#Speakerphone Conference

[headsetsindia]

Choosing the Best Speaker Phones for Your Conference Needs

Whether you’re conducting a meeting from the office or working remotely, having the right tools can make all the difference. Speaker phones are at the forefront of communication technology, providing a seamless way to stay connected with teams, clients, and partners.

Why Speaker Phones Are Essential for Conferences

Speaker phones are designed to offer hands-free communication, making them perfect for conference calls. These devices come equipped with advanced technology, such as noise-canceling microphones and high-definition audio output, ensuring crystal-clear conversations. With a good speakerphone, there’s no need to worry about background noise or muffled voices, making it ideal for both small meetings and large conference rooms.

Benefits of a Speakerphone Conference Setup

When setting up a speakerphone conference, having a reliable speakerphone is critical. These devices allow for:

Clear audio quality: The high-quality sound ensures that all participants can hear and be heard without interruptions.

Hands-free operation: Allowing participants to engage in the conversation without the need to hold a device.

Multiple connections: Many speaker phones support multiple call connections, so you can easily bring in different participants from various locations.

Wireless options: Some modern speaker phones come with Bluetooth or USB connectivity, making them compatible with laptops, smartphones, and other devices.

Choosing the Right Speakerphone for Your Conference

When selecting a speaker phone for your conference setup, consider factors such as audio quality, microphone range, and ease of connectivity. A speakerphone with a wide pickup range will ensure that everyone in the room can contribute to the conversation, while wireless options offer flexibility in setting up your meeting space.

For businesses in India, investing in high-quality speaker phones can make a significant difference in communication efficiency. Headsets India offers a range of top-notch speakerphone solutions designed to meet the needs of any business, ensuring smooth and productive conference calls every time.

[theonlyadawong]

oh wow leon literally went straight from Pittsburgh to the white house, there was no down time at all, which makes me wonder how Patrick knew he was part of the team that stopped the terrorists?

[gf2bellamy]

omgg could i request bubbly reader whos always smiling and giggling but one day an officer (or whoever) says shes being unprofessional and too much and it makes her so so sad so she tones it down and spencer is so upset seeing her like this bc shes the light of his life

-🦨

light — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: sunshine!reader feels insecure abt herself, mention of officer saying she's being unprofessional a/n: hii 🦨 !! hope this is what you asked for <3

"Morning." Your voice was quieter than usual, your smile smaller, just a polite curve of your lips rather than the bright grin the team was used to. You walked into the conference room, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you took your usual seat.

Morgan and Emily immediately exchanged a glance.

Normally, your entrance was impossible to miss. An enthusiastic, cheerful “Good morning!” ringing through the air, maybe even a comment about someone’s coffee choice or how exhausted everyone looked.

“Morning, sunshine.” Morgan’s voice was gentler than usual. “You good?”

You nodded quickly, forcing another smile. “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. Thanks, Derek.” The words felt rehearsed, like a line you had practiced just to avoid further questions. You glanced up at him for only a second before lowering your gaze to the table.

Emily’s frown deepened as she studied you, before cutting her eyes to Morgan again. Neither of them were buying it. The door opened, and Spencer walked in, carrying two coffees. He placed one in front of you like he always did. A silent little tradition between the two of you. Normally, this would earn him that smile, the one that made his heart stutter in his chest. The one that felt like warmth on the coldest days. You would’ve reached for his hand, his hand, the one no one else was allowed to touch, and squeezed it, your fingers lingering just a little too long, just like they always did.

But today?

“Thanks,” you mumbled, barely looking up. You wrapped your hands around the cup, but nothing more. No smile. No touch.

Spencer’s spine went rigid. His fingers twitched at his sides as he stood there, processing, waiting, hoping, for a second longer than necessary. When nothing else came, he hesitated before reluctantly taking his own seat. Emily and Morgan’s eyes were already on him when he looked up, their silent concern mirroring his own. He swallowed hard.

Something was wrong. But it just got worse from there.

When Garcia called, her voice bubbled through the speakerphone. "Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite team of crime-fighting superheroes! Tell me, my loves, who needs saving today?"

Usually, you’d fire something right back, some exaggerated response about how she was the real superhero or how you were tragically in need of her brilliance. Instead, silence stretched for a beat too long before Rossi finally spoke up, filling the gap where your usual laughter should have been.

At that moment, even Hotch, who rarely indulged in team gossip, glanced at you, his gaze lingering longer than usual. A whole five seconds in Hotchner time. That was basically a siren blaring that something was wrong.

Your usual energy, the energy that kept them all going, was gone. Every word you spoke was muted, every sentence clipped.

You kept your gaze trained on files, your hands fidgeting with the corner of the page, and when someone addressed you, your responses were polite but distant.

Spencer watched you more than he paid attention to the case briefing.His mind ran through every possibility, every variable that could explain this drastic shift. Were you sick? Had something happened? Had someone said something? His stomach twisted at the thought.

Spencer caught up to you just as you reached your hotel room that night. You glanced at him, surprised. The cool metal of your keycard was still in your hand when he spoke.

“Can I talk to you?” His voice was careful and concerned.

You hesitated. You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this was about. The stolen glances from the team, the way Spencer had been watching you all day. It was obvious. You could still avoid the conversation if you wanted to. You could brush it off, say you were tired, say you had work to do. But a part of you knew you couldn’t do that. Not to him.

So you sighed, slipping the keycard into the slot and pushing open the door. “Yeah. Sure.”

Spencer followed you in, shutting the door behind him as you plopped down on the bed. You leaned back on your hands, crossing your legs, trying to look nonchalant, trying to make this feel like nothing.

“So,” you said, offering a weak smile, “what did you want to talk about?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. He just stood there for a moment, watching you, hands fidgeting at his sides.

A beat of silence. “You.” The word landed between you like a grenade with the pin pulled.

Spencer took a step closer, his voice dropping. “You haven’t smiled all day. You didn’t laugh at Garcia’s joke. You didn’t even—” He cut himself off, fingers flexing at his sides. “You didn’t squeeze my hand.”

Your stomach twisted. He noticed. Of course he noticed. You looked away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “I’m just tired.”

“That's a lie.”

Your head snapped up. Spencer was rarely so direct.

“You think I don’t know you?” he said, voice cracking. “You think I wouldn’t notice when the best part of my day just—just disappears?”

The honesty in his words punched through you. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Because what could you say? That some stranger’s offhand comment had unraveled you? That you’d spent the entire day replaying his words in your head like a broken record?

Unprofessional. Too much. Annoying.

Spencer took another step forward, his voice softening. “Talk to me. Please.”

Your throat tightened as you stared at him. Spencer Reid, your Spencer, was looking at you like you’d just ripped the stars from his sky. You swallowed hard, forcing out a breath that barely made it past the knot in your chest. “It’s stupid,” you whispered.

Spencer shook his head immediately. “It’s not.”

You let out a hollow laugh, rubbing your palms over your thighs. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”

His voice softened even more, barely above a breath. “And I still know it’s not stupid.”That did it. The dam cracked, then crumbled, then completely shattered.

“Someone—someone said I was too much.” You exhaled shakily, finally putting the ugly truth into the open. “That I was being unprofessional—that I need to tone it down because I laugh too much, because I smile too much, because I don’t act like—” Your voice wavered, and you clenched your fists against the overwhelming sting in your eyes. “Like I belong here.”

Spencer inhaled sharply. You finally met his gaze and all you saw as fury. Not at you, never at you, but at the words that had managed to dull your light.He took another step closer. His hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if you’d let him.

“Who?” His voice was controlled, but barely.

You shook your head quickly. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It matters to me.”

God. Why did he have to care so much? Why did he have to look at you like that, like you were something precious, something irreplaceable, something he wasn’t willing to lose to someone else’s careless words? You chewed on your bottom lip, shaking your head again. “It’s not like he was wrong, Spence.” You forced a smile, but even you could feel how empty it was. “I am a lot. And maybe I do need to—”

“Don’t.” The word was firm. Gentle, but unyielding.

Spencer exhaled slowly, like he was trying to steady himself. “You are not too much,” he said, each syllable deliberate. “And whoever made you think that doesn’t understand what this team—what I—would be without you.”

Your breath hitched, tears threatening to spill over.

“You make things better.” His voice cracked, and it nearly shattered you. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to see you walk into a room and not light it up?” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “It—it hurts.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You swiped at it quickly, but Spencer had already seen. And that was when he finally moved.Slowly, carefully, he reached for your hand. His fingers curled around yours, just like they always did. The same comforting touch you’d given him a hundred times before.

Except this time, he was the one holding you together.

“Please don’t dim yourself because of someone who doesn’t understand how lucky they are to know you,” he murmured.

Your heart clenched. Your lip quivered. Spencer slowly let go of your hand, his warmth lingering even as his fingers slipped away. He didn’t move far, though. Instead, he lowered himself in front of you.

His hand hesitated just inches from your face, his breath uneven. “Can I?” he asked softly, his fingertips ghosting near your cheek.

You swallowed hard and gave the smallest nod. Spencer wiped away the tear with a touch so gentle it made your chest ache. But his hand didn’t drop. It hovered there, close enough that you could still feel the warmth of him. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His thumb traced just beneath your eye, barely skimming your skin, as if he could erase not just the tear but the weight of everything that had led to it.

His voice, when it came, was a whisper. “Whoever said that to you… they don’t know you. Not the way I do.”

You exhaled shakily, blinking at him.

“They don’t know the way your laugh makes even the worst days bearable.” His thumb barely moved, brushing against your cheekbone. “They don’t know how your energy—your light—makes all of us better. How it makes me better.”

A fresh tear slipped free. Spencer caught it before it could fall. His other hand lifted then, resting gently on your knee. Another silent plea for you to believe him.

“I don’t want you to change.” His voice cracked. You bit your lip, trying to keep the emotion at bay, but it was useless. His words, his kindness, were unraveling you.

Spencer inhaled sharply, like he was gathering courage, and then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your breath hitched. A teary-eyed smile broke across your face before you could stop it. And then, without thinking, you threw yourself into his arms. Spencer barely had time to brace himself, but to your luck, he held firm, his balance steady despite the force of your embrace. His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you close.

“Thank you,” you mumbled into the crook of his neck, your voice muffled. Spencer let out a breath. His hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along your back. When you finally pulled back, you sniffled, brushing away the last few stray tears that had slipped down your cheeks. Spencer watched you, his expression impossibly soft, his own smile small but so incredibly fond.

You inhaled deeply, gathering yourself before flashing him a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back tomorrow—back to being the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Spencer’s ears went bright red. He opened his mouth, whether to protest or agree, you weren’t sure, but all that came out was a flustered little laugh as he ducked his head.

The next morning, Spencer was already waiting for you when you stepped into the conference room. Two coffees sat on the table, one in front of his usual seat, the other carefully placed at yours. You bit back a smile.

Spencer was flipping through a case file, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

“Good morning, everyone!” you greeted, voice bright and chipper, just like always.

Morgan and Emily, who had clearly been watching you like hawks since yesterday, immediately exchanged a look before turning back to you.

“There she is,” Morgan grinned, arms crossing over his chest. “I was starting to think we’d lost our sunshine.”

You smirked. “Please. You could never get rid of me that easily.”

Garcia gasped dramatically through the speakerphone. “Oh, thank God! Do you know how hard it is being the only source of light in a room full of broody FBI agents? I almost cracked under the pressure.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the team, but you weren’t really paying attention.Because across the table, Spencer was staring at you.Not in the way he had yesterday, all worried and desperate to fix something he didn’t understand, but in the way he always did.

You sank into your chair, reaching for the coffee he’d placed in front of you. The cup was still warm, and when you took a sip, it was exactly the way you liked it. You glanced at Spencer, eyes twinkling. When you reached under the table to squeeze his hand, just like you always did, Spencer let you.

And just like that, the warmth returned. And Spencer knew, without a doubt, he would do anything to keep it shining.

[wandascosmic]

typical tuesday night (10)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part ten of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 1796

tags: swearing, mostly just fun, one-sided pining as usual, sam being insane as usual, wanda and y/n best friendship, y/n may or may not making moves/internally screaming, they're very very cute

taglist: @reginassweetheart @rroyale-109 @marvel-posts @sheriffhaughtearp

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

“Okay, she had done a background check on me,” Bruce says. “She had it printed out.”

“No way,” you say.

“Yeah,” Bruce nods. “And she was asking me stuff line by line while we were having dinner.”

“That’s unbelievable,” you answer as everyone laughs in agreement.

Suddenly, Wanda walks into the kitchen holding a mug of tea, smiling as she walks over to stand next to you.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Oh, we’re doing worst first dates,” you answer with a smile.

“Oh my god, I win,” Wanda says, eyes widened.

“What?” you laugh.

“Okay,” Wanda starts, and you look over to her curiously. “It was a minor league hockey game, he brought his brother,” she pauses. “A when I went to the bathroom, the game ended. And they forgot about me.”

“Okay, that’s a joke,” Bruce says.

“No,” Wanda shakes her head. “They had to come back for me.”

“Wait, when was this?” you ask.

“Um..it was not that long ago,” Wanda gives a small laugh.

“Wait, no way it was Vision,” Natasha says, putting down her sandwich.

Wanda laughs awkwardly before looking over to you.

You smile, walking in front of her and starting to lead her out. “Want to go play Dwight’s mug basketball?”

Wanda nods with a relieved sigh, following you out eagerly.

You keep a happy expression on your face, because now you finally know why Wanda’s always refused to go to sports games with Vision.

“Shield Industries, this is Wanda,” Wanda answers the phone.

“Wanda, it’s Tony. I need you to go into my office and read some data for me please.”

“Okay,” Wanda says, picking up the book Tony’s requested her to read in his office. “You want me to read the jokes for you?”

“Yes, please,” Tony responds on speakerphone.

“Okay, um, a fisherman is walking down 5th Avenue leading an animal behind him–”

“No, no, nope!” Tony cuts Wanda off. “I already told that joke to Fury earlier at the dinner. Pick another one.”

“Okay. There’s a transcript between a Naval ship–”

“Oh, yeah! Bingo,” Tony says. “Great, thanks, Wanda!”

“Sure,” Wanda says awkwardly. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. But would you be able to put all those joke books back where you found them?”

“Sure,” Wanda agrees, hanging up the phone with a sigh.

Opening up the drawer to return the books strewn across Tony’s desk, Wanda’s eye immediately catches a thick stack of paper. Picking it up, Wanda has to cover her mouth to stop from bursting out in laughter.

You’re mindlessly clicking your mouse when suddenly, a huge stack of stapled paper is thrown onto your desk.

Reading the title, your eyes widen as you look over to Wanda who leans against the table casually.

“Is this real?” you ask, near giddy.

“It’s a screenplay,” Wanda pauses. “Starring himself.” “Agent Iron Man,” you read out.

“Of the FBI,” Wanda finishes.

“How long is this?” you laugh, flipping through the pages. “Oh my god, Wanda. Good work.”

Wanda laughs.

“Oh, no way,” you say, finding the last few pages and holding them up. “Drawings.”

“What is that?” Wanda asks.

“Oh, those are drawings,” you respond easily. “In case the writing didn’t really put a picture in your head.”

Wanda snickers, biting her lip to keep from laughing too hard.

“And there he is, in the flesh,” you say, pointing to the drawing. “Agent Iron Man. Now we know what he looks like.”

“So, do we all have our copy of Armored Adventures, by Tony Stark?” you ask the office staff gathered around the conference room table.

Everyone makes a sound of agreement.

“Great, so, let’s get started. I’m gonna be reading the action descriptions,” you say. “And Steve, I would like you to play Captain America, the first Avenger.”

“Oh, cool that’s the name of the character?” Steve asks.

Suddenly, Sam barges into the room, and angered expression on his face. “Okay, you guys should not be doing this,” he states firmly.

“Why not, Sam?” you ask. “This is a movie. This is for all of America to enjoy.”

“You took something that does not belong to you,” he responds.

“Sam.”

“You brought it in here, you made copies–”

“Sam, do you want to play the lead role of Agent Iron Man?” you ask, giving him a questioning look.

Sam pauses.

“Okay, sure.”

“Inside the FBI, Agent Iron Man sits with his feet up at the desk,” you read. “Captain America enters.”

“Tony, you have some messages,” Steve reads.

“Not now!” Sam reads emphatically.

“They’re important,” Steve says.

“Fine, what are they?” Sam asks.

A few moments pass, when suddenly, a knock on the door is heard.

“Vision,” Wanda says, making you turn around suddenly, noticing the man.

Wanda runs up, greeting him with a kiss. “Hey, um, I have to work late,” she says.

Vision gives her an incredulous look, hearing the absurd scene between Spider-Man and Agent Iron Man currently being read in the conference room. “You’re joking, right?”

Wanda shakes her head.

“Agent Iron Man takes out a nine millimeter gun and shoots the cake to bits,” you read.

Sam imitates the shooting of the cake.

“Ha ha ha, Agent Iron Man, you’re so funny,” Peter says.

“A man sitting several seats down who has clown makeup on, turns to Agent Iron Man,” you turn to Bruce. “Bruce, want to play the Joker?”

“Sure,” Bruce nods, clearing his throat. “Agent Iron Man, perhaps you would be more comfortable in my clown car?”

“Yes, perhaps I would, Joker,” Sam says. “Spider-Man, get my luggage.”

“Sorry, I forgot it,” Peter reads.

“God, Spider-Man, you’re a terrible assistant!” Sam reads. “I can’t believe I hired you, Sem.” Sam pauses. “Wait, who’s Sem?”

You turn to Wanda with an amused smile, who matches your expression.

“I don’t think the search and replace works on typos,” Wanda says to you through a burgeoning smile.

“So, Spider-Man is the terrible assistant ‘causing the downfall of the United States?” you ask, holding back your laughter.

“Also known as Sam Wilson,” Wanda chuckles.

You and Wanda look over to Sam, who before your eyes, realizes what Tony has done, making the man throw the script onto the table in anger.

“Okay, you know what, this is stupid. I’m done,” he says, abruptly sitting up from his chair and leaving the conference room.

“Sam, some of us want to keep reading,” you tell him.

Sam turns to you. “Uh, you don’t speak for everyone, Y/N,” he responds, crossing his arms, before turning to the rest of the office. “Okay, announcement. My uncle bought me some fireworks. And anyone who wants to see a real show come outside with me right now.”

“That’s actually a pretty good idea,” you nod, starting to sit up from your chair. “We’ll all take a brief intermission.” You turn to Wanda. “Hey, are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Wanda says, grateful you’ve asked.

“Yeah?” you ask. “Okay, come with me.”

While you may have had plans to meet a friend tonight, which you’ve now had to cancel, spending your evening preparing grilled cheese sandwiches for you and Wanda in the office kitchen isn’t something you’re upset at whatsoever. In fact, you would say it’s pretty great, and you’re not really a complainer either.

“Hi,” Wanda says, greeting you as you make your way up the ladder to the roof of the building, holding a box of accessories for the two of you as you watch the fireworks together.

“Hey,” you laugh, setting the box down before making your way to sit in the chair next to hers. “What’s that for?” you ask, pointing to the candle she’s attempting to light.

“For the bugs,” she answers easily.

“Nice,” you nod, before turning to grab the sandwiches you’ve prepared. “That’s great, because bugs, tend to love my famous grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Them and me both,” Wanda laughs, grabbing the plate you’ve made for her. Then, after a moment, she speaks, “I can’t remember the last time someone made me diner.”

You pause, before grabbing your sandwich from the bag as well.

“Oh, look,” Wanda points to the fireworks Sam’s beginning to light. “Wow,” you say, finally enjoying something Sam has created in the 7 years you’ve known him.

“They’re really nice,” Wanda states, before resting her head on your shoulder as the two of you spend the evening watching the sparkling lights together.

“They really are,” you say quietly.

“So, I guess I’ll see you in,” Wanda pauses to check her phone. “10 hours,” she grins.

“Mhm,” you nod, following her out the building.

“What are you gonna do with your time off?” she jokes.

“Travel,” you answer easily with a nod. “I’ve been looking forward to it.” You smile. “I’m gonna really find myself, you know?” you finish, fishing your phone out of your pocket and putting in one of your earbuds.

Wanda looks over to you curiously. “You have new music?” she asks.

You look down to your phone. “Oh, yeah! Want to listen?” You offer her the other earbud.

Wanda nods, smiling as you hand her the earbud she immediately places in her ear, the two of you standing within inches of each other as you share your song.

“Wanda,” you run up to her desk excitedly the second you walk in the next day.

“Yeah?” Wanda laughs.

“I think Tony might’ve gotten together with someone from corporate last night,” you say, making Wanda gasp. “He didn’t come back for his car.”

“Oh, my god, that makes so much sense! That’s why Tony had me read out his stupid jokes over the phone,” she says in realization.

“Well, good for him. I don’t think he’s had a first date, in like ever,” you laugh, before looking over to her. “You know, some might say we even had our first date last night,” you smile.

“Oh really?” Wanda asks. “Why might some say that?”

“Uh, ‘cause there was dinner. By candlelight,” you answer.

“Mhm,” Wanda nods.

“Dinner and a show, if you include Tony’s movie,” you continue. “There was a bit of dancing, and fireworks. So, pretty good date.” “We didn’t dance,” Wanda says, chuckling.

“You’re right,” you say, suddenly feeling very awkward as you put your hands in your pockets. “But um, it was more like, swaying.”

“Right,” Wanda says. “Pretty good first date with you.”

You perk up. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” Wanda nods. “Now, I have some faxes to get out, okay?” she says, standing up from her chair, giving you a kiss on the cheek before heading to the fax machine.

You smile, watching her leave, forgetting for a moment that it truly isn’t a date if the girl goes home to her fiancé at the end of the day.

[bennyboyfics]

gf accidentally damaging bens car hehe

Press Conference || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

A/n: also inspired by when Ben’s dad called him during a press conference lol

Wc: 374

Warnings: none!!!

MASTERLIST

-

Ben’s eyes flick down as he feels his phone buzzing insistently in his pocket. He shifts in his chair, subtly adjusting his posture as the journalist in front of him continues their question. The vibration doesn’t stop. Whoever is calling him is relentless. He exhales sharply through his nose, pulling the microphone closer.

“Uh, sorry,” he cuts in mid-question, flashing an apologetic smile to the reporters in the room. “Someone’s blowin’ up my phone right now.” A few chuckles ripple through the room. Ben pulls his phone out, glancing at the screen. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees your name lighting up the display. He immediately answers, his voice dropping into that affectionate tone he always reserves for you.

“Babe?” He leans slightly away from the mic, but the reporters can still hear him. “What’s going on?” There’s a pause, then your voice comes through, slightly panicked. “I, um… I kinda… might’ve damaged your car?” Ben’s eyes widen slightly before he lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. The journalists in the room murmur in amusement, some of them already grinning as they jot down notes.

“You what?” he asks, clearly amused but also trying to gauge how bad it is. “I swear it wasn’t my fault! Well… kinda. There was this pole, and I didn’t see it, and now there’s, like, a dent? Maybe two? And a scratch… but, um, it’s not that bad.” Ben runs a hand down his face, still smiling as he leans back in his chair. “Okay, first of all—are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine! But your car—”

“I don’t care about the car, babe,” Ben interrupts, laughing lightly. “Long as you’re good.” “So… you’re not mad?” Ben huffs, shaking his head. “Nah, not mad. Just a little shocked you decided to call me in the middle of a press conference to confess.” There’s a beat of silence. “…Oh, shit. You’re in a press conference right now?”

Ben grins, glancing at the room full of reporters, who are all watching the interaction unfold with entertained expressions. “Yup. You’re basically on speakerphone with the entire room.” A dramatic groan comes through the line. “Ben, why didn’t you tell me?! I wouldn’t have—” He laughs again, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, we’ll talk when I’m done, yeah? Love you.”

“Love you, too. Sorry about the car.” Ben hangs up and drops his phone onto the table with a smirk. He glances at the reporters, raising an eyebrow. “So… anyone wanna ask me about tennis again, or are we just gonna talk about my car now?” The room erupts in laughter.

[katakaluptastrophy]

An overlooked detail at the end of NTN is the fact that John is on some kind of conference call with his erstwhile CIA(?) handlers for much of the endgame.

And while it was very much a situation they could have avoided by not giving the magical death guy a nuke in exchange for Presidential Puppet Pals, you do have to feel a bit sorry for the poor bloke on the phone with John...

CIA dude who is beginning to realise they seriously fucked up: John, you seem to be having some big feelings right now, but we don't hurt people when we're having big feelings.

John, who hasn't slept in weeks and is building a barricade out of chairs while on speakerphone: Haha, Australians aren't real people! *distant burst of gunfire* Do you want some cow facts? *background screaming* Also, did you know the president's finger is on the big red button?

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Today I Do: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: Emily's past is coming at her like a freight train with no signs of slowing down, and it's getting harder to keep it from the team. You're getting suspicious not only for her but about your own troubles. Someone is trying to make it known that they're watching you.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If any warnings exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

Turns out, the way that the unsub is finding her victims is through a hospital. Syracuse General. More specifically, Finley Center for Eating Disorders at Syracuse General. Molly was treated there a year ago for malnutrition because she wasn't eating, and Gail was treated for depression there. Both families released their medical records once they realized that's the connection between the two victims.

Once everyone is back inside the conference room, you call Pen and put her on speakerphone.

"Pen, both families released their daughters' medical records. Have you gotten access to those yet?"

"Yes. Both women went to the same hospital but for different programs and at different times."

"What if the unsub works at the hospital?" you say.

"Even if she conned her way into a job, I doubt she'd last long enough to get close to patient files."

"We were off on our profile, then. She doesn't find her victims by chance like we thought. She hunts them," Spencer says. "Garcia, does Syracuse General keep their surveillance footage of the entrances and exits?"

"In this age of black market pharmaceutical drug trade, you betcha. I can get you that."

Emily's phone rings and she steps out of the room to take the call. You keep one eye on her while the other is focused on the job. Even through glass walls and a door, you can feel the panic roll off Emily. She looks around to see if anyone is looking at you and catches your eye on her. She turns and finishes the conversation before coming back to the conference room, trying to hide how shaken up she is.

Penelope pulls up surveillance footage of the hospital and connects it to a screen in the conference room.

"Now, Molly and Gail had different doctors, but both went to Syracuse General pharmacy. Assuming they were stalked ten to fourteen weeks before their disappearance, I went ahead and started with footage from when they went to get refills, which falls right into that time window." The video plays and you can see Gail walking out of the place with another woman a few steps behind her. "Behold, Gail Langston, July 3rd. See that woman a few steps behind her with the large cup of coffee? Check this out." The video fast-forwards to another time Gail was there. The same woman is following behind her. "A few weeks later, there she is again. The same woman is following her. Creepy."

"She's wearing the same scarf as Gail," Ashley points out.

"Garcia, did this woman follow a similar pattern when she was stalking Molly?" Emily asks.

"Emily, you're totally ruining the ending." She shows the time Molly went there with the same woman following her. "Here's Molly and the stalker on November 8th."

"What do you know? She went shopping. They're carrying identical purses."

The video fast-forwards some more to show them leaving together but they're talking. "Then fifteen minutes later on their way out."

"So, she stalks them, copies them, and uses it to strike up a conversation."

"Here is a nice clean one of our stalker lady person."

Penelope puts her picture on the screen of her going into the pharmacy.

"Can you blow that up and print it?"

"Yeah. I'm doing it as we speak."

Once the picture was printed and sent over, Hotch got it out to news reporters as well as gave it to the Syracuse police department. Gail and Molly's families were shown the picture but no such luck there.

"Gail's family says they've never seen her before. Molly's father said the same thing. I sent the picture to Lyle's lawyer, but he says he can't find him," Derek says.

"His roommates haven't seen him since he left here yesterday," Chief Barrows says.

"Where is his car?"

"Also missing.

"Put out an APB for Lyle Donaldson and the vehicle."

He does, and a hit comes in almost immediately.

"Someone said they found Lyle's car in the same parking lot where Molly and Gail's cars were found," Barrows says twenty minutes later.

"She's got him, too. She's too obsessed with power and control to work with anyone, especially somebody like Lyle. He's dominating and violent, just like her. If anything, she sees him as a threat."

"Why take him now with all this heat?" Rossi asks.

"She's not done with Molly yet." You get Penelope on the phone again. "Pen, Dr. Weingold at Syracuse General sent us an extensive list of female patients in their mid-twenties that match our profile. She's most likely local and raised by a single parent or in foster care."

"Okay, I'm narrowing it down."

"This unsub likes familiar places. Look for extended family or previous addresses. Did any of them grow up near Onondaga Lake?" Derek asks.

"Okay, wait. Here's one that might fit. Jane Gould. Her grandparents had a house near Maple Bay, which is where Gail's body was found."

"Are they still alive?"

"No. They died when Jane was in middle school."

"Is the grandparents' house currently occupied?"

"Yes. Water and power are all paid up."

"That's the one place she got attention from a parental figure. She feels at home and in charge there," you say.

"I'll send you an address. I'm calling up her photo right now. Hold on. Oh, lord. Oh, lord. This is her. This is the creepy stalker woman from the surveillance video."

You, Spencer, Emily, and Derek hop into one car and start the drive to Jane's grandparents' house. Hotch, Rossi, and Ashley hung back at the police station but they are on the phone through the Bluetooth speaker in the car.

"So Dr. Weingold opened Jane's files. She can't release details, but she said there honestly aren't many. Jane never admitted to being a cutter, let alone what triggered it. She started acting out after she lost her grandparents."

"She was arrested for vandalism and was removed from two foster homes for destruction of property. Desperate attempts to get attention."

"Is that why she started cutting, another cry for help?" Emily asks.

"Cutting is about control, similar to anorexia. It's common for teenage girls who feel like they have no control over their lives," Ashley informs. "Her grandparents' deaths were probably the trigger. The loss of parental figures at such a young age turns your world upside down. There's a lot of pain, but no outlet. No one's in charge."

"I bet both Molly and Gail can relate to that. Jane used them to convince herself that she was important," you say.

"More than that, she thinks she's a selfless savior instead of an orphan that no one claimed."

The only thing surrounding you are trees but you feel something tugging at you. An invisible force. Panic and fear. Molly. She's out here and she's scared. Either Jane got to her or she is running for her life. Either way, you have to get to her fast. Derek gets to the house and everyone rushes inside, but you stay outside. Spencer is about to follow when he notices you are still by the car.

"What's wrong?"

"She's not in there. Molly isn't either. They both left."

You can see it through their energies. Two blue. One terrified. The other angry. Both of them shooting out from the house in the direction of Onondaga Lake. The only thing they find inside the house is Lyle who is dead, but he's still warm which means Jane must have killed him not that long ago.

"He's not cold yet, so we may have just missed her," Derek says.

"After a confrontation like that, she'll want to go someplace familiar, someplace she feels in control. Onondaga Lake. She's there right now. Let Hotch know."

Onondaga Lake is two minutes from the house so you will have time to get to Molly and Jane before Jane kills her. Derek pulls up on the bridge, and you see Jane holding a knocked-out Molly in her arms like a baby with a screwdriver to her chest.

"Keep her busy," you say before running off.

You make sure you're not seen by Jane even though she isn't paying attention to her surroundings.

"Jane Gould! FBI! Let her go! Move away from the girl and get your hands above your head," Emily shouts at her from the bridge.

"She'll drown if I let go!"

"No, she won't. Move away now!"

You try to quiet your steps until you're at the water's edge. You move quickly knowing Jane will hear you wading through the water. You stop right behind her and put your gun to the back of her head.

"Stop right there." She jumps at your presence. "Drop the screwdriver and let her go."

Molly opens her eyes and she flails out of Jane's arms before swimming away as best as she can with a broken leg. You grab Jane and pull her to the water's edge where two officers are waiting to take her. You toss your gun onto the ground so it won't get wet before swimming out to Molly who is struggling to put her head above water.

"Hey, you're okay now. Come on, I got you. You're safe now."

Molly accepts your help in bringing her to the water's edge where Derek is. He helps bring Molly to the ambulance where her father is waiting.

"Dad," she cries.

"Oh, baby. There are so many things I want to tell you, so many things I want you to know. I love you so much."

"You have to understand! All I wanted to do was help her!" Jane shouts from the police car.

Having a private jet means you don't have to go through customs and wait in the long lines at the airport but by the time you were ready to head home, the jet still needed to refuel. Instead of killing time somewhere else, you decide to kill time at one of the airport bars. You haven't touched your drink since the bartender gave it to you twenty minutes ago since you're too busy thinking about Emily and Lauren.

Who is she? Why is Emily being so secretive? Why is Emily so scared? Who is she so scared of? You look up at the mirror that's behind the bar when you feel eyes on you. It's normal to feel eyes on you at the airport, but you feel a certain level of uneasiness from this set of eyes.

You turn to scan the open room but you don't see anything out of place. No one is looking at you. No one has any interest in the lone woman at the bar. Spencer is in the bathroom, Emily and Derek are getting some snacks, Hotch and Rossi are already on the jet, and Ash is looking for a souvenir to bring back to her niece.

Still, you feel eyes on you.

You turn back around and grab your drink but pause before your lips can touch the rim of the glass. Something is telling you not to drink it. The same voice that told you to follow Spencer right before he was taken by Tobias Hankel. You sniff the alcohol but nothing is out of the ordinary.

You get up and walk over to one of the small plants in the corner of the bar and pour the contents into the base of the plant. You know you shouldn't do this but you need to see something. Almost immediately, the plant shrivels up and turns brown.

Your drink was roofied even before the bartender made your drink. Your drink was never left alone from the time it was set on the counter to the time you picked it up. The bartender looks up when he sees you approach him, and he slaps his towel over his shoulder. Nothing about the bartender suggests he is the one who poisoned your drink so you don't want to accuse him of anything.

"Another refill?"

"Can I see the bottle you used to make my drink?" He looks unsure of your request so you slap more than enough money down onto the bar counter. "I'd like to buy that bottle."

"You got it. Here."

You grab the bottle and walk to another plant. You pour some of the alcohol into the base of the plant, and the same thing happens. The bottle was poisoned.

"Who do you buy your bottles from?" you ask the bartender.

"The airport, I guess," he shrugs. "I just work here."

"Double check to make sure everything you're getting is sealed tightly. If I had drank this, I would have been dead."

"Y/N." You look to the right and see Spencer with both yours and his bags. "You ready?"

"Yeah."

You throw the bottle away and decide to keep this to yourself. You've been feeling like something hasn't been right for weeks. There is nothing out of place and no one who is suspicious. Why worry Spencer when he can't do anything about it?

You grab Spencer's hand and walk with him to catch up with the rest of the team, and you take one more look over your shoulder.

No one is there.

"There's no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul." - Ella Wheeler Wilcox

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[horriblengrossstories]

hiii i’m literally shaking right now because 1. i’m cold and 2. i’m nervous—

but yeah, this is my cute little account that i abandoned out of built-up anger and frustration. but you’ve actually given me a bit of peace.

just in case you’re wondering, my AU is reeeeally old and abandoned, but last year i had this urge to see derek as a single dad just because i thought it’d be funny.

the start of the AU is kinda… questionable? but the rest is pretty soft, though it still has some kinda gray-ish tones??

(i’ve taken off my mysterious persona now)

Single dad Derek in a dark comedy AU is a goldmine!!!!especially because he’s the least qualified person to be anyone’s moral compass or caregiver

Hope you dont mind but oh god.

1. Parent-Teacher Conference Disaster:Derek shows up in sunglasses, covered in glitter (not his), coffee in one hand, child in the other. The teacher tries to diplomatically explain that “your daughter bit someone again.” Derek deadpans, “Was it self-defense?” The child nods. “Then we’re done here.”

2. PTA Group Chat Mayhem:He’s added to the school’s parent group chat and immediately starts trolling it. He responds to “nut-free bake sale” with “my house is nut-free but only because I haven’t had a moment of peace since 2002.” Someone tries to ban him. He makes a meme about it.

3. “Who Taught You That Word?”:His kid says something foul at school. The teacher asks where they learned it. Kid: “My dad said it to the espresso machine this morning.” Derek: “Context matters.”

Extra cause what is this a cross over episode!

Mutt Babysits (and Regrets Everything):Mutt gets left alone with the kid. The kid stares at her like a little mirror of Derek: sharp, nosy, and vaguely threatening. “You love my dad, huh?” Mutt sweats. “You’re gonna die here,” the kid whispers. Mutt believes it.

You write for you first. Always. And framing is everything. You can take the most monstrous man and tilt the lens just slightly and now he’s holding a juice box at a soccer game, yelling too aggressively at the ref while his kid picks flowers on the field. Boom. Whole new story.

And yeah people love to forget that serial killers, dictators, warlords, and cult leaders have had families. Kids. Spouses. Dogs. You’re not being "unrealistic" when you write a man like Derek as a dad. You’re being honest about the contradiction in human nature.

It’s that discomfort that dissonance between what a person is and how they present that makes your stories punch.

fandoms are supposed to be fun. They're playgrounds, not prisons. You can write the darkest version of Derek in your main story twisted, obsessive, irredeemable and still enjoy a AU where he's a disaster single dad making dinosaur pancakes at 3AM while threatening someone on speakerphone.

You’re allowed to explore every facet. You don’t have to believe in it to play with it either. That’s the joy of fiction: elasticity. You can stretch a character to absurdity or tenderness and still keep the core intact.

-Birdie 🐦

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

theirs to share

a/n : jjk characters not mine. contains heavy lemons / mature scenes as the story progresses. reverse harem. femoc x nanami/geto/gojo. jjk alternate au. Wattpad Link : Theirs to Share || Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen <…previous ... next…>

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

TWENTYTHREE

Meanwhile…

You sat cross-legged on the old examination bed in Shoko’s lab, a warm mug of tea in your hands and the lingering scent of antiseptic in the air. The dull hum of the overhead lights mixed with the faint bubbling of a half-forgotten beaker on her worktable. Shoko leaned against the counter beside you, medical coat shrugged off and tied loosely around her waist, looking far too calm for someone surrounded by cursed remains.

"So," she started casually, lighting a cigarette like it was a ritual, "how's everything?"

You hesitated. The way she said it... it wasn’t just about health. It was her way of saying spill it.

You shifted slightly, lips pressing to the mug, eyes avoiding hers. "Something might have... happened."

Shoko paused mid-inhale and raised a brow. Then she held up one finger. “Don’t say another word.”

With practiced ease, she pulled out her phone and tapped away. One message. A group text.

Within seconds, her phone pinged back to life. Then yours did.

Group Chat: Girls' Emergency Conference (No Boys Allowed).

Mei Mei: On my way.

Utahime (Video Calling…)

You picked up, and the screen filled with Utahime’s face—half-covered in a sheet mask, hair wrapped in a towel.

“Thank the heavens I’m on break. What happened?” she said, eyes already gleaming with gossip-fueled concern.

You sighed, setting the mug aside and tucking your legs under you. “Okay, so… after my hangover wore off…”

Shoko leaned in with a smirk. Mei Mei’s unreadable, elegant voice chimed in through speakerphone, and Utahime raised a brow expectantly.

As you began recounting everything—the tension, the kisses, the lingering touches, the coffee mornings and kitchen teasing, Suguru’s thigh cage interrogation, Satoru’s goodbye, Nanami’s steamy neck kisses—each detail sent ripples of chaos through the call.

Shoko exhaled slowly and handed you a new cup of tea. “You need this more than I thought.”

Utahime practically yelled through the call, “You’re living in a damn romance novel! A smutty one at that!”

Mei Mei simply sipped something expensive and offered a single, entertained hum. “Continue.”

And so you did—cheeks hot, fingers fidgeting with your sleeve, half-regretful and half-elated as you relived each moment aloud.

Somewhat during the same time…

Suguru sat cross-legged on the tatami mat, papers and diagrams sprawled out before him. Nanako and Mimiko flanked him on either side, diligently reviewing their advanced cursed energy coursework. Though still technically fourth-grade jujutsu sorcerers, they were nearing graduation and had grown exponentially under the guidance of their mentors.

“This is the part we don’t get,” Nanako said, tapping a paragraph on layered domain amplification. “If we’re trying to manipulate the output without losing control, how do we stabilize the feedback loop when the cursed energy surges?”

Suguru arched a brow, impressed. “That’s advanced-level stuff. You sure you two aren’t skipping ahead again?”

Mimiko shrugged with a grin. “We’re still helping at the shelter, but once we graduate, we want to focus more on rescue and field control. We need to learn how to push our cursed techniques to keep people safe.”

“That, and Mei Mei said no one takes you seriously if you can’t make cursed energy bend like it owes you money,” Nanako added with a smirk.

Suguru chuckled softly. “Of course she did.”

He leaned forward, taking the diagram from Mimiko. “You’re thinking about the loop as a closed circuit. Try approaching it like a spiral—channel the surge outward in a circular release. It won’t overload your core that way, and it’ll give you time to redirect it.”

The twins absorbed his explanation, nodding along in concentration. But after a brief pause, Mimiko peeked up at him with a sly smile.

“So… Papa Geto…”

Suguru blinked. “You’re not starting this again.”

“Relax,” Nanako said, nudging him. “We just wanted to say—you’re still our papa. Even if you’re… shared.”

He sighed. “You two are supposed to be pure and innocent.”

Mimiko grinned. “We were. Until we started reading Panda’s young adult collection. He really leaves those things lying around.”

Suguru gave her a flat look. “Remind me to burn his bookshelf.”

“But seriously,” Nanako interjected, her voice softening, “we’re happy for you. And we’re not judging or anything. Just… don’t let the other papas forget we were your first priority.”

Suguru looked between them, heart swelling with fondness. “You two are really growing up.”

Mimiko grinned. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Nanako leaned into his side. “Three papas. It’s like we’re royalty.”

“Brats,” he muttered affectionately.

“Your brats,” they chorused with bright smiles.

He ruffled their hair with one hand, the other already reaching for another diagram. “Alright, back to work. Let’s make sure you actually graduate before you start ruling anything.”

Back to you…

You spent your break exactly where you needed to be—at Shoko’s lab with Mei Mei and Shoko, while Utahime joined over video call. Between teasing Mei Mei about her "money first" motto, catching up on Shoko’s hectic shifts, and blushing as Utahime grilled you about your chaotic love life, laughter came easy. They howled when you shared the madness of loving three dangerous idiots, and for a while, the world outside didn’t matter.

But eventually, duty called. You gathered your things and made your way to the training grounds, where Maki, Panda, and Inumaki were already waiting for you. Maki twirled her weapon impatiently, Panda lounged like he had all the time in the world, and Inumaki gave you a polite nod as you arrived.

For the next thirty minutes, you led them through an intense discussion about advanced theories of cursed energy manipulation—how to maintain efficiency, how to shift techniques mid-battle, how to sense and control cursed energy flow outside the body. They listened intently, Maki especially sharp with her questions on how it can be used by someone like her.

Then came the real work: thirty minutes of practice. You moved among them, correcting Maki’s stance, adjusting Panda’s output, encouraging Inumaki to push the subtlety of his cursed speech control further. You barked commands, encouraged when needed, and kept the energy sharp and focused.

By the time the class wrapped up, you were just catching your breath when a messenger called you to Principal Yaga’s office. You arrived to find him waiting behind his desk, arms crossed thoughtfully.

"I have a request," Yaga said, his voice calm but carrying that familiar edge of authority. "I'd like you to work with Nanami on upcoming class trainings—specifically in teaching students how to control battle flow and optimize their physical movements in combat."

You agreed without hesitation, but as you left his office, a small knot of nerves twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t fear. You didn’t feel unsafe around Nanami—never had. It was something else entirely.

Nanami was intense. He had this way of looking at you—calculated, piercing, like he was reading you down to the very core. Sometimes it felt like he could devour you with just his eyes. Even now, just thinking about it made your heart hammer against your ribs. You shook your head and exhaled slowly, trying to calm yourself.

This was just training. Strictly professional... at least, that’s what you told yourself.

[untitled7sblog]

(9) The Sound of Vanishing

Quantico always woke early.

By 6:30 a.m., the bullpen was humming. Phones rang. Agents paced with folders tucked under their arms. Garcia’s voice floated over speakerphone from the cyber lab. And at the far end of the floor, Hotch emerged from his office in a pressed navy suit, mug in hand.

Wren sat at her desk, dressed in dark slacks and a lightweight gray sweater, hair twisted into a clip at the back of her head. She sipped from her coffee—still hot, blessedly—and tried not to overanalyze every movement.

It had been four days since Brookings.

Four days since Mira.

She’d tried to sleep, journal, even visit her father, only to find him passed out on the couch with the news channel blaring. He never even registered she was there.

Now, back at the BAU, she felt... steadier. Still cracked, but welded in places that hadn’t existed before.

“Wren,” came Hotch’s voice from above her.

She looked up quickly. “Yes, sir?”

“Conference room. Five minutes.”

She nodded, already moving. No time for questions—only instinct.

In the glass-paneled room, the rest of the team had begun to gather. Morgan leaned against the edge of the table, arms folded. JJ was seated with her tablet open. Reid scribbled in the margin of a case file. Emily walked in beside Wren, handing her a manila folder with a clipped-on photo.

A child.

Blonde. Pale. Big eyes.

Alma Whitaker. Age 10. Missing since yesterday.

“This is the one Garcia flagged last night,” JJ explained. “Disappeared from her backyard in rural Vermont. No signs of forced entry. No one saw anything.”

“Parents?” Hotch asked.

“Both home. Mother was inside making dinner. Father was in the barn. They thought Alma was playing in the yard, but she was gone by the time they checked.”

Emily added, “Local PD has already canvassed the neighborhood. Nothing. No vehicles. No strangers. No known predators in the area.”

Wren flipped through the report. “No witnesses. No physical evidence. No ransom note.”

“Which is why we’re going,” Hotch confirmed. “They need fresh eyes.”

Morgan’s brow furrowed. “Could be a runaway?”

“Ten years old? In stocking feet?” JJ countered.

Hotch tapped the file. “No signs of trauma in the home. No history of abuse or neglect. Alma’s school records show a well-adjusted child. We’re not dealing with a domestic situation.”

Reid’s voice cut in, quiet but clear. “The way she vanished—completely undetected—it suggests premeditation. This wasn’t random.”

“Someone was watching her,” Wren said before she realized the words were out.

The room paused.

Hotch gave her a look—neutral, but thoughtful.

“Expand,” he prompted.

She cleared her throat. “If someone grabbed her that fast, with no struggle, no alerting either parent, it means they knew her routine. They waited for the exact moment she was alone.”

Morgan nodded. “Which means this might not be his first attempt.”

Hotch turned to the team. “Wheels up in 30. Reid, prep a victimology report. Emily, JJ—talk to the parents as soon as we land. Morgan, Wren—canvass the property. I want soil impressions, shoe prints, vehicle tracks. Anything.”

“And me?” Rossi asked, entering the room with a travel mug and a knowing smirk.

“You’re with me,” Hotch replied. “We’re meeting with the local sheriff.”

As the team dispersed, Wren hung back slightly. Her fingers still gripped the file, eyes on the photo of Alma. That ache—the one Mira had carved into her—tightened.

She knew this look. Wide eyes. Half a smile.

Girls who disappeared in the space of a breath.

Hotch caught her hesitation.

“You okay to go?” he asked, voice low and unreadable.

Wren looked up at him, searching for the catch. For the part where he second-guessed sending her again.

“I want to go,” she said. “I need to.”

Hotch studied her for a beat. Then nodded once.

“Okay.”

⸻

The flight to Vermont was uneventful. Wren sat near Reid, flipping through photos of Alma’s neighborhood on the FBI tablet. A long gravel driveway. A tree swing. The forest just beyond.

“The edge of the woods was only thirty yards from where she was last seen,” Reid murmured beside her. “Most abductors take advantage of environments with natural cover. It gives them privacy to move fast.”

“Who lives near them?” Wren asked.

“Only two other homes within half a mile. Both neighbors cleared.”

“But there’s still the woods.”

Reid nodded.

Wren thought of the cabin. Of Hale. Of the kind of person who could live isolated, unnoticed, and build a secret world around silence.

Morgan leaned over from the other row. “We’ll find her,” he said, quiet enough just for her.

She wanted to believe him.

But inside that old ache whispered: If we’re not fast, we’ll be too late.

And this time, there was no Mira on the other side—no survivor to protect the rest.

This time, they were racing the clock.

⸻

The Whitaker home sat at the end of a gravel lane tucked between pine trees and aging pasture. White farmhouse, green shutters, a rusting wind chime on the porch that barely stirred in the late-morning stillness. The swing in the yard creaked softly in the breeze.

It didn’t look like the kind of place where children disappeared.

But it was.

JJ and Emily stepped up onto the porch, greeted by the local sheriff—mid-forties, heavyset, nervous in the eyes. He held the door for them.

“They’re inside,” he said quietly. “Still shaken.”

Inside, the living room smelled faintly of wood polish and burnt toast. A woman sat curled in an armchair, clutching a small stuffed bunny to her chest. Her blonde hair was tangled, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. A man stood behind her with his hands on his hips, staring at the fireplace like it owed him something.

JJ offered her warmest, gentlest voice. “Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker, I’m Agent Jareau, and this is Agent Prentiss. We’re here to help.”

The father gave a hollow nod. The mother whispered, “Is she dead?”

“No,” JJ said, firm but soft. “We don’t believe that.”

Emily stepped closer. “We’d like to ask a few questions about Alma’s routine. Anything out of the ordinary you’ve noticed. Any strangers in the area.”

“She plays outside every afternoon after school,” the father said, his voice wooden. “We’re right here. The yard’s fenced. We check constantly.”

“Did she mention anyone new? Any change in behavior?” JJ asked.

“She’s ten,” the mother replied hoarsely. “She tells me everything. Everything.”

But JJ’s years in Victim Services knew better. No one tells everything.

“She had a new bracelet,” the mother added suddenly. “A braided one. Said a friend at school gave it to her. But I never saw it again.”

Emily exchanged a glance with JJ. “Do you know the name of that friend?”

The woman shook her head, gaze drifting to the swing outside.

“She just said it made her feel brave.”

Outside, Wren crouched near the edge of the yard, fingers brushing through disturbed leaves.

“Impression here,” she called to Morgan. “Size nine or ten. Male.”

Morgan came over, lifting his sunglasses to peer at the indent in the earth. “Deeper on the toe than the heel. He was running.”

Wren’s voice stayed calm, clinical. “Direction leads toward the back gate. No struggle here. Just one adult set, moving fast.”

Morgan followed the trajectory with his eyes, then looked back toward the swing.

“She must’ve gone willingly,” he muttered.

“She trusted him.”

Wren stood slowly, eyes flicking toward the tree line. “Or she didn’t have time to scream.”

They continued circling the property, finding more prints, broken twigs, a cigarette butt carefully collected in a plastic vial. Wren took a photo of a tiny button half-buried in the soil.

“You’re good at this,” Morgan said quietly as they walked.

She glanced at him. “What?”

“Reading the dirt. Seeing the thread between.”

Wren gave a faint smile. “I’ve been trying to pay attention. Ever since Brookings.”

Morgan studied her for a second. “You ever think maybe this job found you for a reason?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then: “I think the worst parts of me recognize the worst parts of them. And I want to stop it before they get any deeper.”

Morgan gave a slow nod. “Then you’re in the right place.”

They paused at the edge of the property, where the fence backed into a thicket of tall pine and blackberry brambles.

Wren’s eyes narrowed. “This is where he waited. Where he watched.”

Morgan followed her gaze.

“It’s always the place that feels safest,” he said. “That’s where they strike.”

A silence stretched.

Then Wren looked up. “He didn’t take her far. I can feel it. He’s close.”

Morgan didn’t question it.

He simply pulled out his radio and said, “We’ve got a trail.”

⸻

The war room at the Forest Brook Sheriff’s Office had once been a break room—there was still a defunct vending machine humming in the corner and a chipped poster reminding officers to wash their hands. But now it bore all the hallmarks of a BAU case in motion: case photos pinned to corkboard, maps marked with color-coded pins, a laptop open with live feeds from Garcia, and the kind of stillness that came only with intense focus.

Hotch stood at the head of the folding table, sleeves rolled up, his posture straight-backed and still. To his right, Emily sifted through community interviews. Morgan cross-referenced maps. JJ coordinated with local media, crafting a press release that was urgent without inciting panic. Reid scribbled a web of connections on the whiteboard—dates, psychology, escalation patterns. Wren watched the team with quiet awe, then leaned in to help Reid chart behavioral escalations.

“She’s ten years old,” JJ said, glancing up from Alma’s photo. “But she’s not timid. According to her teachers, she’s sharp, verbal, confident.”

“That’s important,” Wren added. “It means he didn’t target her for compliance. He’s not looking for silence. He wants something else.”

Reid tapped the whiteboard. “He may want challenge. Or obedience earned over time. She wore the bracelet like armor—it gave her a sense of safety. That could’ve been part of the grooming.”

“He let her believe she had some control,” Wren murmured. “That makes it easier to pull her deeper in.”

Emily nodded. “So he’s deliberate. Calculated. Someone who’s been watching for a while. Planning.”

Morgan pushed his chair back. “He’s got experience—maybe not in abductions, but in manipulation. Could be a former camp counselor, teacher, or coach.”

“Someone who knows how to test boundaries,” Hotch agreed. “Someone who sees himself not as a predator, but a savior.”

Rossi stepped in, coffee in hand. “I spoke to the sheriff. No local custody disputes, no recent parolees nearby, and no evidence Alma ran away. It’s clean. Too clean.”

“That’s organized offender behavior,” Reid said, eyes scanning his notes. “Intimate knowledge of the family’s routine. Possibly local. Likely male. High-functioning.”

Wren spoke again. “He didn’t break in. He waited. She opened the door for him.”

A heavy silence followed.

Hotch finally nodded. “We have enough to share the profile.”

⸻

The small group of Forest Brook deputies stood shoulder-to-shoulder in their dark green uniforms, faces grim. Hotch delivered the profile with his usual calm clarity.

“We believe the unsub is a white male in his 30s to 50s, single or divorced, living alone. He’s likely familiar with the area—possibly worked or volunteered with children in the past. He’s socially awkward but knows how to build trust over time. Alma was likely targeted weeks ago.”

Emily stepped forward. “He’s patient. He watches his victims. He might present himself as safe. Helpful. Kind.”

JJ added, “If anyone in this town suddenly became over-involved—offering rides, showing up at school events without reason—we need those names.”

Morgan handed out composite bulletins. “Start re-checking your registered offenders. But don’t stop there. We’re looking for clean records. That’s part of how he hides.”

The deputies nodded, already making calls.

⸻

Back in the war room, Garcia’s voice chirped through the speakerphone.

“Okay, my lovely profilers, I’ve been working my magic, and guess what—I found a name that matches almost every marker in your profile. Meet Peter Lanton. Age forty-two. Lives three miles outside of town. Works remotely in graphic design, but used to volunteer at local camps. Left his last one under mysterious circumstances—something about an ‘incident’ that was never officially reported.”

Wren stood abruptly. “Did he ever work with kids?”

“Bingo. Summer art programs. He was known for his quiet demeanor. Didn’t make waves. But two families filed vague complaints. Nothing stuck.”

Hotch’s voice cut in. “Send everything you have. Address, photo, vehicle. Now.”

“Already in your inbox, my liege,” Garcia said.

Morgan snapped his folder closed. “Let’s go knock on his door.”

Hotch nodded. “We move fast. Carefully.”

Reid grabbed the nearest tablet. “And if he’s not home?”

Wren’s voice was low but firm. “Then we go looking. Because if Alma’s still alive—we’re running out of time.”

The team gathered their gear, minds sharpening, energy shifting from theory to action.

The stillness was gone now.

Quiet never lasted long.

⸻

@ninniesontheglass3

[headsetsindia]

How to Choose the Best Speakerphone Conference Setup for Your Business?

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[mariacallous]

In Donald Trump’s first term, he reinvented many things about how the job of President was done. The strictly scheduled day of his predecessors—the rigid procession of fifteen-minute meetings, the early-morning starts—was not for him. Instead, much of his “executive time” was spent in the small dining room off the Oval Office—a place eventually made infamous by his decision to spend a large part of the afternoon of January 6, 2021, there watching a mob of his supporters storm the Capitol and refusing to do anything about it. He would sit there and watch cable television, then tweet about something he saw on TV, and then watch the coverage of his tweet. Having spent years observing that behavior, a former White House official from Trump’s first term once told me that it was as though the President looked at his job as an extended tryout for the role of Mike Teavee, the television-addicted American kid in “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” In the film, the boy jumps inside an actual television and finds himself split into millions of pieces, then shrunk into a tiny version of himself. Wonka’s Oompa Loompas stretch him back out on a taffy puller, and sing of how television turns the brain into goop.

In Trump’s case, his second term has demonstrated another thesis—that the President of the United States can spend so much of his day on camera that it is as if he were live-streaming his tenure and not merely obsessively watching it play out on TV. Hardly a day goes by when Trump does not summon the White House press pool—now handpicked by his staff rather than independently chosen by the media itself, as it was for more than a century—for an announcement, a visit with a foreign dignitary, or merely to get a few things off his chest. Sometimes, this happens multiple times in a single day. These Oval Office rambles have largely replaced the more formal press conferences in the East Room which he held during his previous term. And with no more elections to run, Trump has mostly eschewed the big rallies that were the hallmark of his campaigns, preferring to spend time at the White House or at his own private clubs in Florida and New Jersey; one analysis found that, on forty of his first hundred days—and twelve out of fourteen weekends—he spent time at his personal properties.

When he is in the White House, the trademark image of his second term has become Trump at the Resolute desk, with a rotating cast of admiring Cabinet members and other characters behind him, while he talks and talks and talks to the cameras and jostling questioners arrayed in front of him. Trump has not yet reached full dictator mode with these appearances; the late Venezuelan strongman Hugo Chávez used to have a weekly show, “Aló Presidente,” that lasted from 11 A.M. each Sunday until whenever Chávez shut up, which was often four to eight hours later. But, increasingly, they are the signature of Trump’s Presidency.

On Thursday, the press pool was summoned at 10:48 A.M. for what Trump had billed as a “very big and exciting” announcement of a new trade deal between the U.S. and the U.K. Reporters arrived to find the President already on speakerphone with the British Prime Minister, Keir Starmer. The deal, it turned out, was somewhat less than advertised—an agreement in principle, after years of talks, and with many details to be finalized. Trump is nowhere near meeting the goal of “ninety deals in ninety days” that his trade adviser promised, after the President’s threat of “reciprocal” tariffs in his April 2nd “Liberation Day” speech shocked the world economy. Still, it was something, and Trump, with all the zeal of a used-car salesman, plumped for the agreement, though he admitted it wasn’t quite done yet. “In the coming weeks, we’ll have it all very conclusive,” he vowed. His Commerce Secretary, Howard Lutnick, praised the boss as “the Closer.” “He gets deals done that we could never get done,” Lutnick said.

As Lutnick said this, I thought of Trump holding forth in the Oval Office just two days earlier, during a visit with the new Canadian Prime Minister, Mark Carney, who was elected largely on the basis of his promise to push back against Trump’s threatened trade war. With Carney at his side, Trump had called the trade agreement that he signed with Canada and Mexico during his first term merely a “transitional deal,” billing it as a convenient way to get rid of NAFTA, “the worst trade deal in the history of our country, probably in the history of the world.” Transitional? Back in 2020, when Trump signed the pact, he proclaimed it “the largest, most significant, modern, and balanced trade agreement in history.” Poor Keir Starmer. There are many words that come from Trump’s mouth, and few that he will not renounce when they are no longer convenient.

As for words on Thursday, there were a lot of them, many having little to do with Great Britain or global trade. In the course of his on-air comments, Trump talked about knowing the late Sean Connery. (That was sort of Britain-related.) He explained that he invests in golf courses only “if they’re on the ocean.” He complained, once again, about the chairman of the Federal Reserve, Jerome Powell, refusing to lower interest rates, even after Trump very nicely said he was not planning to follow through on his many threats to fire him. “He doesn’t want to do it—probably he’s not in love with me,” Trump posited. Later, and, as far as I could tell, apropos of nothing, he mocked the Senate Democratic leader, Chuck Schumer, saying that Schumer, who is Jewish, is so sympathetic toward Palestinians that he is officially becoming one; maybe, Trump said as someone—I wasn’t quite sure who—laughed raucously, there would be some sort of “ceremony” to welcome him.

Asked about a disastrous breakdown in the air-traffic-control system at Newark Airport, Trump complained about Pete Buttigieg, the Biden Administration’s Secretary of Transportation, and explained that he would soon be buying a “brand new,” “state of the art,” and “incredible” system to replace the old one. He added that he had personally given his Transportation Secretary, Sean Duffy, a crash course in how to negotiate a good deal. “I’ve given him a ten-minute lesson in buying,” Trump said, “and he’s become really good.”

Nearly an hour into his talking, Trump dropped an unexpected bit of news—that he would drop the nomination of his controversial choice to be U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia, Ed Martin, after a key Republican on the Judiciary Committee had said that he wouldn’t go along with the choice of Martin, who helped organize the Stop the Steal movement and embraced conspiracy theories about what happened on January 6th. Trump suggested that there just weren’t enough hours for him to defend Martin amid all the other important things he’s doing. “I’m only one person,” he said. “I can only lift that little phone so many times in a day.” At first, it wasn’t entirely clear that he was actually dumping Martin, but then he shook his head and indicated there was no other choice. “That’s the way it works sometimes,” he said.

By the time Trump stopped talking, at 11:53 A.M. on Thursday, it had been an hour and five minutes since the press pool had been summoned. But Trump, it turned out, was hardly done. At 12:13 P.M., the pool was called into the East Room, where Trump began another televised event, a rare joint appearance with First Lady Melania Trump, at which he bragged about “tremendous things happening on trade, the likes of which we’ve never seen before,” and, on the eve of Mother’s Day, made some eyebrow-raising observations about his own mother, who was “such an angel” but also “could be very tough,” he said, adding, “she had her tough moments, some difficult moments she had.”

Even that awkward commentary, however, was not enough to get Trump to stop for the day. After a private meeting with the golfer Tiger Woods, who is now dating his son Don, Jr.,’s ex-wife, he unexpectedly came out on the patio next to the entrance of the West Wing to talk to reporters again. The big story, it turned out, was not his deal with Great Britain but the selection of a new Pope, the Chicago-born cardinal Robert Francis Prevost, who will now be known as Leo XIV. Trump wanted a piece of the news cycle. “To have the Pope from the United States of America,” he said, “that’s a great honor.”

And so a day in the live-streamed life of Donald Trump ended as it began, with confirmation of a lesson learned many times over these past long few years: there is nothing at all for which he cannot claim credit. 

[elysynn]

The Difference a New Headset Can Make

I am on meetings a lot for my job. I've been a remote worker for almost 15 years and hybrid for several before that. So conference calls and online meetings have been a staple of my existence for twenty years. Over that time, I've used a variety of office style headsets ranging from single ear (with a headband and/or ear hook), stereo on-ear sets, stereo cup-style sets. The problem I've had with them is inevitably, when I've had days where my headset time exceeds 6 hours the risk for migraines increases exponentially. If I get multiple days in a row like that, migraines are a guarantee.

It turns out that pressure on/around/in my ears and/or the combination of the slight pressure on my skull from headband style sets is a migraine trigger for me. I'd suspected it for awhile, but it wasn't until I was out of state helping a friend take care of her dad's place while he was hospitalized that I had the opportunity to experiment. During that time, I was able to use speaker phone for all my calls. No headset whatsoever. And I had some pretty long phone sessions. No migraines. Woohoo!

Then I got home. As I said, I've been working remote for ages. My husband got sent home courtesy of COVID and hasn't been required to return to the office. Our house is not large - to accommodate two adult professionals requiring dedicated workspaces we had to convert our basement family room into two offices separated by a set of barn doors. It's serviceable, but it is not conducive for speakerphone conversations... especially when both of us are on calls. So, when I got home, back on the headset I went.

Two days of meeting hell. My poor ears. Then, my poor brain. I figured I had enough data at that point to try and find a headset alternative. Something that didn't squeeze the brainpan, and didn't sit on or in my ears, nor surround them... I'd tried a pair of bone-conducting earbuds (buds because they're were separate, not because they fit in the ear) and while they were comfortable, the mic was trash with zero noise cancellation. My team heard my kids better than they heard me. I was able to track down a headset that had nearly all the features of my office-geared Plantronics Voyager2.

Ear-squishing, skull-squeezing aside, I love the Voyager2. It just doesn't love me back.

I've been using the Shokz OpenComm2 UC headset now for almost two months. It is a bone conducting style headset with features that fit an office environment. Things like integrating with Teams/Zoom, boom mic with noise cancellation, long battery life for calls, USB dongle for more stable connections, etc. It has been life changing for me. It is so light. I get a little bit of pressure where the business part of the headphone rests against my head in front of my ears, but I can very easily adjust the location and not lose the audio fidelity. There are a couple features I wish it had, but nothing I can't work around and certainly nothing that makes me regret the switch.

Since I've switched, I have had fewer incidents of multi-day migraine attacks. When I have had migraines (since I have about 6284 triggers and can't avoid them all) I can still wear the headset and work and not feel like I'm stick in a medieval torture device. My migraines also seem to respond better to medication using this headset because I'm not constantly hammering the triggers over and over.

I wanted to share my experience with this in case there are other migraineurs out there who are stuck on headsets day in and day out and may not have considered the headset as a potential trigger. Migraines are of course not one-size-fits-all, and your experience may be different from mine. But if this helps a fellow human being... Yay!

[notyourjaem]

goodmorning ash, u ask n i deliver

toxic ceo tyun who breeds his secretary as soon as she comes to work n forces her to keep his cum inside throughout the day ;pp dont let a single drop drip down ur thighs cuz hes gonna make sure u learn to obey

OHH MY GOD AURA I saw this pretty much the second I opened my eyes this morning (at like 5:50am) and it has been marinating in my head ever since

toxic ceo tyun who fucks his secretary as soon as she gets into work, first thing in the morning. forces her to be a good girl and keep it in; otherwise she’ll be punished. punishment is usually laying her across his lap while on a conference call, on speakerphone mind you, and finger fucking her until she cries. oh—but she better not make any noise! clamps his large hand over her mouth if she makes so much as a whimper. if she’s good and does what he says, he’ll fuck her on her lunch break in his private bathroom.

goodbye I have to pretend to be normal at work now.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jordan Carney at Politico:

House Republican investigators accused President Joe Biden of engaging in “impeachable conduct” as part of a long-awaited report. It’s unlikely to change a reality the party has faced for months: They don’t have the votes to impeach him. The 291-page report released Monday by the Oversight, Judiciary and Ways and Means committees comes roughly eight months after Republicans formalized their impeachment inquiry against the president. Their sweeping investigations, largely focused on the business deals of Biden’s family members, have gone on even longer, informally starting around the time they first took the House majority in January 2023. Republicans on the committees are accusing Biden of two offenses they argue meet the bar for impeachable conduct: abuse of power and obstruction. They’re the same charges that House Democrats cited in the 2019 impeachment against then-President Donald Trump — an inquiry frequently mentioned in the House GOP report. “The Constitution’s remedy for a President’s flagrant abuse of office is clear: impeachment by the House of Representatives and removal by the Senate,” the committees write in the report, adding they are releasing the report to the House “for its evaluation and consideration of appropriate next steps.”

Even as Republicans noted on Monday that the inquiry remains ongoing, the report marks a soft end for the impeachment effort; two leading investigators told POLITICO last month that their probes had largely wrapped up. Some Judiciary Committee Republicans have pushed to hold public hearings on impeachment articles, but Chair Jim Jordan (R-Ohio) didn’t commit to that step in a recent interview, instead indicating the decision about where to go next is up to the larger conference. Not holding an impeachment vote on the House floor would constitute a historical anomaly: Every formal presidential impeachment inquiry in modern times has led to an impeachment vote — except in the case of Richard Nixon, who resigned from office before a vote could happen. It also risks irritating the party’s base, which has pushed for a quicker impeachment against the president, though that focus has since shifted to Kamala Harris.

[...] Democrats quickly declared a political victory after Republicans released the report, which stops short of directly recommending that the House take up impeachment articles. “After wasting nearly two years and millions of taxpayer dollars, House Republicans have finally given up on their wild goose chase. This failed stunt will only be remembered for how it became an embarrassment that their own members distanced themselves from as they only managed to turn up evidence that refuted their false and baseless conspiracy theories,” said Sharon Yang, a White House spokesperson.

Much of the GOP investigation, and Monday’s report, focused on business deals and money received by Hunter and James Biden, as well as Joe Biden’s handling of classified documents and the years-long federal investigation into his son. Investigators, for example, say they traced $27 million in payments to Biden family members and their associates from foreign entities. They also delved deeply into “loans” received by Hunter and James Biden, the president’s son and brother, respectively. Republicans uncovered examples of Hunter and James Biden leaning on their last name and their connection to Joe Biden to bolster their own influence. For example, some former Hunter Biden associates, in closed-door interviews, told lawmakers that Hunter Biden would put his father on speakerphone during meetings with potential business partners, though they said that the conversation was limited to pleasantries. In other instances, witnesses recalled Joe Biden stopping by dinners or lunches — but that business wasn’t discussed at those moments.

Much of Republicans’ abuse of power charge focuses on Hunter and James Biden’s business deals or loans they received, arguing that they likely wouldn’t have happened unless Joe Biden had been in office. The three Bidens, and some of their former business associates, have said repeatedly that Joe Biden was not involved in the business agreements. For their second offense, obstruction, Republicans focused on both their own sprawling investigation and the years-long federal probe into Hunter Biden. IRS whistleblowers have accused Biden administration officials of stymying the latter — allegations repeatedly rebuffed by Attorney General Merrick Garland and special counsel David Weiss. Republicans also referenced their ongoing court battle to try to force the Justice Department to hand over audio of Joe Biden’s interview with former special counsel Robert Hur, rather than just the transcripts.

House Republicans released their long-awaited report on their partisan impeachment inquiry against President Joe Biden by three different House committees: Ways and Means, Oversight, and Judiciary. The GOP, with a narrow House majority, do not have enough votes to impeach Biden.

[eric-the-bmo]

Blood and Silicon ep18: Friends of Hunter

[Summary: The chase begins! Leo tries speaking in code to Harrison. Percy and Blake take care of the Hunters.] (sorry if this is all over the place/badly-written i don't feel like reviewing this rip-) @sanguineasylum @kentuckycaverats

The coterie careens out of the parking garage! Percy loses some ground but keeps the hunters in sight; they're going quick. Blake immediately calls Leo on speakerphone and tells him to call Harrison about this- to tell him about the garage, to have the cameras wiped, and to let him know their current location. Blake says to immediately call him back afterwards, and then hangs up. Leo calls Harrison.

["Leo? I wasn't expecting you to call again so soon." "Yes, but I'm pretty sure this counts as an emergency, sir-"]

He informs Harrison that people who really don't like us were following Pauline, and now the coterie is in pursuit. He gives the location of where they left; could H take care of the cameras from the garage? Harrison clarifies that they're in active pursuit, and he seems a bit confused until Leo says one of the two men is named Hunter, and it clicks for Harrison like ah fuck, vampire hunters! He asks if the coterie needs backup, and in the background Leo hears him calling for one of his ghouls ["Kay, come over here please."].

Leo provides their current location as they turn the corner on East St Clara St to continue following the hunters; Pauline manages to keep the rest of them in sight. Blake's phone rings as Leo decides to do a conference call with both him and Harrison.

["Hey, Harry."]

Harrison wants to keep updated on their location as he tries to figure things out from here- he tells Kay to stay on the line as he leaves the room for a moment. Blake fills Kay in on what's going on as the chase continues, adding they didn't know the men were hunters at first, so they had called the cops on them. (Percy runs a red light. His car stays close to the hunters, but not too close; the coterie aims to get them further away from the city. The hunters are going west- which is further from Harrison's territory, and, closer to the Hecata's. They're trying to lose the coterie, but it's difficult with one of their tires losing air from being hit with Blake's knife earlier.)

Harrison returns, and tells Kay to head to the garage to take care of the cameras, and Kay lets Harrison know about the police; their voices fade as the two walk away from the phone for a moment.

The coterie continues to keep up with the hunters, who actually are heading towards a highway- we join them, and are now on their left. Blake gets Percy to get closer to them, and gets ready to pull out his gun to shoot the hunter driving the car. Percy suggest we light their car on fire afterwards (Harrison, still on the phone, tells them to search the car before doing that). Blake hits his mark, and the Hunter's car starts to swerve as they attempt to get off the highway- and then they crash into part of the underpass.

The coterie stops their vehicles, and Leo gives Harrison a location update, meanwhile Blake is all "hey Percy put your gun down, maybe we shouldn't shoot them again," so the Ventrue puts the safety on to potentially use it as a blunt weapon later.

Leo and Pauline start to approach the car, but Blake gets there first- the hunter in the passenger seat is shaking the other, who seems to not be doing well; his side of the car is crushed against the wall, and he's bleeding from near his collarbone. Blake goes to open the door. The hunter tries to reach for his rosary, but Blake pulls his gun out on him with Eyes of The Beast for intimidation and tells him to get out of the car.

Blake tells Leo (who'd been keeping watch) to retrieve the knife he'd thrown into the car, and goes to grapple the hunter out of the car- the second one tells the first to "go be with God," using the name Banks.

Banks reveals he still had the rosary in his hands- and the Coterie is repelled by it, allowing Banks some time to try and get the fuck outta there. He gets a head start, but Blake shoots him and is able to catch up on him. Banks calls him a monster, and Blake is all "wow, pet names already?"| ---

Meanwhile, Percival approaches the other hunter still in the car; The Venture bites his own wrist and forces the man to feed from him, despite the hunter Absolutely Not Wanting That. His wounds slightly heal. Percival asks for his name, and the hunter spits out that his name is Williams. Percy takes off Williams' ski mask- and it turns out Williams it the same priest from our territory [above the table, two of us start yelling].

["Ah- lovely to see you again, Father."] Percy asks if anyone else knows where he is, and Williams looks over at Banks (the guy looks miserable to see his associate's been caught). ---

Now having retrieved Blake's knife, Leo updates Harrison, who tells him to keep one alive. Blake takes off Banks' mask- he's in his mid 20s, with some stubble- before saying it's not personal and knocking him out. ---

Leo listens in to Percy questioning the priest: Father Williams says that this was an unexpected detour, and that others (besides Banks) knows where he had gone; the Father didn't give details to them before leaving, though.

["So, do you have a group of compadres that you do this with?" "I hate you."]

Percy denies Father Williams's request to be killed, since he still has questions for the man, and Leo leans over to murmur that their boss wants to keep one alive. Blake's bringing over Banks's unconscious body.

["How long ago did you die, boy?" Father Williams is looking at Leo.] Leo's all "Hm why do you wanna know," while trying to hide the fact he Doesn't Like this man, and as that's happening Blake begins searching Bank's body- He's disappointed to see the Hunter's shoes aren't his size. ["Hold on-" Leo looks at him. "Were you planning to steal his shoes?" Blake shrugs. "Gotta get new ones somehow." "...What size is he-" "You're all psychopaths," Williams spits out.]

Father Williams asks Blake what he gets up to, in his "my situation Sucks" kind of way, and Blake responds he gets up to all sorts of things- he'll see Williams in hell when he gets there, btw. Leo tells Blake the update to keep one and get out, and Harrison from the phone adds to search the car. As Blake continues to search Banks, he and Percy discuss on which hunter be kept alive, and how to frame this to look like a car crash; should they request a cleanup crew from Harrison, or..?

(A car passes by. Pauline's been keeping watch.)

They go back to discussing which one to keep alive. [Blake turns to Percy. "You ever had a man of god as a pet?"] Williams murmurs a prayer- Percy takes him out of the crashed car, covering his eyes with the ski mask before knocking him out in the back of Blake's jeep.

(Another car goes by, slower this time. Pauline gets nervous about it.)

Leo and Blake search the Hunters' car as Percy gets a rag from the jeep to cover in oil- the younger vampires find some guns, duct tape, zipties, gasoline, a bible, a medkit, camping supplies and flashlights, empty vials, some receipts, and makeshift bombs. Leo hands those over to Blake, who's planted Banks' body in the driver's seat.

Before Pauline heads off, Blake tells her to take the long way around to the garage he had directed to a few days ago- he reassures her it's okay, and to wait for them there.

Percy does a vampire prayer before the coterie sets it on fire from a distance: ["Father, I humbly ask that you take the offering of the blood shed tonight in the spirit that it is intended. Saint Gustav, I offer you my thanks for lending me your strength so that I may continue play the role of the diligent farmer - culling of the wolves in our midst so that our siblings may continue to flourish in the shadow of our darkest nights. May our tantamount enemies luxuriate in as many daylight hours as the Almighty afforded us."]

The car lights up, but luckily the coterie is far away enough that it doesn't send our Beasts into a complete panic, and they drive away with the priest in the back of their car. There's some sirens in the distance. Leo updates Harrison that they've got one (and Blake adds the police are on their way to the crashed car), and Harrison tells them to meet him at a place called Cohesity Inc, 2 floors down, because he'd like some more information on whatever the fuck just happened. (Blake updates Pauline and invites her to join them, if she wants; she agrees.)

Father Williams begins to regain consciousness, but he's not looking good and will probably need medical attention; Leo keeps an eye on him. Blake turns around and asks if the Father has any music preferences, but Williams is quiet, and so Margaritaville is playing on the way to Cohesity Inc- the vibe dissonance is crazy.

Percy gives Williams some more blood- not enough to up the bond, just enough to heal him a bit more. Percy notices Leo looking away and asks if he's alright- the Malk holds his hands together and says he's not a fan of bonding. -------

The coterie arrives at the meetup spot; They park near Harrison in the empty parking garage there, and Blake gives the Baron a recap of what just happened, and Percy adds that there are people who know the priest was out tonight. Harrison opens the trunk of the car so he can ask Father Williams some questions.

[Harrison puts his hand on the top of the trunk and leans over, looking the Father in the eyes. "Hi. You don't know me, and you don't need to. I don't know what's going to happen to you, except for the fact you and I are going to have a nice conversation."] Harrison says it doesn't matter if Williams doesn't want to talk (Percy notices Williams' eye twitches), and then says he wouldn't mind telling Harrison about the friends he mentioned, would he? Why was he here? Where was he planning to go after following Pauline?

Harrison is repeatedly asking these questions; Percy notices that William's heartbeat starts to get erratic, and that this is visibly taking a toll on him; The Ventrue, while largely unbothered by this, comments that Harrison should stop before he pushes the Father past his breaking point with whatever he's doing.

["Oh, they recover. They always do."]

Blake and Leo are visibly creeped out by this whole thing.

Harrison mentions he might have better luck with Williams tomorrow, and the priest manages to swear at him. Harrison laughs- It's a cold laugh, with hints of a businessman and something more sinister, and he closes the trunk. He says he made the right choice giving the territory to the coterie, and the existence of hunters in the area has serious implications- he'll continue to interview Williams after getting him some medical attention. Blake asks if they should temporarily leave San Jose to try and get the hunters off their trail, or to stay in the city. Harrison responds that Pauline should lay low, but the rest of the coterie has just a chance of being followed either way.

He suggests they all meet back up on the 25th to discuss this matter again, but Blake says that won't work, reminding him it's Leo's first Christmas being dead. Harrison's like "oh yeah christmas exists, do you have plans??" and he's got an odd expression; he's doing his best to be genuine. Leo says he plans to visit his family- and if it helps it'll probably be the last time, and Blake's offered to go with him. They can probably be back at around the 26th or 27th.

Harrison's all "Well, it's a free country ig, anyway Leo did you think about the fact you might just lead vampire hunters directly to your family?" and Leo did Not, in fact, consider that, but tbh Harrison doesn't really care what he does as long as they can meet back up in a few days to discuss what he finds out from Williams.

Going back to that (as Pauline finally arrives), Harrison and Blake go over what was found in the car, and the Baron can make further arrangements to deal with all of it while the coterie is at Leo's home city.

Notes/Commentary:

Leo Was in fact speaking in little codes the whole time (friends of hunter, bonfires, taking a friend home, etc) but i didnt want to type all that tbh

Kay my beloved!!!! Leo is IMMEDIATELY concerned about them if anything bad happens to them I'll b so upset

Confirmed by ST that Williams asked Leo that vampire question bc he had a cross necklace!!!

I should mention during all of Leo's relays and requests Harrison was The Most Confused i've ever heard him. amazing

Props to Percy's player for making up an entire prayer?? So cool of them

Items from Banks: rosary beads, bible, vial of some liquid, wallet with no drivers license- no phone, but does have state ID

Receipts in the car?? I should have Leo check those out later.

The ST was all "hold on how long can someone be knocked out for" but i had that info On Hand. Memorized. That's not important at all I just wanted to mention that

Hi. Leo was more anxious than normal w/ Harrison, and I think the whole time in the back of his mind he was like "did i do a good job with this"

Dear God, Harrison. Are you using Dementation or something? Terrifying (ALSO HEY HAVE YOU DONE THIS BEFORE—)

Rare Harrison W?!? In the sense he's letting my son visit his family??

WE'RE HEADED TO CHICAGO BABEY! LETS GO IM SO WORRIED FOR MY SON LMAO HES GONNA GAVE A HORRIBLE TIME THERE

If anything's happened to his family/sister im going to panic even more so than I already do in these sessions. dear god