Okay but. I wanted to see the impacts of class on the actions of the BAU in terms of law enforcement.
They touched on the way a few other life experiences (like gender and mental illness) affect the way the team views the profession and the unsubs, and I wish we really got to see that kind of conversation about the way poverty breeds violence in so many cases.
Particularly, the fact that the poor and destitute are victimized in the vast majority of cases, because their unsubs figure that these people are disposable and will not be missed.
Spencer grew up impoverished (post-William), and Derek and JJ were very lower-middle class, and they were under the command of Hotch and Emily (in Spencer & JJ’s case), who both grew up in wealth.
How does that feel?
How would it feel to stare the effects of poverty in the face, knowing that this decaying, mutilated sex worker photographed on the side of I-80 could so easily have been you, and being guided through it all by the children of millionaires, who, despite being empathetic people, will always be a world away from this dead woman?
How would it feel to grow up on government assistance, hustling poker to put food on your mentally ill mother’s table (caring for her as if she were your child), pushing yourself to excel academically among students six years your senior, because you know that your intellect is the only thing that can get you to college and help you take care of your mother, who is getting worse every day
and then after all of that, sit across a table from your close friend and colleague, born into wealth and given a $1000 monthly allowance well past the age you started paying for your mother’s institutionalization, who says with a smile that being a “bored socialite” was the fate she had feared while you were playing slot machines to buy milk?
How would it feel to spend years pouring your body and mind into a sport you don’t like because you know it’s the only way you’ll be able to make it out of your rural backwater town, perpetually running on four hours of sleep because you have to go to practices and you can’t let your grades slip, clawing your way up from pell grant student to trainee to media liaison
only to watch another woman (who has never worked for the Bureau) march into your boss’ office demanding a job better than the one you currently have, then watch her get that job the very next day, in part because your boss knows her parents from Yale?
How would it feel to lose your father at 12 and grow up with two siblings on a single mother’s income, silently dealing with your own horrific trauma as you push through school and work for the sports scholarship you so badly need and try to help provide for your family, working tirelessly to pull yourself up out of the gutter by your bootstraps just like a good poor person should
only to spend your entire career playing second-fiddle to a white man who was born at the top? Working under him for more than a decade, knowing that you’re just as qualified as he is if not moreso?
They deal with people—victims and perpetrators alike—who have grown up in the most appalling conditions imaginable, and in all of these matters, it’s those who don’t understand who make the final calls.
Do they ever feel tiny twinges of sympathy for killers or their enablers when they hear about how they used to duck tape their shoes together and sleep three days on an empty stomach? Do they understand the anger these people? Does that scare them?
How does it feel to be told by a trust fund baby that the poor—drifters, sex workers, addicts—go missing so often that their deaths are just fundamentally not the same as a rich white woman being killed in her home? Do they think about how, with one car accident or broken arm, they themselves could have been on the streets, and wonder whether their deaths would be alarming enough to warrant investigation?
At what point do they realize that they are looking at these cases from behind a line they had to fight tooth and nail to cross, and that their superiors can never understand, because they were born on this side of the line?
I’m not saying this to diminish the childhood trauma that Hotch and Emily did have—abuse, abortion at 15, and toxic parents are obviously terrible and profoundly impactful in different ways—but poverty is such a unique kind of experience that I think it begs unique conversation.
There are some things you’ll just never understand if you’ve never been hungry.
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Hotch and Rossi have no excuse being such bland and poorly written characters. They’re middle-aged white men, tv writers have been doing those since the beginning of cinema.
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tw: guns mention, slight suicide reference
It’s now 11:13pm and I’m thinking about how iconic but also kinda sad people’s responses to Hotch displaying vulnerability were.
Hotch: *talking about how he’s not at home enough and he’s always running out of time, and so is their unsub and he relates which is never good*
Gideon: great so if you were the unsub what would you do?
Hotch: It’s MY FAULT THEY’RE DEAD!
Rossi: cool, so here’s my gun.
Hotch: There are many ways for sons to defeat their fathers…
Reid: I just get more PhD’s. :)
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garcia: spencer my head hurts
spencer: okay, and?
garcia: well you’re the resident genius, tell me what’s wrong with me. i’d use web md but they’re gonna tell me i have like three days to live
spencer: garcia i told you the last time you came to me for a stomach ache that i’m not that kind of doctor
garcia: ):
spencer, sighing: tell me when it started
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The fact that there are about 4 of us who ship Hotch and Morgan for no real reason other than we want to…. <3 I happy.
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Raise your hand if you're a part of the "I love writting/reading Hotch getting emotionally and physically harmed but then giving him a happy ending" club.
✋✋✋
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"why were you in the bathroom so long" i was confronting my individuality and sense of self. my disconnect from physicality strikes me every time i look in the mirror. also i slipped and hit my head on the towel rack
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