#Job Analysis Methods

[thehrhelpboard]

The Essentials of Job Analysis: A Comprehensive Overview

Job analysis is a critical process in human resource management that involves systematically studying a job to determine its duties, responsibilities, necessary skills, and the environment in which it is performed. This analysis provides essential insights that help organizations optimize their workforce, improve recruitment strategies, and enhance employee satisfaction. In this article, we will explore the significance of job analysis, various methods used to conduct it, and the benefits it offers to both employees and organizations.

The Importance of Job Analysis

Clarifying Roles and Responsibilities Job analysis plays a vital role in clearly defining the expectations and responsibilities associated with a particular position. By outlining what a job entails, organizations help employees understand their roles better. This clarity reduces confusion and ensures that everyone is aligned on expectations, leading to improved job performance and satisfaction.

Enhancing Recruitment and Selection A well-executed job analysis provides the foundation for creating accurate job descriptions and specifications. These documents are crucial for attracting qualified candidates during the recruitment process. By identifying the essential skills and qualifications required for a job, organizations can tailor their recruitment strategies to find the best fit for each role.

Supporting Performance Management Job analysis contributes to effective performance management by establishing clear performance criteria. When performance appraisals are based on well-defined job responsibilities, it becomes easier to assess employee contributions objectively. This structured approach allows for more targeted feedback and development discussions, promoting continuous improvement.

Informing Training and Development Understanding the specific skills and competencies required for each job enables organizations to design targeted training programs. By identifying gaps in knowledge or skills, employers can provide employees with the resources they need to grow and excel in their roles. This targeted development enhances employee capabilities and, in turn, boosts overall organizational performance.

Establishing Compensation Structures Job analysis is crucial for developing fair and equitable compensation systems. By evaluating the responsibilities and requirements of each position, organizations can ensure that salaries are aligned with job complexity and market standards. This transparency in compensation can help attract and retain top talent while reducing the risk of internal inequities.

Methods of Job Analysis

Organizations can employ various methods to conduct job analysis, each with its own advantages:

Interviews One-on-one or group interviews with employees and supervisors can provide rich qualitative data about job responsibilities and functions. This method allows for in-depth discussions that can uncover nuances in job duties that may not be captured through other methods.

Questionnaires and Surveys Standardized questionnaires can be an efficient way to gather information from a larger group of employees. These surveys often include a mix of closed and open-ended questions, enabling both quantitative and qualitative analysis of job tasks and skills.

Observation Directly observing employees as they perform their tasks offers firsthand insights into job functions and workflows. This method can be particularly effective for jobs involving specific physical tasks or interactions, providing a clear view of the work environment.

Job Diaries Asking employees to maintain a log of their daily activities can yield detailed information about job responsibilities, time management, and the skills utilized throughout the day. This method captures a more accurate representation of the job over time.

Focus Groups Conducting focus groups with employees allows for collaborative discussions about job roles. This approach encourages dialogue and can help identify common challenges and insights that may not emerge from individual interviews.

Benefits of Job Analysis

The advantages of conducting a thorough job analysis extend to both employees and organizations:

Increased Job Satisfaction When employees have a clear understanding of their roles and responsibilities, they tend to experience higher job satisfaction. Knowing what is expected fosters a sense of purpose and achievement.

Informed Decision-Making Accurate job analysis provides data-driven insights that support various HR decisions, from hiring to promotions and performance evaluations. Organizations can make better choices based on a thorough understanding of job requirements.

Enhanced Efficiency Clearly defined roles help reduce redundancy and improve team efficiency. When everyone understands their responsibilities, teams can collaborate more effectively, leading to increased productivity.

Effective Succession Planning Job analysis aids in identifying the skills and competencies needed for future leadership roles. This foresight allows organizations to develop talent internally, ensuring a pipeline of qualified candidates for critical positions.

Compliance and Risk Management A well-documented job analysis process can help organizations adhere to labor laws and regulations. By ensuring that job descriptions accurately reflect duties and qualifications, companies can mitigate legal risks associated with employment practices.

Conclusion

Job analysis is a foundational element of effective human resource management that influences various organizational functions. By systematically identifying job responsibilities and required competencies, organizations can enhance recruitment, performance management, training, and compensation strategies. As the workplace continues to evolve, maintaining a robust job analysis process is essential for ensuring that organizations are well-equipped to meet the changing demands of the workforce while maximizing employee engagement and productivity. Through thorough job analysis, organizations can create a work environment that fosters growth, clarity, and satisfaction for all employees.

[floraleevee]

!!!!!!!!

[hellooldshame]

Empirical Analysis

Mark Grayson x Reader smut 🔞

Synopsis: You're absolutely fascinated by how fast Mark Grayson heals. Mark is more than happy to indulge you in your science experiment. AKA You both get horny while realizing you might have some sadomasochistic tendencies.

Word count: 2.8k words

CW: MDNI 🔞 NSFW, barely any porn to warrant all that plot, biting, (attempted) marking, scratching, bottom!-ish Mark that is technically more switchy, Reader on top, lots of grinding now that I think about it, outercourse, masochist!Mark, y/n's awakening sadism. Not beta read, never beta read.

Idea taken from @clairewritesfanfics and their smart atoms talk. I think I got carried away.

A/N: This made me rewatch Invincible so I can write bouncing on him

Bullets, bombs, and most explosives barely leave scuff marks. A knife gets bent and most weapons break on impact. Punches work though. Bludgeoning damage makes him bleed out his mouth or break his nose. Which absolutely baffles you to no end. Granted, the people hitting him were strong. Like, really really strong, but it wasn't like he was hurt when a reinforced boot smacked him square on the jaw.

Mark Grayson and the limits of his invulnerability were an enigma to you. As one of the many many scientists working in the GDA, you were tasked with understanding Viltrumite physiology. How they heal, what could hurt them, if they could be hurt at all. Admittedly, the job was fun when Cecil wasn't hounding you for the reports that you barely did.

Despite your job, you didn't like exploiting the poor guy. This was purely... curiosity to be honest. A very morbid part of yourself would have loved to dissect that pretty face and see how he ticked. The reasonable part of you reminded yourself how a scalpel would sooner turn to dust before it pierced his skin.

Once, you had slapped him across the face—the moment was heated and sometimes he just said things that would really piss you off. Regardless, his shoulders had jerked and his face turned in the direction your hand swung. Despite his parted lips from the shock and the stinging on your palm, there was barely any warmth on his cheek. Of course, regular human strength could only do so much to a guy who was safe from a stabbing. But the look on his face and the rising heat on his cheek only after the moment had registered made you want to test things further.

For Science! You had claimed all too enthusiastically when you tried to persuade him. Emphasizing even that everything would be "off the record" and "never to be used against him." You meant that promise too. And maybe Mark believed the conviction in your voice because he seemed just as excited when he agreed. For the sake of science.

Now, the scientific method would tell you that empirical evidence was important. Which is why you had to take a very hands-on approach in this experiment. Yes, science never said anything about taking Mark to your bed and straddling him—a notebook by his head and your butt pressed comfortably on his pelvis—while you collected data but this was necessary!

Firstly, you needed a private place so it was off-record. Ergo, why you did this at your place. Second, it was only polite to have your test subject comfortable as you measured his pain tolerance. Obviously, the most comfortable place that would fit him lying down would be your bed. And lastly, you were straddled because you needed to observe every detail and walking around a queen sized bed took too much time.

It was all very rational.

And besides, Mark was way too pretty for you to not at least get a bit of a good look at him. You had the best seat in the house. Mark Grayson, under you, body sunken slightly into your plush sheets, chest rising and falling nervously in an uneven stutter. Inhaling deep to even his breath, the release too quick and shuddering to calm himself down. It was understandable that he was nervous, being scrutinized so intently.

Big brown eyes stared up at you through his lashes and the light from your window hit his eyes just right to see the pattern of his iris. The swirls and webbing that made up the varying shades of mahogany and maple. If you stared long enough, you could see the tremble of it, how his pupils dilate. You might have stared at it for a moment too long.

"Uhm- I'm ready," a shaky voice spoke up, those same eyes blinking, unsure now if this was a good idea. Granted, he had his own ulterior motives, but the long silence had him thinking too hard. His initial motivations clouded by doubt and worry. What if you lied about keeping this a secret? Was he sure you weren't planning to dissect him? What if you realized he also had intentions beyond helping in your experiment? That maybe he wanted to feel the way your hands snap against his skin aga-

"Alright," you nodded, reaching down. You could've sworn Mark held his breath when your hand hovered near his face to grab the notebook. Pages flutter across until you settled on an empty sheet, scribbling the time and date of the experiment. "You sure I'm not too heavy? I can adjust."

The question was more out of courtesy than concern, knowing he could bench entire icebergs. A part of you also hoped to stay seated, the warmth beneath you quite cozy. The quick nod and mumbled 'mhm mhm' was all you needed before beginning your experiment.

"Mind if you," you gestured to his shirt, wanting to have as much skin to work with.

Mark looks down, eyes wide as if he was surprised he wasn't already undressed. "Oh- yeah, hold on," hands that were unconsciously gripping the sheets moved to tug his shirt off in one motion. Hurried movements turn clumsy and a rip is heard before you see the hole between the collar and the rest of his shirt. His head was still trapped, indents on his face pressed on the fabric as he fumbled to get free. "Shit, wait just-"

Your hands were quick and careful in helping him take off his shirt. It was hard to bite back a laugh and you were certain you were making a face when you tried to hold back the smirk and snicker. A quick tug , the shirt was off, and your hands felt warm against his chest. You had always been heavy handed and even now you exerted more than the necessary effort to push him back to lie down. As expected, there was resistance when you pressed down but he had fallen back so quickly someone would have thought you knocked him down.

"Try to relax," you whisper, trying to come off as soothing but the husk in your voice makes it sound sultry. Not that you noticed. Mark did though, felt his stomach flip and his muscles did the opposite of what you instructed. "I won't be using tools since the running theory right now is that physical contact seems to work better."

The lump in his throat bobbed when your hand touched his chest and fingers spread to try and get a feel. Trying to decide where to start. Your hands were cold compared to how warm he felt. And they would not stop roaming. The tips of your fingers pressed and prodded, pushing down as hard as you can and leaving the faintest red mark as blood rushes to where you'd applied pressure. So it wasn't like his skin was hard steel. You pinch the skin at his sides and he flinches.

"Ow- hey," the yelp came out automatically, the feeling reminiscent of being tickled or poked at the side. He figured he should let you know lest you mistake that for damage dealt. "That tickled more than hurt."

A nod and quick "noted" was your only response before continuing. The process was slow but you needed to cover all your bases. One hand moved to write notes, your body leaning forward and closer to him. The view was nice and the boy in him couldn't help but glance, ogle really, at the gap between your shirt pulled by gravity and the torso hiding underneath. Nice.

Your other hand began dragging nails across his bare chest and that brought his attention back to you. Normally, for some people at least, scratching just hard enough would leave white or raised lines. You definitely feel skin dragging against your nails but see no indication that you'd done anything. Somehow, you don't notice how his diaphragm contracts and stays there when he holds his breath. Eyes too trained on the contact between your nails and his skin to see his lips trembling. You inform him that you were going to apply more pressure.

Nothing hurt, not right now at least. But the sensation of your cold hands on his skin felt refreshing. Especially against his warm skin. Then your nails scratched his skin just right that he'd nearly hummed in satisfaction. He started wondering if you could break skin when he felt you dig into him. He could almost convince himself that you were strong enough to do it.

There was just something so disarming about you on top of him. Watching him with such fascination that he felt completely exposed. Like he had no choice but to surrender under you. Your eyes wide with curiosity, your nails dragging against him heavily. Sharp, steady, trying so hard to cut-

A stuttered gasp choked in his throat, breaking his thoughts as the stinging registered in his mind. You looked equally surprised to see the scratch on his pec, like red dotted lines outlined in white. A thumb tentatively pressed on the slash and Mark couldn't stop his lips from parting for the broken whine to escape.

Now, you were never one to bask in other people's pain, so you decided to blame his squirming hip jerks.  The way the firm bulge in his pants rubbed up between your legs, the pleasure it shot straight up your spine coupled with that little cry was almost pavlovian. A professional would have gotten up and saved him the discomfort of having something so sensitive be put under pressure. A certain someone doing this out of the lab had decided it felt really nice when you sat yourself down firmly.

Mark was strong, you wouldn't be able to hold him down on your weight alone and by that breathless whimper, it seemed like he was okay with the way you readjusted and slid yourself against the hill on his pelvis. It was especially nice when he'd squirm underneath you, clumsy friction rubbing between you as your finger pressed harder on the wound. Your eyes nearly rolled back as you got lost in the slow carousel ride before he sighed out and finally relaxed.

Close. So close. Beneath your thumb was smooth skin, pristine and unblemished. Wide eyes stared at the newly formed skin and he swore he saw your gaze twinkle. He had healed. So fast, yet you couldn't help but miss the choked whines as he struggled to cope with the pain. You had expected him to have better tolerance than that but perhaps having tiny cuts compared to gashes and bruises felt different.

Mark inhaled lightly, breath finally steady as the stinging pain subsided and he wasn't forced to focus between his chest and the rubbing on his erection. "A-ah..." his voice cracked as you dug your nails in again and left three pretty scratches in your wake. Your eye twitched as you struggled to keep your gaze trained on him when his hips bucked again. Seeing the red flesh peek out had you holding back from leaning down and dragging your tongue over it. You needed to see it yourself.

A part of you was impatient, needing to observe every detail of his healing abilities. The other part was impatient for other things as you fidgeted. Hips rocking slowly only to incite tight-lipped grunts when you pressed on the open wound again. You don't know when his hands made their way to your sides, just that you were now pressed firmly enough that you couldn't lift up.

Then his hands grip and direct your lower half, moving you back and forth in his pace. You feel that ticklish sensation between your legs again as you watch skin merge back together, too fast to leave even a scab. Lips that had curled into an enthralled grin trembled when your eyes fluttered and the body below you lifted up slightly, pushing up as you were pressed down.

You looked good. Like, really good when you were watching him. Something almost manic in your eyes when you saw his body heal in real time. It made him go crazy thinking about what you probably wanted to do to him. The ill intent in your gaze as the corner of your lips twitched upwards in morbid interest, showing your teeth. It looked just as good when your eyes lost focus as he had you hump him, mouth hanging open to let out a surprisingly pleased moan.

The pleasure seemed to cloud any logic or reasoning left in you because you had forgotten to explain the next steps. No, you wanted to get straight to it apparently as you leaned down. Wordlessly, your chest pressed against his and if he wasn't holding onto you, you might have slipped off. Lips inched closer to his neck and your warm breath wafted against his already heated skin.

His eyes fluttered closed, expecting lips or a tongue to touch his neck. Instead, he felt pointed canines before you took a hard bite.  His hips stuttered mid grind, once again caught off guard by your actions. His groans matched yours as you found yourself enjoying the sounds and sensations of grinding your teeth against his collarbone. You knew he was sturdy and the fact he got off on your teeth rather than recoil only spurred you to clamp down harder. 

Nails dug into his shoulders as you held onto him. Hips gyrated and bucked against each other, your clothed sexes edging closer and closer to what you both needed. Mark couldn't take much more as he sat up, dipping you onto your mattress as he held onto your thighs and had you wrap your legs around him.

You didn't seem to relent either as your jaw refused to unclench. Not that it mattered to him. Moans muffled behind your teeth, hot air hitting his neck in quick puffs from your breathing. That and the faint ache on his skin had him rutting harder against you.

Strong hands moved up, stopping at your waist as a careful yet firm grip held you in place. Then he thrusted forward again, the movement quick and desperate and needy. He needed it, really really bad. Wanted it as much as you, whose attention was being taken away by the growing intensity of the body dry humping you. Jaw and abdomen equally as tight.

A stuttering slam against your pelvis has you seeing stars and you finally unclench your jaw to cry out. The crash of pleasure has you bucking back up into him and if that didn't do him in, the long scratches down his back and your legs locking him sungly into you does.

Mark collapses on top of you, spent and breathless and you both have most likely needed a change of clothes. Vision hazy, you try to crane your neck and see the damage you should have dealt on his collarbone. The disappointment on your face could be seen a mile away.

Despite your best efforts and rattling you'd felt in your teeth, all you had to show for it was indents from your canines. Already raising back up as if it had never happened.

"I nearly lost a tooth for nothing," you mutter, saving the fact you wanted to leave a mark at all to unpack for another day. A breathy laugh came from beside your head, feeling the vibrations against your chest. His hair tickled your cheek as her turned to look at you, eyes twinkling in the afterglow of climax.

"I mean, it's not bullshit that I'm called-"

A/N: yeah ofc I'd make that fuckass joke.

I haven't written in a good 2 years or so and have drafts before the pandemic for other fics (they're on Wattpad do you understand what type of person I am now). I didn't mean to make reader a lil biology freak but that was fun.

[radiotheradio]

It is a lil crazy how literally all the Beasts are depressed and lonely, just in their own little special ways. They had authority thrust upon them with no chance to choose it- no chance to say no. And when they inevitably became corrupted, they never really got the chance to just be themselves, did they? They never actually realized they could relinquish their power, or at least take a vacation- just for a little while. They just changed their methods of their regimes. I wonder- has any of them actually considered the option? Were any of them punished for trying to find a successor?

My interpretation of their plights:

Shadow Milk: Endlessly explaining and educating with no genuine appreciation- worship, sure, but not understanding. To be loved is to be known, and who could meet the Fount of Knowledge in that regard? So, he started to not be as genuine, and got even more worship for it. He realized that no one actually loved him for who he was, but what he could teach them. He was tired, and all his work seemed for naught. Thus, he started to toy with people, make them act like how he wanted, not the other way around. Still, he did not find love here.

Burning Spice: He loved overseeing the evolution of the land, culture, ecosystems, and societies. However, when he would get attached, something would always change, always lead to the downfall of the places and people he treasured. Not only that, but starting from the beginning over and over and over again is enough to drive anyone insane. He was tired, and all his work seemed for naught. So, why not enjoy the chaos? Why not submerge himself in the mania? If all was going to fall eventually, he might as well actually enjoy it. Still, he did not find satisfaction here.

Mystic Flour: Guiding people through their wants and convictions is a tough job. Even more so when they’re asking her to do all the work. She granted whatever was asked of her- if there was something someone truly desired, then all they needed to do was take the first step, and she would help them along the way. Overtime, she noticed cookies always wanting more, and disregarding her as soon as they were satisfied- did her effort mean nothing to them? Did her conviction to their betterment go completely unnoticed? Did they even know what they actually wanted? They keep changing their minds, coming back for more, never satisfied. Did they ever consider what she wanted? She was tired, and all her work seemed for naught. She found rest, however unsatisfying, in not caring anymore. They never cared, so why should she? Still, she did not find comfort here- just an absence of the pain.

Eternal Sugar: All she ever wanted was people to be happy. Yet, others kept choosing paths that would stress them, harm them, break them. She certainly wasn’t happy when all her dearly loved companions continued to suffer. Every time she loved, every time it seemed like she would be safe, surely they’ll stay this time, all her friends, companions, and lovers would be eventually ripped away from her. What’s worse- they chose those paths! Didn’t they know she loved them?! Why would they abandon her! Hadn’t she done enough?! Wasn’t… she… enough? She was tired, and all her work seemed for naught. If they were always going to choose to leave, she simply wouldn’t leave them a choice. They’d see- they were better off with her, and she was better off with them. Still, she would not find happiness here. If someone didn’t have a choice to love you, then they never loved you at all.

Silent Salt: we do not know them yet and I will update with an analysis when we do.

The biggest difference between the Ancients and the Beasts will always be that the Ancients chose their mantle- I fear the Beasts did not. We’ve seen all the Ancients run away from their responsibilities and failures. Can you imagine how painful it would be if you didn’t even get a choice? They became tired, and all their work seemed for naught. Work they didn’t even want anymore. Still, their actions did not lead to happiness, love, understanding, or community. They just traded one pain for another.

[emeraldserenade]

hii!! i have a request for joaquin :) reader is joaquin’s wife that he told bucky & sam abt but they thought he was lying and she eventually meets them in person & they’re shocked 🩵🩵

Real ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: Sam and Bucky never thought you were real, until you were in their eyesight.

tw: fem!reader, FBI!reader, limited use of y/n, barely edited

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Hi Reese, I hope you like this! If you've seen Criminal Minds, then you know what a profiler is and that's the job I gave her. I also didn't know how to end this so sorry for the odd ending.

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It wasn't uncommon for Joaquín to talk about you, your name and the words "my girl", "my wife," or "amor de mi vida" tumbling from his lips like you were the goddess he worshipped. It wouldn't surprise anyone who saw the two of you together if he did worship you, he looked at you like you made the world go round. And you did the same, the love you two had for each other made your own world go round.

Bucky and Sam though? They have never seen you, they've heard about you. Joaquín spending any time he can talking about you, about your smile, the way you hold yourself, anything he could think of was mentioned. That's why the two of them were convinced you were fake, they had never met you, let alone see a picture, yet he was always talking like he was trying to convince them you were real.

"Are you sure the kid isn't lying?" Bucky questioned Sam one day, they were all waiting on you. You said your plane was running behind because your 'case' had run a little longer than expected.

"Why would he set this whole thing up if he is?" Sam tried to defend Joaquín at any chance he could. While he didn't particularly believe you were real, he wanted to give Joaquín the benefit of the doubt.

"Oh, she's here!" Joaquín announced, bouncing on the balls of his feet waiting for you to appear. It only took a moment, then you were in his eyesight. He made a beeline to you, the mostly empty airport helped him not having to weave through people.

To say Sam and Bucky were shocked was an understatement. They assumed, had you been real, that you were going to be pretty. But this was something else, you looked ethereal and they understood by Joaquín basically worshipped you. It didn't help that they saw the way you looked at Joaquín, the amount of love that could never be faked.

"Sam, Bucky, this is y/n, my wife," Joaquín introduced you to the others and you shook their hands.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you two," your eyes twinkled with your smile, your genuine happiness at meeting them making them both feel at ease around you.

"Likewise," Sam was the first to recover, his shock still evident on his face.

"You two thought I was fake," you announced and watched them both scramble for an excuse. "It's ok, my job doesn't really allow me to be around as often as I'd like," you admitted, pressing into Joaquín's side.

"And what do you do for work? I'm pretty sure I could tell you your own favorite color before your job," Bucky joked, you laughed knowing that Joaquín would tell someone your favorite color before your job.

"I'm a profiler at the FBI's behavioral analysis unit," you explained. "I use the behavior pattern, method of murder, and a whole other things to find serial killers. And the occasional kidnap or bioweapon attack," you gave them the longer answer to the question since most people tend to not know what the BAU is. The four of you started to walk out of the airport and to the car, Joaquín holding your bag for you.

It wasn't anything new, the looks you got when you walked with Joaquín but these one's made you smile. You were talking with the boys, getting to know them as you talked. It was fun, you noticed that Joaquín was quiet most of the time but you also knew that with the drinks he would soon be talking, a lot.

"I love you," Joaquín mumbled as he leaned into you, you glanced at him with a smile. "Sam, Bucky, have I ever told you how much I love y/n?" Joaquín looked over at the two. You laughed at the way he tried to make it subtle but with the way he was leaning on you, and his not so quiet whispering, you could hear all his words.

"All the time," Sam answered.

"What about how when she smiles it's like time stops and the world is just revolving around her?" Joaquín had moved to wrap his arm around you, but was still stage whispering.

"That one's new," Bucky said, a smile gracing his face.

"Or, or, when I was immediately drawn to her laugh at the college party. She was playing beer pong and she laughed when her friend missed," Joaquín retold the story of the first time he saw you; however, you've never heard it.

"I didn't know that," you told Joaquín who looked at you weirdly.

"You didn't?" Sam was the one to ask.

"No, if I have the right party, then we didn't meet until a few days later in a shared class. We just happened to sit next to each other the one day that the professor made us pick our partner based on who was next to us," you explained, looking down at Joaquín who was staring at you with heart eyes.

"Well, we didn't know that one either," Sam told you and you smiled and let out a little laugh. You four talked a little bit more before Joaquín started to just ramble about how much he loved you.

"I guess we should get going," you laughed after one particularly loud declaration of love from Joaquín followed by a kiss to your cheek.

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Masterlist | Requests

[prentissmultiverse]

No Strings to Hold Us - part I

You are distracted by your boss, Emily Prentiss, who stirs something inside you with the habit of licking her lips. Emily, aware of the effect she has, toys with you and one thing leads to another. tw: smut, age gap, power dynamics part II and part III

(words: 5474)

The bullpen was unusually quiet as the team filtered into the conference room, files in hand and tension crackling in the air. Another case, another unsub to catch. You slid into your seat at the round table, trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible. Being the youngest member of the BAU, you still felt like you had to prove yourself every day, even though you knew you were damn good at your job.

Emily Prentiss stood at the head of the table, commanding everyone’s attention effortlessly. Her presence was magnetic—controlled, dominant, and sharp as a razor. Her salt-and-pepper hair framed her face perfectly, a mixture of maturity and elegance that left you speechless more often than you’d like to admit. And then there was her habit—the one that had started to ruin you in every meeting: the way she licked her lips when she was deep in thought.

It was subtle, almost absentminded, as if she didn’t even realize she was doing it. But every time her tongue darted out to wet her lips, your stomach did a little somersault, and your concentration went straight out the window.

"Alright," Emily began, her voice smooth and authoritative. "This unsub has escalated over the last three months. Six victims, all within a 50-mile radius, each killed in a similar fashion. This means we’re likely dealing with someone organized, methodical, and—" She paused, tilting her head slightly as she flipped through the case file, her sharp eyes scanning the pages. And then it happened.

She licked her lips.

It wasn’t deliberate—it never was. Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip just enough to catch the light. Your pulse quickened, heat rising to your face as your focus wavered. God, did she even know how that looked? How it felt to watch her do something so simple, so unintentionally seductive?

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, gripping the edge of the table as you tried to ground yourself. Emily continued speaking, completely unaware of the effect she was having on you—or at least, you thought she was. Her tone was steady, her posture commanding, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes when she glanced your way. Amusement, maybe? No, you were probably imagining it.

“Y/L/N.” Her voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you jolted slightly in your chair. “What do you think the unsub’s next move might be?”

You blinked, your brain scrambling to catch up. “Uh… well, um…” You cleared your throat, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. “Given the escalation pattern and the fact that the last victim was found near a transportation hub, it’s possible the unsub is planning to expand their hunting ground. They might feel emboldened enough to target someone in a more populated area.”

Emily’s lips curved into a small, approving smile, and your stomach flipped again. “Good. I want you to follow up on that lead with Garcia. See if there’s any surveillance footage we can use to track movements near the crime scenes.”

You nodded quickly, grateful for the opportunity to escape her gaze. “Yes, ma’am.”

The meeting continued, but you couldn’t focus. Not when Emily leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled as she listened to Tara’s analysis. Not when she licked her lips again—this time slower, as if she was savoring the thought of whatever brilliant deduction she was about to make. It made your cheeks burn, and you dropped your gaze to your file, pretending to take notes.

By the time the meeting ended, your nerves were frayed. You gathered your things quickly, hoping to slip out before anyone noticed how flustered you were. But as you reached the door, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/L/N.” Emily’s tone was firm but not unkind, and you turned slowly to face her. She stood just a few feet away, her dark eyes studying you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“Yes, ma’am?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Her lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Good work today. You’ve got a sharp mind, even if you’re a little… distracted at times.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was that a double entendre, or were you reading too much into it? “Thank you,” you mumbled, clutching your file like a lifeline.

Emily’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she nodded, her expression shifting back to one of professional detachment. “Get those leads to Garcia.”

You nodded quickly and hurried out of the room, your mind racing. As you walked away, you couldn’t help but wonder if Emily Prentiss was as oblivious to her effect on you as you thought—or if she was perfectly aware and enjoyed watching you squirm.

You spent the rest of the day in Garcia’s office, burying yourself in surveillance footage and databases, hoping the work would distract you from the lingering heat in your chest. But no matter how hard you tried, your thoughts kept circling back to Emily.

The way she stood at the head of the table, commanding attention with such ease. The way she smiled, so rare and deliberate, like a reward for those lucky enough to earn it. And, of course, the way her lips moved when she spoke, the soft, unconscious gestures that seemed designed to drive you insane.

By the time you emerged out of Garcia’s office, your head was spinning. You sat down at your desk, wanting to sum up the info you and Garcia found. After some moments you looked up, seeing Emily sitting at her desk, her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

You hesitated, unsure if you should interrupt. She was engrossed in a file, her brow furrowed in concentration. And then—of course—it happened again. She licked her lips slowly and you felt that same maddening twist in your stomach.

This was ridiculous. You were a professional—a damn good one, at that. You couldn’t let something as simple as a habit distract you. Resolving to pull yourself together, you knocked softly on her doorframe.

Emily glanced up, her dark eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, her expression was unreadable, and then her lips curved into that faint, knowing smile. “Agent Y/L/N. What can I do for you?”

You stepped inside, clutching your file tightly. “I wanted to give you an update. Garcia and I reviewed the footage, and we found a car that matches the description of one seen near the second and third crime scenes. She’s running the plates now.”

“Good work,” Emily said, leaning back in her chair. She took off her glasses and set them on the desk, her gaze never leaving yours. “Anything else?”

You shook your head, suddenly feeling self-conscious under her scrutiny. “No, ma’am. That’s it.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying you in that way she always did, as if she could see right through you. “You seemed a little off in the meeting earlier,” she said, her tone casual but probing. “Everything alright?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was she calling you out? You forced yourself to meet her gaze, even though the intensity of it made your skin tingle. “Yes, ma’am. I’m fine. Just… focused on the case.”

Her smile widened ever so slightly, and there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Focused, huh?” she said, her voice dropping to a lower, almost teasing register. “You sure about that?”

Your throat went dry. “I—uh—yes, ma’am,” you stammered, your face burning. “Completely focused.”

The bullpen had emptied out, the rest of the team heading home to get some much-needed rest. You stayed behind, hoping the quiet would help you focus, but every time you tried to concentrate, your mind wandered back to Emily.

And then, as if summoned by your thoughts, you heard footsteps. Your stomach twisted as Emily appeared from around the corner, holding a file in one hand and her coffee mug in the other. Her blouse was unbuttoned just enough to drive you insane, and the loose strands of her hair framed her face in a way that felt almost too casual, too intimate for the professional distance you were supposed to maintain.

“Still here?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she walked toward you. Her voice was smooth and low, cutting through the silence like a knife.

You nodded, unable to look directly at her. “Yes, ma’am. Just… finishing up.”

Emily hummed softly, setting her coffee mug down on the edge of your desk. “You’re dedicated. I admire that.” She leaned against the desk again, her posture casual but her presence overwhelming. “But you’ve been distracted the last days.”

The words hit you like a brick wall. There was no way to avoid it now. You looked up at her, your heart pounding. “I… I’m sorry if it seemed that way. I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop,” she said, cutting you off with a raised hand. Her voice was firm but not unkind. “I’m not chastising you, Y/L/N. I’m just… curious.”

You blinked, your mind racing. “Curious?”

Emily tilted her head slightly, studying you with those piercing dark eyes. “You’re a good agent,” she said softly. “Sharp, focused, intuitive. But it felt like your mind was somewhere else. Or maybe… on someone else.”

The air between you crackled with tension. Was she implying what you thought she was implying? You struggled to form a coherent response.

“I—uh—no, ma’am, I was just—”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Y/N, I’ve been doing this job for a long time. I can read people better than they’d like. And right now, I’m reading you.”

You froze, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break through your ribs. Emily’s gaze was steady, unwavering, and you felt completely exposed under her scrutiny.

“You’ve been watching me all day,” she continued, her tone soft but laced with unmistakable intent. “I could feel it in the briefing, in my office, even across the bullpen. Am I wrong?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but no words came out. The truth was right there, hanging between you, and there was no point in pretending anymore.

“I…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just… you…”

Emily’s lips curved into that maddeningly knowing smile, and she leaned in even closer, her face just inches from yours. “Me?” she prompted, her voice teasing. “What about me?”

Your breath hitched, your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and desire. “You… you’re distracting,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “The way you—your presence—it’s… hard to ignore.”

For a moment, Emily didn’t say anything. She just stared at you, her expression unreadable. And then, to your shock, she smirked—like she’d just confirmed something she’d suspected all along.

“Is that so?” she murmured, her voice low and dangerous. “Well, that’s… interesting.”

Before you could respond, she straightened and walked around to your side of the desk. You turned in your chair to face her, your pulse racing as she leaned down, bracing her hands on the armrests. The proximity was almost unbearable; you could see every detail of her face, feel the warmth of her breath.

“You should’ve said something sooner,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I could’ve… helped you focus.”

Your breath caught in your throat as her words sank in. Was she serious? Or was this just another game, another test? Either way, you were utterly powerless to stop the way your body responded to her.

“I—” you started, but the words died on your lips as Emily leaned in, her face so close that you could feel the heat of her skin. For a moment, you thought she might kiss you, but instead, she shifted slightly, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered:

“Do you want me to stop?”

The question sent a shiver down your spine, and you clenched the arms of your chair, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. Every instinct told you this was dangerous, that you were crossing a line you could never uncross. But in that moment, all you could think about was her—her voice, her touch, her overwhelming presence.

“No,” you whispered, barely able to get the word out.

As Emily leaned back, her tongue darted out to lick her lips in that maddeningly way she always did. Your eyes flicked to the movement, helpless to stop yourself, and when you looked back at her, she was watching you with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

Her gaze was sharp and calculated, every flicker of emotion on your face seemingly absorbed and cataloged. There was something unnervingly predatory about the way she looked at you, a slight curve to her lips that wasn’t quite a smile—it was something darker, something laced with triumph. She leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms, and regarded you in silence for a moment that stretched too long.

“You’re coming with me,” she said finally, her voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You blinked, your mind still trying to catch up. “To…?”

She smirked, tilting her head just slightly, her dark eyes never leaving yours. “Home. My home.”

Her words sent a jolt through you, and you swallowed hard, your pulse racing. “Are you serious?”

Emily pushed off the desk with a languid grace, stepping closer to you. “I don’t say things I don’t mean,” she said, her voice low and even. “You’ve had a long day, and so have I. And judging by the way you’ve been looking at me—” her tongue flicked out briefly to wet her lips, and your stomach clenched, “—I think we could help each other.”

“Help each other?” you echoed, your voice trembling slightly.

Her smirk deepened, and she stepped even closer, her body just inches from yours. “You’re touch-starved, Y/N,” she said bluntly, her tone tinged with a knowing amusement. “And so am I. This doesn’t have to be anything more than what it is. Just two people fulfilling a need. Nothing serious.”

Your cheeks burned at her words, and you opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She was right, of course. Every stolen glance, every moment your breath hitched at the sound of her voice or the way she carried herself—it all betrayed you. And the way she said it, so matter-of-factly, left you feeling exposed in a way you couldn’t explain.

“I see the way you react,” Emily continued, her voice softening slightly, though it lost none of its edge. “Every time I do this…” She licked her lips again slowly, her eyes locking onto yours as if daring you to look away. Your breath hitched, and her smirk widened. “You’re so easy to read, Y/N. It’s almost endearing.”

“I—” you started, your voice shaky, but she silenced you with a single raised brow.

“Don’t overthink this,” she said firmly, her hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. Her touch was gentle, almost too much in contrast to her dominant energy. “We both want this. So, let’s stop pretending we don’t.”

Her confidence left you reeling, and before you could process it fully, she was pulling back. “Come on,” she said, her tone casual now, as though she hadn’t just unraveled you completely. “Let’s go.”

The drive to her house was a blur. Emily’s composure was unshakable, her hands steady on the wheel as she navigated the quiet streets, while you sat in silence, stealing glances at her and trying not to let your mind spiral. Every flick of her tongue across her lips, every shift of her posture, seemed calculated, designed to keep you on edge.

When you finally arrived, Emily led you inside with quiet confidence, closing the door behind you and leaning back against it for a moment. The air between you felt electric, charged with tension and anticipation. She crossed her arms, her gaze raking over you with a slowness that made your skin prickle.

“Still with me?” she asked, her voice low and teasing.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I’m here.”

Her smirk returned, and she pushed off the door, stepping toward you with the same predatory grace she’d shown earlier. “Good,” she murmured. “Because I think we’ve both waited long enough.”

As she reached you, her hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet hers. Her lips claimed yours in a kiss that was firm and demanding, her tongue teasing along your lower lip before slipping inside. The flicks of her tongue mirrored the way she licked her lips, and you couldn’t help but melt into her, your body pressing against hers as she took control.

“Bedroom,” Emily murmured against your lips, her voice rough, commanding.

You nodded wordlessly, letting her guide you. She stood, keeping you close as you stumbled toward her room. Her hands never left your body, steady and grounding as you entered the dimly lit space. It was exactly what you’d expect from her—minimal, clean, with just enough personal touches to feel lived-in. But you barely had time to take it in before Emily turned you around, pressing you against the closed door.

Emily’s hands were everywhere as she pressed you against the door, her lips devouring yours with a mixture of hunger and control that left you trembling. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, a dangerous mix of desire and need that neither of you could resist. Deep down, you knew how wrong this was—the power dynamics, the age gap, the impropriety of it all.

As if sensing your thoughts, Emily broke the kiss. “You don’t overthink this,” she said against your lips, her voice low and firm. “Not tonight.”

You nodded, your breath hitching as she moved her lips to your neck, nipping and sucking in a way that left you dizzy.

She pulled back, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “Bed. Now.”

Her voice was low, commanding, and you obeyed without hesitation, letting her guide you backward until your knees hit the mattress. You sank down, your heart pounding as she hovered over you, her dark eyes raking over your body with a look that made your stomach twist. Slowly, Emily began unbuttoning her blouse, her gaze never leaving yours. She wasn’t in a rush—this was a game to her, and she intended to savor every moment.

When the fabric slid off her shoulders, you couldn’t help but let your eyes trail over her. She was stunning, her confidence and poise radiating from every inch of her. Emily smirked, clearly enjoying the way you stared at her, and leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of your head.

“You look nervous,” she teased, her lips brushing against your cheek.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not nervous.”

“Liar,” she murmured, her lips trailing down your jaw. “But I like that. I like how you react to me.”

Her words sent a flush of heat through you, and your breath hitched as her hands moved to the hem of your shirt. “Can I?” she asked, her voice soft but firm.

You nodded, unable to form words, and she pulled your shirt over your head in one smooth motion. Her hands skimmed over your bare skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. She took her time exploring, her fingers brushing over your shoulders, your collarbone, the curve of your waist. When her hands settled on your hips, she leaned down, her lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Emily,” you breathed, your hands clutching at her arms as she kissed her way down your throat.

“Shh,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing. “Just let me take care of you.”

She kissed her way down your chest, her hands sliding up to cup your breasts through your bra. Her thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you arched into her touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips. Emily smirked, clearly pleased with your reaction, and reached behind you to unclasp your bra. She slid it off and tossed it aside, her eyes darkening as she took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, her voice filled with lust.

Her lips found your collarbone, then trailed lower, her tongue flicking over your nipple in a way that made your back arch. Her hands held you firmly in place as her mouth worked its way across your chest. You felt like you were unraveling beneath her, your body responding to her touch in ways you didn’t know were possible.

“Emily, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

“Patience,” she replied, her tone teasing. “I’m not done with you yet.”

She kissed her way down your stomach, her hands sliding over your thighs as she moved lower. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, and she glanced up at you, her eyes meeting yours. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed, barely able to get the word out.

She smiled, a rare softness in her expression, and tugged your pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. Her hands caressed your thighs, her touch firm but gentle, as she settled between your legs. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing. “Relax, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

Her words should have embarrassed you, but instead, they only made you want her more. You nodded, your hands clutching at the sheets as she kissed her way up your thigh, her breath warm against your skin. When her lips finally found your center, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped you.

Her lips and tongue moved with expert precision, every stroke and flick drawing sounds from you that you couldn’t control even if you wanted to. Emily hummed against you, the vibration sending shivers through your body, and her strong hands gripped your thighs to keep you steady as your hips moved instinctively toward her. The wet heat of her mouth and the relentless attention she lavished on you had your head spinning.

Your hands were clutching at the sheets, your body arching instinctively as she brought you right to the edge. The pressure in your core was unbearable, your breaths coming in shallow gasps, and just when you thought you’d finally find relief, she stopped.

You whimpered, your hips bucking forward as if chasing the sensation she had so cruelly denied you. “Emily,” you gasped, your voice trembling with desperation.

She looked up at you from between your thighs, her lips glistening and curved into a smug smirk. “Not yet,” she said, her voice calm and authoritative, leaving no room for argument. She placed a firm hand on your hip, holding you in place. “You’ll come when I decide you’re ready, not a second before.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, the dominance in her tone igniting something deep inside you. All you could do was nod, your body trembling with need as you submitted to her control.

“Good girl,” she murmured, her hand trailing down your thigh before she pulled back. She climbed off the bed, moving to the bedside drawer, and your breath hitched as you watched her retrieve the harness. She took her time, adjusting the strap with practiced ease, her movements commanding. The way she carried herself, so confident and in control, left you breathless.

“You’re going to let me take you,” she said as she climbed back onto the bed, her dark eyes locking onto yours. “And you’re not going to hold back. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Emily,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your heart raced in anticipation.

She smirked, clearly satisfied with your response, and leaned down to brush her lips against yours in a kiss that was more of a statement than an act of affection. “Good,” she said softly, her voice dripping with authority. “Now spread your legs for me.”

You obeyed without hesitation, your body trembling as she positioned herself between your thighs. Her hands were firm as they gripped your hips, holding you in place as she lined herself up with you. The sheer presence of her was overwhelming, her dominance filling the room.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she commanded, her voice low and steady as she pressed into you. The stretch was perfect, intense and all-consuming, and your eyes fluttered shut for a moment as a moan escaped your lips.

“Eyes,” she said firmly, her tone sharp enough to snap your attention back to her. “I want to see you.”

Your gaze locked onto hers, and the intensity of her expression made your breath catch. She began to move, her pace slow at first, drawing out every sensation as she watched you intently. Every roll of her hips was calculated, her movements designed to drive you closer to the edge while keeping you firmly under her control.

“You’re mine tonight,” she said, her voice low and commanding as she leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear. “Every sound, every movement, every breath—it’s all for me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you gasped, your hands clutching at her shoulders as she quickened her pace, her dominance consuming you completely.

And as she took you apart piece by piece, her name fell from your lips like a prayer, a surrender to the woman who had claimed every part of you without question.

“You take this so well,” Emily murmured, her voice dark and laced with approval, her breath hot against your skin. The words sent a jolt through you, your body arching instinctively as she drove deeper, her movements commanding and relentless.

Her hips moved faster now, each thrust purposeful and precise, the pace leaving you breathless as the pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo. But she didn’t stop there. One of her hands slid down your body, her fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you crying out the moment she touched it. Her fingers circled with just the right amount of pressure, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of her thrusts.

The combined sensations had you gasping for air, your fingers clutching at her shoulders, desperate for something to anchor you. The words fell from your lips in a desperate, broken stream—pleas for more, cries of her name, and incoherent whispers of need.

“That’s it,” she growled, her lips brushing against your ear. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back.”

You obeyed instinctively, your moans spilling freely, every sound she pulled from you only spurring her on. Her control was intoxicating, the way she commanded every inch of you, every breath and shuddering gasp. Her fingers pressed harder, circling faster, and the coil in your core tightened impossibly.

“Emily,” you cried out, your voice trembling as your body arched into her. “Please—I’m so close.”

Her smirk was audible in her next words, low and dangerous. “You’ll come when I say you can. Not a moment before.”

Her pace quickened, her fingers working you with maddening precision as her thrusts deepened, leaving you writhing beneath her. Every movement was calculated, every sound you made rewarded with a dark hum of approval. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” she growled, her tone commanding and firm. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, the words tumbling out without hesitation. “Emily, I’m yours.”

“Good girl,” she murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Her fingers pressed harder, the rhythm perfect, as she drove you closer and closer to the edge. Your body tensed beneath her, the tension building to an unbearable peak.

“Come for me,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Your back arched off the bed as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, your release ripping through you with a force that left you trembling. Emily didn’t stop, her movements slow and steady as she helped you ride out the high, her hand still stroking over your thigh.

As the last waves of pleasure subsided, you lay there panting, your body spent and trembling. Emily leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly. Her gaze met yours, and for a moment, there was a softness in her expression—a flicker of something unguarded that made your chest tighten.

“You did so well,” she murmured, her hand brushing over your hair. “So beautiful.”

Her words sent a warmth through you, and you couldn’t help but smile, though your body still felt like it was buzzing. Emily climbed off the bed, carefully unfastening the harness and setting it aside before climbing back onto bed. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she hovered over you, her fingertips tracing lazy patterns along your skin. “The night’s still young,” she murmured, her voice low and inviting.

Before you could respond, her lips found yours in a kiss that sent a fresh wave of heat through you, reigniting the spark in your veins. Her smile against your mouth was wicked.

“We’re not done yet.”

A few hours later, both of you lay tangled under the sheets, spent and breathing heavily. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of the sheets and the rhythmic sound of your heartbeats slowly returning to normal.

The weight of the silence between you was heavy, and you could feel the thoughts swirling in your head, as they always did.

You were trying to push those thoughts away, but it was impossible to stop them.

Emily seemed to sense it, her fingers trailing idly along your arm as she shifted slightly, pulling you closer. Her lips brushed against your ear, her voice low and steady. “Stop overthinking.”

You blinked up at her, suddenly self-conscious, but she already knew what you were thinking. She always did.

“I’m not…” you started, but her voice cut through, smooth and knowing.

“I can hear your thoughts from here, Y/N,” she said, her tone teasing but with a hint of amusement. “I know what you're thinking. The age gap, the power dynamics, the… complications.” She paused, meeting your eyes with that all-knowing intensity. “It’s just sex. Nothing more. So, stop overthinking it.”

You nodded slowly, but her words still felt too simple, too final. There was something in her voice, in the way she said it, that made it sound almost too good to be true. You couldn’t help but feel the conflict building within you. The part of you that craved this—her control, her dominance—and the part of you that couldn’t shake the unease about it all.

“Right,” you said quietly, trying to mask the uncertainty in your voice. “Just sex. Nothing else.”

Emily’s lips quirked up into a small smile, but there was no humor in it. She leaned in, kissing you softly, lingering for just a moment before pulling back. “That’s right,” she said, her voice low, but there was an edge to it now. “Because anything else…” She paused, her gaze intense as she let the words hang in the air. “Anything else would be a mistake.”

The weight of her words settled over you, and for a moment, everything felt so simple, so clear. But deep down, you both knew that the simplicity was an illusion. The truth was, neither of you could ignore the undercurrent between you, the way her touch lingered too long, the way your heart beat faster every time she looked at you.

You lay there for a while in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts, unsure of where to go from here. But one thing was clear: for now, it was just sex. No feelings. No complications. Or so you told yourselves.

You had no idea how much time passed, but when you finally drifted into a peaceful sleep, your body resting against hers, Emily stayed awake for a while. She held you close, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you slept, her fingers gently stroking through your hair.

For a few moments, she let the silence stretch, her gaze softening as she looked down at you. Your face was peaceful, unaware of the storm of emotions swirling within her. She could feel her heart tightening, the pull she had tried to ignore throughout the night.

It felt right. Too right. And in that moment, as her fingers traced over your skin, the reality of it all hit her—she was already too far gone.

...

[missarchive]

OK, I’m finally gonna submit and ask because like live in stalking your blog forever lol and i’m obsessed!

hotch hurt/comfort where bau!reader has a terrible day bc like some cop made fun of her and it got really under her skin? (you can make it rlly sad) established relationship? up to you

tysm!!!

-🎀

cw; misogyny, harassment in the workplace, kissing, big mean scary hotch (he's an absolute softie), lots of comfort

an; thank you for your request <3 ive been on such a hotchner kick lately so i've got a few more hotch fics up my sleeves after this one

wc; 1.5k

“What we know so far is that the unsub is male, most likely in his mid to late thirties. He lives a very ordinary life,” you say, glancing around the room as you deliver your profile. Your eyes lock briefly with Aaron’s, who gives a subtle nod of encouragement. “He was subject to bullying in high school, likely due to being socially awkward or standing out in some way. This has led to deep-seated insecurities and an inability to maintain long-term relationships. His current behaviour indicates an attempt to regain control and dominance he feels he was deprived of.”

As you continue with your analysis, movement in the corner of the room draws your attention. An officer leans toward his companion, muttering something under his breath that earns a chuckle. His eyes drag over you with an unprofessional intensity, and his smirk lingers, making your stomach churn with unease. You furrow your brows slightly but push the distraction aside, refocusing on the case at hand.

The meeting stretches on, but finally, it concludes. Your fellow agents begin filtering out of the room, exchanging quiet remarks as they leave, while the remaining officers follow suit. You stay behind, methodically removing photos and notes from the whiteboard, organizing them into a neat stack.

The sound of your heels tapping against the floor fills the empty space as you turn, only to pull up short when you nearly collide with someone. Your pulse stutters as you recognise the same officer from before, standing too close, his expression dark with something you can’t quite place.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was still here,” you say, stepping back instinctively.

He doesn’t budge. Instead, his lips curl into a sneer. “So, who are you filling in for today?”

Your frown deepens. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir. This is my job.”

His eyes narrow, and he takes a deliberate step forward, forcing you back against the whiteboard. “You don’t have to be so coy, doll,” he says, voice dripping with condescension. “Come on, who’d you suck off to get here?”

The crude words hit you like a slap. Your breath hitches, and you instinctively press your palms flat against the board behind you, trying to create distance. “Sir, I’m not sure this is an appropriate discussion to be having,” you say, voice tightening, your eyes darting toward the door.

Before you can react further, a sudden movement to your left makes you start. A firm hand grips the officer’s shoulder and wrenches him backward with force. “That’s enough,” Aaron’s voice slices through the tension like a knife.

The officer stumbles slightly but rights himself, his face twisting in surprise and then indignation as he looks up at Aaron’s imposing figure. Aaron steps forward, placing himself between you and the officer, his dark eyes cold and unwavering.

“What the hell, man—” the officer starts, straightening his shoulders.

“You’re done here,” Aaron interrupts, his voice calm but lethal. “If I ever see you speak to anyone on my team like that again, you’ll be answering to much more than just me. Is that clear?”

The officer’s mouth opens and closes, but the weight of Aaron’s glare pins him in place. He mutters something under his breath before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.

As the door swings shut behind him, you exhale a shaky breath, still pressed against the board. Aaron turns to you, his expression softening slightly. “Are you okay?”

You nod, though your hands are trembling slightly at your sides. “Yeah... Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

Aaron studies you for a moment longer, his dark eyes searching yours with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. He steps closer, his voice soft but firm. “You could have come and got me.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his words. “I know,” you whisper, offering him a small, tired smile. “I just... I didn’t want to make it a big deal.”

Aaron’s expression darkens slightly, a flicker of frustration crossing his face—not at you, but at the situation. He shakes his head gently. “It is a big deal. You shouldn’t have to brush it off.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s already reaching for you, his hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you out of the precinct without another word.

Aaron’s hand remained steady on your back as he guided you outside, the crisp night air rushing to meet you. It was quiet here, the hum of the precinct fading into the background, leaving only the sound of your uneven breathing and the faint rustle of leaves in the distance. He stopped near the corner of the building, turning to face you fully. His hands moved to your upper arms, grounding you in his presence.

“Talk to me,” Aaron said gently, his voice breaking through the haze of doubt clouding your mind.

You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the frustration—or was it shame?—from bubbling over. “I’m fine,” you lied, forcing the words out even though you could feel them falling flat. “I just need to move on. It’s not worth—”

“Stop.” His tone was calm but firm, and it made you look up at him, your eyes meeting his. There was no anger there, no disappointment—only concern and something else you couldn’t quite name. “It is worth talking about. You are worth talking about.”

The lump in your throat grew, and you looked away, your gaze fixing on a crack in the pavement. “I shouldn’t let it get to me,” you murmured. “But… maybe he’s right.”

Aaron’s brows knit together, his hands tightening slightly on your arms. “What are you talking about?”

You shrugged, trying to swallow down the sting of the words that had been hurled at you back in the conference room. “Maybe I’m not good enough to be here,” you admitted quietly. “Maybe I’m just pretending I belong. I mean, if people like him think I’m a joke, what if they’re right?”

The silence that followed felt heavier than anything he could have said. When you finally looked back at Aaron, his expression was resolute, his dark eyes locking onto yours with unwavering intensity.

“They’re not right,” he said, each word deliberate. “And you know that.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he stepped closer, his hands moving to cradle your face with a gentleness that made your chest ache. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t good enough,” he continued, his voice steady but edged with something close to frustration. “You’ve earned your place, and no one—no one—has the right to question that.”

The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill over, but you bit them down, shaking your head slightly. “It’s hard not to question myself when people like him look at me like I don’t belong.”

Aaron exhaled slowly, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “People like him don’t matter,” he said softly. “You do. Your work speaks for itself, and anyone who can’t see that isn’t worth your time.”

Your hands came up to grip his wrists, grounding yourself in the warmth of his touch. “It’s just… exhausting,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Having to prove myself over and over again. Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it’ll never be enough.”

Aaron’s face softened, and he leaned down slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “I know it’s exhausting,” he murmured. “And I wish I could take that weight off your shoulders. But you’re not alone in this. You have me. You have the team. We see you, and we know exactly what you’re capable of.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words sink in, letting the steady cadence of his voice soothe the storm inside you. After a long moment, you nodded, your grip on his wrists loosening. “Thank you,” you said quietly. “I… I needed to hear that.”

Aaron pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again, his expression softening even further. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he said, his voice filled with quiet conviction. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips warm and reassuring against yours. It wasn’t hurried or forceful—it was steady, grounding, a promise in itself.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes search yours, as if silently making sure you’re really okay. “I’ll always be here,” he promises softly.

You smile, a real one this time, feeling lighter than you have all day. “I know.”

Aaron presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tightly against his chest. You sink into him, letting yourself feel safe, letting yourself believe that with him, you’re never alone.

“Let’s go home,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Yeah,” you whisper, lacing your fingers with his. “Home sounds perfect.”

He squeezes your hand gently, leading you to the car, his presence a steady, comforting weight beside you. And in this moment, you know you’re exactly where you belong.

taglist: @thegloryofliterature @spencellelvrr @reidsstargirl @shiningjustforreid

[mostlysignssomeportents]

There’s no such thing as “shareholder supremacy”

On SEPTEMBER 24th, I'll be speaking IN PERSON at the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!

Here's a cheap trick: claim that your opponents' goals are so squishy and qualitative that no one will ever be able to say whether they've been succeeded or failed, and then declare that your goals can be evaluated using crisp, objective criteria.

This is the whole project of "economism," the idea that politics, with its emphasis on "fairness" and other intangibles, should be replaced with a mathematical form of economics, where every policy question can be reduced to an equation…and then "solved":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/28/imagine-a-horse/#perfectly-spherical-cows-of-uniform-density-on-a-frictionless-plane

Before the rise of economism, it was common to speak of its subjects as "political economy" or even "moral philosophy" (Adam Smith, the godfather of capitalism, considered himself a "moral philosopher"). "Political economy" implicitly recognizes that every policy has squishy, subjective, qualitative dimensions that don't readily boil down to math.

For example, if you're asking about whether people should have the "freedom" to enter into contracts, it might be useful to ask yourself how desperate your "free" subject might be, and whether the entity on the other side of that contract is very powerful. Otherwise you'll get "free contracts" like "I'll sell you my kidneys if you promise to evacuate my kid from the path of this wildfire."

The problem is that power is hard to represent faithfully in quantitative models. This may seem like a good reason to you to be skeptical of modeling, but for economism, it's a reason to pretend that the qualitative doesn't exist. The method is to incinerate those qualitative factors to produce a dubious quantitative residue and do math on that:

https://locusmag.com/2021/05/cory-doctorow-qualia/

Hence the famous Ely Devons quote: "If economists wished to study the horse, they wouldn’t go and look at horses. They’d sit in their studies and say to themselves, ‘What would I do if I were a horse?’"

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/27/economism/#what-would-i-do-if-i-were-a-horse

The neoliberal revolution was a triumph for economism. Neoliberal theorists like Milton Friedman replaced "political economy" with "law and economics," the idea that we should turn every one of our complicated, nuanced, contingent qualitative goals into a crispy defined "objective" criteria. Friedman and his merry band of Chicago School economists replaced traditional antitrust (which sought to curtail the corrupting power of large corporations) with a theory called "consumer welfare" that used mathematics to decide which monopolies were "efficient" and therefore good (spoiler: monopolists who paid Friedman's pals to do this mathematical analysis always turned out to be running "efficient" monopolies):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/20/we-should-not-endure-a-king/

One of Friedman's signal achievements was the theory of "shareholder supremacy." In 1970, the New York Times published Friedman's editorial "The Social Responsibility of Business Is to Increase Its Profits":

https://www.nytimes.com/1970/09/13/archives/a-friedman-doctrine-the-social-responsibility-of-business-is-to.html

In it, Friedman argued that corporate managers had exactly one job: to increase profits for shareholders. All other considerations – improving the community, making workers' lives better, donating to worthy causes or sponsoring a little league team – were out of bounds. Managers who wanted to improve the world should fund their causes out of their paychecks, not the corporate treasury.

Friedman cloaked his hymn to sociopathic greed in the mantle of objectivism. For capitalism to work, corporations have to solve the "principal-agent" problem, the notoriously thorny dilemma created when one person (the principal) asks another person (the agent) to act on their behalf, given the fact that the agent might find a way to line their own pockets at the principal's expense (for example, a restaurant server might get a bigger tip by offering to discount diners' meals).

Any company that is owned by stockholders and managed by a CEO and other top brass has a huge principal-agent problem, and yet, the limited liability, joint-stock company had produced untold riches, and was considered the ideal organization for "capital formation" by Friedman et al. In true economismist form, Friedman treated all the qualitative questions about the duty of a company as noise and edited them out of the equation, leaving behind a single, elegant formulation: "a manager is doing their job if they are trying to make as much money as possible for their shareholders."

Friedman's formulation was a hit. The business community ran wild with it. Investors mistook an editorial in the New York Times for an SEC rulemaking and sued corporate managers on the theory that they had a "fiduciary duty" to "maximize shareholder value" – and what's more, the courts bought it. Slowly and piecemeal at first, but bit by bit, the idea that rapacious greed was a legal obligation turned into an edifice of legal precedent. Business schools taught it, movies were made about it, and even critics absorbed the message, insisting that we needed to "repeal the law" that said that corporations had to elevate profit over all other consideration (not realizing that no such law existed).

It's easy to see why shareholder supremacy was so attractive for investors and their C-suite Renfields: it created a kind of moral crumple-zone. Whenever people got angry at you for being a greedy asshole, you could shrug and say, "My hands are tied: the law requires me to run the business this way – if you don't believe me, just ask my critics, who insist that we must get rid of this law!"

In a long feature for The American Prospect, Adam M Lowenstein tells the story of how shareholder supremacy eventually came into such wide disrepute that the business lobby felt that it had to do something about it:

https://prospect.org/power/2024-09-17-ponzi-scheme-of-promises/

It starts in 2018, when Jamie Dimon and Warren Buffett decried the short-term, quarterly thinking in corporate management as bad for business's long-term health. When Washington Post columnist Steve Pearlstein wrote a column agreeing with them and arguing that even moreso, businesses should think about equities other than shareholder returns, Jamie Dimon lost his shit and called Pearlstein to call it "the stupidest fucking column I’ve ever read":

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2018/06/07/will-ending-quarterly-earnings-guidance-free-ceos-to-think-long-term/

But the dam had broken. In the months and years that followed, the Business Roundtable would adopt a series of statements that repudiated shareholder supremacy, though of course they didn't admit it. Rather, they insisted that they were clarifying that they'd always thought that sometimes not being a greedy asshole could be good for business, too. Though these statements were nonbinding, and though the CEOs who signed them did so in their personal capacity and not on behalf of their companies, capitalism's most rabid stans treated this as an existential crisis.

Lowenstein identifies this as the forerunner to today's panic over "woke corporations" and "DEI," and – just as with "woke capitalism" – the whole thing amounted to a a PR exercise. Lowenstein links to several studies that found that the CEOs who signed onto statements endorsing "stakeholder capitalism" were "more likely to lay off employees during COVID-19, were less inclined to contribute to pandemic relief efforts, had 'higher rates of environmental and labor-related compliance violations,”' emitted more carbon into the atmosphere, and spent more money on dividends and buybacks."

One researcher concluded that "signing this statement had zero positive effect":

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/08/companies-stand-solidarity-are-licensing-themselves-discriminate/614947

So shareholder supremacy isn't a legal obligation, and statements repudiating shareholder supremacy don't make companies act any better.

But there's an even more fundamental flaw in the argument for the shareholder supremacy rule: it's impossible to know if the rule has been broken.

The shareholder supremacy rule is an unfalsifiable proposition. A CEO can cut wages and lay off workers and claim that it's good for profits because the retained earnings can be paid as a dividend. A CEO can raise wages and hire more people and claim it's good for profits because it will stop important employees from defecting and attract the talent needed to win market share and spin up new products.

A CEO can spend less on marketing and claim it's a cost-savings. A CEO can spend more on marketing and claim it's an investment. A CEO can eliminate products and call it a savings. A CEO can add products and claim they're expansions into new segments. A CEO can settle a lawsuit and claim they're saving money on court fees. A CEO can fight a lawsuit through to the final appeal and claim that they're doing it to scare vexatious litigants away by demonstrating their mettle.

CEOs can use cheaper, inferior materials and claim it's a savings. They can use premium materials and claim it's a competitive advantage that will produce new profits. Everything a company does can be colorably claimed as an attempt to save or make money, from sponsoring the local little league softball team to treating effluent to handing ownership of corporate landholdings to perpetual trusts that designate them as wildlife sanctuaries.

Bribes, campaign contributions, onshoring, offshoring, criminal conspiracies and conference sponsorships – there's a business case for all of these being in line with shareholder supremacy.

Take Boeing: when the company smashed its unions and relocated key production to scab plants in red states, when it forced out whistleblowers and senior engineers who cared about quality, when it outsourced design and production to shops around the world, it realized a savings. Today, between strikes, fines, lawsuits, and a mountain of self-inflicted reputational harm, the company is on the brink of ruin. Was Boeing good to its shareholders? Well, sure – the shareholders who cashed out before all the shit hit the fan made out well. Shareholders with a buy-and-hold posture (like the index funds that can't sell their Boeing holdings so long as the company is in the S&P500) got screwed.

Right wing economists criticize the left for caring too much about "how big a slice of the pie they're getting" rather than focusing on "growing the pie." But that's exactly what Boeing management did – while claiming to be slaves to Friedman's shareholder supremacy. They focused on getting a bigger slice of the pie, screwing their workers, suppliers and customers in the process, and, in so doing, they made the pie so much smaller that it's in danger of disappearing altogether.

Here's the principal-agent problem in action: Boeing management earned bonuses by engaging in corporate autophagia, devouring the company from within. Now, long-term shareholders are paying the price. Far from solving the principal-agent problem with a clean, bright-line rule about how managers should behave, shareholder supremacy is a charter for doing whatever the fuck a CEO feels like doing. It's the squishiest rule imaginable: if someone calls you cruel, you can blame the rule and say you had no choice. If someone calls you feckless, you can blame the rule and say you had no choice. It's an excuse for every season.

The idea that you can reduce complex political questions – like whether workers should get a raise or whether shareholders should get a dividend – to a mathematical rule is a cheap sleight of hand. The trick is an obvious one: the stuff I want to do is empirically justified, while the things you want are based in impossible-to-pin-down appeals to emotion and its handmaiden, ethics. Facts don't care about your feelings, man.

But it's feelings all the way down. Milton Friedman's idol-worshiping cult of shareholder supremacy was never about empiricism and objectivity. It's merely a gimmick to make greed seem scientifically optimal.

The paperback edition of The Lost Cause, my nationally bestselling, hopeful solarpunk novel is out this month!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/18/falsifiability/#figleaves-not-rubrics/a>

[rottenraccoons]

So from what we saw if I understand correctly there are metal masks, ceramic masks and whatever it is that Keir's got. And there was that ask that mentioned face paint. Does it mean that generally you can use just about anything as long as it's sufficiently obscuring? Are there like edge cases where you will get side eye? (Would Cirrus with his eyes-only thingy be considered frivolous???)

Masks can carry a lot of the same social signals as clothes do, so doing a similar analysis as you might to outfits won't steer you too wrong! There's no particular rules about what materials are used, so long as they give the appropriate amount of coverage, but material choice can still say something about the wearer (Keir's "whatever's on hand" method vs. Oleander's mask being coordinated with his coat, for example).

In general the masks most likely to get side-eye are the ones that don't actually offer coverage. Think, like, sheer fabrics/meshes/fishnets or body paint (link is an airline safety video but it might get you side-eyed at work), that offer the suggestion of coverage without actually covering anything. Cirrus' mask might show a lot of face (which could be a way of him showing he's got nothing to hide, or highlight his job as an orator by keeping his mouth uncovered), but what he is covering is well and truly obscured.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Have any ideas on how a spy's job would work? I'm struggling to write about one

Writing Notes: Spy Characters

In the intelligence world, a spy is strictly defined as someone used to steal secrets for an intelligence organization.

Also: agent or asset; a spy is not a professional intelligence officer, and doesn’t usually receive formal training (though may be taught basic tradecraft). Instead, a spy either volunteers or is recruited to help steal information, motivated by ideology, patriotism, money, or by a host of other reasons, from blackmail to love.

From an intelligence perspective, their most important quality is having access to valuable information. For this reason, a government minister might make a great spy—but so might the janitor or a cafeteria worker in a government ministry.

Espionage - process of obtaining military, political, commercial, or other secret information by means of spies, secret agents, or illegal monitoring devices; sometimes distinguished from the broader category of intelligence gathering by its aggressive nature and its illegality.

Double Agent - someone who works for two sides.

Intelligence - In the spying world, intelligence means information collected by a government or other entity that can help guide decisions and actions regarding national security. But intelligence can also mean the process by which that information is acquired

How are spies recruited? Spies are recruited via an approach or pitch by a case officer. This often seeks to persuade the individual through appealing to ideology, patriotism, religion, ego, greed, or love, or sometimes by using blackmail or some other form of coercion. 

How do spies go undercover? Intelligence officers often operate abroad under some form of official cover, perhaps as diplomats in an embassy. Others operate without the protection of their government and must create a convincing cover that explains their presence and activities in a country—a businessperson, perhaps, or a student. The Russians call these officers “illegals,” the Americans call them “NOCs” (for Non-Official Cover). If caught, they’re on their own, and face arrest, even execution.

How do spies communicate?. Face-to-face meetings can be impractical, even deadly—especially if spies are caught red-handed passing or receiving classified information or carrying spy equipment. That’s why sharing information relies on covert communication or COVCOM. Methods include secret writing (such as invisible ink or tiny microdots) or sending and receiving secure messages using special technology (often concealed or even disguised to look like everyday objects).

How much does a secret agent make? Professional intelligence officers receive salaries based on their level of experience, like all government employees. Few own vintage Aston Martin DB5s and order beluga caviar on a regular basis. Spies can earn a lot more money, though. In the 1980s, CIA officer Aldrich Ames received over $4 million from the Soviets for betraying US secrets, enough to buy himself a half-million-dollar home in cash and a flashy red Jaguar. But living beyond his salary aroused the suspicions of US intelligence, which ultimately led to his arrest.

The Intelligence Cycle

Refers to the process through which spy agencies acquire information. It consists of at least 5 stages:  

Planning: Decision-makers task an intelligence agency to acquire information on certain topics or specific issues of concern (“requirements”). 

Collection: This is where the spies, agents, case officers, tech ops, scientists, hackers, and others come in, acquiring information from different sources in a myriad of creative ways. 

Processing: Collected information needs to be narrowed down, prioritized, and put into some kind of digestible format. This might also involve having to decode information. 

Analysis: This is the stage where collected information becomes something useful that decision-makers can use: intelligence.

Dissemination: Intelligence agencies get the final product to the decision-maker or “customer.” Of course, it’s quite possible that this might prompt more questions… and the intelligence cycle begins all over again. 

Tips on Writing About Spies

Some tips from different sources:

Being a real-life spy isn’t always James Bond-glamorous. Spies are typically brilliant when it comes to reading people—your spy character needs to be curious and patient. It may take seven years for a spy to get their footing.

Normal people make the best spies. In real life, handlers are looking for a Regular Joe or Plain Jane with access—they don’t want someone who sticks out in a crowd or whose life is in disarray. They also want someone who is honest and immediately willing to own up to any mistakes they might have made. (Elizabeth Bentley may have had problems with this.) So, having a character who is bland as vanilla (at least on the outside) may work well in your favor.

Your spy could be overheard at any moment. It’s a good idea to have your spy flip on the radio to cover important conversations, or meet in a loud restaurant. (Which also solves the problem of having a potentially bugged apartment.) Even better is to meet near a water feature—the sound of falling water is unique and difficult to filter out even in modern-day recordings.

Spy gadgets are really cool. Ticking off the KGB is not. If your spy character runs afoul of the KGB (or one of its many predecessors), be prepared for creative assassination attempts that may or may not make use of more lethal spy gadgets. (Just ask Bohdan Stashynsky, a KGB officer who used a cyanide spraying spray gun to assassinate two Ukrainian nationalist leaders.) In a pinch, the Russians might resort to a tactic like Leon Trotsky’s ice pick to the face, but either way, it’s not going to be much fun for their target.

You need a good reason to be a spy. Idealists often make the best spies, but there are other motivations that might get your character to join up with the CIA, KGB, or some other spy organization. Does your character need the money being offered? Are they looking for a sense of purpose or belonging? Do they have an axe to grind with the government? Also, remember that the CIA doesn’t coerce people into informing for them. The Russians, on the other hand… Well, they’re a different story. 

Don’t draw portraits of spies, but draw portraits of people who happen to work as spies. The choices they make in their lives emerge from who they are, and those choices might conflict with the requirements of their spy work. The spy’s job may be to suborn friends, lie to adversaries, betray a trust, but it is the spy’s nagging, perhaps inconvenient, humanity that makes them suffer their choices, and excites the reader’s empathy.

Writing Tips: Spy Thriller

A step-by-step guide to writing a spy story with international intrigue and non-stop action:

Think of a killer concept. There are a lot of spy novels out there, so you need to come up with a story that has a new and unique angle. If you’re a history buff and have a specific area of interest—like Russian operatives, Nazi Germany during WWII, or American soldiers in the Middle East—go with where your passion lies. Come up with a fresh idea that people won’t feel like they’ve read before. Do some research. Find inspiration in real-life spy stories to tell yours.

Get familiar with spy tools. From spy cameras to surveillance equipment, the cool tools and gadgets of espionage fiction are part of what makes the genre fun. Get to know spycraft and tradecraft—the technology and techniques real spies use to track the enemy. Read news stories to see how espionage works today or in the time period you’re writing about. While espionage can also be incorporated into another genre, like science fiction, for the most part, spy novels emerge from actual events. That doesn’t mean you need to just use real tools of the trade. Create your own spy tech for your story.

Create an incredible protagonist. From Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan, a CIA agent first introduced in The Hunt for Red October, to Ian Fleming’s most famous secret agent, James Bond, the protagonists of spy stories have long been ingrained in popular culture. Create a main character who readers will root for and who will persevere no matter what obstacle you throw in their way.

Send your character on a world-saving mission. Think about James Bond. His heart-pounding missions crossed international boundaries, and they always involved more than just taking down a bad guy: He always had to stop a massive attack that would kill innocent people. You need to justify the intense action by making the consequences big. To do this, start by coming up with your antagonist. Who are they and where are they from? What is their goal in the story? Once you know that, you’ll have your protagonist’s quest that will propel your plot.

Write highly visual action scenes. Red Sparrow and The Bourne Identity are action-packed films based on bestselling espionage novels. Spy books make great movies because the action translates well to the screen. When you sit down to start your story, think in pictures. Readers are expecting action so you need to lead with a dramatic scene that shows your protagonist at work in a perilous situation. You’ll need a few of these big scenes throughout your story—not to mention the climax which has to be big, suspenseful and, yes, visual. Use descriptive words to get the reader into the middle of the pulse-racing scene.

Use page-turning literary devices. Plot twists, cliffhangers, dramatic irony, foreshadowing, red herrings: When you write a spy novel, you’ll get to employ literary devices you might not have used before. To write a real page-turning story of espionage, make sure you take advantage of the tools that literature has to offer for maximum suspense.

You can also read about real life spies to guide your writing. Some examples:

John Walker (American spy)

Donald Maclean (British diplomat and spy)

Mata Hari (Dutch dancer and spy)

Nancy Hart (Confederate spy)

Audrey Hepburn as a WWII resistance spy

Famous Women Who Were Secretly Spies

Some of history’s most notable spies

List of spies

Some Terminology: Espionage

Agent - A person unofficially employed by an intelligence service, often as a source of information.

Black Bag Job - Secret entry into a home or office to steal or copy materials.

Clean - Unknown to enemy intelligence.

Dangle - A person who is made accessible to a foreign intelligence agency with the intent of being recruited by that agency to then work as a double agent for the person’s own country.

Eyes-Only - A designation signifying who may read a specific, classified document.

False Flag - A deliberate misrepresentation of motives or identity; an operation designed to appear as if it were conducted by someone other than the person or group responsible for it.

Ghoul - Agent who searches obituaries and graveyards for names of the deceased for use by agents.

Honey Trap - Slang for use of men or women in sexual situations to intimidate or snare others.

Innocent Postcard - A postcard with an innocuous message sent to an address in a neutral country to verify the continued security of an undercover operative.

L-Pill - A poison pill used by operatives to commit suicide.

More spy-related terms: 1 2 3

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[starcurtain]

I know you touched on this a little bit but you have some of the best analysis for Aventurine around and I was hoping you might go a little deeper on Ratio and Aventurine’s relationship pre-penacony. Like they obviously knew each other and their relationship is better than what the game shows because of the plan, but it is difficult to tell just how well they knew each other and how close they actually were. What is your reading or even just head canons on them before penacony?

Two asks together, since they're mostly on the same topic:

Regarding Ratio and Aventurine's partnership, although they obviously knew each other before Penacony, there are some conflicting points that make it difficult to tell how long they might have known each other.

On the one hand, we've never been given confirmation, either through flavor text, items, readables, or marketing material, that Ratio and Aventurine have been on any noteworthy, named missions together before Penacony. When Ratio is included with the IPC crew, it's always marketed as "The Penacony Special Ops Team" or something like that, indicating that--so far as the devs want us to know right now--Aventurine and Ratio's first big mission together was Penacony.

There's also the fact that Ratio seems genuinely concerned for Aventurine's safety. Although it's possible that Penacony was just the highest the stakes have ever been, I feel like someone who has a long history of working with Aventurine would be more exasperated and less genuinely fearful of the outcome. Compare Topaz's reactions to Aventurine, like "Ugh your tricks are annoying, but fine, I'll work with you because I know you always get the job done" to Ratio's reactions in Penacony--the "Doctor's Advice" message seems to be seriously concerned that Aventurine would not win his gamble without assistance. To me, it seems that someone with a long history of working with Aventurine would be a little more used to his methods of operating.

However, there are some weird moments that seem to indicate a little more personal of a connection, or a little longer of a history--particularly the moment where Ratio talks about joining the Genius Society and Aventurine claps back with "Wait, I thought you gave up on that a long time ago?" We're told from Ratio's character stories that he never directly told anyone about his dreams of joining the Genius Society, although people speculate on it. Therefore, the only ways that Aventurine could know Ratio "gave up on that dream" would be if Ratio told him (something extremely personal, which we've never seen him share with others before) or if Aventurine was so nosy and diligent that he hunted down that information (read the "personal" biography of Ratio mentioned in Ratio's character stories) before joining up with the doctor for their mission.

We know from Ratio's comments on the Radiant Feldspar that the Intelligentsia Guild considers his work with Aventurine to be a "strategic partnership" and that Ratio agreed to the mission after being asked to do so, that he didn't seek it out (at least as far as he claims to the Trailblazer). Coupling this with the fact that Ratio was the IPC's liaison sent to the Herta Space Station, and I get the impression that Ratio is just somewhat the go-to "go-between" for the IPC and the Intelligentsia Guild; he's more likely to do IPC jobs than other Intelligentsia Guild members, and not all of it is connected to Aventurine.

Overall, although I would love them having a whole long history, my thought is that they likely knew of each other before Penacony, but hadn't actually partnered on anything major. Aventurine probably knew that Ratio was a reliable member of the Intelligentsia Guild who was willing to do IPC work, and knew that he would need someone smart in that position to be his "man on the inside" during the Cornerstone switcheroo in Penacony, so he likely put in the request to the Intelligentsia Guild to have Ratio assigned as his partner for Penacony. If not a direct request for Ratio personally, than at least a request for their smartest/most effective asset.

If he did ask for Ratio personally, then likely before he even asked, Aventurine had probably done a deep dive into Ratio's history to make sure he knew everything there was to know about his possible new partner (at the very least, he read Ratio's biography). Then he ended up "testing" Ratio's mettle in the Final Victor lightcone scenario--checking whether Ratio could actually handle the brand of crazy that was going to go down in Penacony.

I think Aventurine expected that his new partner would be able to play the part, but I don't think he anticipated how personal their connection would become...

Also regarding Aventurine having a "strategic partner" when none of the other Stonehearts seem to--I think that's just deliberate, to show the difference in the strategy each Stoneheart employs. Topaz is always accompanied by her squad of underlings because she's the workaholic-super-manager type. Jade is all about the art of the one-on-one deal. Aventurine is the schemer who comes up with crazy plans and uses every tool at his disposal--including partnerships with other people--to achieve that goal. He's the only one with a partner from the Intelligentsia Guild because, so far at least, he's the only one whose mission plans required that kind of partnership.

Aventurine is literally that "I know a guy" guy. 😂

[maisie183]

The silence between us

Pairing: Dexter Morgan x Female Reader

Summary: You’ve just started working at Miami Metro as a forensic scientist, and though Dexter Morgan initially seems distant and emotionless, his quiet presence begins to draw you in. As the friendship slowly develops, you find yourself falling for him, even though you’re convinced that he doesn’t share the same feelings. Little do you know, Dexter is battling an internal conflict of his own.

Warnings: Mild language, psychological tension, slow-burn romance, minor violence (typical for a Dexter setting), angst  

Word Count: 1,343 words

Miami heat had a way of sticking to your skin, making every breath feel heavy and damp. The cold blast of the A/C inside Miami Metro Homicide was always a relief, though the sterile environment felt unsettling in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.

You weren't sure what you expected from your first day as a forensic scientist in the trace evidence department, but the place was already bustling when you walked in. Detectives scurried from one desk to another, phones ringing off the hook, and conversations about cases filled the air.

You were just trying to find your footing, balancing coffee in one hand, a new ID badge in the other, and navigating the maze of desks when you spotted him—Dexter Morgan. Everyone knew his name. He was the mysterious blood-spatter analyst, infamous for being exceptional at his job but with a demeanor that left people guessing. You’d heard whispers about his distant personality, the kind of guy who never really let anyone in.

He was there, sitting quietly at his desk, eyes focused on some blood-pattern analysis, the sharp angles of his face set in concentration. His posture was relaxed, but there was a coldness to him—a silence that felt unnatural. You swallowed and continued on, trying not to stare.

Over the next few weeks, you settled into your role, working on trace evidence analysis alongside Dexter, though you rarely exchanged more than a few words. It wasn’t until the third week, during an unusually gruesome case involving a triple homicide, that you finally had a conversation that wasn’t purely professional.

You were both tasked with examining the scene. Dexter was working on blood spatter while you gathered trace fibers. The quiet tension in the room seemed to thicken as you moved around the scene in silence. It was hard to ignore the way Dexter was so methodical, calculating, and completely detached from the violence.

“Does this stuff ever get to you?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice slightly muffled by the forensic mask covering your mouth. You weren’t sure why you were talking to him, but the eerie stillness of the crime scene and his distant nature compelled you to reach out.

Dexter didn’t look up from his work. “No.”

One word. Simple. Cold.

You blinked, unsure of how to respond. “Not even a little?”

He paused, turning his head slightly to glance at you, his eyes unreadable beneath the fluorescent lighting. “Should it?”

You let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “I guess not. It’s just… a lot to process sometimes.”

He nodded, but there was no flicker of emotion in his expression, nothing to suggest that he understood what you were saying on any level. You decided to let the conversation die, returning to your work, though his cold demeanor lingered in your mind long after you left the scene.

----

Despite his distant nature, you found yourself paired with Dexter more often than not. Cases brought you together, and while most of your conversations were minimal, you began to notice small things. The way his eyes would narrow when examining a particularly puzzling pattern, the occasional, almost imperceptible quirk of his lips when something amused him (though that was rare), and the fact that he seemed to enjoy your company—not that he’d ever admit it.

Lunches at the food truck parked outside Miami Metro became routine. You never ate together, per se, but it became normal to run into him, grab your food at the same time, and exchange brief conversations about the cases you were working on. His responses were always short, but he was attentive. The more you spoke, the more you started to see cracks in his cold exterior.

One afternoon, after a particularly long day in the lab, you both found yourselves in the break room. You were rummaging through the fridge, searching for your leftover sandwich, when Dexter walked in, grabbing his own lunch from the fridge. For a few minutes, the two of you ate in silence—something that had strangely become comfortable.

“Why trace evidence?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. You looked up, startled that he had initiated a conversation.

You shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s a puzzle, you know? Small things people don’t notice can tell the whole story.”

Dexter nodded, his gaze sharp. “I know what you mean.”

There was something in his voice, something dark and distant, that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You couldn’t quite place it, but you found yourself wanting to peel back the layers of whatever he was hiding.

“Why blood spatter?” you asked, returning the question.

Dexter’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Patterns are predictable.”

You smirked. “People aren’t.”

His eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, there was something there—something unreadable but undeniable. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. Dexter looked away, his mask back in place.

----

Over the next few months, you and Dexter settled into an odd but comfortable rhythm. You never defined it as a friendship, after all, Dexter wasn’t exactly the friendship type. But there was a familiarity in your interactions now, a quiet understanding that neither of you acknowledged aloud.

And yet, you couldn’t help but notice the way your chest tightened whenever he was near. The way his voice, calm and detached, made your heart skip in ways it shouldn’t. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing—that you were just overthinking things, and that Dexter, of all people, was probably the least likely person to ever reciprocate those feelings. He didn’t even seem capable of them.

But that didn’t stop your mind from wandering late at night, thinking about him. Thinking about the way his eyes lingered on yours during those rare moments of vulnerability. Wondering if there was something—anything—behind the cold mask he wore.

You were foolish for letting yourself feel this way. Dexter was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a riddle with no answer. And yet, you found yourself getting lost in his silence.

---.

One evening, long after everyone had left the office, you were still there, finishing up some final touches on a report. You were surprised when Dexter’s presence filled the doorway.

“Still here?” he asked, his voice as neutral as ever.

“Yeah, just finishing up,” you said, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your tired eyes. “You?”

“Same.”

There was a pause, a strange heaviness in the air as Dexter walked further into the room. For a moment, you wondered if he was going to say something, but instead, he moved to the window, gazing out at the darkened skyline.

“You don’t have to stay so late, you know,” you said, trying to break the silence. “You could let the rest of us handle things once in a while.”

“I don’t mind,” Dexter replied, his voice soft.

You watched him for a moment, the familiar tightening in your chest making it hard to breathe. There was something about the way he stood there, so completely isolated from the world around him. Something about the way his eyes looked out at the city but never really saw it.

“Do you ever feel… lonely?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted asking.

Dexter turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes shifted. “No,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his gaze—something human.

But then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. Dexter turned back to the window, his mask firmly back in place.

You swallowed, the silence between you suddenly too loud. You stood from your chair, gathering your things. “I should go,” you said, your voice tight. “Goodnight, Dexter.”

He didn’t reply, and as you walked out of the office, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were falling for a man who would never be able to love you back.

----

To be continued???

-----------------

Writers Note: I just looked at the poll I did a few days back, and saw that a Dexter story was most appreciated from the voters. So here it is. For this story I again used an AI writing tool to help bring it to life, since as I said before, I am not a writer, I am a reader. I hope that is okay. The last thing I want, is to disrespect the writing community in any way. Btw, if someone has already posted a fic with the same themes/idea, tag them so I can also tag them on the pic here.

[realitythroughthelensoffiction]

The implications of Crowley being able to stop (and start) time

In the very first scene of season 2, we see Crowley asking Aziraphale for help with "cranking up the engine". Aziraphale's job is to hold a piece of paper with overlapping circles drawn on it, and Crowley uses a hand crank to rotate the circles. After that, he proceeds to create the nebula. The part with the crank seems to have been a prerequisite to that.

Angels using hand cranks to set the universe in motion is not something Good Omens invented; you can find depictions of very similar scenes in medieval art (for an example, see this post by @tenderlywicked).

It is not clear, though, what "cranking up the engine" exactly means. It could just mean getting the mechanics of this part of the universe to work. But many fans have suspected that it also served a different function.

We know that Crowley can stop time. From what we've seen so far, he is the only supernatural being with this ability (except maybe God). But how does he do it? In the scene in the Bastille, he is not shown on screen when he stops time; when he restarts it, he does so by snapping his fingers. Snapping his fingers is also the method he uses to restart time in the scene with Mr. Dalrymple. At the airbase in Tadfield, he throws his hands up to stop time. But when he restarts it, he uses a hand crank. And although the crank is not visible in the scene with Mr. Dalrymple, Crowley does a very similar movement with his hand when he stops time there.

People have discussed whether the crank he is having at the airbase is the same crank he uses at the beginning of season 2. I'm one hundred percent convinced that it is. If the crank in season 1 was just an ordinary starter crank for the Bentley, Crowley couldn't start time with it. Plus, the series made sure to put an emphasis on the significance of the crank by showing it in a close-up shot when the Bentley explodes (for the possible symbolism of the shot, see this post by @erme-maererme).

The official Funko Pop! figure of Crowley is holding the hand crank, too, just as the Funko Pop! figure of Aziraphale is holding the flaming sword (you can find an image on Pinterest). Angels traditionally are depicted carrying attributes; I think the crank was (or maybe still is) Crowley's (for a wonderful analysis of Crowley as an engineer, see this post by @joycrispy).

So, assuming that the crank is indeed a tool to start time and was used thus in the 'Before the beginning' scene, what are the implications of that? Well, to answer this, we have to take a closer look at the concept of time - and of eternity. We know that heaven is eager to "begin eternity", as Michael proclaims in season 2. And we know from their drunk conversation in season 1 that neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are very fond of this idea.

But what exactly does eternity mean? I've always thought of eternity as an endless amount of time. But, theologically speaking, that's not what eternity is; instead, in classical theology, eternity is regarded as the complete absence of time (cf. this encyclopedia article; challenges to that classical concept in more recent theological approaches are also discussed there). For Good Omens, this notion is confirmed by Michael in the aforementioned scene, and also by Ligur in season 1, when he states: "Times are changing. They're coming to an end, for a start".

Now, the absence of time does not necessarily mean that everything is static. But in Good Omens, it seems to signify exactly that: no change, no progress, just repeating the same thing "over and over and over... and over and over and over".

This is very likely one of the main reasons why Crowley is so opposed to it, since he appears to be a fan of progress. Again, take a look at the aforementioned post about Crowley as an engineer. He even seems aware of things that are ahead of his time, like when he suggests to Mr. Dalrymple to wash his hands, because "it's gonna be over age in a few years". Not only that, but he even links progress to the concept of time. In season 1, when he drives his car towards the burning M25, he tells Hastur: "You know the thing I like best about time is that every day, it takes us further away from the fourteenth century [...] Didn't have any cars back in the fourteenth century. Lovely, clever human team inventing cars, and motorways, and windscreen wipers..."

And if time is connected to progress, and Crowley is able to start time, then that links his character to progress, too. You could go as far as to say that Crowley embodies the change and progress heaven fears.

Lastly, fans (for example @crowleysgirl56 in this post) have wondered whether Crowley is also able to manipulate, especially turn back, time. And while that would fit the recurring theme of altering reality in Good Omens (see this post), I'm pretty sure that turning back time is not something Crowley can do, because if he could, he would have already done it.

@sendarya and the people in the comment section of her character analysis of Crowley on Youtube have pointed out how often he uses the words "(it's) too late", and one time even "it's always too late": when the unicorn escapes Noah's son, when Wee Morag dies, and when he realizes the pointlessness of threatening Jim.

According to the video, Crowley uses "it's too late" to express his feelings about how "actions often have unintended consequences" that cannot be undone. And truly, Crowley is an expert when it comes to unintended consequences. As his entry in the Good Omens Wiki puts it: "many of his own plans end up backfiring on him". He shuts down the mobile phone networks in London, only to realize that this means that he isn't able to make calls either. He creates the M25 just to end up trapped inside it. The most important example for actions that had unintented consequences for Crowley are probably the ones that led to his fall. So I believe that him being able to stop time, but not to turn it back, is actually part of the tragedy (or irony?) of Crowley's character.

That being said, I assume that Crowley's abilty to stop and start time will be brought up in the finale again. Not in a game-changing way, but in a way that emphasizes how it is significant for who he is as a character and what time represents for life on earth. Actions cannot be undone, no matter how bad their consequences are. Progress, like time, can briefly be held up, but never be stopped or revoked, because it is an essential part of life itself.

[fizzlebag]

bugsnax grumps and whether or not i think they would be good at rolling joints ( + some brief headcanons about them Lel) ft. below average edits

warnig this will be a long post & maybe slight analysis I am autism

FILBO

- average / leaning towards bad

- social smoker at heart so he usually just does bong rips w beff or uses her dab pen

- wouldn’t exactly be good at it; would roll it just enough to make it smokeable

WAMBUS

- average

- only gets high after a super stressful day & prefers edibles; like filbo, doesn’t smoke much

- would prob just get pre-rolls

- i don’t rlly see him as a stoner as much as i do a grower/seller; he can tolerate the smell, he meets cool ppl, he gets money, he enjoys farming/working with dirt, whats not to love ?!?

BEFFICA

- good

- rolls joints all the time for when she wants a quick smoke before going out

- prefers a bong or pen (evidently), has several of both

- uses rolling papers w/ cute designs that she collects from concerts, gas stations, road trips, etc.

GRAMBLE

- bad

- he gets too nervous about it and fumbles it every fucking time so he gave up

- prefers low dose gummies but rarely ever does it at all anyway

WIGGLE

- not good / doesn’t know how to do it at all

- acts like she does to get more cool points but she rlly just uses pre-rolls

- beffica knows this and laughed in her face when she found out. nobody knows but them tho

CROMDO

- average

- i think he’d actually be alright at rolling joints, though i don’t think he’s much of a smoker tbh

- thinks it’s extremely expensive so he’d rather steal it from wambus’ garden and sell it for excessive prices

- would save a little indica for himself to help him sleep, usually prefers sativa so he can get business stuff done and have the energy to karaoke

TRIFFANY

- average

- definitely wouldn’t smoke much at all but doesn’t mind wambus doing it

- whenever she gets high she tends to freak out and, occasionally, hallucinate figures related to her job—skeletons, dead people, etc

- after the first time she smoked a blunt and thought a dead philosopher she’d researched was watching her through the window she decided weed wasn’t for her

SNORPY

- fucking BOMB

- best out of the whole cast. think about it. he builds shit constantly + a spinterest for metallurgy & engineering generally. he’s absolutely graceful with his paws

- you’d think he would be horrible at it but he just has great fine motor control

- despite this, he usually prefers to hit a bong w/ chandlo, “NOT because it’s chandlo’s favorite way” he says (it is)

CHANDLO

- great

- likes his bong more so he usually just rolls and gives them to his friends (especially floofty)

- learned how to do it in high school, didn’t show snorpy until college (ps: snorpy was terrified of smoking anything at this point)

FLOOFTY

- horrible

- very autistic so they have poor motor control. things like tying shoes are also probably hard

- they’ve tried so hard with so much determination because they can’t let anything go but they literally just can’t

- doesn’t really smoke anyway, hates to admit that they want to after long periods of stress/work; when they do they prefer a bong LOL

SHELDA

- average / leaning towards good

- used to only use a bong; got more into joints as she got older, so she doesn’t have much experience

- however, she likes to have bong seshes w/ chandlo snorpy & floofty on the weekends :-3

- shares her bong w floofty frequently; they hang out one-on-one a lot (👥🩷 IN LOVE)

EGGABELL

- mid

- only gets high w/ liz, just does whatever method she’s using that night/morning

- very cautious about her weed intake for obvious health reasons

- gets frustrated asf taking care of liz when she greens out after being too adventurous

LIZBERT

- also mid

- neither her nor eggabell can roll so they just buy pre rolls like Multiple other grumps

- prefers live resin/wax and other super strong forms

- overdoes it, greens out, cries to eggabell for help, then passes out without fail every time she smokes

Thats all thank u for coming 2 mypreswntation 💜

[nadinebrooks-sides]

Here is the link to my masterlist.

Will Graham: The Space Between Us

The first time (y/n) stepped into Will Graham’s lecture, it had been on a whim. The door had been left slightly ajar, and she’d slowed as she passed, her curiosity getting the better of her. (y/n) wasn’t usually one to intrude, but the cadence of his voice, measured and deliberate, pulled her in. 

She lingered near the back, half-hidden in the shadows of the dimly lit room. The class was composed of young recruits and seasoned agents. They sat together in rapt silence as Will dissected the mind of a killer with unnerving precision. His words were clinical, methodical, yet there was something deeply personal in the way he spoke, as though he bore the weight of every case he analyzed.

(y/n) told herself she’d only stay for a few minutes, just long enough to satisfy her curiosity. But minutes turned into the entire class, and before she realized it, she was sitting among the trainees, jotting down notes despite not being enrolled.

The next time, it wasn’t an accident. She returned, slipping into an empty seat before he even arrived, pretending not to notice the side glances from students who recognized she didn’t quite belong. Will never called her out, never questioned her presence. If anything, it seemed as if he ignored her completely. 

Most of the time (y/n) simply listened to the handsome man. She liked to watch him - the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he lost himself  in thought. 

It wasn’t until weeks later, about halfway through December, that he finally acknowledged her.

“Please stay for a moment,” Will said at the end of one of his lectures, his voice low and unreadable. She looked around at the other students hoping someone would let her know what Will was like, but nobody even made eye contact. They all slipped out the back door trying to move on to their next endeavour. 

(y/n)’s stomach twisted in nervous anticipation as she lingered near the desk, watching as the last of the students filed out. Will didn’t look at her right away, instead shuffling his papers, straightening them as though he was still deciding what to say,

Finally, he met her gaze. “You’re not in this class.”

She swallowed. “No, I’m not.” No reason to lie.

He studied her for a beat, his expression unreadable. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I find this interesting.” (y/n) finally responded after a moment of considering her thoughts. 

A flicker of something - amusement, perhaps - flashed in his dark eyes. “Interesting,” he echoed,

“Your lectures make me think about things differently,” she nodded, feeling strangely self-conscious under his scrutiny. 

“And what do you do here …” he trailed off, realizing that the first thing he should have done was ask her name. How rude of him. He noticed that she did have a name badge similar to his, so he knew that she worked somewhere around her.

“I’m (y/n),” she gave Will a small smile. “I do blood spatter analysis. I just started a couple of months ago after graduating with a degree in Criminal Psychology. I find that I have a lot more free time than I was expecting with this job so sometimes I like to walk around the building.” (y/n) realized she was rambling and told herself to stop talking. “It’s nothing as intense as forensic psychology though.” 

Will tilted his head slightly. “Blood spatter isn’t light work. When I worked in the field, I relied on those reports.”

“No, but it’s a different kind of heavy.” 

For the first time this evening, his lips quivered in the ghost of a smile and she felt an odd sense of accomplishment at having drawn it out to him. 

From then on, their quiet, stolen moments became routine. 

Some evenings, they spoke in hushed tones after class, her curiosity getting the better of her as she asked questions about cases she heard in the hallways, theories, and the complexities of human behavior. Other nights, they didn’t talk at all - just sat in silence as Will graded papers and she worked on research, their presence enough to fill the space between them.

Those nights, their presence was enough to fill the space between them. Those nights, the glances they exchanged felt heavier than words.

He never said much about himself, but she picked up pieces here and there - his disdain for large crowds, his affinity for stray dogs, his ability to see inside the minds of men most people would rather pretend don’t exist. And in return, she shared pieces of herself too.

Sometimes when she couldn’t make it to a lecture, she found herself missing it. Missing him. 

Will never mentioned the young analyst to Hannibal. He wasn’t sure why, but he suspended it because talking about her would make whatever this was feel more real.

But Hannibal knew.

He found Will one evening, stepping into the dimly lit lecture hall just as she said something that made Will - Will Graham, the man who rarely smiled - laugh.

She turned at the sound of the door, her breath catching slightly at the sight of the man who had a reputation as a genius psychiatrist. There was something about him that put her on edge, though she couldn’t explain why.

Will straightened, his expression quickly morphing into something more guarded. “Hannibal.”

The doctor’s gaze flickered to her. “Who might you be?”

“I-uh-well-” (y/n) shifted between her feet, suddenly feeling self conscious, 

“She works as a blood spatter analyst - just started a couple of months ago.” Will responded for her.

“I see.” Hannibal smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

(y/n) felt exposed under gaze, as thought he was peeling back layers of her she didn't even realize existed. It was unsettling,

“I should go,” she murmured, grabbing her belongings and showing them into her bag.”It was nice to meet you, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal gave a slight nod as he watched her hurry out of the room. After thinking for a moment, Hannibal realized he had never introduced himself or said his name. Guess he was well known around here.

As soon as she was gone, he slowly turned to Will. “She’s quite young.”

“She’s an adult,” Will’s jaw tightened. 

“Of course,” Hannibal said smoothly. “But I do wonder … are you drawn to her because she offers something new? Something untainted by the darkness that you carry?”

Will didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Hannibal’s words wormed their way into his mind, planting seeds of doubt where there had been none before. What he and (y/n) were doing was harmless so why would he think about it? They were just friends.

The following morning he found himself in Hannibal’s office, needing to talk about a case they were working on, however the conversation drifted away from that.

Seated cross from Will in Hannibal’s meticulously arranged office. He folded his hands atop his knee, his expression unreadable as ever. “You seem … lighter lately, Will.” 

Will had always prided himself on his ability to analyze the smallest shifts in behavior, yet when it came to his own, he was utterly blind. 

Hannibal saw it immediately. 

Will’s brow furrowed slightly. “Lighter?”

“Yes,” Hannibal continued smoothly. “I have observed a change in your demeanor. Less burdened. More engaged. A certain energy that was absent when I first met you.”

Will shifted on the coach, his fingers tapping lightly against the arm of the chair. “I wouldn’t call it energy. Just …” He wasn’t sure if he was ready to share how he felt about (y/n) just yet.

Hannibal titled his head, an amused glint flickering his eyes. “A pleasant distraction, I assume?”

Will hesitated, glancing away, suddenly aware of the trap being laid before him. If he denied it too much, it would only fuel Hannibal’s curiosity. If he acknowledged it, he would be inviting scrutiny into something he wasn’t even sure how to define himself.

“The young woman that you met a couple of weeks ago, the one that works in blood spatter. She stops by my classroom sometimes.” Will admitted, finally keeping his voice deliberately neutral. “I don’t know when it happened, but I felt myself pulling away from her and I don’t know why. She didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, it’s the complete opposite.” 

“Ah.” Hannibal nodded as if he had just been handed the missing piece of a puzzle he had already half-assembled. “And does her company provide you solace?”

Will exhaled through his nose trying to gather his thoughts. “She’s … easy to talk to. She listens and I’ve been feeling a little off not speaking to her.”

“Have you thought maybe that’s for the best Will?” Hannibal question. “Maybe subconsciously you knew that the two of you were not made for each other’s worlds and you pulled away.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean Hannibal?”

“Just an observation,” Hannibal smoothly replied. “And she is young, is she not?” 

Will’s stomach twisted at the remark, his shoulder tensing. He forced himself to meet Hannibal’s gaze. “She’s in her twenties.” 

“A student, essentially,” Hannibal mused, his tone carrying the slight inflection of condescension.  “Still shaping her worldview. Impressionable.”

“She’s not a child Hannibal,” Will’s jaw tightened. He knew exactly what Hannibal was trying to get at. “She’s not naïve either.”

“I didn’t say she was a child nor naïve,” the doctor countered smoothly. “Those were your words, but you and I both know there is a vast chasm between your world and hers.” 

Will said nothing, but Hannibal could see the seed had planted. The careful arrangement of doubt, slipping through the cracks of Will’s already conflicted mind. He let the silence settle before delivering the final push.

“You must ask yourself, Will … is it fair to invite her into your world? The darkness you navigate daily, the weight of the horrors you shoulder - do you truly believe she belongs there?” 

Will clenched his hands together, his throat suddenly dry. He wanted to dismiss Hannibal’s words, but they rooted deep. He saw her smile in his mind’s eye, heard the way she laughed at his dry humor, felt the warmth in her presence - 

And then he saw what Hannibal wanted him to see. The blood. The nightmares that would come if she stayed too close. Will felt like he had no choice but to push her away. 

That night, when she walked past his classroom, she found the door closed. Locked.

He was pulling away, 

And she had no idea why. 

Over the next month, Will tried to reason with himself, convincing himself it was for the best. His psychiatrist’s words echoed in his mind like a cautionary tale - words laced with concern, with subtle warnings about the fragility of youth, the disparity in their worlds. But the more he tried to push her from his thoughts, the more the absence of her dug into him like a blade, sharp and unyielding. 

So when he found himself standing in the unfamiliar hallway where she worked, his hand hovering over the door frame, he knew he had already lost the battle. 

He stepped inside the small, brightly lit office space. The environment was a stark contrast to his dimly lit classroom. There were movie posters on the walls, bookshelves filled with textbooks and books for leisure readings, a couch on the back wall with patterned pillows and stuffed animals. There was soft classical music playing from an old speaker.

(y/n) was seated at her desk, eyebrows furrowed in focus, the tip of her pen against her perfect lips.

Will cleared his throat.

She looked up, startled at first. And then - 

The emotions that flashed across her face were unreadable. Surprise. Hesitation. Hurt. 

“Will?” Her voice was careful, guarded. 

He felt the weight of her gaze on him, dissecting him in the same way he had done to others so many times before. Only, with her, it was different. He was never the subject of scrutiny when she looked at him. He was just Will.

“I was in the area,” he lied. 

“Bullshit,” she countered. “You’ve been avoiding me. If you don’t want me around, just say it Will. I can handle rejection. I’m not a child.” 

“It’s not that simple (y/n). But I did notice that you stopped coming by.” 

Her lips parted slightly, as if caught off guard by his honesty. Then just as quickly, she composed herself. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Of course I’d notice (y/n).” He stepped closer, shutting the door behind him as he did.

She studied him carefully, as if searching for the reason he was really here. “You pulled away first.” There was no accusation in her tone - just fact. “So, I figured I should stop being a distraction.”

Will felt himself flinch. “You were never a distraction, In fact, you were the complete opposite.” 

“Then what was I?”

The question hung between them, heavy and fragile. 

“You were, I mean you are someone I look forward to seeing every day.”

Something flickered in her eyes, something that made his pulse quicken. “I thought you didn’t see me that way. Maybe I was too young to be part of your world.”

“Is that what you think?” His jaw tensed. 

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s what Hannibal thinks.” 

Well cursed under his breath. Of course, she had figured it out. She was too intelligent for her own good.

“He made you doubt this,” she said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

Will closed the distance between them, leaning against her desk. “It’s not about doubt. It’s about…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Not wanting to taint something good.”

She let out a small breath of laughter, though there was no humor in it. “You think you’ll ruin me?”

He didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.

She shook her head, reaching out before she could stop herself, fingers lightly grazing his wrist. “Will,” she murmured. “I know what I want.”

His skin burned under her touch, his heart hammering in his chest.

She continued, voice steady. “I don’t care how complicated you think this is. I don’t care about the things you think you have to protect me from. I know you.” She squeezed his wrist gently. “And I know that I want you.”

Will exhaled sharply, tilting his head down as if gathering the strength to respond. When he looked up, something had shifted. Something raw, something real.

“And what if I say I want you too?”

Her lips parted, her breath hitching slightly.

Before she could respond, Will reached out, his fingers curling under her chin, lifting her face towards his. He searched her eyes for any hesitation, any flicker of doubt. There was none.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slow, careful—like a confession in itself. And when she melted into him, responding with equal fervor, he knew that this—whatever this was—was no longer something he could deny.

When they finally pulled away, her forehead rested against his, a small smile playing at her lips. “You think Hannibal knows?” she whispered.

Will let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, he definitely knows.”

She laughed, and the sound settled something deep in his chest.

For the first time in a long time, Will Graham didn’t feel like a man standing on the edge of destruction. He felt something else entirely.

Hope.

[snezka-049]

Snezka and SCP-049 beginning (lore)

1. Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski lore (Snezka)

(Events before the containment breach).

In the corridors of the SCP Foundation, where secrets and anomalies are hidden from the public eye, Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski worked. Her life was full of mystery, and this is what drew her to the world of anomalies.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Name: Snezhana Lewandowski

Age: ██

Date of Birth: 27/08/ ████

Clearance Level: Third

Personnel Category: B

Specialty: IT Specialist. Psychologist.

Place of work: Zone 19

Foundation experience: 5 years

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Education

First: IT-Specialist.

Snezhana enrolled in the Faculty of Information Technology at a state university. During her studies, she specialized in cybersecurity and data analytics.

After graduating with a Bachelor's degree, then a Master's degree, she continued her education in graduate school, where she focused on research in the areas of:

1. Information Security.

2. Big data analytics.

She defended her doctoral dissertation on "Anomaly detection methods for system and big data", which attracted the attention of the SCP Foundation.

Second: Psychologist.

After achieving the success she needed in technical education, she decided to fulfill her life's main dream of working in the field of psychology. Due to some unpleasant events in her childhood, she did not have the opportunity to study in this field, so she had to temporarily change her orientation in life.

From an early age, Snezhana has shown an interest in psychology and human behavior. The motivation for this comes from a tough youth and personal traumatic experiences. Her goal was to help those who couldn't make it on their own, as she once couldn't. After enough time had passed, she managed to apply to the academy to study psychology. Upon graduating from the academy, Snezhana specialized in the areas of:

1. Clinical psychology.

2. Experimental psychology.

3. Counseling psychology.

After she got a job in a psychoneurological dispensary, gaining valuable experience and practice, a broader understanding of the inner world of people.

Invitation to the Foundation

Finding contacts and personal information about Snezhana was not difficult for the Foundation. Having noticed her abilities, the Foundation ordered to send a recruiter - ████ ██████ - into her social circle to get more information about the candidate. As a result, the recruiter ████ and Snezhana became close friends.

After some time of observation and communication of the recruiter with her, having received all the necessary information, the Board of the Foundation came to the decision to give her the invitation to work.

Realizing the risks and danger, Snezhana accepted the invitation, having resigned from her previous job after working for about 2 years.

After testing, interviewing and training, she became an employee of the Foundation with a level 2 security clearance.

Career at the Foundation

Snezhana started her career as a junior specialist in cybersecurity, a little later gaining a junior position in psychology.

Her specialization is a unique combination of programming and psychology, allowing her to look at anomalies from two perspectives: both as complex systems that require analysis, and as entities with their own consciousness and motivation.

Incident

While analyzing data, Dr. Lewandowski came across strange signals on the network. These were not just hacking attempts - they were coming from an entity known as SCP-███ She and others in the programming field developed a comprehensive defense strategy. In the process, they faced many challenges: the SCP-███ system was constantly adapting, and they had to find new solutions. Under conditions of stress and strain, Dr. Lewandowski managed to implement their real-time protection algorithm.

After that, for some reason, she was assigned more work in the field of psychology. Also, her success in the incident gave her a promotion to level 3 clearance.

In psychology

Dr. Lewandowski researches and analyzes object psychology. She develops methods of interacting with abnormal entities and helps in understanding their behavior.

Real security is achieved not only through physical barriers, but also through the emotional stability of employees. She took time to help her colleagues through seminars and psychology trainings for the staff of the Facility, trying to create an atmosphere of trust and mutual support among the employees.

For about 2 years, Dr. Lewandowski worked only with Safe Class facilities, and after being promoted to Senior Specialist in Psychology, she was ordered to work with Euclid Class facilities.

This promotion led her to meet one subject that changed her life, and in the future, his too... SCP-049 - Plague Doctor.

2. Lewandowski and SCP-049

(Events on the eve of the containment breach).

Experiment

The first days of Dr. Lewandowski and the SCP-049 subject were formal, protocol-driven. Lewandowski conducted standard interview sessions in an attempt to understand the motives and nature of his subject. The subject was cool and detached.

She knew SCP-049 was dangerous, but she saw him not only as an anomaly, but as a complex, multifaceted individual. His words were full of sadness and loneliness, imbued with longing and melancholy. She understood his logic, his pain, his desire to “help,” even if the methods were questionable, but perhaps all is not what it seems at first glance.

And yet she too had thought similar things to what SCP-049 had said, that the world was sick, humanity needed to be saved. Ever since she was a child, she had had thoughts like his in her mind.

She had a theory that there were no bad people in the world, but wounded people who had not been healed. She believed that a person becomes wounded, after being treated unfairly or cruelly, by similarly wounded people. If a person does not work on their wound, it will not heal, because there are many wounded people in the world that will scratch that wound, making it bigger. And this pain and resentment, like a virus or rot, infects his soul completely, making the person the same as the one who once inflicted the wound. Later that person carries this pain and resentment further, taking it out on others, making more infected. It is an endless cycle that cannot be eradicated completely, but can be minimized. Some can handle it, and some need help. You have to want help, you have to understand the situation and try to solve it too, because no one can help you better than you can help yourself, and that's what Snezka had to go through.

She thought these thoughts were strange, but after so many years, there was a creature that literally reflected her thoughts, with whom you can share this theory, and perhaps get understanding.

She saw herself in him, only a better version of herself, but with the same mental problems.

— How can that be!? He's just an abnormal object, why can't I stop thinking about him!? I can't stop thinking about him, his words. Maybe it's my soft nature, too compassionate, empathic, or maybe it's his anomalous action?

Dr. Lewandowski felt a kindred spirit in him and wanted to have more sessions with him, and most importantly, she wanted to get away from formal conversation, and share her thoughts with him about their common problem.

She decided to send a request to the management above about the idea of having experimental conversations with SCP-049, so that he would see Dr. Lewandowski as genuinely understanding, get comfortable with her, and tell her more about his treatment, himself, and the fever. Approval was granted, but it was a long wait. Finally she could be sincere with him.

Trust

New conversations with SCP-049, but not as formal as before, it took several such conversations before SCP-049 settled down with Dr. Lewandowski.

He told her more about the fever, about the treatment, they began to have deep dialogues about life and death, about philosophy, about society, SCP-049 even began to tell stories from his own life. Lewandowski also told him about her life, but she liked to listen to him more.

She found comfort in his monologues about the world, about death, about eternity, his stories about medicine. Her mind resisted, but her heart could no longer deny it: she felt something more than professional interest in him. It was a dangerous game, bordering on insanity. She knew it, but she couldn't stop. Lewandowski realized that her feelings were illogical, unacceptable, but they were there. Her greatest fear was that the Foundation would suspect something and restrict her access to him, which unfortunately happened...

Another conversation between SCP-049 and Lewandowski, the subject had already started addressing her by her favorite version of her name, Snezka, while she addressed him as Doctor. Suddenly the object fell silent.

— Doctor? Is everything all right?

— ...Yes. Snezka, let me demonstrate something to you, you should know....

The subject held out his hand, as far as it was possible being handcuffed for safety's sake, and nodded, offering to touch her. Sensing that this venture might not end well, Lewandowski extended her palm, and SCP-049 touched it.

— Wait, what...? Oh... My thoughts about your abilities were valid. - Was the last thing Snezka said before the cell door opened and she was summoned to leave.

Reprimand

— Dr. Lewandowski, your experimental conversations with the subject have come to an end. We have all the information we need, you will no longer have to work with SCP-049. Let's be honest, it seems you've begun to abuse your access to the facility, and the Foundation board has some questions about that.

— ...It was part of an experiment, you see.... It gave you a lot of new information, before such experiments such informative results were not observed. - said Lewandowski in her defense.

— Lucky for you that it didn't end in your death! Objects like 049 are dangerous, you can't trust them or reach out to them. Or have you forgotten what he did to Dr. Hamm? And everything was fine at first, too. This object is unpredictable! You're lucky you're a valued member of our staff, and this is the first time you've had an incident like this, otherwise we'd be forced to take action.

Separation

More work with other facilities has now fallen on her. One day, she dared to inquire about SCP-049. But she didn't get a clear answer.

Meanwhile, SCP-049 was asking the same question to the staff - when would Dr. Lewandowski visit?

— We're sorry, but Dr. Lewandowski has declined to work with you, SCP-049.

— ...That can't be true, you're lying! She couldn't have done it, I can feel it!

Subject SCP-049 became hostile to the Foundation, uncooperative and drove all attempts at contact away.

All or Nothing

— "Is the dream and freedom worth risking the lives and safety of others?" — Pondered by Dr. Lewandowski . — "Risking everything, insanity, selfishness(?). But if it's for a great purpose, for the good of all mankind..."

INCIDENT ██-████

(Latest walkie-talkie recordings)

(Static noise and warning signal sound)

Operator One: (Confused) This is operator one. Security protocol has failed! Repeat, security protocol has failed! All subjects... all subjects are at large!

Agent █: Reporting a security breach in Sector 3. Doors unresponsive, cameras disabled. Looks like SCP-███ is out of control.

Commander ███████: be careful! Confirm the presence of the intruder and take action to apprehend him.

(Noise, sound of gunshots)

Agent ██: (panic) This is crazy! Reporting SCP-███ is not alone. There are several other objects present. Very aggressive, we need help, repeat ████████████████ (interference).

Commander ████████: Come in, Agent ██, come in!!! (communication lost).

Commander ████████: Fuck...

Dr. █████: It could be SCP-███! He could have hacked into the security system and released the other facilities.

Commander ████: █████, are you sure? How?!

Dr. █████: I can't say for sure, but... (struggle noise) HOW ARE YOU!? STOP, DOCTOR... (interference).

Commander ████: All personnel to the assault! Stop the targets at all costs! What the hell's going on! Where's all the security personnel!?

(explosions, shouting)

Agent █████: They're all over the place

Agent ██: Where's the ██ squad?

Agent █████: they're holding back SCP-682

Agent ██: he's the last fucking thing we need!

SB-2: SB-1, this is SB-2! We've got-- we've got SCP-███breaking through! We can't stop him!

SB-1: Hold him off at all costs! Support is on the way.

(Siren and explosions)

Operator Three: SB-1, this is Operator Three! The ██ camera signal is gone! SCP-█████... he's out!

SB-1: All SB personnel to camera ██! Isolate SCP-█████! Repeat, isolate SCP-█████! (radio interference)

End of Calm

There has been a massive failure of the entire Foundation security system in Area 19, as well as a power failure. Security protocol, alarms, and warnings went off with a delay with most of the dangerous objects wreaking havoc in the Foundation. The alleged culprit of the SCP-“”" incident. Likely had accomplices, an investigation is underway.

During the incident, a large number of soldiers and staff died. There was a leak of several objects to freedom. The lists of dead and missing were equal. Dr. Snezana Lewandowski and SCP-049 were also listed as missing, among dozens of personnel and facilities.

The SCP Foundation, having suffered loss and damage, is doing its best to restore order after the chaos, but the world is no longer safe as before.

3. Conversations between Lewandowski and SCP-049

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good afternoon, SCP-049. I am your psychologist, Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski. It's a pleasure to meet you!

SCP-049: Greetings, doctor, I hope we can work together.

Dr. Lewandowski: I think so! So, how are you feeling today?

SCP-049: (pause) I feel... A burden. A burden that is hard to describe in words. Every day I see suffering, and it depresses me.

Dr. Lewandowski: Are you talking about human suffering? About those whom you refer to as sick people?

SCP-049: Yes. The weathering is not just a physical condition. This world, this wretched piece of the universe, is forever doomed to suffer. (Irritated) Mortals, powerless over their own weaknesses, forever seek salvation in false doctrines and vain hopes. They build cities out of flimsy material, create weapons that can destroy themselves, and cling to life without realizing its true nature. I see their pain, their despair, feel their fear of the inevitable. And I know I can help them. But they don't understand. They fear me! They reject my mercy! They call me a monster, a monstrosity! I see them trying to stop me, lock me up, impose their rules. But can you limit what is beyond their comprehension? Can one defeat that which is eternal? Their attempts are futile. I will always exist. Let them resist, let them fear. It only confirms their blindness.

(A moment's silence)

Dr. Lewandowski: (Sigh)...Have you ever thought about why this “fever” bothers you so much? What exactly causes you to feel so strongly about it?

SCP-049: (sighs) I have witnessed a lot of suffering. I have seen people lose hope, I have seen them fall victim to their weakness. This makes me want to help, but sometimes I feel that my efforts are futile.

Dr. Lewandowski: Do you feel that your help is really effective? Or is there any doubt about your methods?

SCP-049: (with some irritation) My methods are the only way to free people from their suffering! I cannot afford to doubt my vocation. But sometimes... It catches up with me.

Dr. Lewandowski: It is normal to have doubts. Many people face similar feelings. What do you do to deal with these emotions?

SCP-049: I continue my work. I focus on my goals.

Dr. Lewandowski: Maybe you should take time to reflect on yourself and your feelings. It may help you better understand your motivation and calm your mind.

SCP-049: I don't think so, but... You may be right. I worry that if I stop, the darkness around me will consume everything.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Pause)...How I understand that. Sometimes you have to take a step back to see the big picture. It doesn't mean you stop fighting the disease. It can only make you stronger.

SCP-049: Perhaps...

Dr. Lewandowski: This is an important step. And remember, you are not alone in your experience. I'm here to help you make sense of it.

SCP-049: Thank you... I'll try to remember that.

[END RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good evening Doctor, how are you feeling?

SCP-049: It would be better if I were allowed to return to my work.

Dr. Lewandowski: Don't worry Doctor, you will definitely be given that opportunity...

SCP-049: Really? Really!? I'm finally going back to work, I'm glad to hear that! When do I get a patient?

Dr. Lewandowski: ...Unfortunately, I don't have that information.

SCP-049: Maybe you could influence this situation? Explain my urgent need to progress with my treatment!

Dr. Lewandowski: I don't think I can... Doctor, you need to rest, you've been working hard. As a doctor, you should know that rest is very important for high productivity.

SCP-049: (Sighs) I wish I had something to do in these four walls...

Dr. Lewandowski: I have a suggestion. Do you like to read? I can bring you some books if the Foundation leadership says so.

SCP-049: That's a very marvelous idea.

Dr. Lewandowski: What kind of literature do you prefer?

SCP-049: I was interested in modern books about medicine, it is interesting to study what is being written about it now. It would be interesting to read something from philosophy.

Dr. Lewandowski: Excellent choice Doctor, we have the same taste in literature. Would you mind if I brought a couple more books on my recommendation for you?

SCP-049: Sounds good, I agree.

Dr. Lewandowski: See you, Doctor.

SCP-049: See you, thank you for such an interesting proposal, Dr. Lewandowski.

[END OF RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good evening, Doctor.

SCP-049: Good evening, Dr. Lewandowski.

Dr. Lewandowski: I want to understand how you feel when you look at the world through the prism of your...your uniqueness.

SCP-049: (hesitantly) Uniqueness?

Dr. Lewandowski: I'm talking about wisdom. You have lived for centuries, watching the birth and decline of civilizations. What have you learned in that time?

(Minute's silence)

SCP-049: I've seen nations rise and fall, empires born of dust and turned to stone, ideas ignite people's hearts and turn to ash. (Pause). I realized that existence is a perpetual cycle of birth and death, a constant struggle for survival. People are so hungry for meaning, but it eludes them.

Dr. Lewandowski: Isn't this struggle, this longing for meaning, the very essence of being?

SCP-049: (With sadness in his voice) Meaning... (Pause) It wanders like a ghost through the labyrinths of our consciousness. We search for it in religion, in science, in art, but it eludes us, leaving only emptiness.

Dr. Lewandowski: But don't you see, Doctor? You create your own meaning by helping people to get rid of the disease. You believe in what you're doing, Doctor. You believe it's necessary.

SCP-049: Faith... (Pause) This is another one of those ghosts that haunt us. I see things that others do not see, and it pains me. It pains me to see the suffering that is inevitable for all living things.

Dr. Lewandowski: And you're trying to help, Doctor...

SCP-049: (Interrupting) We are but pawns in the hands of fate. Our actions are insignificant in comparison to eternity.

Dr. Lewandowski: Don't say that, Doctor. You are not a pawn. You are the creator of your own destiny. And I believe you will find your path, your meaning.

SCP-049: (Heavy sigh) But not in this place, not here, not now.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Pause) You know Doctor... I'd like to share with you a thought that has been on my mind since I was a child.

SCP-049: What is it that's bothering you?

[recording interrupted for 5 minutes]

Dr. Lewandowski: I almost forgot, the Foundation gave me permission to bring you some books.

(Took several books out of her bag and placed a stack on the table next to the subject)

SCP-049: (With joy in her voice) Glad to hear that! Immensely grateful to the Foundation and of course to you, Dr. Lewandowski.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Smiling) I'm glad it lifted your spirits. See you later, we'll be sure to discuss what we read next time.

SCP-049: I look forward to seeing you.

[END RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Zone 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Hello, Doctor! How are you today?

SCP-049: Good afternoon, Dr. Lewandowski. I'm feeling... quite well. I've been studying some of the books you brought me at the last meeting.

Dr. Lewandowski: Excellent! Which books did you enjoy the most?

SCP-049: I was impressed with the works on human nature. Their authors convey emotions and experiences in a very subtle way.

Dr. Lewandowski: Yes, literature can indeed be a great way to understand people. Is there anything that surprised you about these books?

SCP-049: I was surprised by how diverse human feelings are. Everyone experiences love, fear, and hope in their own way.

Dr. Lewandowski: Yes, humans are amazing creatures! What about you? Have you ever experienced something similar to love?

SCP-049: (Pause) I'm not sure. My life has been devoted to fighting the windfall, and I haven't given much thought to such feelings. But... sometimes I feel warm when I talk to you. (turns away)

Dr. Lewandowski: I'm glad to see your condition has improved markedly. I feel warm when we talk, too. (Pause) You are an unusually interesting conversationalist.

SCP-049: (surprised) Interesting? I've always thought of myself as rather... odd. But it's nice to hear you say that. You don't hear that very often in this place, in general... I've never heard it from you.

Dr. Lewandowski: Weird people can be very interesting! We all have our unique qualities. For example, your view of the world is something special, not strange. By the way, have you read that novel?

SCP-049: The Master and Margarita? Yes, an interesting work about the power of love and the struggle against darkness.

Dr. Lewandowski: I think there are so many layers and philosophical themes there. You know, you sound like the Master (Laughs).

SCP-049: Hmm... There's something, maybe, and you remind me of Marguerite.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Laughs) That's probably true. Unfortunately, I have to go. Don't forget, you deserve to be understood. And I'm here to help you do just that.

SCP-049: (With a slight sadness in his voice) Your support gives me strength.

Dr. Lewandowski: We all need each other's support.

SCP-049: I look forward to our future conversations.

[END OF RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good afternoon Doctor, I would like to know what your thoughts have been occupied with lately?

SCP-049: Greetings. (Pause) Relatively recently, I've been thinking about the nature of human cruelty.

Dr. Lewandowski: Cruelty... (Pause) Unfortunately, it permeates every facet of existence, like a shadow that follows the light.

SCP-049: Yes. (Sighs) I watch people, and it makes me sad how capable they are of terrible things. There is a darkness lurking in their hearts that sometimes overshadows even the brightest impulses.

Dr. Lewandowski: As it happens, humanity is a paradox. On the one hand, it creates beautiful works of art, science and culture, and on the other hand, it is capable of ruthless acts of violence and hatred.

SCP-049: Exactly. I see how people can be kind and compassionate, but at the same time they easily cross the line into becoming instruments of destruction. It causes me deep sadness and bewilderment.

Dr. Lewandowski: I share your feelings and support your thoughts, Doctor.

SCP-049: It is most gratifying to know that, Dr. Lewandowski. My mission is to rid mankind of disease. At times I am at a loss as to what to do about this inner cruelty? How do you heal a society that is tearing itself apart?

Dr. Lewandowski: You see, many of these atrocities come from fear, ignorance and hatred. Or perhaps they were mentally wounded once, and that wound, without proper treatment, began to fester, infecting the whole mind and soul.

SCP-049: (Interested) I like the way you think. Abuse is not just physical violence. It is also words that hurt, betrayals and indifference to the suffering of others. In each of these acts I see a reflection of the disease.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Sigh) Sadly, dreams of a world where humanity can overcome its cruelty and learn to love are utopian.

SCP-049: I'm not so sure about that. It's certainly not an easy task, the whole world and one me, the road to healing is long and thorny. But the more I work at it, the closer that peace comes.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Pause) Perhaps someday people will realize that cruelty is not part of their true nature. Perhaps they will learn to see in each other a reflection of themselves and learn to care for those who suffer. Perhaps... (Pause) But sometimes you get the idea that some people are so rotten in their souls that treatment will be useless, and the only thing left to do is to rid the world of that person so they don't hurt others. This is not humane, but in such a case it is possible to make sure that this person stays alive but is not capable of hurting others.

SCP-049: (Surprised) Your thoughts make sense. We've had a rather pleasant dialog. I've never had such an in-depth discussion with anyone else. I feel much better.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Smiling) That's wonderful, Doctor, I confess I don't often have someone to talk to about this either.

[END RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good afternoon, Doctor, how is your mood?

SCP-049: Greetings. My mood is a little down, without my work I'm having a hard time mentally.

Dr. Lewandowski: I'm sorry to hear that, Doctor. (Pause) Let me ask you something.

SCP-049: I'm listening to you.

Dr. Lewandowski: Do you have any pleasant memory from your life?

SCP-049: (Sighs) Unfortunately, there aren't many... (Pause) I do recall one. Yes, it was a time when I was out in the wild, searching for rare herbs and plants in the forest. No people and just the sounds of nature. And then I came to a field, a field of lavender. (Sighs) It's... It was a magical feeling. The field was filled with bright colors and the air was full of a light, slightly spicy aroma. I felt like I was in another world, away from my worries. I walked slowly among the flowers, watching the bees as they worked to gather nectar. The bees are not aware of the suffering that humans are experiencing, they are just doing their job, benefiting the world around them. It made me think: maybe that's what humanity needs - the simple pursuit of the good. (Pause) The whole day I was there. It was wonderful. I dream of being in that moment again one day.

Dr. Lewandowski: That's... It's a wonderful memory, very beautiful.

SCP-049: Yes... It's beautiful. You know, I feel a little better.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Smiling) That's wonderful to hear. Try to remember something else, good thoughts can smooth out your condition within these walls.

SCP-049: I'll try. Thank you for encouraging me to remember this.

[END RECORDING]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Interviewer: Dr. Snezhana Lewandowski, Area 19

Interviewee: SCP-049

[START RECORDING]

Dr. Lewandowski: Good afternoon Doctor, how is your mood?

SCP-049: Good afternoon Snezka. I guess my mood is somewhere between average and good. Good to see you, how are you feeling?

Dr. Lewandowski: I'm not bad. I have something I'd like to give you. I had a hard time getting permission for it from the foundation, but....

(Took out of her bag a small pillow with a lavender flower print pillowcase and placed it on the table in front of the subject).

This is for you. I remember that you don't need sleep, but that's not what it's for. Rather it is for coziness, and your favorable mood. This pillow is stuffed with lavender.

SCP-049: (Surprised) It's for me?! What a wonderful gift, lavender really calms me down.

Dr. Lewandowski: I'm glad the gift is useful to you. I would have brought you something else, but unfortunately the Foundation has only authorized this one so far.

SCP-049: I am honored by such attention, thank you, Dr..... Snezka. (Pause) ...How did I not notice that... Your last name is...

Dr. Lewandowski: (Interested) Hmm?

SCP-049: Lewandowski, that last name comes from the Old Polish word levanda, which means lavender. What a wonderful coincidence, my favorite plant.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Smiles) Yes, that's right, my favorite too by the way. I am amazed at your knowledge, Doctor!

SCP-049: It is a pleasure to be appreciated and understood by you. I must admit, you are not out of my mind.

Dr. Lewandowski: (Embarrassed) Oh... You know, it's mutual. Doctors aren't supposed to have favorites, but I have to admit...(Pause) You're my favorite patient.

(momentary silence)

SCP-049: I wish we could meet more often...

Dr. Lewandowski: I'd like that too, Doctor...

[END OF RECORDING]

Supplement

https://www.tumblr.com/snezka-049/766312832505626624/snezka-and-doctor-reference-and-lore-scp-049?source=share