bravely, and when Tyler messaged you a simple “yo” you totally didn’t sequel. You didn’t manage to text him back on stream: texting all those guys that you didn’t really find all that attractive was easy, but this...You’re a sucker for a man who radiates red flag energy. His whole profile is a red flag. He might just be a red flag himself.
What can you do? Suddenly becoming color blind is not easy. Once the stream ends, you unmatch with everyone expect Tyler. He you chat with for a bit, but a sudden craving for different company makes you abandon him, too. You don’t feel too heartbroken for him- you’re certain there’s already too many girls in his dms. You wish them luck.
Happily, you delete Tinder. You go to Twitter, notice you’re trending again- look at you go! Queen shit- and as you compose a thank you tweet, something strange happens. You go to text Corpse, but when you click on his profile you grow cold.
YOU’RE BLOCKED.
You can’t follow or see @/Corpse_Husband ‘s Tweets.
...Pardon? You hop onto Instragram and-also blocked. Seriously? And you thought you’re one petty bitch. Corpse is seriously prissy about everything. Damn, if he didn’t like your stream, he could’ve just said so. Didn’t need to, like, block you from his internet existence. So not cool.
You try texting him but no text go through. Well how will you let him know you deleted Tinder just like he asked? You relieve your frustrations by punching your pillow a few times. Later, you apologize to her, you didn’t mean to hurt her, it’s not her, it’s you. Fuck, 5 minutes of exile and you’re already loosing your mind.
“Raeeeeeeeeeeee!” You whine loudly. It’s roughly 2am now, but you don’t care. You’re too heartbroken to care. There’s a thump from her room, but nothing else, “Raeeeeeeeee!!!” You wail, wallowing in self-pity on your bed. You hear a very loud, very annoyed sigh from her room, followed by angry marching. Your door is abruptly thrown open, and in the dim, colorful light you see her scowl.
“What?” She grits.
“Can you please tell Corpse to unblock me from everything?”
“What did you do now?”
“I made fun of men on Tinder.”
She pauses, “...That doesn’t sound so bad.” She surmises, voice laced with suspicion, “What else?”
“...There was one really hot guy that I kinda sorta talked to after--”
“Y/n.”
“-But I totally deleted Tinder and honestly he was pretty boring, so, like, uhm, please?”
She sighs, the servery of which implies she is holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and instantly you know that you won. She taps away at her phone, “You owe me one.” She states, and before you can reply, she exits your room and slams the door behind her.
Grinning, you text his phone again. The message goes through, oh gosh, you’re so relieved you feel like crying. This has been, officially, the worst five minutes of your life.
You
Y DID U BLOCK ME LOSER!!!
MAJOR LOSER ALERT!! I DELETED EVERYTHING IT WAS A JOKE
r u still mad at me? y u always mad at me i never do anything:(
my husband
You’re my baby, how do you think I’ll react when I see you publicly simping for some asshole on Tinder?
Oh no, he used the words, he delivered the killing blow. You’re finished. Your heart can’t take such a workout.
Not that you would ever admit it to him, though!
You
hehe ur jellyyyy
u always dis jealous hehe?
my husband
Not jealous.
Yeah, you might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but even you know that’s a lie. You send him an array of kissy emojis that he doesn’t have the decency to reply to. Then, completely unprompted and dead serious, you send him a simple voice memo, saying: “You really have nothing to worry about, you know? You’re my favorite, Corpsie.”
He responds via text, reiterating that he’s not fucking jealous and that he just doesn’t like when you show such outward interest in anyone but it’s not like he cares or anything. It’s just really, like, weeeeird to see his baby simping for another man like that totally ruins the whole dynamic!!! It was only natural that he should block you on every social media platform, including his personal number (which, like, was completely necessary! Doesn’t matter that his viewers can’t see it, it’s gotta be super believable!), and inform his followers of that, because it’s all a joke, like, for the dynamic, that Youtube grind, you know? Ya dig? No personal feelings were involved at all. He totally wasn’t upset that you found someone else cute, no way!
my husband
I’m not jealous. Lol.
You
ik u repeated tht like 50 times
u trynna convince me or??? lmao
my husband
No comment.
...You don’t actually talk to anyone else like we’re talking, right?
You
no one else calls me their baby if thts wat ur wondering
at least not to my knowledge lol
im all urs
my husband
That makes me very happy to hear:)
Yeah, it makes you very happy, too.
hope you liked it!! xx
#corpse husband#corpse husband x reader#corpse#corpse x reader#corpse husband x y/n#corpse x y/n#myso#make you say oh#imagine#imagines
953 notes
·
View notes
Text
I’m not particularly proud of this one, because I’m sure it’s not an original thought at all, but the fact remains that I cannot rewatch Gilmore Girls anymore without thinking about the fact that my very first Supernatural fan theory was thrown out as a joke--because my friends had sat me down and forced me to watch Supernatural immediately after sitting me down and forcing me to watch Gilmore Girls--and it still holds up.
Dean Forester is Sam Winchester’s son.
I mean. . .that’s all there is to it. He’s named for his uncle and looks just like his dad. The kid standing next to Sam at his death bed, who might have easily been mistaken for Sam’s son? Obviously is actually Sam’s grandson. One of Dean Forester’s many spawn that were mentioned in the revival series. Dean III.
I remember telling my friends that that’s why we never see Dean’s father on screen. Last time he’s ever mentioned, to my knowledge, is when Dean says that the guy’s holed up in their basement and refusing to come out in season 5. At the time, Dean credited it to his father being so disappointed with him over his divorce, but of course, this seems inaccurate. Sam would be a lot more supportive. What seems more likely to be happening is that, seeing as Sam was wanted in several states and also legally dead, he might just feel safer down there ever since Lorelai started drawing in more out of towners with her fancy new inn that she opened in season 4. In fact, the whole reason the Forester family moved to Stars Hallow from Chicago was probably to lower the chances of Sam being recognized somehow by one of the many authority figures he’s lied to over the decades he spent posing as an FBI agent.
And the reason the spelling of Dean’s last name changes from time to time (Forester vs. Forrester), is clearly due to Sam occasionally forgetting which one he originally settled on for his new life.
That means that Sam Winchester became Randy Forester and his blurry wife is May Forester.
I’m really annoyed that I can’t stop thinking about this.
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader
Masterlist
Part 8
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Warnings: A lot of yelling, language, and some supernatural references (if you squint)
Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner
~~~~~~~~~~
You took deep breaths as Hotch led you towards the interview room. You tightened your fists at your sides as you ran through your mind how you planned on doing any of this. The last time you'd tried to negotiate with a man like him, it hadn't been pretty.
"You need to get him angry, alright? That's his weakness. Figure out which of the archetypes he is. Get as much as you can out of him, but do not under any circumstances let him speak to anyone or manipulate you. We will switch out with Morgan to watch over him in an hour. Good luck." Hotch readied you, giving you the files you needed. You clutched the manilla envelope against your chest, trying to calm your ever racing heart.
You nod wordlessly, facing the man in the see through mirror. He was wearing a red flannel and a black shirt underneath paired with ripped jeans. He had hunters boots on as well. He had a bruise forming on his jaw and a fresh cut that was bandaged on his forehead.
Morgan stepped up behind you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You can do this, kid. Promise. Don't let him get to you." He insists. You nodded shakily, looking up at the man again.
You turn towards Morgan with a determined look. "Just promise me you won't interrupt. Even if he tries to attack me." You insist. Morgan widens his eyes.
"Princess, we can't do that. If anything goes wrong-" he began, unable to find the right words to fill the gap. "You could get hurt. And that's paperwork." He adds with a sigh. You giggle and shake your head.
"Morgan, we both know paperwork isn't what you're worried about." You tease before you turn around and find the handle to the interview room. Here goes nothing.
You walk in, closing the door behind you. As soon as you turn around to do so, you hear a whistle from behind you.
"Damn… and here I thought they'd be sendin' in some prissy princess. How you doin'?" The man asked. You swallow. This was exactly how you expected him to treat you. You'd had experience with narcissists and manipulators before. This was the first thing they did.
"I don't know, Jensen." You greet, grateful you had stolen a glance at his profile and which one of the brothers he was. He smirked at you, leaning forward and biting his lip flirtatiously. "Why don't you tell me how you're doing with all of these murders. I mean, it has to get to you somehow. All that blood on your hands… all that guilt… unless it's just fun for you." You ask, smirking at him as you changed the subject. Jensen's face shifted slightly, twitching at how focused you still were at getting these answers.
"Sure it's fun. But I only do it cause I have to. You know… I'd stop if I had a girl like you…" he insists, attempting to reach across and touch your chin. You back away slowly, just about enough to make him think you were playing hard to get. You batted your eyelashes and threw your hair behind your shoulder.
"Oh really? You would?" You asked, pulling out a photo. "What about that brother of yours? Sam, right? What's he like?" You ask in a flirtatious tone. Jensen yet again shifts a little in his seat, uncomfortable that he was losing control of the conversation.
"Hey, Sammy can't even get it up half the time. All the girls he fucks he kills afterwards. I'm better, trust me." He insists, winking at you from where he sat slouched in the seat across from you. He bit his lip a little harder and hummed gently. "Man… you know, if I didn't have these handcuffs on I could show you a pretty good time…" he trails, giving you a seductive look. Had this been over five years ago, this flirting would have seriously got you. No one had ever flirted with you this way. Not even now. But after all your experience with secret motivations behind smiling masks, you knew better.
"Oh yeah? I thought you were… more the kinky type. Let a girl think she's in control for a good little bit." You ask, purposely shifting in your seat to slightly pull up your skirt. Your plan has been working so far. Hopefully Morgan was keeping his promise.
Jensen licked his lips and looked you up and down. "I'm guessing this ain't your first rodeo, is it, princess?" He asks, giving you a flirtatious glance. You bite back a disgusted groan that would've fallen from your mouth if the situation were different.
You giggle and hold a hand to your mouth. "No, no I'm afraid it isn't." You tease. Jensen flashes a white smile you're sure has charmed plenty of women in his past into his pants.
"Good. I like women with… experience." He flirts back. "You think I could get a beer in here? Some whiskey?" He asks.
"How about you answer a few questions for me, big boy? Then maybe I'll let you ask for a few things. Of course, within reason." You remind, winking back at him. Jensen leaned back in his chair and pondered what you offered.
"Sure, lay it on me, Baby." He allows, nodding to you. You let out an undetectable sigh of relief before you start up again. So far, so good.
"So… Jensen… how would you describe your relationship with Sam? Strong? You get along good?" You ask, internally groaning at how much you sounded like a therapist.
Jensen seemed to share this sentiment and let out a groan for you. "Geez, you sound like a goddamn shrink." He grumbles as he sits up. "Yeah… me and Sammy are always by each other. I practically raised him. He's my baby brother. What do you expect? Some people say we're codependent on each other but, really, who are they to judge?" He shrugged, looking at you.
You nod, looking through the information. Just as you begin to open your mouth to ask another question, Jensen slightly hits the table.
"Nuh uh, sweetheart. You asked me a question, so I get to ask one too. Am I right?" He clarifies, giving you a shit-eating grin because he knew he was right. You sigh and nodded, closing the file for a moment. Jensen smirked and leaned forward towards you.
"How come we ain't on a first name basis yet, hm? You know my name, what's yours sugar-tits?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. You swallow gently.
"My name is Agent-"
"No-no-no-" Jensen interrupted. "I mean your real name, sweetness. You know, the name mommy and daddy gave you when they signed that slip of paper." He insists, pressing a finger into the table.
You sigh. "I can meet you half-way and give you my middle name-" you attempt to compromise.
"No, damnit!" He growls, slapping his fists into the table. "I want a damn name! No name? No answers, bitch!" He yelled in your face. You swallowed all the nerves building up in your throat, clearing it for a moment.
"Alright, alright, calm down. Or we'll have to detain you again. And then you won't get the chance to hear my name or potentially strike up a deal, you hear me?" You ask, biting the inside of your cheek just barely.
Jensen seemed satisfied with your answer, settling back into his chair.
"They call me (Y/N)." You answer after a quiet moment. Jensen smiles greedily.
"(Y/N), huh? You don't hear that one everyday."
"No, you don't. Now… Jensen. Can you tell me, what exactly you and your brother were doing when you decided to kill these two men?" You asked, pushing the pictures of the crime scene in front of him. He rolled his eyes.
"They were tax guys. We didn't wanna pay tax, is that too hard to get, baby?" He asks with a chuckle.
"No, I figured that. No, what I want to know, is why you decided to pour salt on the body once they were already dead, and set them on fire?" You questioned. Jensen began to protest but you held up a hand.
"I'll let you ask two questions once you answer me." You promise, pointing at one of the photos. He sighed and leaned back.
"Ain't I allowed a lawyer?" He asks.
"Not since you escaped prison and are not a legal, non-incarcerated citizen. Sure, you will receive an attorney for trial. But I doubt a lawyer will help you here. I'm your best bet at being able to strike up a deal."
Jensen grumbled, looking around the room, still refusing to answer. You nod as you begin to take mental notes.
"Ah I see. This all has to do with the man who burned your mother, doesn't it?" You ask him, catching him off guard.
"Wha-?! How did-?" He began.
"We're the FBI, Jensen. Not some local police officer you can convince you were just experimenting how to build a bonfire and try to tell me they got just a little too close. You see, your mother was salted and burned too. But I bet you knew that. That man assaulted her in your brother's nursery and started the fire. You reserved that method for him. But you couldn't remember whether the man was blond haired, or dark. So you killed them both the same way. Didn't you, Jensen? You and your brother got caught up in your daddy's little business-"
"Shut up-" Jensen growled.
"And now you can't stand to let him down. To break the promise you made to him-"
"Shut. Up." He hissed.
"And you brought your little brother into it too because you couldn't face all the guilt all alone. Because you're afraid of being abandoned. Despite all the ways you have to fill up that void: Drink, Sex, Money, you know that you can never be satisfied." You insist, leaning closer to Jensen as you begin to raise your voice.
"Shut the hell up, bitch!" He attempted to shout over you.
"You can never be satisfied because all you are is daddy's little pawn. And without him? You see no purpose for yourself-"
"Son of a bitch-!" He growled, slamming his fist into the table again. "Shut the fuck up before I make you-"
"Then answer me this one question, Jensen." You insist, standing up as he does.
"Why should I-?" He roars.
"Cause I know you never wanted this. That you wanted a regular family. And I can find that family you tried to hold onto." You insist. It was a long shot, but you had to try.
"What the hell are you talking about-?!"
"Men like you, who have broken homes, broken families with deadbeat fathers, they try to start over. Try to be the man their father wasn't. And I can see that you fit right into that, Jensen. You tried to have a family. You desperately tried. But you were too sucked into this second life you had that you had to choose. And you regret it. Now, tell me where your brother is, and I'll find them for you." You promise.
Jensen widens his eyes in shock, as if he was surprised you could get all of that from just this little interview. He tensed up and took his seat again, twitching with anger and disbelief. "You're bluffing… she… Daneel moved on from me. Changed her name. You can't find her."
"I bet that I can. I'll find them and let you see them again. If you tell me where your brother is." You restate, calming your voice to a caring tone. He leaned forward and put his face in his hands.
"There's an old factory we both head to… when one of us gets caught. It's down south of Lebanon. He'll be there. Now you better find her for me. Or I will strangle you here and now-" he began to threaten.
"I wouldn't lie about that. You'll see her. You'll see your brother too. Just behave, and I may be able to get some visiting privileges worked out for you." You promise, collecting the files again and head towards the door.
"(Y/N)..."
You turn your head as you hear your name. Before you can even reply, he finishes his statement.
"Thank you." He says just barely audibly. You smile gently and nod to him before you leave the room.
Once out you exhale your hardest, taking in a similar inhale. That, was a lot.
"Damn… how the hell did you get all that? How did you… even do that?" Morgan asks, helping you up from where you had unknowingly leaned against the door.
You shook your head, smiling somewhat. "I… I trusted my gut. I've unfortunately dealt with guys like him. And the one thing they treasure is something they know they can never have." You explain, looking up at Morgan.
"Well still, you did a good job staying calm in there. I mean… Hotch and I didn't know whether or not you were seriously flirting with him or not." Morgan chuckles.
"Yeah well… sure he was handsome but, he isn't my type." You reveal. Morgan smirks and nudges your shoulder.
"Yeah, cause your type is 6'1 and a gigantic nerd. Who by the way, couldn't stay in the room watching the interrogation after you started flirting with him. You should've seen him, all red faced too." He grinned. You widen your eyes at his reveal, doing a little blushing of your own.
"Really?" You ask.
"Yeah, kid. But seriously… (Y/N)? You've been holding out on me princess! Why didn't you tell me you had a name like that?" He teased, leading you out of the room and towards the rest of the station.
"Well… you can call me (Y/N/N). I go by that more often by friends." You insist. Morgan chuckles.
"And we are most definitely, friends." He says, holding up a fist for you. You giggle and give him a fist bump, walking with him back out to where Hotch and the rest of the team were.
"We all need to split up and take different entrances to the factory. He probably knows the building better than we do. Once we're in, we'll corner him. Without his brother he is vulnerable." Hotch explains, unaware Morgan was walking up behind him.
You look down and pull your skirt back into place. You didn't need anyone thinking you were trying to get some.
"So Hotch, what's the plan?" Morgan asked.
Hotch turned around and faced the two of you. "I'm having Garcia get the layout of the factory now. There's only one down there, so we have to assume that's the one Jensen meant."
"Great work, (L/N)." Prentiss says, smiling at you.
"Thank you." You respond. "I… just trusted my gut. Hotch?" You spoke up. The man in question turned his head towards you. You sigh and begin to speak up.
"I called Garcia to find her for you." Rossi interrupted, smiling at you. "I'll put it on my record, so you can still have a clean one." He promises, winking at you.
Hotch nodded. "Yes, we'll get in contact with this Daneel. If any pop up in his history, we'll call her down to see him. Now we need to hurry. Jensen may have a way to tip off his brother. You need to change out of that and get down to the factory." He says to you.
"She can change in the car with me." Prentiss insists. "Like you said we don't have much time."
"Alright. (L/N), you ride with Prentiss. Let's go." He says, prompting all of you to head towards the doors.
○●♡●○
"Damn, (Y/N), where have you been all my life?" Derek asks as you both come back into the station, followed by the rest of the team.
They had managed to apprehend the brother. Turns out that Sam had been contemplating suicide and when you had told him he could see his brother again, he gave in. So he was much easier than his brother.
"I dunno, Morgan. Probably hidden under all the other chicks you had to take out first." You teased, giggling a little as you all took a seat (and or leaned against the wall, as was Morgan’s thing.)
Spencer, on the other hand, chose to head into the evidence room instead. You raised an eyebrow, confused.
"Hey, uh… is Reid okay? I mean, he was the one who got the guy in handcuffs. Did you see him though? He had to be at least as tall as Spencer." You chuckled.
"Why do you say that?" Prentiss asks.
"Did you not see him skip this little after case review? He went straight into the evidence room. I've never known him in the two months that I have, to go clean up evidence boards before talking to all of us." You point out.
"He's probably just jealous." Morgan teased. You furrow your eyebrows and wack Morgan’s arm. Morgan smiles and winces playfully in pain.
"I thought you promised me you wouldn't talk about it!?" You hissed.
"Ooh, talk about what?" JJ asks, taking her own seat instead of standing. Hotch smiles softly and chuckles.
"The obvious crush Ms. (L/N) has on Reid." Hotch spoke up.
You whip around faster than the swivel chair can as you look at Hotch in surprise. "Don't tell me he told you!" You whined, your blush making a reappearance on your face as you cover them.
Hotch chuckles and lets Rossi take over his defense. "We all know already, kid. You aren't exactly slick about it." He says with a chuckle of his own.
"You all suck. Capital S." You grumble.
"Hey, I didn't do anything about it." Prentiss points out. "Though sure, I may have said something about Reid…" she trails. You groan louder.
"Seriously? How obvious have I really been?" You ask. "And be honest with me please." You insist. Each of your team members looked to one another before they each said: "Very."
You let out a frustrated growl and lean back in your chair. Morgan chuckled as he put a hand on your shoulder.
"Kid, you weren't slick." He admits.
After a moment, Morgan gets an idea and smirks. "So… does he know your name?" He asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
Prentiss and JJ gasp for a moment, smiling at you expectantly. A third gasp joins them, causing you to crane your neck to find out where it came from. JJ turned her phone around and showed Garcia's caller ID. You should have known.
"Come on kid, is it safe to tell us yet?" Morgan asks, smiling genuinely at you. The most real one you'd gotten thus far, you think with a grumble.
You sigh as you begin to grin from ear to ear. Guess you weren't getting out of this. You had finally been able to let your guard down around the team. You felt welcomed and not like a burden. So you said it.
"My name is (Y/N). But you all can call me (Y/N/N)."
A few shrieks from Garcia's end were quickly heard then silenced through the volume button of JJ's phone. Prentiss smiled at you, sitting back gently.
"Really now? Never thought I'd say it but I never pegged you for a (Y/N)." She commented. You snickered.
"Yeah, well, you can thank my grandfather for that one. He insisted my parents name me something normal. Or at least something that wasn't Gwenevere. So they compromised on (Y/N)." You laugh, bringing a few more members of the team with you.
This was home. You'd only known a true home one time before this in your life. And this was it. This is what home was to you. Not a random apartment, not some desk job, this. This work family you'd built up for the past two months.
You just hoped you hadn't screwed up with Reid again.
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x reader fic#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x reader fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer x you#spencer x reader#spencer x y/n#Criminal Minds#Criminal Minds Fanfiction#criminal minds fandom#spencer x reader fanfic
104 notes
·
View notes
Text
Snippet One
These are fics I need motivation on...so you get snippets
Glee and Criminal minds crossover
Spencer had only managed to set their base photos out and lay a bit of basic info onto the table in front of the first board before a small knock sounded outside the door.
“Excuse me,” a soft voiced asked from the doorway. “Officer Phillips told me I could find the people who came in from the FBI back here? Do you know if they are here yet?”
Spencer turned towards the soft voice and was surprised at who was actually standing in the doorway. First, despite the high voice, which Spencer had first assumed belonged to either a young lady or a much younger person the person in the doorway was a guy, a guy in his mid-teen at least. The grey coat and the purple scarf weren’t exactly highly masculine cut, but Spencer, contrary to popular belief, knew enough to know that both were rather high end designer items. The young man looked exactly that though, young…and nervous. He was fingering the strap of his bag and rocking on his heels.
“Yes,” Spencer answered, with a sigh. “This is where we are set up.”
The boy raised his eyebrows at Spencer. “You’re an FBI agent?”
Spencer raised his right back. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
The boy chuckled. He looped the bag off his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. Then he looked around for a coat stand before he started to remove his grey coat. Spencer gasped at the boy and blurted out “What the hell happened to you?”
The boy looked down and sighed. His grey sweater and white skinny jeans were more red and blue than their original colors. The boy took his coat to the coat stand and carefully hung it up as he started to talk. “Slushies six and seven. It’s been a long day. This is actually outfit five. FIVE! I will never be able to get the red out of this sweater either, since I had to sit through a whole class before even being allowed enough time to try to do anything about it! At least the teacher let me wash my face, but look at my hair! I’ll be lucky if it hasn’t stained. I really hate Mr. Lurch, and yes, that really is his last name. It’s not like ten minutes lost from AP World History would make it so I flunk. I am absolutely certain I hold the highest grade in there. Of course, most shouldn’t even be in an AP class, so that doesn’t say much. And even though I’m like the only one who knows what the man is talking about, ever, he only calls on me when he has exhausted all other options. ” Spencer smiled a little as the boy spoke. His hands were in motion the whole time and he had a gracefulness about his movements that Spencer enjoyed watching. Spencer pulled a chair over from the other table and set it to the side of the one he’d been sitting in while pouting. The boy kept speaking as Spencer worked.
“So my mood was not the best anyway. I was completely infuriated when I started to head home after I was informed by the principal, who watched these last two slushy attacks happen, that I could not stay at school because the representatives from Lady Margret’s were expected at any moment and I was simply no longer dressed as a good representative from McKinley and I needed to remove myself, taking the half day of absences, from the school grounds at once. Before lunch mind you, before lunch.”
The boy was ranting now; Spencer recognized the hand on the hips and quick speech. However Spencer also figured the boy needed the outlet, so let him continue.
“Granted, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to leading around any of the members of Lady Margret’s student council, because last year one of the girls who visited in our Science class was just plain rude, and that is saying something considering I go to McKinley and nearly everyone there is awful. But still it was somewhat of an honor escorting that student council around, supposedly, so it would have been nice to actually have been able to do so. I almost suspect Miss Rachel Berry to have orchestrated this last round of slushies, because now she gets to be the escort and she’d been complaining about not getting the privilege for a week and half… but I have been telling myself since slushies six and seven that there is no way she would stoop so low, and besides, it was Azimio and Rick the Stick and I don’t think she dares even speak to either for fear they’d get her first. Of course, I also suspect the honor was originally granted because I am one of the few who can actually afford to miss a few classes without my grades reflecting a missed class and not because anyone actually wanted me to talk to anyone from any other school. Rachel, in all her glory, is involved in a ridiculous amount of clubs and can’t miss too many more class hours, really.” The boy paused for a moment and looked around, noting the table on the far side of the room had piles of papers and such on it and the end of the table the chairs were at had boxes that were opened lined up. “Can I set my bag here or will that be an issue later?”
Spencer smiled. He was pleased the boy had thought and asked before acting. “If we keep things to this end it will be fine. It’d be better if you sat on the chair I pulled over. The one across from me is not very sturdy sounding.”
“Thank you.” The boy’s smile was exquisite. The boy walked back to the doorway and picked up his bag, continuing talking as he did so. “Anyway... just as I was leaving the parking lot, Chip called. So all in all, it actually turned out …well, rather perfect.”
“Perfect?” Spencer asked. He settled himself back into the chair he’d been pouting in earlier.
“Yes,” The boy said, “because even though no one wants to meet real life FBI agents looking like this in the long run it was a good thing, because frankly, I didn’t want to end up having to sneak in or skip school, or something else like that---things that were likely to get me grounded, just to see you guys.”
“Grounded?” Spencer asked.
“Yes. The Sheriff? He hates me, honestly hates me.” The boy looked Spencer up and down, had they been anywhere else Spencer would have accused the young man of checking him out. “He probably won’t like you, either. Sorry. Are you sure you are a FBI agent? And if you are, why are you dressed like that? That look does absolutely nothing for you. We could do so much better.”
Spencer sighed.
“SSA Dr. Spencer Reid.” Spencer stood and offered his hand. The boy’s hands were even slightly stained red. “How did you even know we were coming?”
“Kurt Hummel. It is a pleasure to meet you, don’t get me wrong. It’s just; you dress more like ‘absentminded college professor’ and not like what I’ve always thought FBI agents would look like. And, I was not thinking ‘men in black’, as hot as that would be in real life. More like regular suits…maybe nice ties…or maybe even less formal jeans you can move fast in and Henley shirts, kind of a rugged look. That is not to say you look like a college professor, still too young for that, but you kind of dress like one. Although, you almost carry the look, it’s almost like…”
Kurt trailed his sentence as he looked over Spencer once again and Spencer was pretty sure the boy was picturing him in clothing he imagined more suitable for an FBI agent. He could see when a thought of why he might dress the way he did and the realization of a reason for Spencer’s clothing choices took hold of the boys mind. Spencer suspected he had the right idea as well.
“Yeah.” Spencer said.
“Anyway, I knew you guys were coming because of your SUVs. Where ever they were fetched from so does not get any merit awards for their mechanic work. It was very nearly shameful. Chip, he worked at my dad’s garage during the summers when he was still in high school. It was nice; he was one of the good guys. Didn’t care that the boss’s weird son was there all the time working alongside his dad. My dad makes sure anyone who spends time working for him knows their stuff. So Chip knew just from the sound that those SUVs made as they rolled into the parking lot here that they needed help if they were to be safe for anything other than just the very basic use for very short distances. He called Dad and Dad told him to bring them over. However, it was just after closing and most Dad’s regular employees had already gone home. So Dad called me in and I came out to work with him. I haven’t worked full hours recently, so I could work without worry about overtime or anything. And I can always use the money. Don’t worry, I’ve been certified since Dad could legally get me certified. While we were working the Sheriff sat there chattering about why they were calling you guys in and I told him that I knew of something that connected all the deaths. The sheriff got asked to leave the shop due to the language he used as he told me you guys would never want to listen to me. Oh my stars, I thought for a few moments the Sheriff was going to just shoot my dad right then and there for daring to tell him to leave, but Dad just stood there looking at him and the sheriff finally made another slur and left the building. Dad says the shop is supposed to be one of my safe places, at least while I’m working there. Then Chip said that they were sending FBI agents who looked at things other than just fingerprints and stuff like that, so he’d get me into to talk to you as soon as he could because maybe knowing something that linked them all would mean something.”
“You say you know something that links all the deaths?” Spencer asked.
“All eight.” Kurt said. “I even went back and double checked last night.”
Spencer looked around for some paper and a pen, until he gave up and fetched paper and pen from his own satchel. “I’m going to have to get some writing utensils and paper in here, this is ridiculous.” He muttered, not quietly enough though, since the boy heard and smiled.
“Nice bag.” The young man, Kurt, said. “Good designer, rather old though. It’s held up well, that is the nice thing about good quality work, it holds up to wear well. Abuse well, too, if the material is right.”
“Take a seat.” Spencer said, pointing to the chair he’d set out for the boy. “Five outfits? Is that normal?”
“Nah, not even for most the others who get slushied at my school. Honestly it’s even a bit much for me. I always pack a spare or two, outfit wise. A change or two a day is normal, more than three is rare. High School is…there is a hierarchy, you know, and if you don’t fit in, sometimes it’s not a nice place to be.”
Spencer nodded. “Tossed in dumpsters and checked into lockers.” He said.
“Swirlies and slushies and shoving to the extent that you face plant. Exactly.” Kurt sat down and pulled his bag up onto the table. As he did, Spencer noticed a wince and wondered. “Outfit one was a loss even before school started, they served spaghetti for lunch yesterday and the dumpsters aren’t emptied until just before lunch tomorrow. Of course, even without the dumpster toss this morning I would have had to change…slushy one was grape and huge. Plus even before I managed to get to my locker to drop my bag off and extract a new outfit, I ended up slammed in to Locker 279. Luckily, I had a minor setback at home before I left and traded my good under t-shirt for one of the cheap ones my dad buys me and I had removed my good coat before the dumpster toss. Locker 279 met with some sort of trauma earlier this year and needs replacing. Like, the school year, not calendar year. Do you know first aid? I patched the slice across my back best I could and wrapped it in the remains of the cheap t-shirt, but it’s not feeling quite right.” Kurt scrunched his shoulders and rolled them before pulling his bag onto the table and starting to empty it. Spencer smiled again as the boy continued talking while looking through the notebooks, books, and folders he removed and pulling out papers here and there.
“Anyway, patched and redressed I almost made it to my first class except Puck’s trying to get his rep back up and was going to slushie Jacob the Creep…that is Jacob ben Israel and he is very much one of those makes the skin crawl creepy people-I try not to think about just where that boy might have hidden cameras lurking about in that school because my dad says I have to go to school and I cannot be homeschooled and if I think long about Jacob the Creep and his cameras I just start to freak out and so I just try very hard not to think about it …” The boy across from Spencer shuddered and grimaced before looking back down to the papers he was collecting from inside his pile of belongings. “Anyway, one of the Hockey Players pushed Puck and it got me. Puck punched the hockey player so I guess he sees me as a …friend maybe… which can only be a good thing. Puck’s in Glee club with me, and I think maybe the fact we’ve helped him out a bit with some of his issues this past little bit…we as in my dad mostly and me a little…has made him a bit less eager to make my life completely miserable. I was worried about that since I hadn’t really had a conversation with him for well over a week and the last one wasn’t exactly a good conversation and was well, rather weird. Totally thought I’d weirded him out so bad he’d never speak to me again. Outfit two down. Outfit three made it through first and second hour, but met its demise with slushies three and four right outside of the choir room. Glee club isn’t even going on really since we lost regionals and can’t compete in any other competitions until next school year and apparently that is what glee is about...instead of working starting now so we don’t lose next year… but we still have that hour scheduled for class so we still go and well, it’s become the most dangerous class to go to since we lost regionals, not that it was safe before. Apparently that is what makes us all targets, except half of us were targeted just as much, if not more, before we started up in Glee club, so really it’s just a handy excuse. Outfit four made it through glee, but not two steps past leaving the door of the choir room…slushie five and Karofsky. Only he has it down to the locker check and then slushie in face combo. I’ll have bruises from that, too. And outfit five never even made it into fourth hour.”
“Slushies? Like crushed ice drinks?” Spencer asked.
“Yes. They are horrid. The syrup stings your eyes and they are sticky and yet slimy and cold. There is a machine for them IN the school. It is ridiculous.”
“Thank God my high school didn’t have those. So, are your dumpsters the kind with the huge hard plastic lids or the metal lids?”
Kurt shivered. “Plastic, thank goodness. I’ve only had the lid shut on me twice though, both last year when I was a freshman.”
“I preferred those over the metal lidded ones, I think. The ones by the lunchroom at my school were plastic lidded, but smooth and hard to climb out of, but if you could get to the top they were easier to open. You’re pretty much tall enough that you probably can push the lid up without too much problem. I had to walk by the dumpsters at the side of the school where the offices were and they had metal lids. I was tossed in those pretty much every day, and they shut the lid every time - Not so bad on my clothing as the ones by the lunchroom, but the first day no one found me until Mickey the Janitor came out to toss some papers from the main office and finally fished me out, four and half hours after I’d been tossed in. I was too little to manage to get the lid to open even with the grooved sides that I could use to climb out. After that first day, every day ten minutes after second hour started, Mickey would fish me out of the dumpsters so I could get to my class. I think Mickey must have explained it to the teacher, as well, because even though I was ten minutes late every day I was never marked tardy.”
Spencer looked at Kurt, who looked back at him with an odd expression. Spencer raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” Kurt said, looking down and straightening the pile of papers he’d pulled from his various books and folders. The Kurt looked up again and met Spencer’s eyes. “It’s just…you get it. You’d understand it all, wouldn’t you?”
Spencer smiled. “Probably. I started high school right before I turned ten and graduated when I was 12.”
“Some sort of super genius, then. I should have guessed, I suppose. I bet the other kids hated you more than kids hate me. Was it bad all the way through high school?”
Spencer nodded. “Most of it. I was severely bullied my last year, until about mid December when I joined the basketball team and they won every single game for the rest of the season.”
“You played?” Kurt asked. Kurt was watching Spencer as he stuffed books and folders back into his bag.
Spencer tilted his head back and laughed. “No…just, no. I didn’t even go through a growth spurt of any type until I was like thirteen or fourteen. Late bloomer. I took over coaching. Basketball is fundamentally mathematics and physics. Angles and statistics. On your team, if you know who can make what shots consistently and you put your players in place and you teach them how to make the math work for them…you win. The team had lost all four games they had played, their star player had just been expelled for selling drugs, so when I brought them my plan, and the coach figured they had nothing left to lose, they put it to use. And they started winning every time they put my plans into play. The other thing I did was break down other teams shooting strategies, so we knew who and what to watch out for and how to foil the other teams’ plans. Most the bad bullying stopped after that.”
“Nice. I wish it would have worked for me. I joined the football team. Heck, I was the reason they won the only game they won this past year. Made no difference in the bullying, at all. In some cases it made it worse. Technically, I even won the Cheerios, that’s our cheerleading team, their national title. They probably could have won without me though….maybe. The coach signed me on solely for my singing voice. Nearly fifteen minutes of Celine Dion in French and that was only one of the six fifteen minute routines she made me learn perfectly. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t just sing. The coach made sure I could do anything she asked the other cheerleaders to do, as well….while singing. Everything, that lady is insane. Didn’t stop the bullying. The bullies were more careful about when they bullied, and I dealt with a whole lot more of being shoved and pushed and that kind bullying instead of the slushies…but that was because Coach Sylvester would have killed them if they messed the uniform up too badly.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” Spencer said.
Kurt shrugged. “C’est la vie, I guess. It’s what you get by being different, by being an outcast. You always hear it gets better. Did it get better?” Kurt asked.
Spencer cocked his head to the side and ran his fingers through his hair. “Most of the time I think so, but I still have issues.”
Kurt looked him up and down again and nodded.
“Well, I’ve always known I can’t expect miracles and that there will always be problems. But I rather hoped they would be less if I moved away from here.” He said with a sigh. He looked up at Spencer. “The murdered guys... those guys weren’t, you know. Outcasts.”
“What do you mean?” Spencer asked.
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
No option
Pairing: Steve Rogers X Mutant enhanced!Reader & Brock Rumlow X Sinthea Schmidt
Word count: 1117 words.
Summary: For two years you and your best friend were planning you revenge, now the plan was for Steve to be on your side.
Warnings: Reader is HYDRA.
A/N: This is my entry to the @fangirlovestuff‘s Birthday Challenge with prompt #19:
“Partners in crime.”
Also my entry to the @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall‘s 500 Follower Challenge with song lyric:
“I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun.”
My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.
I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.
My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.
If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.
Tags: @sinceimetyou @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @saiyanprincessswanie @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @adriannajackson
You last checked the list, you already carried everything you needed, you walked the streets trying to keep your profile low, you had stayed hidden from a few months before, however as you went through a newspaper stand you stopped, and a headline had caught your eye, smiled.
"We were trying hard when everything was easier," you thought as you bought the paper. You rushed to where you lived, you needed to tell your best friend the news, in the end, the last plan had been successful, now they would probably never look for them again.
"Brock, I have great news!" You exclaimed when you walked into the house.
"Unless you've found a mutant who can heal wounds or the Avengers are dead, it's not great news," Brock growled.
"Almost," you responded by putting the paper in front of him.
Brock opened his eyes surprised as he read the header, a crooked smile appeared on his face.
"I always thought you were the best, even before Strucker subjected you to experimentation.”
"That only enhanced my powers, I suppose we should tell your girlfriend...”
"Sin's too busy, rather we should think we'll do now that they're separated.”
"Maybe it's time for my come back, Steve's probably very desperate and he'd do anything, in the end now he's one of the most wanted fugitives," you said.
"That means they're not going to look for us anymore.”
"No, that means you're legally dead and I'm still missing.”
"The only thing I would worry about would be Maximoff...”
"Maximoff is no match for me, I've been in her mind, its chaos, she thinks his twin is dead, well everyone believes that not counting that our plan worked perfectly," you interrupted him. “It would also be nice if we got the Soldier back...”
“First Rogers and then the Soldier will be easy.”
"Then we have work to do.”
One week took you to find out Steve's new location, you already knew all the details of what happened in the Civil War, then you would figure how to get Barnes out of Wakanda without anyone else noticing or if things went well you would do it with Steve's help.
"Y/N, are you sure about this?” Brock questioned.
"Of course, they think they've already defeated HYDRA, but they've all done what we wanted.”
You were walking down the street, you knew that was the day Steve went to the market to buy some food and find out what was going on. Steve was watching the paper holding a person at the front table, they were still looking for him, they probably would do it all his life, he wasn't sure when he could stand running, contacting the others was complicated, if they weren't careful, they could leave some trace and find them. He wasn't sure if they'd go back to the Raft, although they'd most certainly take them to another prison more safely to prevent them from escaping again.
He turned and felt his heart beating fast, blinked several times, couldn't believe what he had just seen, you were missing for just over two years, he immediately got up, left the money to pay the food and hastened his step, all that time he thought you were dead, he didn't know if it was a hallucination or if you were there.
“Y/N!” He called you.
You stopped when you heard your name, you turned slowly until you face him.
"Steve, it's been a long time.”
"Where have you been? I thought that day...”
"I had to run away, you may not understand, but my best friend and I have been hiding all this time," you replied.
"That is not possible, Rumlow is dead and because of him, they created the Sokovia Accords.”
"Dead? No, I can assure you he is not.”
Steve didn't understand what was going on, yet he agreed to go with you, when he got to the house and saw Brock practically pounced him, you managed to separate them.
"What's wrong with you, Steve?”
"It's all his fault...”
“What? But we've been here the last few months.”
"How do you explain Lagos?” Steve exasperated.
"What happened in Lagos?”
"Rumlow, don't ask stupid things...”
"Steve, we don't know what you're talking about, Brock doesn't get out of here, and don’t you see his condition?”
Steve showed you the videos of that incident, both you and Brock pretended to be surprised, of course, they knew what had happened, and that was the first part of his revenge plan.
"Steve, that's not Brock, I'm pretty sure that was a trap, there are mutants who can change their shape, they can even look like people we know," you explained.
"What you mean?”
"Probably, maybe Ross just needed a pretext for the Accords," you replied.
"We did belong to HYDRA, but we had a good reason," Brock said.
"I can't find any reason for that," Steve refuted.
"Brock and I were neighbours since we were kids, we've known each other all our lives, my parents died, they'd send me to an orphanage, and I decided to escape, while Brock's father beat him, that's when we ran away.”
"Two children alone in the world is not the safest thing, a HYDRA agent found us and that's when we found a new home," Brock continued.
"But you were able to choose...”
"And that's what we did, after the battle at the Triskelion I escaped, but I found out Brock was in the hospital, the doctors said it was a miracle that he survived, then we hid, we knew everyone would look for us.”
"I thought you were dead, I was looking for you too, you could have asked me for help," Steve complained.
“I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun.”
"Rogers you're wrong, they weren't even going to listen to us, they'd immediately lock us up in the Raft.”
"I can’t leave my best friend behind. Steve, you're wanted too, you're a runaway like us, you're nothing to them but a criminal," you said.
"Accept it, we are now partners in crime," Brock said.
“Partners in crime”, it didn't sound so bad to Steve, you were right, now it didn't matter what he did in the past for his country, all they cared about now was that he hadn't signed the Accords. You put your hand on Steve's forehead and entered his mind, very easily you started manipulating everything that was there, and Captain America no longer existed and would never come back.
“What is the next step?” Brock questioned.
"Make the Roxxon Company explode, I hear you have... a very interesting experiment," you responded as you smiled.
#BTFW500challenge#fangirlovestuffbdaychallenge#Steve Rogers#steve rogers x reader#reader is hydra#steve rogers one shot#steve rogers fic
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
As Cold As Stone: Part One
Dante Ekan’s newest case is a twenty one year old murder. It’s witnesses have remained silent all this time. So Agent Ekans seeks to change that.
He pokes, he prods, he bluffs, he lies, and he digs too deep.
But maybe the witnesses were silent for a reason.
Also on Ao3
~~~~
One
“What makes this one different?”
The Captain raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”
Dee gave a shrug as he peered looked through the box he had been given, “You seem to only like giving me the quote on quote interesting cases, so why is this one special?”
“It’s a twenty-one year old child murder... One with five witnesses.”
“Then why is it unsolved?”
“The witnesses were also children. And not one would talk about what happened. Maybe time has loosened their lips.”
Even with five unwilling witnesses, evidence were scarce to say the least. It seemed everything that was known was learned from the child’s body.
Merten Hill. July.
The victim had been Thomas Sanders, only six at the time. He and the other five boys, ages three to six, used to play in the property behind Thomas’ house. The property itself went along with a mansion, both had been owned by the town, since before the murder occurred. The children used to go out and play and parents would go check in on them, now and then. And then one day five crying boys came back without Thomas.
Thomas’ mother had been the one to find the body.
He had multiple fractures, a broken neck -determined to be the cause of death- and wounds of an undetermined animal. Despite those bite and claw marks however, investigators at the time however had ruled his death a homicide given the large, adult-sized handprint found around Thomas’s neck.
The witnesses had each gone through counseling, but not one would speak on what occurred that day.
But thankfully all of them still lived here and in the surrounding towns and cities. So he’d first speak to the police who knew the case best- and then with the witnesses individually.
But which to speak to first?
~~~~
Logan Ackroyd was at work.
Ironically enough the now twenty-seven year old man worked for CSI. Dee resisted the urge to laugh as he walked into the lab. Eyes glanced up at him as he did, but when no one did more than that he gave a sigh and pulled out his badge. “Dante Ekans. FBI. I’m looking for Logan Ackroyd?”
There were a few shifting glances before one head raised up from its workstation and considered Dee with a confused expression. “Can I help you?”
Dee nodded back toward the hallway which he had come from, “Just wanna talk.”
The man gave an audible sigh as he moved closer to Dee before heading out into the hallway. The first thing Dee noticed about him was the man’s height, the second thing was his insistent fidgeting with his tie. Apparently it wasn’t straight enough as he adjusted it constantly, but he seemed to do so absentmindedly as he spoke, “Well? Did you need something?”
“I work cold case,” Dee started slowly watching the man’s unchanging expression. “Currently, I’m revisiting the murder of Thomas Sanders.”
The adjusting of the tie stopped for less than a moment, before it resumed. “I’m sorry to tell you that I know nothing about what happened to him,” Logan answered his arms dropping to his sides.
“But you were there.”
“I was,” he agreed. “But, according to one of the many psychiatrists I had, I blocked out the memory to the point it’s almost as if I was never there at all.”
His words were practiced. They were probably something he had been saying all his life. The unchanging expression on his face was practiced- was a mask. The only thing which seemed to show his true emotion was the fact that he had stopped fidgeting with his tie.
The man himself was a lie.
But Dee often found that he was the biggest liar there was. “I see. Well could you at least do me a favor?”
“A favor?”
“Take me to where it happened? I just want to see the area for myself. Helps process my thoughts.”
“I’m afraid I do not know the exact location. Perhaps one of the officers remembers? Or it might be in the notes?”
“But you played there everyday, right? Perhaps you might know more than even you think.”
“Nothing would look familiar to me under all the snow,” he stated. “I should be getting back to worth. I have open cases I must help with.”
“I understand,” Dee nodded moving to leave. “But tell me, is Thomas the reason you work CSI now?”
“Have a pleasant day Agent Ekans.”
~~~~
Roman Prince lived on the opposite side of Merten Hill from where he had grown up, and from where his childhood friend had been murdered. It seemed he was the only one of the five who still lived in the same town.
The home was small and average.
But as Dee went to ring the doorbell he heard shouting from inside. He has barely pressed the button before the door was wrenched upon and glare was fixed upon him.
“What?”
Dee raised an eyebrow amused as he flashed his badge, “Dante Ekans. I’m with the FBI.”
Roman’s eyes widened as he took a step back, “Motherf- Remus !” The man turned on his heel and led the way in the house shouting as he went, leaving Dee no choice but to close the door behind him and follow.
“You piece of shit! What did you do to piss off the goddamn FBI !”
Remus Prince was man Dee hadn’t expected to meet. To his knowledge the man had been legally homeless and jobless on account of his last arrest. But him being here made his job easier.
Amongst the children’s toys which littered the room, Remus lay upside on the couch in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt watching TV. “I don’t think I did anything... Would you like me to do something?”
“Just get the fuck out of my house already!” Roman shouted at him. He turned on Dee, “Just arrest him and leave!”
“I’m not here to arrest anyone,” Dee tried. “I wanted to talk is all.”
“So you’re going to talk out on the porch, and then arrest him?”
“Not unless he’s the one who killed Thomas Sanders.”
Roman’s barely contained anger fizzled out in a single breath. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times as Remus straightened himself on the couch.
“Why are you looking into that?” Roman asked quietly.
“I’m with cold case,” Dee explained with a shrug. “And I’m revisiting his murder. I was hoping to see if either of you remember anything?”
“We don’t,” Roman replied shortly, but Dee had noticed as Remus had opened his mouth to speak.
“And you? I know you’re twins, but do you share your brother’s memory?”
“The only thing I remember from that day is his body,” Remus shrugged looking back at the TV.
“Oh? So you don't remember running home either?”
“We don’t,” Roman answered firmly.
For actors they were terrible liars.
Roman’s yelling was heard outside of the house, it seemed his words wouldn't stop- until Dee had explained why he was there. Remus didn't seem to have a care in the world, and now the man stared blankly at what was in front of him as if he wasn’t truly seeing it.
Terrible liars indeed.
“Is there anything that you do remember?”
Roman shook his head as Remus stood, “I can describe to you what he looked like? I can tell you how red his blood was, or how pale he looked. I’m sure I could do better justice than any old crime scene photo. Or perhaps I could draw it? Paint it? What medium would you prefer?”
“I’ll need to get my daughter from the bus stop soon,” Roman interrupted. “I rather not talk about this with her around- or at all.”
Dee nodded once his eyes taking in the family photos covering the room- all of which showed a bright eyes little girl with or without Roman, but never with a mother. “How old is she?”
“Almost five.”
“Same age you were when Thomas died.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
~~~~
Virgil Storm wouldn’t give him the time of day.
Dee had gone to his community college to find him, but upon hearing why Dee was there he had promptly pulled on his headphones and locked himself in a bathroom stall. So after twenty minutes of this Dee had opted for talking to the last witness on his list.
Patton Hart.
He found the preschool teacher outside with groceries when he approached the home. “Patton Hart?”
The man turned in surprise and gave Dee a small smile, “Can I help you?”
A flash of the badge. “Ekans. I’m with the FBI. I was wondering if I could speak you?”
“Of course! Let’s go inside where it’s warm though? Dee nodded as the man hefted a few bags and walked into the small house and Dee followed him. I’m the entryway sat a few more bags and as a sign of good faith Dee picked them up as he followed him into the kitchen.
“Oh you don’t need to do that!” Patton said hurriedly.
“It’s fine,” Dee smiled. “If I’m going to intrude for a bit at least let me help.”
“Well can I at least offer some tea or- oh I just bought hot chocolate!”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure, kiddo? I got an extra chocolate kind, because it’s my roommates favorite.”
Kiddo? Dee gave a sigh as he took a seat at the counter. “Hot chocolate sounds good.”
Patton smiled and moved about the kitchen putting away groceries, and when that was done he put some milk in the microwave. Dee sat quietly while the man worked as he took in the scene around him.
Patton Hart seemed calm and easy going- in other words not one of the five he had spoken to today must’ve told him that Dee was going around asking questions.
But that was good.
If they don’t speak, there was no way to keep the story as straight as it seemed.
“Here’s your hot chocolate!” Patton cheered setting a cat mug in front of Dee before he held a matching one to his lips. “So what can I do for you kiddo?”
Dee smiled back, and took a sip, “This is good. And I’m working a cold case right now. I was hoping you could help me iron out some details.”
The man’s eyebrows scrunched as he took another sip, “I’m not sure what case I’d know about.”
“I’m looking into the murder of Thomas Sanders.”
Patton’s smile twitched as he set down his mug carefully, “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember much. I couldn’t then either...”
“You don’t need to lie to me,” Dee responded patiently. “Remus Prince already told me all I need to know...” Dee hid a smirk as the man’s eyes widened in surprise. “But the issue is the story of a convinced felon who has had multiple drug issues isn’t exactly one which will hold up well.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Quite frankly I’m unsure what part of what he told me is true, and which was a drug induced hallucination. So, I’m talking to everyone else. Roman Prince wasn’t very cooperative, he told me everything his brother says is ridiculous and not to trust it. So, I’ve come to ask for your side to the story. And then come morning I’ll head to speak to Logan and Virgil and ask theirs.”
Patton faltered, his fingers tapping against the counter anxiously. “I don’t know what happened,” he answered quietly.
Dee set down his mug, “It’s been twenty one years, aren’t you tired of that same lie?”
“I’m not-”
“You work with preschoolers don’t you?”
“Yes but-”
“Is it to protect them? Because no one protected Thomas? ...because no one protected you?”
Tears gathered in his eyes as he continued his tapping in silence.
“Mr. Hart?” Dee asked quietly rounding the corner to stand beside the man. “I’m just trying to help.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you can't !”
Dee gave him a smile, “When someone says I can’t do something, it only makes me want to do it more.”
He wiped at his eyes, “Please just leave.”
“Let me help.”
“Please just go. Mister Sir won’t like-”
“Mister Sir?” Dee chuckled. “Is that-”
“Get out!”
“I’m sorry,” Dee apologized quickly. “I just thought the name is amusing. Is it your pet’s-”
Patton Hart’s face looked like Dee had just murdered someone in front him. His face was pale, and he looked ready to begin dry heaving as his eyes flickered anxiously toward the darkness outside his window. “I said get out.”
“Is someone watching you?”
“Get out!”
Dee sighed and moved toward the door. He let himself out as Patton stood behind him ready to lose the door, but Dee stuck an arm in the door frame before it slammed shut. “Thanks for the hot chocoate, and here’s my card. Call me if you’re ready to face this.”
Patton’s mouth opened but he froze eyes looking out past Dee. “Leave,” he pleaded as tears began to fall. “And don’t come back.”
Dee let the card fall from his hand onto the floor before he turned and headed down the steps- the door slamming shut behind him.
He gave a sigh and watched as his breath rose up in the cold.
“Mister Sir...”
The chirping of a bird dragged Dee’s attention momentarily to the tree beside the house. Didn’t birds hibernate or something? Or was that squirrels?
Dee rolled his eyes at his own thoughts as he headed to his car.
As stupid as it had ended, he had learned two thing today.
1) The witnesses didn’t speak.
That would give Dee and opening to pry, however he deemed necessary
2) They were scared.
He wasn’t sure exactly who it was, but it had to be someone important if the men had remained silent this long. Perhaps he should once again go over everyone involved in their lives.
Then he would go try to speak with them again.
This time, starting with Virgil Storm.
~~~~
Part One - Part Two
#roman sanders#virgil sanders#ascoldasstone#sanders sides#logan sanders#patton sanders#deciet sanders#sanders sides fic#ts remus#remus sanders#murder mystery#thomas sanders#character death#mythings#fbi#childhood friends#supernatural#ghosts#thingsssssssssss
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Very Denny Christmas
Merry Christmas, @heart4hawkeye !! I’m so sorry I couldn’t post this sooner! I don’t even know if you’ve ever watched Boston Legal before, but hopefully, you’ll enjoy this little fic nonetheless!!
“Really, Reddington? Your Blacklister couldn’t wait until after the holidays? It’s Christmas Eve, for god’s sake.”
“I’m sorry, Donald, did you have something better planned? Well, don’t pout or shout just yet. If you’ve been a particularly good boy this year, you may just find a gift from Santa waiting for you at home… or on your doorstep if you’d prefer the illusion of security—I know the FBI loves that.”
Cooper’s brows furrowed as his temples began to throb. “Reddington.”
Red was adept at picking his battles.
“Denny Crane,” he said, as if the name alone was explanation enough.
“The CEO of Flamingo Corp.?” Elizabeth asked.
“The one and only.”
“I still don’t get how he thought that’d be a good name for an arms company,” Aram said from his spot behind his computer.
“Don’t try to get into the head of Denny Crane—it’ll only make yours ache.”
Hands on his hips, Ressler asked, “Is he the next person on the Blacklist?”
“Heavens, no! Denny is a dear associate of mine, and he is to remain untouched by you ham-fisted lot.”
“Get on with it, Red.”
“Relax, Harold. I was, as you so eloquently put it, getting there.” Brushing imaginary lint off his pristine vest, the infuriating man smiled blandly, reveling in the glares burning holes in his suit as he took his sweet time to elaborate. “The man has a memory of a goldfish, hence why he carries around a voice recorder everywhere he goes. That is the key to our next Blacklister.”
“Are you going to tell us who this Blacklister is?”
“All in due time, Samar. All in due time.”
“How are we going to get our hands on this recorder?”
“You mean, your hands. Really, Elizabeth, modesty doesn’t become you.” Before she could snap a retort, he continued, “Denny is hosting a Christmas party this evening. I am invited, as is my plus one, and I have no doubt we’ll have at least one server slipping on banana peels tonight.”
“All right, then,” Cooper exhaled slowly, “brief Agent Keen on her cover, and—”
“Actually, Harold, I was thinking Agent Navabi should accompany me this time.”
That caught everyone’s attention.
“And why is that?”
“Ah, well, I know how much Elizabeth loathes dressing up for these things, so I thought, why not give her a little break—”
“I’ll take a break once we get this over with, Reddington,” Liz said, trying to will down the flush spreading across her cheeks. She hoped the tinge of hurt in her voice had gone undetected.
Cooper turned to Red, an expectant look on his weary face.
“Well, then,” he nodded, clearly displeased, “you’ll need a dress.”
***
“Raymond!”
“Denny!”
Elizabeth watched with mild amusement as the two men exchanged an enthusiastic bear hug. With sparkling eyes and stretched cheeks, they greeted each other rather boisterously, falling into a chatter as if they had never been apart. She was certain they were speaking English, but for the life of her, couldn’t understand what in the world they were actually saying.
“Well, well, well, well, well, and who might this goddess be?”
The stout, rosy-faced man openly leered at her, scrutinizing her from the toes of her strappy heels to the top of her styled head, then dipping back down to gaze at her modest curves. She, too, took the time to scan his appearance, glancing at his expensive tux only fleetingly before zeroing in on the ridiculous headband that held a conspicuously tall sprig of mistletoe.
“Ah,” Red acted as though he had forgotten her very existence, “Denny, meet Elizabeth. Elizabeth, meet Denny.”
Smiling politely, she reached out her hand—which Denny immediately grasped, stamping a kiss just beneath her knuckles. “I’m sure it’s a pleasure to meet me, Lizzie,” he said so smoothly that, for a second, she thought she had misheard him. She also had to apply considerable force to tug her hand out of his stubborn grip. “Denny Crane.”
She wasn’t sure whether Red’s twitch was a result of Crane calling her Lizzie, or if it was because of his overly friendly touch. Either way, his reaction didn’t bother her. In fact, she could admit to herself, she rather liked it.
“Of course,” she finally responded.
Turning to Red, he said in a stage whisper, “You sly dog, still got the touch, eh? But, say… isn’t she a bit old for you? What say I take—”
“Keep your pants where they are, Denny,” Red cut him off, his smile no longer reaching his eyes. “Did I mention Elizabeth’s a vegan?”
She blinked.
Denny blinked.
“What the hell is that?” his associate asked, genuinely confused. “Listen, there aren’t many kinks I don’t know about, but kids today—”
“It means, she not only doesn’t eat meat,” he continued to lie, “she doesn’t consume any animal products at all.”
Gasping, Denny snapped, “Now why the hell would you do that? What, is she anti-gun, too?”
“Careful, Denny,” he warned gravely, “just the word g-u-n is enough to get her shaking in her heels. Point a water-gun in her face, and she’ll scream bloody murder.”
Where the hell was he going with this?
“A veggie and a communist! Where’d you pick this one up, Red? Los Angeles?” Before Red could respond, he waved a dismissive hand. “Well, whatever. You must keep her around for a reason…” He waggled his brows, then winked as if she wasn’t right there. Straightening his bow, he offered her his hand. “Care for a dance, sweetheart? I’ll show you just how well my body moves… Denny Crane.”
“Actually—”
“Sure,” she shot Red a meaningful look, hoping he understood what she was trying to convey, “I’d love to.”
Just before they left for the dance floor, Denny again stage-whispered, “There’s a g-u-n in my pants I’d bet my life she—”
“Denny—”
By then, the egotistical, borderline-predator flirt was too far away for him to strangle. Or gut. Or maim.
Trying not to let Raymond’s withering glare distract her from her task, she brought one of her hands up to rest on Denny’s puffed chest. “So, how did you meet Raymond?” she casually asked, doing her best to maintain a respectable distance between them—which was easier said than done, considering he was doing his best to plaster their bodies together. On the bright side, that meant he was too preoccupied to notice her wandering fingers.
“Why talk about that fat cat when we can talk about Denny Crane? Go ahead, ask me anything.” He continued before she could. “Why, yes, I’m very giving in bed. I’ll go down—”
“To the bar,” Red said, appearing from out of nowhere just as Denny was about to grope her ass. “There was a leggy blonde looking for you.”
“Leggy, you say? How many legs are we talking here? You know, my father once said that the best sex—”
“She won’t be waiting all night, Denny. I’d run as fast as I can if I were you.”
Was she imagining the threat laced in his words?
“We’ll have to continue this later, Lizzie.” Dropping her like a hot potato, he licked his lips and turned to dash. Looking over his shoulder, he bid, “Keep her warm for me, Ray.”
Luckily for him, he was surprisingly fast.
“I got the recorder,” she quietly confirmed to Red, assuming that was the reason he had interrupted her dance with Denny. “I’ll just pass it to Ressler or Samar—”
“The song isn’t over yet, Lizzie,” he said, reclaiming his nickname for her with a glint of… something in his eyes, his voice.
With one hand in hers and the other low on her back, he encouraged her to fall into step with him, their movements easy and natural. But even when the song ended and changed, they didn’t stop, instead slowing further and sinking into the lulling rhythm of the music.
She wasn’t aware of when or how it had happened, but she belatedly realized just how close their faces were. A mere inch forward would allow her to graze her nose against his smooth skin, inhale the clean, unique scent of him. A little closer, and she would be able to taste the champagne on his lips. With a gentle pressure, a slight gasp, she could so easily—
They jumped apart at the sound of a loud crash.
It didn’t take long for them to discern where the commotion was coming from, as there was already a loose crowd forming near the bar—and at the very center of it was none other than Denny Crane.
He was standing across from a scowling man and a tall blonde woman…
Raymond and Elizabeth both had a feeling they knew what had started this mess.
“I didn’t proposition her. I just asked her to have sex with me,” Denny announced, as if that was a perfectly acceptable thing to say.
The man’s face flushed with a worrisome shade of crimson, and to everyone’s horror, revealed that he was seriously armed. Before he could do anything with it, however, a loud bang shocked everyone still.
On his previously unblemished pants, right in the middle of his thigh, was a bright blob of yellow… paint?
“Oops. Wrong one.” Bending down, Denny retrieved a small gun that had been strapped to his ankle. “Denny Crane doesn’t get shot at,” he yelled, aiming at the man’s other thigh and pulling the trigger without hesitation. “Denny Crane shoots!”
Chaos commenced as the two literally engaged in a gun fight. Bullets whizzed, screams erupted, glass shattered. People ran this way and that, tripping over dresses, abandoning stilettos, and doing their best to escape with their flesh in tact.
“I was a sniper in the Navy!… Or was I a helicopter pilot?” Now with a gun in each hand, Denny shot bullet after bullet, shouting as he ducked and spun. “I have an erection. Lock and load, baby! Denny Crane!”
“That’s our cue to leave,” Red said in her ear, practically dragging her by the elbow. On their way out, he released her briefly to stop Ressler from getting involved. Something on the ground caught her eye, and she used the few seconds she had to take it, attempting not to get trampled on in the process. “Lizzie. Now.”
This time, they didn’t stop walking until they were safely encased in the back of his car, Dembe driving them out into the night.
Keeping her stolen object carefully hidden, she turned to Red and smirked. “Well, that was interesting.”
“That’s one way of saying it,” he said, chuckling.
He leaned back, settling into the seat and closing his eyes. Knowing an opportunity when she saw one, she gripped the accessory from beside her hip and placed it on his head, refusing to move away as he jerked and snapped his eyes back open.
She didn’t give him a chance to question her.
She didn’t give herself the chance.
Not wanting to waste another second, she pressed her mouth to his.
The kiss was chaste, but it lingered—long enough for her to notice just how soft his lips were. And although she had always been more of a wine girl, she reveled in the fact that she really could taste the remnants of champagne, the crisp flavor blending with subtle, intoxicating notes that could only be described as him.
Finally, after seconds or minutes—time was irrelevant to her at that moment—she pulled back, still close enough to feel his radiating heat and sense his racing pulse. Just as his thumb had stroked the small of her back, she used hers to brush his lips, his jaw, before reaching up to flick the mistletoe hanging above them.
“Merry Christmas, Red,” she said, just as softly as her smile.
Pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, slowly gathering his wits, he tentatively reached for her hand and tangled their fingers together. “Merry Christmas, Lizzie.”
Neither of them spoke for the rest of the ride, but both knew that they didn’t need to.
Words could wait.
For now, they had each other.
Finally.
#The Blacklist Secret Santa#elizabeth keen#raymond reddington#denny crane#the blacklist#boston legal sort of#lizzington#lizzington fanfic#fanfic#will post to ao3 too at some point#ao3
48 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pseudo-Suit Fedora
A sting goes wrong and Neal goes missing but nobody gets away with that kind of thing, not if Mozzie has anything to say about it...
A/N: I recently fell in love with white collar so it just has to be my first fic of the year ^.^
-
Everything soured when they found the fedora.
Not that there's anything wrong with fedoras, they're a very stylish hat.
But usually, fedoras are only seen on Neal Caffrey's head, not lying discarded in the corner of a dilapidated warehouse.
A warehouse that Peter had sent Neal into.
Without a wire.
Because this was meant to be a quick and easy undercover operation in which nobody got hurt and they were done in time for El's lasagne.
"Oh, Neal…" Peter breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I don't understand where they could have gone, we had all the exits covered," Diana says as she walks up to him, the two of them staring at the hat.
"Neal would know," Peter replies, wishing he didn't sound so wistful.
"Neal did know," a familiar and clearly bitter voice behind them adds.
Peter and Diana turn to see Jones shrugging sheepishly and Mozzie glancing around as if he knows the place like the back of his band.
"Mozzie? How did you-?"
Mozzie holds up a hand and silences Peter, walking over to a mouldy wall and tapping seemingly random spots.
He remembers Neal explaining the layout and weaknesses of the warehouse, remembers forcing Neal to tell him every single detail, just in case.
Within a minute, the wall creaks and reveals a doorway, a doorway that reeks of blood yet to dry.
Fury builds inside Mozzie until he feels like he can't breathe.
It’s Neal’s.
Neal's blood.
Apparently, the sting had gotten way out of hand and the FBI, the cursed Suits, had been able to do absolutely nothing to protect Mozzie's best friend.
The suits had turned his best friend into some kind of pseudo-suit and, for one reason or the other, left him unprotected.
And now Neal is out there somewhere, hurt and alone and vulnerable and bleeding.
Peter seems to realise that Mozzie is scheming because he clears his throat awkwardly. "Mozzie, we didn't think-"
Once again, he's cut off by Mozzie, this time with a glare sharper than any Peter has seen before.
"You, Suit, need to remember that Neal might not hold you accountable for his injuries but I am counting every single misfortune my client has endured at your hands and, in my legal opinion, it is not looking good for you."
And with that, he's gone.
Leaving Peter, Diana, and Jones with both confusion, regret, and a hint of awe.
Dimly, Peter wonders why Neal knew about the secret exit and chose not to tell him.
And then there's a blur of agents checking the exit out, predictably finding nothing, and closing the area off before everyone heads back to the office.
He knows he spends too long staring at the fedora they’d had to bad as evidence but he doesn't really register anything, not even Hughes asking him why everything went so wrong, until he gets home and sees El waiting for him with a sad smile.
"Mozzie came round," El explains before Peter can attempt to articulate the situation.
"Hon…"
El shakes her head. "I think you should do what he says on this one, Peter. He seems to know more about your target than you."
Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. "Neal didn't tell me everything…"
Waiting until they're both inside and settled on the couch, El smiles. "We can't attempt to have what Neal and Mozzie have, Hon. They've been working together for far longer than you've known Neal."
Sighing, Peter nods slowly.
He lets El guide him to the table and they end up eating in silence, the house feeling emptier and lonelier than usual. Even the lasagne seems less exciting than it usually is, and it's not because of any herbs.
Mozzie makes sure he sees Peter and El settle on the couch before he stops spying and goes after Neal.
Of course, he doesn't know where exactly Neal is. But, judging by the very specific and wholly illegal brand of unbreakable zipties he'd seen shoved into a corner back at the warehouse, he has a pretty good idea.
And he's right.
His Russian gear and many years of exchanging knowledge with Neal gets him past the security on what seems to be a block of flats in the process of being torn down - It's obviously a cover and not the first time Mozzie has so dearly wanted to discover who's using the place for their own means.
But not like this.
The inside of the building is all but in shambles, with half a staircase here and half a ceiling there. The place is teeming with injuries and infections waiting to happen and Mozzie can’t wait to get out of there again.
"Hang on, Neal," Mozzie breathes as he weaves a path around the cameras - sometimes it's good being short enough to stay within blind spots.
The ground floor is empty so he makes his way up to the first floor - embodying the exact opposite of graceful - and takes a second to catch his breath. Just as he's wishing his front man could have been here, he hears a muted cry.
"Neal!" Mozzie hisses to himself, immediately recognising his best friend and following the sound.
He ends up outside the only room that has more than half a door left - it's still not a proper door though, so Mozzie can peer through the cracks and see what’s happening inside.
He'd usually pride himself on being a man of composure but his breath hitches in his throat when he sees Neal.
Neal is kneeling on the floor, his hands tightly ziptied together with another ziptie looped through that one, connected to a pipe that seems to have escaped from the plaster in the wall.
His head is dropping forwards but he can't sit down because his arms are being pulled up over his head, his shirt and trousers halfway to soaked with blood. He's breathing heavily and, even from a distance, Mozzie can tell Neal's ribs are bruised, if not worse.
As he watches, Neal looks up, his gaze flickering to him briefly and something like a warning flashing in his eyes.
Then Neal’s being punched and his head is thrown to one side as he groans, glaring up at the man who inconveniently obscures Mozzie's view.
“Eyes on me, traitor,” the man snarls.
It gives Mozzie only the slightest sliver of relief that Neal’s cover is still intact because that means they can still use the alias another time. As long as they can get Neal out of this alive.
“What… what’re… you gonna do… about it?” Neal asks, defiance shining beautifully in his eyes.
Mozzie smiles despite himself.
Neal groans.
The smile falters.
He must be more injured than he’s letting on if the man had managed to make him groan by simply nudging him. It’s not looking good for his ribs, then.
“You can tell me who you’re working for,” the man crouches in front of Neal, grabbing his chin and lifting Neal’s face so they’re eye to eye.
Mozzie doesn’t hear what Neal whispers but the man hisses in frustration and stands, kicking one of Neal’s knees before storming to one side, giving Mozzie perfect view of the way those ridiculously secure zipties break skin when the pressure falls on Neal’s wrists to keep him steady.
Neal’s wince is subtle but the pain in his eyes is evident when he looks up to Mozzie and mouths ‘suits’.
He would have tried to argue but the sound of a gun being cocked forces Mozzie to agree with Neal on this one. He throws Neal an apologetic glance before taking a deep breath and enacting half of his escape plan - the other half remains ziptied to a pole.
Adrenaline and revenge churning in his blood means he gets to the Suits’ house in record time.
He doesn’t even consider knocking, simply bursts through the door, only half-surprised when he sees Mr and Mrs Suit still awake, clearly waiting for something. Well, time to give them that something, he thinks.
“I found Neal.”
Peter and El both let out matching sighs of relief.
El reacts first, her gaze steady. “Off the books?”
“Hon!” Peter protests, but she cuts him off with a single look.
“If Mozzie was forced to leave behind, he’s here for our help. We are not ruining this and putting Neal at risk,” El says confidently.
Smiling briefly at the thought of having such a firm ally in the world, Mozzie nods grimly. “I need tools for the zipties and I don’t do guns.”
“Guns?” Peter echoes, a frown forming on his face.
“Well, I only heard one. But it’s unlikely they would go to so much trouble without at least a few more,” Mozzie explains, having to take a deep breath as he imagines what kind of trouble Neal could be in right now.
Peter nods, his mind clearly made up. “How much time does he have?”
“He didn’t look good,” Mozzie replies quietly.
“Should I call Jones and Diana?” El asks on behalf of Peter, who looks like he’s regretting a dozen life decisions all at once.
Mozzie hesitates. He’s not sure whether or not Neal would want them there but, realistically, Peter can’t help on his own, especially not when he’s battling with guilt already.
“But nobody else,” Mozzie warns, wondering how his life got to this point.
Well, actually, that’s easy: because of Neal.
And that means everything is justified to ensure he makes it out alive.
El calls Diana as Peter dials for Jones and Mozzie takes that as his cue to gather some tools. “I’ll text you the address and meet you there. Don’t go in before I get there.”
As if he’s going to let them get there before him.
The Suits nod at him so he takes his leave, heading to June’s place and letting himself into Neal’s apartment, making quick work of packing what he needs and hailing a cab.
The first cab of several.
When he climbs into the final cab, he texts Peter, knowing they’ll all be together and en route within seconds. And they must have been, because they arrive there only a minute after he does.
“Little guy,” Jones greets, nodding at him while Diana does the same.
Mozzie doesn’t bother replying, gesturing for them to follow and leading them to the most stable stairwell. It’s not the one closest to Neal but it’s the one that’ll hold their weight so it’ll have to do.
“-ready told you… I don’t kn- ow!” Neal’s voice echoes once they get upstairs and Mozzie feels fury curling around his bones again.
Neal cries out again as they get closer, Mozzie having to swallow his murderous intentions as he peers through the cracked door, seeing only two men inside.
He turns around and holds up two fingers, then mimes a gun.
The three Suits nod and on the count of three, just as Neal groans weakly, Peter kicks down the door.
Mozzie makes quick work of kneeling beside his best friend as Jones and Diana subdue the two guys and Peter stands at the door, looking like an awkward bouncer.
As soon as the zipties are cut and surreptitiously placed in Mozzie’s bag for future research purposes, Neal groans and topples forwards, letting half his weight end up on Mozzie and almost causing them both to overbalance.
“Thanks, Moz,” Neal murmurs softly, rolling his wrists with a small but unmissable wince.
“You okay, Caffrey?” Diana asks, genuine concern in her voice as she looks over him, over the blood-stained clothes and growing bruises.
Neal throws her half a smile and nods. “It’s not my first choice for a vacation but I’ll live.”
And that’s all about Mozzie can handle.
Because Neal claiming that he’ll live means that he’s in more pain than he’d like to admit and that he’d really just like to get out of his current situation. Which won’t happen if the Suits keep talking.
“I’m taking Neal home and none of you can stop me without having to explain why you were trespassing,” Mozzie declares, glaring at Peter in particular.
Peter looks like he’s about to protest but Neal smiles up at him. “I’ll see you on Monday, Peter.”
“No, you won’t,” Diana interjects, raising an eyebrow, “not unless you want to be sent to hospital.”
“But it’s only Wednesday…”
“Are you really gonna argue with me, Caffrey?” Diana asks, but not unkindly. She’s almost smiling as she raises an eyebrow, clearly more concerned than anything else.
Mozzie stops Neal from arguing by standing and pulling him up. Neal wobbles unsteadily before shaking out his legs and clenching his jaw. He lifts a hand as if to fix his fedora but ends up just awkwardly running a hand through his hair instead.
“I’m fine,” he says as he notices the others staring at him.
“Neal…” Peter starts, only pausing when Mozzie shoots daggers at him.
But Neal takes the role of good cop and smiles again. “How about you help Moz get me back home and we’ll call it even?”
Mozzie won’t admit it but he’s pretty grateful to Neal for being his usual innovative self despite everything and easily solving the problem of trying to get him home when he can barely walk.
Jones nods at them. “You handle Caffrey and we’ll take these guys in. I’m sure a confession won’t be hard and we can handle Hughes.”
Only then does Peter nod, slinging one of Neal’s arms over his shoulder as he and Mozzie gently guide Neal down the stairs and outside, where there’s already a cab waiting for them.
The ride to Neal’s place is quiet, filled only by the dull chatter on the radio and Mozzie impatiently drumming his fingers on the cab door. At some point, Neal ends up leaning against Mozzie, which ruins his plan of convincing Peter’s he’s fine but he’s really too tired to care.
“And we’re here!” Mozzie announces once they arrive, gesturing for Peter to pay the driver and carefully maneuvering Neal out, steadying him as he wobbles.
“June’s place has stairs, doesn’t it?” Neal mumbles, dread evident in his voice.
Mozzie sighs.
“Suit, I hate to say it but we require your assistance for a little longer,” he calls.
Peter chuckles but doesn’t hesitate to take the majority of Neal’s weight again, all but carrying him up the stairs and to the bed, where Neal leans back into the cushions with a relieved sigh.
“Thank you,” Mozzie says as soon as Peter stands up, “you’re free to leave now.”
Peter frowns. “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of this; I never meant for Neal to get hurt.”
“I know,” Mozzie replies, and he almost means it.
Almost.
But Peter continues to stand there uncomfortably. “You know I have to…”
Sighing, Mozzie sits down beside Neal, who immediately blinks himself awake and glances around, clearly startled.
“It’s okay, Neal, the Suit just needs to attach your cage back to your leg.”
Peter visibly winces at the phrasing but Neal nods, stifling a groan as he pulls himself into a seated position and glances expectantly at Peter.
After Mozzie nods his permission, Peter quickly locks the anklet around Neal’s leg, looking somewhat guilty as he steps back again. “Take all the time you need, Neal.”
“He will,” Mozzie assures Peter.
Only when the door has closed behind Peter does Neal let the pain show on his face, exhaling audibly, squeezing his eyes shut, and falling back onto the pillows. “Moz…”
“I know, mon frère, I know. I’m sorry,” Mozzie whispers, leaving very briefly to retrieve a glass of water and some painkillers.
“Thanks, Moz” Neal mumbles after a few minutes, once the pain has been slightly dulled.
Mozzie smiles softly. “I wouldn’t dare to leave at a time like this.”
Grinning sleepily, Neal yawns before promptly frowning at the glass now sitting on the bedside table. “Did you…”
“Add something to the water to help you fall asleep? Yes, of course. You’re welcome.”
Neal makes a face but it’s not the first time and he knows Mozzie means well so he lets it slide, simply placing a hand on Mozzie’s arm and smiling up at him. “Stay?”
Now that, that has Mozzie’s pessimistic heart softening like wax near a flame.
“Didn’t you hear what I said? I wouldn’t dare leave.”
The ‘you’ at the end of that sentence goes unspoken but Neal smiles anyway, his eyes bright and happy as if he’d heard it loud and clear. Which he has, just not audibly.
“Appreciated…” Neal murmurs gratefully before his eyelids droop and he falls asleep.
Mozzie takes a second to mentally note that the drug works a lot quicker on Neal than he’d anticipated before sighing and removing both their shoes, taking it as his responsibility to stay beside his best friend until he wakes up.
Just as he’s done in the past.
And just as he’ll always do in the future.
They probably need to talk more about their extraction techniques if Neal is going to continue being put in danger due to his job as a pseudo-suit, but that can wait until the bruises fade.
They’ll also need to go and buy a new fedora - It’s not like Neal’s going to be particularly eager to wear the one he’d lost in the warehouse. Maybe Mozzie can put his own tracking device in the new one. And any others that Neal has in his wardrobe.
Because Neal might be a pseudo-suit but he was and will always be a fedora first. And although Mozzie would love to cut all ties with suits, he never wants to lose his fedora.
-
I know it’s not the most original or well-developed storyline but it was fun so hey...
-
thanks for reading! masterlist
#white collar#neal caffrey#fanfiction#mozzie#white collar fanfiction#fanfic#hurt comfort#angst#kidnapping#whump#neal caffrey whump#rescue#happy ending#peter burke#elizabeth burke#diana berrigan#clinton jones#neal & mozzie#my writing#psf
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
The completely unnecessary news analysis
by Christopher Smart
February 18, 2020
BERNIE BROS BE PISSED & WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE ERA
Supporters of Bernie Sanders are more than a little chafed at other Democrats who are taking an “anyone-but-Bernie” stance and they're letting folks know in no uncertain terms: “you A-holes.” Supporters of Bloomberg, Buttigieg, Klobachar, Warren and Biden say Bernie can't beat Trump because the Name-Caller-In-Chief will label him as a Marxist dog and scare the bejesus out of voters. Many also say Mayor Pete can't beat Trump because he's gay. Rush Limbaugh already has started in on Buttigieg for kissing his husband in public. Oh, Lordy. Evangelicals are hugging their Bibles. Elizabeth Warren has dropped in the polls, largely because she has a plan for just about everything and that's confusing to American voters who hate details. They're more into stuff like, “Make America Great Again.” Poor Joe Biden has hit the skids, too. Old Joe's jokes have gotten stale and aviator sunglasses have gone out of style. Amy Klobuchar is a good, Midwestern woman with a nice smile who knows how to milk a cow. But she's a little too nice and doesn't have the money that Michael Bloomberg has. And now we find out that the New York billionaire had the horribly racist “Stop-N-Frisk” policing policy when he was mayor of the Big Apple, so he can't get the African-American vote. And it's just been revealed that Bloomberg hates babies and puppies. But hey, don't lose hope: The staff here at Smart Bomb has come up with a bumpersticker for Dems: “Miracles Do Happen.”
WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE ERA
It's been 48 years since the Equal Rights Amendment was submitted to Congress in October 1971. It passed both houses and was ratified by 35 of the necessary 38 states. But it died after a decade of fierce debate. The arguments in the Beehive State were as contentious as anywhere. In the end, Utah did not ratify. Why not? What's wrong with an amendment that seeks equal rights for women and men? Our crack research team here at Smart Bomb dove into the archives to find the answers then and now:
1 – If the ERA becomes law, women will have to use urinals.
2 – If the ERA becomes law, men will have to wear bras and lipstick and fix dinner.
3 – God created special roles for men and women: men wear pants and drink beer; women wear skirts and drink tea (and don't belch).
4 – If the ERA passes, women will have to go into combat and share foxholes with horny men without condoms who are trained to kill.
5 – If the ERA is ratified, women can become president. Yikes!
6 – If the ERA becomes law, workplace sex could cease to exist.
7 – Or, it could mean that workplace sex would get out of control with women jumping men in the utility closet. OMG.
8 – If the ERA becomes a reality, young Mormon women will go on religious missions.
9 – If the ERA is ratified, women will become astronauts and orbit the Earth and feel superior to men.
10 – And the very worst part of the ERA, according to Utah Sen. Mike Lee, is that it is part of a “radical pro-abortion agenda.” Yeah, damnit, it's “an Orwellian mischaracterization of what it would do,” Lee said, because it will allow women to have abortions but not men.
HEY, ALEXA, GET OUT OF MY FACE
Your friend Alexa, who helps you play music, turn off the TV and put on the bedroom lights, may not be as warm-hearted you think. Amazon has big plans for its virtual assistant. Sooner than you think, Alexa — or one of her siblings — will be directing our lives — it’ll interpret our data and make decisions for us, according to Rohit Prasad, the scientist in charge of Alexa‘s development. George Orwell was distressed about Big Brother, but he couldn't imagine we would willingly invite him or Big Sister into our lives with such giddy anticipation. The aim is to turn Alexa into an omnipresent companion that shapes our lives. You might find yourself in an argument with Alexa on what music to play or what to watch on TV or which car to buy. Yep, it's “2001: A Space Odyssey” all over again. HAL has collected all your data and now, there is no real reason for you to exist — well wait, Alexa does want your money, but you don't have to worry your lil’ head about that, she'll tell you how to spend it.
BILL BARR: I WON'T BE BULLIED
He's a strong, independent attorney general. President Donald Trump doesn't tell him what to do (except sometimes). Sure, there was that little thing with the Mueller Report that looked to nonpartisan legal beagles like a roadmap to impeachment that Barr announced was vindication. And there is that little matter of reviewing Michael Flynn's case, where he pleaded guilty to the FBI about his contacts with Russians. And just because the attorney general determined that Roger Stone's recommended sentence was far too harsh, doesn't mean he isn't independent. The fact that Trump tweeted the same thing 12 hours earlier was just a coincidence. Bill Barr is a man of great integrity, depending, of course, on how you define it. OK, maybe critics, who say the Department of Justice is being politicized, have a point. But as President Trump insisted, he can do whatever he wants, including interceding in criminal trials, so it isn't corruption. Whether Bill Barr is an independent attorney general or not, really doesn't matter. (Well, actually it does matter but WTF.) And the president wants to know why that slut Andrew McCabe is off the hook. And why aren't James Comey, Peter Strzok and Lisa Page in jail along with Nancy Pelosi and Adam Schiff? Where is the justice?
Post Script — That was the week that was. And man, was it strange — that is to say, about normal for the age of Trump. Still, there is no better time to be a “Hooker For Jesus.” (We are not making this up.) DOJ officials rejected grant applications from Catholic Charities and Chicanos Por La Causa. Instead, according to Reuters, it gave more than $1 million to the Lincoln Tubman Foundation and Hookers for Jesus. Don't tell the Evangelicals, they'll freak. Speaking of sinners, Jim Jordan, the rabid congressman from Ohio, is about to be caught up in a sex scandal involving his old wrestling team at Ohio State. Bummer (no pun intended). And the hits just keep coming: Michael Avenatti, who gained fame representing Stormy Daniels, was found guilty of trying to extort $25 million from Nike. But unlike Roger Stone and Michael Flynn, he can't expect a pardon from Donald Trump. Down on the southern border, those darn coyotes already have come up with a new “camouflage ladder” to smuggle people and drugs over Trump's new border wall. The contraptions, made of old, rusted construction rebar, make the climb easy and can't be detected by cameras. Meanwhile, Trump has diverted another $3.8 billion in military funds for his signature achievement. (Mexico won't pay. Duh.) There's more — Trump is dispatching border patrol agents to Sanctuary Cities to root out them horrible immigrants who are doing all our scut work. Adn last but far from least, here in Utah, state legislators are feeling oh so generous after increasing from 0 to 25 percent Salt Lake City's share of property taxes from the Inland Port. That's better than a jab with a sharp stick, but not so charitable when you consider the city should get 100 percent of taxes from its own, damn land. And so it goes.
OK, Wilson, maybe you and the band can take us out with a little something hopeful for our immigrant friends and all the Democrats and everyone else who is on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the age of Trump:
Well, the oppressors are trying to keep me down / Trying to drive me underground / And they think that they have got the battle won / I say forgive them Lord, they know not what they've done / 'Cause, as sure as the sun will shine / I'm gonna get my share now, what's mine / And then the harder they come / The harder they fall, one and all / Ooh, the harder they come / Harder they fall, one and all...
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
You know, I used to watch Bones because I thought Brennan was really smart, but I loved watching Booth teach her all about the real world and emotions and people. I always identified with Booth because of his troubled past and how he tried to view the world.
Now when I watch it, I find myself identifying almost completely with Brennan. Every time she brings up a social issue and Booth does that ‘pshh, see you don’t understand the real world’ thing, I get upset because what she said makes sense.
“If we made drugs legal and gave them out in clean, clinical environments instead of forcing people to retreat to back alleys, maybe not so many people would” is a perfectly reasonable opinion to have on the drug war. There’ve been tests that prove that using legal clinics to help people come off their addictions safely is far better than sending them all to jail.
“I don’t want to have children because the world we live in is dangerous and overcrowded and I don’t think it makes sense.” is a Reasonable opinion to have on giving birth, especially since she never told other people not to have kids, she just said she didn’t want one. But he just told her she should lie on television because it makes her look cold-hearted and it’s the same as saying she hates children.
“War is bad, and there are a lot of socioeconomical reasons that it happens and I wish people stopped glorifying it” is a reasonable as fuck opinion to have on war, and she never tells Booth that his experience is invalid, she just points out that every culture thinks that their wars are real or important for the cause, and it isn’t fair of him to think the US is above all that. But he constantly tells her she doesn’t understand war even though she was entrenched in that shit for years and years, dealing with the victims and their families. She has just as much trauma from her war past as he does. Do you remember the part where she was kidnapped for refusing to stop identifying remains and was beaten to within an inch of her life for three days before she was found? Tell me again, Booth, how Bones doesn’t know what it’s like.
The more I rewatch this show the more frustrated I become with the obvious glorification of the United States and its issues with War, police brutality, nationalism, and the inherent lack of a divide between church and state. The show starts of with a Bones that defies all of these things and uses her extensive archaeological and anthropological studies to prove time and time again that just because Booth thinks it’s ‘inconsiderate’ to be specific about someone’s death doesn’t mean she shouldn’t tell the damn truth.
But Brennan is always criticized for these decisions, always teased, and half the time her attempts at getting answers as to why she’s being made fun of are met with sarcasm and a cut scene. By the time she and Booth end up together she shares most of his beliefs.
She is always made to bend to Booth’s ideas. How often in these episodes does he ever change his perception? Maybe twice? And both times having to do with the Foster Care system after she is brought to the point of tears because he’s so inconsiderate. The rest of the time she has to beg him not to make her threaten an illegal immigrant family with deportation where they’ll lose their fucking son, and then he shames her for refusing to go along with his loss of temper and threatens them himself as soon as he gets the chance.
When they’re working military cases, she reminds him again and again that he needs to cool the fuck down and be objective, and he gets angrier and angrier at her and is a total jackass. But when she gets upset because of things in cases hitting too close to home she is shamed and reminded by literally everyone to calm down, and she does. Her evidence is stolen in broad daylight and she’s pissed off? “Take a breath, chill, take a pill” “I wasn’t being helpful, was I?”
While of course I find the interpersonal relationships in the show fascinating because of their bonds with each other and the people in their groups, the overall hidden message of obey obey obey, do not question your government is painful to see. Those who dare stand outside the line are caricatured in Hodgins as nutty conspiracy theorists that everyone laughs at until he starts making sense and then they all get angry at him until he backs down. Bones is treated like a complete alien in most social settings that Booth ‘translates’ for, and subsets of people are constantly painted in extremely conservative lights.
The way that subjects like illegal immigration, BDSM, LGBT+ issues, sexism through forced feminization i.e implants and plastic surgery, religion, terrorism, are all treated is highly Christian-ized.
And Bones calls these things out. When working in New Orleans she scolds Booth multiple times for being inappropriate and degrading when speaking about voodoo, pointing out that he was raised in a judeo-christian society and taught to view other religions as crazy, and Booth just gets fucking Angry about it and keeps making jokes and no one stops him.
The mentions they make to BDSM in the first season episode never separate the fact that the killers were a part of the BDSM scene and the fact that they kidnapped the victim and bound her against her will. BDSM partakers are exclusively referred to as perverts and sickos, and treated as though they’re broken because of having ‘bad sex’. As though vanilla sex is the only kind of appropriate sex, and it should be ‘good enough’. And even when they have that conversation, Booth silences Brennan when she agrees with him on this subject, because it’s okay for him to talk about sex, but he finds it creepy when she refers to having a sexual history.
In the same episode that Bones gets angry at society convincing women to get plastic surgery in order to feel beautiful enough, Booth makes a crack at the FBI agent he’s mad at, saying she should figure herself out, maybe get some plastic surgery, and it’s framed as a really good shut down. But it’s surrounded by “All hail the FBI”.
The episodes on terrorism may have a facade of being respectful to Islam, but in the first damn episode they find out that the mastermind behind everything was still an Islamic terrorist. Instead of saying something real about the framing of Islamic peacekeepers as vicious minorities, they just made it so, actually, it was the guys’ brother who did it. Once again, in this episode Bones calls this out, showing respect for the religion in her attempts to return as much of the remains as possible, but throughout it Booth treats her as if she just doesn’t understand how the ‘real world’ works and that people just have to die sometimes.
Like the vast vast majority of cop shows or government shows, Bones is presented from a conservative, pro-government, Christian based view, carefully masked with humor and painful backstories and sarcastic remarks so that we cheer for our FBI man when he attacks someone in the interrogation room or when he breaks into people’s houses because ‘if anyone asks, the door was unlocked’. Even Brennan’s multiple assaults are framed as okay, because it was the bad guy. And that’s how we’re taught that these things are acceptable. It was the bad guy in the show, so they must never do it when it isn’t the bad guy. But that doesn’t track in real life. Just like the whole “he lawyered up, he must be guilty’ thing doesn’t track. Hell, when Brennan becomes a suspect in New Orleans, they immediately warn her that the police force isn’t going to play fair and it doesn’t matter if she’s guilty or not she should never speak and get an attorney immediately. But apparently, the Justice Department is above all that.
And of course, because I recognize that it’s impossible to find media that isn’t somehow biased or problematic, I’ll keep watching it, cus’ damn Boreanaz is really good at playing sexual tension, and I love watching him be protective as shit.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
It’s after midnight, and the lobby of Amnesty Lodge is only barely less dark than the cloudy night outside. The red glow of the legally-mandated “EXIT” sign above the front door and the faint light from the kitchen don’t do much to illuminate the only person in the room. Aubrey sits cross-legged in a big chair next to the cold fireplace, unusually still.
Not entirely still, of course. Her right hand is in motion– rubbing against the threadbare arm of the chair or the zipper of her vest, twisting at a coil of hair or passing a small red flame absently from thumb to forefinger and back again. In her left hand, she holds her mother’s necklace, and she stares into the gem’s gold-orange depths, looking for answers.
Dani stands in the shadows on the staircase, reluctant to break the silence for a reason she can’t quite name. Aubrey looks small in the old blue chair, her back hunched, her expression hidden by the unsteady light of her flame. Dani should go and comfort her, or turn around and give her privacy, but instead she watches. Things have been strange between them since they placated the Quell. Good– Dani’s never felt such a sense of home and belonging– but strange, punctuated by these sleepless nights and unanswered questions.
The light in the kitchen shuts off and the door swings open. Dani retreats further into the darkness.
“Aubrey?” Barclay looks tired. They all do, these days, though as time goes on it’s a more honest, contented sort of tired. This is the sort of tired a man who cooks for twenty Sylvans, a biker gang, and retired FBI agent should be, and not the sort that looks like he’s wasting away from being cut off from his home, or worn down by the stress of secrets and war. “Why’re you sitting in the dark?”
Aubrey shrugs. Dani grips the banister. Barclay pulls a chair away from a table and sits backwards in it, folding his arms on the top of the back. He waits for Aubrey to speak, and when she doesn’t, he puts a hand gently on her upper arm.
“You know if you’re gonna be up this late, Ned would want you to be watching some crappy horror flick that’s three times as old as you.”
That gets a laugh out of Aubrey, even if it’s a little watery. She lets go of the necklace. It reflects the red light of the EXIT sign, sort of. The warm orange color of it always does strange things to light. It draws Dani’s gaze for a moment, before she looks back to Aubrey’s face. Her eyes are the same color, Dani knows, but far more compelling.
“Can I ask you a weird question?”
“Do you know how to ask another kind?” Aubrey smiles again, then they lapse into silence as she searches for the right words.
Finally, she sighs and leans her elbows on her knees. “What does it feel like to be around me?” she asks Barclay, her voice almost too quiet for Dani to hear. “Is it like… home?”
Upstairs, someone snores loudly, then turns over. Dani recognizes her own words and feels her pulse begin to rush, confusion adding to her mounting fear of discovery.
Barclay rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’ve always thought of home as somewhere relaxing. Calm, you know? Calm’s a bit hard to get in our line of business, of course, but– a kitchen where there’s always enough of whatever I’m looking for, even if Jake’s been in my cupboards stealing my baking chocolate.”
Dani can’t see Aubrey smile, but she can picture it perfectly. “And I don’t make you feel calm?”
“You’re a great girl, Aubrey, but no, that’s not the first word that comes to mind.” Barclay’s back is mostly towards the stairs, so Dani has to guess his expression from the tone of his voice and the curve of his back. Rueful? Comforting? “Why d’you ask?”
Aubrey fiddles with her mother’s necklace again. “When we went to fight the Quell,” she starts. She stops, and takes a slow, shaky breath. Dani takes an instinctive step downwards, then changes her mind.
“When we went to fight the Quell, it recognized me. Janelle told me, and I didn’t believe her, not really, until the Quell told me too– my magic, Barclay–” she holds up a new flame, flickering blue and orange. “It’s not just magic, I’m magic. I’m Sylvain.”
“Huh,” says Barclay. “Well don’t that just beat all.”
“And,” Aubrey continues, her words starting to fall over one another, “I’m scared of what that means, because if I’m like, the source of life for all of you, does that mean I have to go live in that castle and bestow blessings on everyone or some shit? Do I have to sit in meetings and wear ceremonial robes and be some big important person? If I’m Sylvain, then it’s my job to take care of everyone, right? And it would be wrong to play favorites, and if everyone needs me, then can I still… is it right for me to stay here? They want me to go back there, you know.”
Dani knows the thoughtful way Barclay scratches his beard very well. “Alright,” he says, “I was going to say you better have a damn good reason to be sitting down here when I know Dani’s gonna be missing you upstairs, but that’s about the best reason I could think of. Still, unless you were tossing and turning so much she kicked you out of bed so she could sleep, this seems like the sort of thing you should be sharing with her, not brooding over in the dark all by yourself.”
When Barclay say’s Dani’s name, Aubrey deflates. “That’s exactly the problem,” she tells him. “How am I supposed to talk to Dani about me being the literal wellspring of life and magic for her and everyone else on her world? How is that fair to her?”
On the steps, in the dark, Dani holds her hands over her mouth, willing her feet to stay still as she wishes desperately that she could rush down into the room and gather Aubrey in her arms the way Barclay is hesitantly starting to do. She can see Aubrey’s shoulders shaking, and hear the trembling hitch in her voice that means she’s about to cry but fighting the tears back– and the only thing worse than standing here and doing nothing would be seeing Aubrey’s accusing face when she realizes that Dani’s been listening this whole time.
“What if something happens and we get in a fight and I cut her off from Sylvain without meaning to?” Aubrey continues, her voice rising in panic. “Or what if I do mean to? I’ve hurt people before, what if I hurt her somehow? What if my magic is making her care about me, and if I wasn’t Sylvain–” Aubrey’s fully curled into Barclay’s chest now, her voice muffled against his flannel shirt. “What if she only loves me because I’m Sylvain?”
Dani’s cried on Barclay a few times over the years they’ve lived at Amnesty Lodge. It’s always been comforting, but he looks as unprepared for Aubrey’s tears as he’s ever been for Dani’s. He pats her on the back, careful and a little awkward. He doesn’t say “There, there,” but it’s a close call.
“First off,” he says, “I’ve known you for a good while now, Aubrey Little, and the very last thing I can imagine you doing is hurting anyone– especially Dani– to get back at them for a fight.”
“I told Keith I’d burn him alive,” Aubrey mumbles.
“But did you?” Barclay asks. Aubrey shakes her head. “And did you mean it? And wasn’t it to stop him from telling anybody about your magic, and the goatmen, and the gate? I might be biased, but that sounds more like protecting us than using your powers to settle a score.”
“I guess,” Aubrey sniffles.
“And I’ve know Dani even longer,” Barclay continues. “She’s not the sort of person to let a bit of magic boss her feelings around without her knowing.”
Aubrey takes a deep breath and leans back away from Barclay. Her face is turned away from the stairs, but Dani’s hands itch to brush away the tears she knows are there. “Before we opened the gate up, she told me I feel like home. She told me she wanted to stay with me, even if I never went back to Sylvain, because I feel like home. I thought she was just being romantic, but what if– what if the thing that’s her home is Sylvain? Because that’s not me, I mean, I guess it is, but I’m not Sylvain. I’m Aubrey. Dani doesn’t know that I’m both! What if she only loves Sylvain? What if when I tell her, she chooses Sylvain?”
It feels a lot like being shot, Dani imagines, to listen to Aubrey’s desperate whispers. Or like being starved of magic, but colder. She knows that Aubrey doesn’t want her to hear this. She can’t go down to her. She can’t leave. She can’t do nothing, but somehow, that’s what she does.
Aubrey’s crying in earnest again, and Barclay’s rubbing soft circles on her back. He glances up, for just a moment, and Dani holds her breath, terrified that she’s been found out.
“Don’t tell me I just need to talk to her about it,” Aubrey tells Barclay. “Because I know that’s what I need to do but it’s also probably the scariest thing I’ve ever had to do. And I’ve been fighting monsters as a full time job for a year and a half.”
“I won’t,” Barclay says. “But she’s the only one who can answer all those questions for you.”
“Probably.” Aubrey rubs at her face. “Well, I guess– do I feel like home to you, Barclay?”
He glances at the stairs again. Does he see her? Dani wonders. Or is he just thinking about his bed?
In the silence, Dani can hear the buzz of the EXIT sign over the front door.
“No,” Barclay says. “Not like that. You’re part of my home, because you’re part of the Lodge, and I’d be sad if you left, but I’d still have Mama and Jake and the rest. I’d still have the springs. I miss Sylvain sometimes, sure, but this is my home, here at Amnesty, and I wouldn’t follow you back over there.”
Aubrey sniffs loudly and nods. “Thanks, Barclay.”
He rubs her back a few more times and kisses the top of her head. “You know what else my home has, Aubrey? It’s got my bed in it.”
“Yeah?” Aubrey chuckles. She doesn’t make a move to get up, though.
Carefully, barely daring to breathe, Dani takes a step backwards up the stairs. Barclay looks straight at her then, over the top of Aubrey’s head.
He hadn’t lied to her. After all these years hiding their true selves from the people of Kepler, Dani knows when Barclay’s lying. But the look he gives Dani carries a warning. He wouldn’t follow Aubrey, but he’ll fight for her. He’s spent so long fighting for Sylvain, to protect their home from prying eyes and trouble, it’s hardly a surprise. Dani knows the feeling.
Now that she knows it’s there– yes, there is magic that calls that same protective anger up in her. Faced with Sylvain personified, returned after so long, of course she would fight for her as well. But the magic isn’t everything. She thinks she would be happy to die for Sylvain, but she’s lived without it for long enough. She’d keep living, on either side of the gate, with Aubrey. Just Aubrey. She nods at Barclay.
He nods back. Dani slips back up the stairs into the room she shares with Aubrey almost every night, and turns the light on. She has a lot of questions to answer, and they scare her too, but she knows what she’ll say when Aubrey asks.
#taz#the adventure zone#taz: amnesty#taz fic#dani#aubrey little#barclay#aubrey/dani#do they have a ship name?#new fic#no gods no masters no beta readers#hello new fandom i'm here to listen to podcasts and give fictional characters my own anxieties#and i'm all out of podcast#taz spoilers#episode 34 spoilers#episode 35 disregarded#written pre-35
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Post in Which I Talk At Length About A Video Game Couple I Love and How I Wish Mulder and Scully Were Allowed The Same Character Development
I once wrote a really short post about how I wished Mulder and Scully had got a “Nate and Elena” ending. That being Nate and Elena from the video game series Uncharted. Spoiler alert for the Uncharted games here, but I was referring to how Nate and Elena were able to successfully adapt their dangerous lifestyles to include a family and settle down and have a child and live a happy life together.
Today I realised there is another huge parallel between these two couples that, again, I wish Mulder and Scully got to experience in the way it was done in Uncharted.
It really says something about the state of the X-Files’ handling of Mulder and Scully’s relationship when a video game of all things does it better!
I’m going to talk a lot about the Uncharted series in this post, so if you’re not down with comparisons to a video game, probably best to turn back now lol.
So in the Uncharted series, Nathan Drake is a treasure hunter and thief.
Over time we get to learn that Nate isn’t just driven by greed, he’s in it for the adventure and for the discovery. He genuinely cares about the history and legacy of the artefacts and lost cities he searches for.
He has several moments of impressive dialogue where he demonstrates that in his heart, he’s more of a historian than a thief. He reminds me of Mulder in that way. He can go on and on about any number of historical events and recalls it all with impressive detail in the same way Mulder can talk endlessly about paranormal phenomena, obscure world religions, folklore, myths and legends with the same impressive zeal.
In the first game Nate enlists the help of a journalist called Elena Fisher. She is a treasure hunter of another sort -- she’s trying to create a historical documentary series and hopes that by helping Nate she will make a huge discovery that will bolster her career.
She’s not a criminal, but quickly adapts to Nate’s world. In fact, she adapts so well she starts to love it too. With time, Elena sees there’s more to this man than meets the eye. She sees how passionate and intelligent Nate is, and that’s when she starts to feel for him romantically.
Over the next few games things are rocky between them. Elena decides she’s had enough of the danger and illegality of their adventuring lifestyle. She wants a normal life.
At the end of the second game, they get married and try to balance their dangerous lifestyles with being a couple, but their opposing moral compasses get between them. Nate will do just about anything for the next big treasure, illegal or not. Whereas Elena is more about the righteous cause. She loves the adventure and the danger as much as Nate does (although she tells herself she doesn’t) and is not above breaking the law, but not for personal gain.
So of course it doesn’t work. By the third game they are split up. Nate can’t seem to leave his old life behind, Elena calls it his “obsession”. But Nate has been entrenched in this world since he was a child, it’s the only life he’s ever known.
By the end of the third game, Mulder, I mean Nate, recognises that his obsession has put everyone he cares for in danger, that if he keeps going he’s going to lose everything that’s important to him. He decides he would rather give that life up than lose the people he loves, he puts his wedding band back on and vows to give up treasure hunting for good. The two of them go try and live a normal life.
Open on the fourth game and the parallels between Nate and Mulder in I Want To Believe are pretty strong. Nate has managed to keep his promise to leave his old life behind. He’s holding down a normal job and goes home every night to his wife. But he’s clearly unsatisfied and bored in this life. He loves Elena, but everything else has turned grey for him. He’s existing, coasting along... the passion and drive we once saw in previous games has fizzled out. He even has a little hidey-hole in the house where he has all his treasure hunting stuff, similar to how Mulder has that office in the unremarkable house with all his clutter and newspaper clippings in it.
It’s at this point in the 4th game that something happens with Nate and Elena that I feel should have happened with Mulder and Scully in I Want To Believe, but didn’t.
Much like Mulder is by Scully in I Want To Believe, Nate is encouraged by Elena to take on “one last job”. Scully does this so that Mulder can secure his freedom from being a fugitive, but also because she worries about Mulder living cooped up in a house with only her for company.
Elena does it because she can tell Nate isn’t fully happy with their normal life together -- something is missing -- so she encourages him to take a semi-legal treasure hunting job with his boss. but he refuses. Claims he’s happy as a clam. *cough*
As is the case for Mulder in I Want To Believe, this job becomes more than it started out being and draws Nate completely back into being the criminal treasure hunter he once was. He does it for noble reasons, but he hides the truth from Elena and she is understandably angry at him when she finds out he lied to her.
In a similar vein, Scully gets upset with Mulder because he is drawn so completely back into being the FBI Agent Fox Mulder, he walks headlong into the darkness of that world and thrives in it. The normal life they have eked out for each other hanging in the balance.
In I Want To Believe, Mulder says that this is who he is, this life is a part of himself that he can never truly get away from. He is meant to be out there, searching. But he loves Scully more, so is prepared to give it up... and Scully lets him.
This is why, in a way, it’s not surprising their relationship didn’t last. Scully doesn’t have the moment Elena does, and she really should have.
In Uncharted 4, Elena reluctantly agrees to help Nate with the mess he’s gotten into. They partner up again and Nate comments on how he’d forgotten how good she is at this -- the adventuring, treasure hunting life.
Wouldn’t it have been so much better if in I Want To Believe Mulder took on the FBI kidnapping case without Scully’s knowledge, and that he tries to hide it from her, then when she finds out she’s upset but then -- as Scully always does -- reluctantly helps him out. They start working together again, just like old times, and they rediscover their passion for the work together. That they realise this life is part of their DNA, they were meant for it, and that in fact, their shared passion was a big part of why they fell in love with each other.
That’s what happens in Uncharted 4. You see Elena subtly watching Nate as he beams with excited energy and wonder at the discoveries they’re making together. She sees how he comes to life when he’s out there living this life.
youtube
It’s a great scene, and incredible to achieve in a video game.
Anyway, I would have loved to have seen Scully have a similar moment. Where we see her watching Mulder, almost like she’s falling in love with him all over again as she sees his true self reemerge as he works the case, puts forward theories and uses that beautiful mind of his to make incredible leaps.
In the scene in Uncharted 4, (see above clip) Nate suddenly stops and realises what he’s doing and apologies to Elena. She tells him its okay and they move on. But in that moment she’s realised something important. That they can’t live just a normal life. It’s not just him either, she loves this life too. She knows that when this is all over, something has to change.
In Uncharted, Nate and Elena don’t go back to their normal lives, they become treasure hunters, but the legit kind. You know, the type that gets permits and makes documentaries about their exploits. Elena finally coming full circle in that sense.
I would have loved to have seen Mulder actually verbalise that he got drawn back into that life but that he’s prepared to give it all up because he’d rather have Scully. But then have Scully tell him no, they can’t go back to a normal life. That she’s realised too that it’s what they were meant to do.
What an amazing end to I Want To Believe would it have been to see Mulder and Scully return to their basement office? But without the professional distance. Maybe Scully walks in there with the professional boundaries up, and suggests it will be just like old times. But then Mulder stops her, pulls her in for the big kiss scene and tells her not everything will be just like old times. For them to have the kiss scene in that office would have made that film for me.
I think that would have been a much more hopeful ending for the pair of them than seeing them on a little boat in the middle of nowhere. Seeing them get back to being Mulder and Scully again and then fade to black as we see them milling about the office.
So yeah, I wish they’d had that same moment of clarity and realisation that Nate and Elena had. They ended up back on the X-Files anyway, so doing it in I Want To Believe but in a more emotionally resonant way, where it’s a choice they make for themselves, and not out of some weird sense of necessity against their will as it was in My Struggle I, could have been such a moving ending to I Want To Believe.
Also, lets be real... the MSR would have been freakin’ lit. lol!
#weird post is weird#I wrote this more for myself than anything else#I know it won't appeal to many of you#but I wanted to get down my thoughts anyway#Uncharted#Nathan Drake#Elena Fisher#thexfiles#x files#Fox Mulder#Dana Scully
31 notes
·
View notes
Note
I get what you are ssying re dontello and soullness but on that case Sam and Dean have no right to be hunters as well and shouldnt be murdering any creature at all either then those monsters even thosd that kill our victims of the week would have to be treated like human criminals as well (but in jail/right to legal hearing) what annoying me about the cas situation is that Cas gets held to these standards while Sam and Dean use their morality wheneever it fits them
I thought about this ask for a few days trying to come up with something interesting to say, but I’m not sure I have much to contribute. You make two very good and distinct points here, and this is my attempt at finding an answer for you.
1) Is it legit to kill monsters at all? In a way, I’d have to say no, it isn’t. In the very beginning, there was almost this vibe - hunting was presented like hunting animals, you know? So not murder, but putting down pests. Except that, of course, Dean is not very appreciative of ‘normal’ hunters, and we soon learn that monsters may not be human, but they’re still complex creatures with feelings, free will and an individual agenda. Also, not all of them are necessarily bad. Under those circumstances, what you say is true. If we’re talking ‘world is actually full of monsters’ approach, I much prefer what True Blood did with it - the premise, right, was the vampires wouldn’t hurt people because of the discovery of artificial blood, which allowed the whole thing to become about racism and prejudice rather than revolve around the ‘heroic quest’ trope. Supernatural, of course, is telling a different story. The starting point here is the very popular ‘lonesome hero is forced to act outside the law to bring justice to the land’ model which has been around since forever (you could even argue that the story of Promotheus fits this mould) and which is particularly appreciated and utilized in the United States for obvious (Wild West-related) reasons. Personally, I’m always a bit wary if this trope, but it’s hard to avoid it because it’s still everywhere, and I do appreciate some modern reworkings of it - for instance, I’m still seeing beautiful Civil War metas crossing my dash every other week, and I think it’s good we can discuss this kind of things. Now, you could argue Sam and Dean should do more to escape the trope - it’s not inconceivable, even in their world, to bring the supernatural out in the open, and it does bother me that the idea never came up again - especially after we learned that monsters themselves are way more organized and efficient and secretive than we assumed. Like, good job on bringing down that creepy-ass ebay site, but how many more like that are out there? Is it really possible that Victor Henriksen was the only FBI agent who noticed anything amiss, and the only one who cared enough to investigate? But, well, it’s very likely that Supernatural’s basic format is never going to change (although, I was intrigued by that conversation at the end of A Most Holy Man - I often speculated that the only way to end this show would be to get rid of all the monsters, so Sam and Dean could get out of the life without feeling guilty - the fact they’re going there, or at least wondering if it’s even possible, is really satisfying), which means that the only way to even begin to watch the show is to accept its premise: that this is a lawless world, and Sam and Dean have some sort of right to administer justice. This is why I’m not opposed to them taking hard decisions and killing monsters instead of, say, arresting them (how would they even had a trial?). The (un)spoken rule, however, is that you don’t kill for personal gain - you kill killers. You kill dangerous things who prey on humans. That’s the job. So when they use their skill and knowledge to do something else - that’s problematic, and it should, in my opinion, be framed as such. Donatello’s death is a prime example of this (Cas even said, a bit shiftily, that there wouldn’t be a new prophet until the current one died, and even if Sam and Dean got all frowny, in the end that’s exactly what happened - they got rid of a person who was useless to them and now, as a bonus, they’ll probably get another prophet who’ll be all new and shiny and soulful and uncorrupted), but there are others. For instance, half of Tombstone was exceedingly creepy and yet framed as okay. What we saw there was a world where policemen use a different standard depending on who was murdered, and openly act against the rule of law when it suits them - and, crucially, Dean went along with all of this. Compare and contrast with Folsom Prison Blues, which aggressively questioned whether men who’d been sentenced to prison time were less ‘worthy’ to be saved than other people (if memory serves, Sam initially thought they shouldn’t bother protecting inmates, while Dean, our moral compass and POV characters, vehemently disagreed). You see the shift in perspective there? That’s what I’m objecting to. In earlier seasons, we had way more problematic plot points, but they were acknowledged as such and widely debated. Now, not so much.
2) As for Cas’ role in all this - I agree with you, but I can’t understand why, exactly, this is happening. I think that on one hand, Cas is definitely regressing to his angelic self - in earlier seasons, there was a lot of effort devoted to showing him learning what being human was about, but it’s been a while since the show’s been interested in that. Instead, we’re now getting someone who’s more similar to the old Cas - someone who acts alone, doesn’t consult Sam and Dean, makes decisions ‘for the greater good’ (even if, at this point, that has shifted to ‘keeping the Winchesters alive’), doesn’t understand humans all that well and doesn’t even bother trying to because he sees himself as a distinct creature. All of this is - legit, narratively speaking, but also sounds a bit or a lot hollow because it sort of comes out of nowhere. Cas has been asked for years and years whether he’s a human or an angel or what, and apparently he’s now come to a conclusion and we missed the significant moment when that happened? My opinion, as you may know already because I’m old and salty and I repeat myself a lot, is that this reversion back to angelhood has little to do with Cas himself and more to do with getting out of the Destiel mess and giving more narrative focus to Sam and Dean. So the fact that any decision he makes is automatically dodgy or weird (or presented as such), well - that’s part of it. Another part, which, if it’s possible, annoy me even more, is that there’s been a ‘wholesomisation’ of Sam and Dean which I find uninteresting and badly executed. Because if you think about it - of course, these are our heroes, but we used to see the worst of them quite openly. And that worst wasn’t explained away or ignored - it was examined in painful detail. Now, however, it’s like they can do no wrong, not even when they’re objectively doing something wrong (I’m still not over Dean threatening Kaia, for instance, or Mary’s unexplicable choice to work with the BMoL after they’d literally kidnapped and tortured her son). Sure, we do get a line here and there about how ‘I’m not perfect but that’s okay’, but to me, that’s not nearly enough. Like, I don’t give a shit if you’re double-crossing a mafia boss to get Saint Ignatius’ blood, Dean - the real problem is you wanting to open a rift between worlds in the first place without even bothering to think of the consequences. See how dishonest the narrative is? They give us a hero who’s clearly doing a Pretty Good and Definitely Forgivable thing and they have him justifying it so we’ll coo and tell him that of course we don’t care he’s not perfect - he’s perfect to us. By highlighting something that’s not a problem at all, they make us forget all those other things that actually are problematic. So the fact Cas is the one messing up and making morally questionable choices is almost a necessity and definitely fits in with this new idea that Sam and Dean can do no wrong, because if all of our heroes were paragons of virtue all the time, there would be no story. Or, well - there would be a boring one.
#ask#spn meta#spn season 13#sam and dean#bitter cas girl#criticism of the dabb era#moral relativism#that line in 13x15#was particularly poisonous btw#very very sneaky#bad dabb#:P
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
(warning: long post is long, may contain strong language)
To those who are complaining about #WayHaught being problematic (sit the fuck down), that there’s a lack of POC (sit the fuck down), and people who are complaining about all sorts of other representation (SIT THE FUCK DOWN).
Are y’all watching the same show as I am (or rather the same show as I know the first hour people are)
This is one of the VERY few show that mostly gets it right.
We HAVE representation on most fronts. We have a show-runner that actually listens and adjust the things within the story she/they want to to tell.
People sent out their complaints about season one, and they gave great effort to continue to grow i representation in season two and y’all are still complaining.
Let me just give you a tiny little list here: Jeremy Chetri (Gay POC), Rosita Bustillos (POC), Xavier Dolls (POC), Moody (POC), Nicole Haught (lesbian), Waverly Earp (bisexual), Patrick Kwok-Choon (POC), Poppy (POC), FBI Agent Carla (POC) and the list probably goes on a little more if I want to get deeper into it, but it’s late and I’m tired and I’m in a crappy mood now thanks to this shit that’s been going on.
Also... let me note that cheerleader thing... Waverly is 21 SHE IS A LEGAL OF AGE ABLE TO CONSENT ADULT, she decided to ADULT roleplay with her ADULT girlfriend. She’s young, she’s having fun. (Also, she’s still college aged, there’s cheerleaders in college, heck there’s adult cheerleading too, so give it a rest. Waverly probably could have still been in that outfit a mere two years prior to that, but she probs got the cheerleader thing fit for her body because HELLO IT FITS HER BODY... )
As far as Waverly x Champ vs Waverly x Nicole goes... CHAMP IS A PROBLEMATIC CHARACTER - he treats Waverly like shit. Doesn’t respect her boundaries, doesn’t respect who she is, or who she is becoming, had their entire future already planned out and had probably never had a proper conversation with Waverly about it. This whole WLW trop of ruining ‘straight’ relationships doesn’t count here.
Sure. Nicole expressed interest. She’s a non apologetic lesbian who likes to go for what she sees... but she’s only shown interest - she hasn’t actually acted upon it until Waverly finally kisses her AFTER SHE BROKE UP WITH CHAMP BECAUSE HE’S A SHITHEAD.
They were attracted to each other from the get go but neither acted upon it until AFTER Waverly broke up with Champ because he’s a shithead.
and if you want a goddamn play by play per episode I can give y’all that too, but that’ll take a while since time is limited
HOW is WayHaught codependent? They both have their own lives that they live. Not to mention they’re in their honeymoon phase and what, since the beginning of the show have been together for what? A whole three months?
There’s actual conflict, conflict that eventually gets resolved BECAUSE THEY TALKED ABOUT IT. Nicole had to get herself over the fact that Waverly (albeit for somewhat misguidedly selfish reasons) protected Nicole from Black Badge Division and it was definitely not Nicole’s choice and Nicole had to learn that even though she may not have gotten the BBD promotion... the work that she does at PSD is important and that Nedley chose her to be his successor for a reason, it’s called PLOT
They are both individuals outside of their relationship.
NICOLE WOULD HAVE SHOT WYNONNA BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT SHE WAS A DEMON. THAT WAS THE ONLY DAMN REASON. And the whole thing of shooting somebody for someone... like WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL, you think Nicole would go around and shoot people because Waverly tells her so? No of course not. If Waverly was in danger, obviously she’d shoot someone for Waverly.
And even then she’d probably just wound them. I mean she had a perfect opportunity to just off Tucker, we all know how much she loathes that asshol... but did she? No. Why? because she’s a pretty darn good cop and knows how to use a gun and WOUND someone in their dominant arm so it would be harder for them to continue using the knife he was going to hurt a girl with.
Dolls is a supernatural character and the ‘addict’ part CLEARLY was a part of that... and yes of course that wasn’t clear from the start... because hello PLOT
One last thing before I go... Emily Andras is a bloody fantastic showrunner, compare to others. She loves her cast, she loves her crew, she actually listens to what critics have to say (the difference between S1 and 2 should note that).
And now I”m going to end this here because it’s already WAY to late and I’ve got my two nieces and a nephew to take care of tomorrow... but you bet your ass I’ll be watching the spaces and will go on another rant if need be.
#wynonna earp#wayhaught#waverly earp#nicole haught#dominique provost-chalkley#katherine barrell#kat barrell
217 notes
·
View notes
Text
Predictive Dialer
Would be the Random Memories maybe
Hello boys and girls, which makes for a book that is somewhat disorderly, the work of an amnesic hacker. We can tell it like it is here, people who know about me also know that legally I don’t really exist, everything about me is shielded by secrecy, the last thing that you will know about coming from politics if you’re high up is my identity.
Of course I forgot what is it we spoke about last time which doesn’t make it the least important of course it is but there are other things that are important and that we need to go over. Because I don’t exist legally I am also beyond the pale of law, unlike army types who’s business it is to kill under the pale of law even if the law say don’t kill it becomes legal when your government tells you to.
Which you need to be in a state of war or be on a mission to protect national interests, everywhere there is the scent of law. It doesn’t mean that what I do is not legal, it means that both legal authorities and the public are not entitled to it nor is anybody else but the people that employ me.
Of course I have to eliminate people who want to disturb operations that’s how we call them operations, by getting nosy or inconsiderate and I eliminated plenty of people, it says in my job description that I have to do that. Protect national security. Protect national strategic interests. Secure assets and personnel. I kill people for that. Its not far sighted really to think that because you live in a democratic country your government will not employ people like me to eliminate you if needed, its a varnish they put on things to make them look pretty.
You can eat, drink, smoke weed and do all you want without getting in the way of certain people, agencies and agenda’s that the simple truth about it. That life is a big attraction park where you can be silly all you want. The government likes silly it won’t mind as long as you don’t cause any problems and they have the necessary resources to manage our modern age debilitating lifestyle made of smoking, drinking, drug use, partying and paying credit card fees. Make you turn old and grey with that, while a new generation is following on the same footsteps which lead always to more of the same.
Your government is the only institution that will put smoking kills on tobacco packs yet sell them everywhere because you’re as worthwhile for them as a dead rat.
To make that even more fucked up you’re up to your eyes in debt the moment you’re born, because of mismanagement by the very same people that your parents put there with their votes and soon enough yours, and I am not blaming everyone there are many politicians who do a fine job. What I am saying and that you should clearly understand is that they themselves are piling under the situation that is the planet.
We’re trapped in a situation made of individual solutions, global challenges and collective collapses. That’s why your government employs people like me, to keep fixing this mess, and the solutions won’t come from the ballot box, its an empty box to start with. Its the same thing that everyone is going to keep promising, jobs, security, the economy and you have those journalism goules who keep sucking the blood out of this situation by making it look worse than it already is. TV sets everywhere, watch TV, its a conditioning tool that we grew up with do not disturb, and if you question authority do it as a teenage rebel.
Hey you should have a word with the finance and banking types explaining to you that if you’re this and that you’re going to make that much in your lifetime generate this much in profit and pay that much in taxes. You’re already swallowed whole the moment you step into this game called society and people who hate on me they’re hating because I gamed it all. I am filthy rich, famous but not known nor a daily victim of paparazzis and the press, and very powerful, nobody I know has it quite like me.
Regarding this book its not an agent fuck it if they don’t like it high up situation, the world needs to know what we’re doing, it’s because we’re doing it for the right reasons and beyond everything there lies the collective interest. I sold collective interests to dozens of security agencies and we formed Nakashimura. The corporation that doesn’t exist. Well it does, its a tax payer number in Japan. And not much else.
Nobody is perfect you know and this not meant to make a superhero out of me, people know that I am no superhero, I am rather selfish and egoistic, my real smarts have been selling that to people, that the fact that I am selfish and egoistic is something they have use for. Everything I do is for personal gain, they let me manage the corporation where they have shares and so do I. We’re almost Jimmy Hoffa.
We covered the financing intelligence agencies by holding armament concerns, 60% of it through offshore corporations, which are owned by Nakashimura in the end. So its that much money the taxpayer doesn’t need to fork out and it’s the necessary leeway to do much more. However we can’t have the taxpayer back all of the time and we regularly take money out of his pockets by presenting Generals with new weapons systems and bankrolling their budgets at high up, higher up strings. Which Nakashimura is holding.
We need to go back to my resume out of respect for the book’s structure which we have put in place, and I think it mentioned spying. I am also a spy, a closely watched one. I steal state secrets, and I know plenty of them as a life insurance. Spying is something you do everyday, you spy on people they spy on you, you spy on the street on prices on traffic lights on celebrities, nice cars, plane passengers you spy on everything.
Its an innate activity in life that starts with childhood. I know I used to spy on ants for hours. Society is not much different if anything it is more diverse, you can still look at it from that perspective where people do have to tell you about them by what they look like, what they say and what they know. I think that as a baby you spy on titties.
Both sexes do it actually which stays as a mechanism for men to gauge femininity and thus reproductive potential, and for women as a body type and an evolution vehicle to go both ways towards a more pronounced femininity or a lesser pronounced one. That in itself serves to further their permanence as a specie, to take both options and it translates at the genome level.
I am athletic but not bulky, I have to be able to run fast and to jump into a speeding vehicle, out of it as well as in a hostage situation. What you want to do is to protect your head while sliding flat on your back on the asphalt for as long as you can regrouping to the side a little bit when you loose speed . Which sums up my attitude regarding women, I try to protect my head while sliding as long as possible. Motoko does it quite well and so do I. Relationships in general are a hostage situation.
We are conscious of these mechanisms yet we wont admit it but practice it carefully that relationships are based on interests both conscious and unconscious, expressed and not expressed, and that interest is the prime motivation. Like Gekko said greed is good, greed is the reason why you're here with us, our ancestors survived countless situations, we did as a specie, we still do with tens of thousands of nuclear warheads operable at the turn of a key. Greed is you my friend, you and I.
Greed nurtures it sure pays your bills, we are all attached by the invisible strings of capital and duty. Our duty is to the people, I am myself a product of globalized society and I sold myself as such. I told them that I could further their interests by making them my interests and when it was done I told them that we finally succeeded in having real and tangible shared interests that I now represented. And they smiled at my bizarre globalized patriotism where I sell both arms for Russia, the U.S and Iran. Making profit important. Which it is it puts food on the table.
We can argue that it is a fabrication that Nakashimura put 60% of the worlds armament industry under one hood. There exists no more secretive corporations than arms makers. I know that people will try to find out which they must its their job, but like for anything I wrote so far it is impossible to prove. And that too is one of my talents, I leave nothing behind usable in the shape of proof. My friends at the FBI are brandishing this under the nose of some judges and they won't stop doing it for as long as I exist. I am the only proof that they have.
They're telling the judges that I steal proofs and tamper with them and that it should mean the world to them but no the judges know that I work for the government. As you guessed its mostly espionage related cases where the goal is that it doesn't snowball into one. There is that window to get the case thrown if you mess up the evidence from the get go, called hot evidence, screwing up a DNA analysis result, magnetizing disk drives and such.
The judge will ask for a second analysis which the case already looks shaky because the first one failed, and even a third. Spoofing them three times on computerized and highly secure systems is a hat trick. Case gone. Magnetizing disk drives happens by having other inconsiderate ones placed next to them, not your everyday magnets too, they have some of my gear they do, they call it piling evidence, I call it lost and found. I could argue that it belongs to the government and have it returned.
Supreme Justices how did you guess, and also high up at the FBI, making the hot potato a VP maybe took the burden off their back over there and made them confident that they could prosecute me at least internally, which is the first thing I shielded myself against when signing their contract, my contract. I gave a raise to everyone, better cars and working conditions, more personnel, more IT people and facilities, more training, more time flexibility, even nicer planes. Which they keep using against me, it is the monster that I feed. Costs me a fortune that I obtained in the shape of an undisclosed budget.
Who do I spy for well mostly for myself, I have to know in my line of business what you don’t know can be harmful. It’s better to know and to know beforehand, the more insight you can gather about a situation not its aspects but its roots you can start finding the right actions to take to resolve it.
I made a reputation in being expeditive with problem makers and people thank me for that. And of course a lot if has to do with spying. The planet faces a wide range of issues which are complex and demanding, perhaps my greatest achievement has been in convincing everyone that we don’t need to add to it, it started with a few hundred individuals we knew everything about and they became tens thousands. And you know what life is better without them to put it plainly.
Human trafficking for sexual slavery is less of an issue, we killed dozens of ring leaders and their people. We did it legally with the help of legal authorities, mostly military intelligence, and an international police agency we’re not naming. Its tens of thousands of lives saved each year. And its that much work offloaded from the judicial and police systems.
The list goes on I am ruthlessly lethal with people, because leaving any of them behind is a threat to my security. I have them all killed, teams chart their organization for months, and then its over. Like they never existed. It stops making the press, and nobody will miss those shadowy underworld creatures.
Then there are other places where human trafficking as a issue is different, take Africa for example, it is deeply rooted there in daily life, killing people will do no good, its the living conditions that have to change. In China, what they call human trafficking is a well organized way out of poverty, maybe a sweatshop in the U.S paid in Dollars is better than a sweatshop in China paid in Yuan.
In the Middle East lower wage workers conditions have to improve, mindsets have to change and they are changing with new generations as the Middle East becomes more open to the world and its way of thinking. Also the people there know that media can give a lot of exposure to such issues so it is better to address them in all fairness to people who come to work and to build the society.
I am more concerned for your security than mine, because I can tell pretty much the way you’re thinking. I made a name in this business for taking no risks. The people that I killed don’t even know that I exist. I am there with the rest of government utilities, such as nuclear reactors and dams.
To get back to spying it’s got different dimensions, one of them is technological as in hacking computer systems to gather intelligence, which you can put something there a dummy can hack with plenty of false intel and follow it wherever it might lead. There is that technological infrastructure quite hidden from sight which is called the dark web. And also an ongoing technological war which sometimes escalates to sabotage.
The other dimension is human, as in human intelligence and we have signal intelligence. I make use of all three, often at the same time. The human part is attending lets play royals events and listening to what people want you to know from other agencies while looking bored.
The signal part is a specialty, I put time as a signal specialist in an navy I am not naming, and correct it was aboard a nuclear submarine. I know antennas, receptors, frequencies, encryption, its a hobby, I download people’s short messages and contacts lists when I am at some airport lounge.
If its someone I am interested in for professional reasons I am very likely to hack into his computers, email and banking accounts, smartphone and phones in general. The tablet or tablets let me inside a home I use both the camera to look around and the microphone to listen. I hack your cellphone operator to know where you are. And I also like to have a word in person as some phone support call worker. I never spy on people for personal reasons, its too much risk that I am not taking, listen I never take any risks. Risk is something that I manage not that I take.
Some people at the FBI thought they struck gold because some of my clients recorded all their calls and they found a few of mine. Until they figured out it was a computerized voice from some b movie of the 1950′s. They’re still looking for me and I would like to say hi. I guess I am some hot potato over there. From what I understand about their situation is that they deal with civilians whereas I am classified as military intelligence. They couldn’t knock at my door if they wanted.
They keep following me around I don’t know how they do that, I argued for and obtained a supersonic jet from different governments because of them. Until I figured out that they had people everywhere. I often succeed at fending them off by calling in a military escort. The fact that I am an assassin and a hacker makes them feel entitled to follow me around.
I would like to go back to the structure of the book and how we already have the books chapters, which nobody recalls now but its not important. To say that I also premeditate what I do, I do it consciously and also unconsciously, by placing people in situations from which I expect a certain outcomes. These outcomes might be operational or emotional.
As a spy I am also like that, I found out that what people fear the most is their fears, and that to become truly effective we should get rid of two things, emotions and fear. Emotions play into situations to the point that they not the goal become predominant, and fear stops you short from achieving.
To be a good spy you have to go to the goal without fear, even with confidence as you’re are walking with not your laptop from that corporation where your boss downloaded proprietary technology useful to a third party. Its 25 years of jail in a Singapore prison and you have to smile all the way to your limousine as the good high end exec that you are.
Its late already and I have business Monday, its important to look fresh. There are a lot of important things in life that one should be mindful about. One of them is timekeeping and also getting enough sleep. Nighty night.
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
vn123club1
VN123 🌟 TRANG CHỦ VN123 CLUB ĐĂNG KÝ TẶNG 99K
krispycollectioncrown314-blog
먹는인공유산약구입처
cowboy86400
Untitled
stickermaniac
Stickers Packs for Chat
se-wingless
SE Wingless