#abusive copycat

[wastedchildhood]

apologies mean nothing to me. you’ll never change.

[llycaons]

another thing I liked was how vicious and hateful and unforgivable xy was depicted because he literally did manipulate a good man into murdering hundreds of people and then tortured and murdered a little girl, whose pov we are reading from, like I find him entertaining as a villain but he's absolutely vile and sooo many fics want to be like '🥺 he just needed love' well he actually did get unconditional love and support and companionship FROM XXC and he used it to manipulate and mass murder so idk it was really awful what he went through but I think in any situation he would have been a fucked up sadist out for his own amusement and you know what im just going to link it: x. it's good but the wx is very novel-faithful so 😔

[brigatebajor]

ive got some really nice pics of some of my latest hunts. it's raining men baby!!!

[fullhalalalchemist]

🚨🚨CONGRESS SECRETLY TRYING TO SNEAK IN EARN IT ACT COPYCAT INTO MUST PASS SPENDING BILL (PLEASE READ EXTREMELY IMPORTANT)

July 20, 2023 Congress is right now determining what is included in a must pass spending bill the NDAA. Often congress will sneakily add as amendments their bills that they can't pass in a normal setting.

If you remember, I made a previous post about EARN IT being reintroduced here.

The EARN IT Act and it's copycats are bipartisan bills that will greatly censor if not completely eliminate encryption and anything sexual and LGBTQ+ from the internet, globally. Anything the far-right doesn't like will be completely gone. The best way to stop them is to use https://www.badinternetbills.com/ to call your senators.

Following it's initial introduction earlier this year was massive opposition from human rights, LGBT, tech, political groups, and grassroots groups. Bc of this, the senators decided to remake the bill but give it a new name, so they can still pass Earn It without actually passing Earn It. Those bills are the Stop CSAM Act (yes really, they actually named it that), and the Cooper-Davis act.

The entire point of these bills is to mass surveil and censor everyone and I don't know why more people or senators speak out against it. There is a direct timeline from when the Attorney General Barr (under Trump) said he wanted to do this to it's initial introduction in 2019, and how the senators explicitly knew they couldn't actually say that so they lied and said it was about "stopping CSAM" or "stopping drugs" for Cooper-Davis Act.

These bills essentially do the following:

they gut encryption, the one thing actually protects you from having your data seen by anyone. Do you want republicans to know you're trans? that someone had an abortion? that they spoke out against the govt? to see your private photos you have uploaded to the cloud? to see what porn you watch? if youre a journalist, or an abuse survivor, any hacker or abuser can see your stuff and track you.

they gut parts of Section 230, the one thing that allows anyone to post online and birthed social media. Previous gutting into 230 gave us the tumblr nsfw ban and killed that site.

they create an unelected commission with some already established govt body (DOJ, FTC, etc) that will include law enforcement and people from NCOSE or other Christian conservative groups who will decide what is and isn't lawful to say. no citizen can vote who's on this commission, and the president gets to pick. it's like the supreme court, but for the internet.

lead to mass censorship and surveillance because of the above

We have until the end of the month to stop this, but this can be added literally any moment until then. It's literally code red. If this is added it goes into effect immediately. The BEST way to stop this is to drive calls and emails to the senate. https://www.badinternetbills.com/ connects you directly to your members of congress & gives you a call script.

It is ESSENTIAL to call the Senate leaders who can stop this. Here's a more precise call script you can use: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1huD5Ldd1lPTECYTEb9Gg2ZzrqW6Y9tryHT-MdjOl8kY/edit

All these people expressed concern over Earn It, so we need to press them hard to not allow it's copycats Cooper-Davis or Stop CSAM into the NDAA. This is URGENT and needs all hands on deck. Chuck Schumer (D-NY) (202) 224-6542 Maria Cantwell (D-WA) (202) 224-3441 Jon Ossof (D-GA) (202)-224-3521 Alex Padilla (D-CA) (202) 224-3553 Cory Booker (D-NJ) (202) 224-3224 Mike Lee (R-UT) (202) 224-5444

Please please please spread this message and blow up their phones.

TLDR; The Senate is trying to quietly push the Earn It Act's copycat bills into the must pass NDAA, which will lead to mass censorship and surveillance online by gutting Section 230 which is the entire reason you can even be on tumblr and why the internet exists, killing encryption which put everyone's lives in danger, and appointing far-right people to a supreme court-esque commission that the president has direct control over. They could be added in ANY DAY and we need to push hard to stop it before it gets to that point. CALL YOUR SENATORS **NOW** BY USING https://www.badinternetbills.com/ AND CALL THE SENATE LEADERSHIP AND SPREAD THE WORD!!!!

[reiding-writing]

hi author your writing is great btw i just wanted to see when you would post part 2 of copycat??

copycat [ s.r ] | 2 |

The replication of a disturbing 2004 serial murder case calls for the BAU to get involved with the assistance of none other than the original killer themself. And whilst Spencer didn't work the original case, he was eager to learn every detail about it, including its offender.

WARNINGS: relationship between spencer and reader is not inherently romantic, sociopathic reader, graphic details of murder, graphic eye descriptions, mentions of spencer’s addiction and overdose, morgan and reader really don’t like each other, child abuse, childhood addiction, death by overdose, suicide

s3!spencer/gn!unsub!reader || mystery || 14.3k || masterlist!!

part one !! , part two !!

unsub!reader masterlist!!

a/n: after a whole 22 days of writing this, it’s finally finished 😭 sorry for making you all wait for so long this one was a nightmare to finish-

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @devilsadvcte @marvellover98 @evvy96 @arlovesper @h3rt8k @pathologicalreid @sideshow-b0b @sunflowersndpeaches @mera3luna @madameparkerreid @fandom-mania @melaninsugababy @meyaareads

“Let’s go Doctor. I’m ready to get out of this beige abomination.”

You push yourself off the table and leave out of the same door that Morgan had, Spencer following closely behind you.

He was oddly grateful about your decency to respect his title, and it only made him want to read you like a book even more.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The coroner's office, whilst not as bland and beige as the police station was still extremely muted, with light grey walls and a smooth tiled floor that was so shiny you're sure you could see your face in it if you focused enough.

“The second I see a change in your features I am booting you out of the mortuary understood?” Morgan’s tone held nothing but contempt for you as he walked step in step with you like you’d disappear if he looked away for more than a second.

“You keep speaking to me like that and I’ll shove the next rose I get down your throat.”

“Did you just threaten me?” Morgan’s contempt fizzled into a rising frustration, his eyebrows knitted into a tight line and his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if trying to puff himself out like a peacock to look more intimidating.

“Threats hold no value,”

“We should go inside now,” Spencer’s voice was much less confident than either yours or Morgan’s, but it held enough volume to be heard over your argument.

He was seriously beginning to question whether inviting you to come along was a good idea. He knew Morgan despised you, and yet he’d asked you to come along anyway out of his own selfish want to crack open your brain like a book and read your neuron pathways like pages.

He just hoped you’d actually find something valuable in the victim’s autopsy so that all of your arguing with Morgan wasn’t in vain.

“Ah, you must be the agents working on the case, I’m Dr. Toth,” The doctor introduced herself politely as Spencer opened the mortuary door, and Spencer gave her a small nod of recognition as the three of you entered.

“That’s right, thank you for allowing us here,”

“Of course,” The doctor walked her way around the autopsy table, where you assumed the body of the most recent victim was lying, covered by a blue sheet from head to toe and leaving only the silhouette in its place. “I should warn you in advance, due to the damage caused to the eyes whilst removing the rose stems, we had to excise them from the body during the autopsy,”

“Do you still have them?” Your question seems to strike a nerve with Morgan, probably thinking that you want to see the victim’s eyes as a part of a sick fantasy running through your mind, but he bites his tongue to keep his mouth shut so that he doesn’t accidentally air the fact that they’d brought a serial killer into a coroner’s office and freak out the pathologist they’re talking to.

“We do yes, they were professionally removed and placed in hypothermic storage, I can retrieve them for you if you’d like,”

“That won’t be necessary for now,” Morgan’s interjection elicits a roll of your eyes. You weren’t interested in seeing them because it would get you off or whatever, you wanted to see what kind of damage they went through to the point where they had to be fully removed from the victim’s body.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, but if you need my assistance please don’t hesitate to ask,”

“Thank you,” Spencer, the peacekeeper that he is, gives the doctor a polite smile as he picks up a pair of latex gloves and pulls them over his hands, and you and Morgan follow suit after him as he takes place at the end of the autopsy table.

“You’re looking for differences, not entertainment.”

“Yes yes, I get it, Jesus Christ.” You scoff at Morgan’s tone, tugging the sheet down from the victim’s head until it was halfway down his torso.

“His name was Alexander Youlier, age 22, died of blood loss with the roses believed to be inserted post-mortem,” Spencer read through the autopsy file as you examined the boy’s face.

He was pale, much too pale for a normal person, but you suppose that’s what happens when you barely have any blood in your body, and the blood that he did have completely lacked oxygen. His cheeks were sunken, his lips almost blue from the lack of oxygen, and of course, in place of where his eyes would be, there were instead two holes lined with a dark reddish pink muscle that made it look like the cavity was much deeper than physically possible.

The minute you looked at his face you felt like you were going to throw up. So much for being ‘entertained’.

“Oi.” Morgan’s voice ripped you from your state of disassociation. “What did I just say, you’re here to identify the differences not get off to the victim’s body in your head.” He turned his attention towards Spencer with a disapproving look. “I told you we shouldn’t’ve brought them here,”

You didn’t respond to Morgan’s chastising with anything more than a tiny twitch of your eyebrows as you tore your eyes away from Youlier’s face.

“Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice was considerably softer than Morgan's, his eyes big and round, glistening with worry underneath the overhead light in the room, and his eyebrows furrowed in concern at the way you’d suddenly shut down.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” The end of your sentence is marked by you tearing the gloves from your hands and leaving them in balls on the floor as you retreat to the door of the room.

“What do you think you’re doing? You’re not allowed to just leave. You wanted to be here. You chose to be here. So you’ll do your goddamn job.” Morgan’s anger falls unrecognised as you open the door and slam it behind you after you leave, and he begins to follow after you only to be stopped by Spencer at the door.

“I’ve got it,”

Morgan’s glance is unconvinced, and Spencer reiterates himself once more. “I’ve got it, I promise, they’re less likely to get angry if it’s me and not you,”

Morgan doesn’t get the chance to argue before Spencer runs off down the hallway to catch up to you, leaving him alone in the mortuary to continue his analysis of the autopsy by himself.

“Hey!” Spencer calls out to you as he jogs in your direction, catching you right as you open the door to leave the coroner’s office. “Wait up a second-” You don’t stop at his callings, but he can tell that you’re also not trying to deliberately get away from him, your pace slow and even as you leave the coroner’s office with him hot on your tail.

He’s very clearly out of breath by the time he reaches your side, but he pays no attention to his lungs’ cry for him to take a second to breathe and supply them with more oxygen as he begins questioning you. “Are you okay?”

“I‘m fine,”

He’s not at all convinced by your statement despite your tone conveying genuity. You looked paler than usual, any natural flush was gone from your cheeks and your lips, and you were absentmindedly picking at the nail bed of your thumb with your middle finger, something he assumes is a self-soothing act for you.

People getting disturbed at the sight of a freshly dead body wasn’t exactly something for Spencer to be astounded at. It was a natural human reaction to the incomprehensible knowledge of death that your brain desperately tried to work out with no results.

But you didn’t exactly fit the definition of ‘normal’. You were a sociopath. So for you to be put off by the sight of a dead body was something for Spencer to be astounded at.

Sure he was aware that sociopaths could still feel things like dread and fear of the unknown, but you weren’t just a sociopath. You were a sociopath who killed eighteen people.

You’d seen your fair share of dead people, manic episode or not. So why was this body making you react like you were?

He supposes it’s just another layer he’ll have to peel from your mind like the skin of an onion.

“Did you know that sociopaths have heightened emotional pathways? Every emotion sociopaths experience is allegedly 3 times stronger in intensity than that of someone without it,” He didn’t exactly know what to say to you considering you’d shut down any attempt to talk about how you were doing emotionally, and so he fell back on what he always did, niche facts and statistics.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Your hardened expression didn’t falter, nor did the underlying monotony in your tone, but you did finally look him in the eye.

“I always feel more at ease when I fully understand whatever I’m dealing with,” Spencer smiles at you softly with a shrug of his shoulders, attempting to empathise with you the best he could.

“I already knew that fact,” You take a seat on the small half-wall lining the outside of the coroner’s office, gripping the edge of the brick with your hands. “And it doesn’t make me feel any different,”

“Well…” Spencer purses his lips slightly as he takes a seat next to you, running through things in his head that might hold some sort of value to you. “Did you know that roses symbolise different things based off of their colour?”

He was definitely grasping at straws now, but he didn’t want to end your conversation yet. He wanted to know what had you so perturbed that you felt the need to leave the minute you got a close look at the victim’s body.

If anything he’d expected you to follow Morgan’s accusation about getting some sick gratification from the body, not actually feeling sick because of it.

“Why do you think I used white roses? I’m not stupid you know,”

He’d never thought of that. “You used white roses for a specific reason?”

You shrug, swinging your legs back and forth over the edge of the wall. “When I was younger we had a dog, and when it died my parents planted a white rose bush over where they buried it,”

Your tone is rather emotionally removed as you divulge this little snippet of your past to him, like you were recounting something you’d read from a fictional story rather than an event that most children would find extremely distressing. “Mom said that the roses were white because they symbolised mourning and new beginnings, something about how it would help him pass over into heaven or whatever, and I guess even in my episode I held that knowledge subconsciously,”

“You don’t believe in heaven?” Spencer’s eyes scanned your face as he tried to decipher your micro-expressions, noting the small softening of your eyes once you brought up your parents. Looks like you did indeed still have some humanity.

“Do you believe in heaven Dr. Reid?”

No. Maybe? He knew that once your brain functions stopped working your consciousness was permanently ended and that was it. “I thought I saw the other side once,” His admission shocked himself more than it shocked you. Great, he was spilling his traumas to a sociopath he’d known for less than a week. What a riveting social life he had.

He could see the flicker of intrigue in your eyes at his sentence, and he pursed his lips into a line before deciding to continue. “I uh- 11 months ago I was kidnapped and forcefully injected with Dilaudid, and I- was overdosed…”

He could see the cogs turning in your head as you connected the fragments of earlier conversations with him in your mind to form a cohesive story, and you nodded at him as if encouraging him to continue with his story.

“I blacked out first, but it felt… warm? and I could see the beginnings of a light and I honestly still don’t know what to think of it,” He could feel himself squirming from the recollection. He was a man of science. Someone who only believed in what he could physically see and test. But that brief moment where he was sure that he’d died and was experiencing an afterlife that he didn’t think existed had carved a hole into his brain and settled itself into the back of his mind.

“I hope there’s an afterlife,” Your tone continues to carry that same monotonous drawl, but he can see the genuity in your eyes and the way your hands clench around the edge of the brick wall.

“Me too…”

It’d be easy for Spencer to forget you were a serial killer in moments like this. Sure you were still extremely emotionally stunted, but you felt human. And he’s sure that that’s the real difference between a sociopath and a psychopath.

Psychopaths were born without human ‘defects’. Sociopaths were made.

“Were your parents good to you?” Spencer’s question was full of hesitation. He didn’t want to assume anything, after all, your parents were the one topic you seemed to treat with genuine care in your words, but he knew something had to have happened. Something had to have made you the way that you are.

“My parents were perfect.” Your eyebrows knit into a small line, as if defensive at the fact that Spencer would suggest your parents were anything other than the perfect model of what two caregivers should be.

“What about your biological parents?” He could feel himself retreating back into his own mind the further he pressed for answers out of you, his conscience begging him to just stop talking before he accidentally crossed a line and ruined any branch of communication he’d formed.

“I don’t remember them,” You shrug lightly and your expression cements your nonchalance.

“You’ve never wanted to… seek them out?” It wasn’t entirely surprising that you don’t remember your biological parents. Most children who get adopted really young don’t.

“They’re dead.”

Oh.

Right.

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly at the revelation.

By this point, he’s completely forgotten about the fact that he’s supposed to be convincing you to go back into the mortuary to continue looking at the victim.

You had a great adoptive family and a pair of dead biological parents. Was that what broke you? Was them dying what caused your mental state to shatter and rebuild itself as a fragmented version of its previous state?

Maybe that’s why you didn’t remember them. Maybe your brain had built a wall in your memories to protect you from your own trauma of losing your parents. But he wasn’t sure it was enough for you to have a mental break like you did. There had to be something more.

“I can do some digging on them if you want,” He airs the suggestion like he’s not going to do it even if you say no.

“I have no interest in learning about them,”

Oh well. He’d get Garcia to do it anyway. Maybe you’d find more interest in the topic once there was actually something for you to learn.

“Are you- feeling alright now?” Spencer knew he was going to have to bring up the topic eventually. They couldn’t stay out here for too long both for the sake of the investigation and because if they did Morgan would probably jump to the conclusion that you’d killed Spencer and run off somewhere.

“I told you I was fine,”

“I don’t think I believe you,” Spencer could see the small shift in your expression at his hesitant accusation. But it wasn’t anger this time, it was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Something caused you discomfort, and in order for you to be able to help us we need you to be relaxed,”

You turned your face away from Spencer as he spoke, eyes fixed on a bird flying overhead and then on the cloud that was behind it.

“What was it that caused you to feel like you didn’t want to be there anymore?” There was clear caution in Spencer’s tone as he questioned you, although that had essentially become a staple of every conversation you had with him by this point. “We can fix it,”

Spencer’s compassion for you left you feeling a little confused. You were a spree murderer. He was supposed to dislike you for that. That’s how the human mind works is it not? People are supposed to have a distaste for those who break the moral codes of society, and you did it 18 times over.

“I… don’t know,” It felt like every second you allowed yourself to be confused the feeling multiplied tenfold until you weren’t even sure that you could remember your own name if somebody asked you for it.

Your emotions were written all over your face, not like you really had the capacity to hide them even if you wanted to, but it was clear as day just how internally confused you were with your own feelings about the situation at hand.

“Let me help you figure it out then,” Spencer’s tone continued to carry that gentle compassion in it and it wasn’t helping you sort out your thoughts.

“I don’t need your help, I can figure it out on my own,” You knew enough about Psychology to be able to figure out your own thinking processes. At least you thought so. You didn’t go through three laborious years at university wishing during every hour of it to be doing something else to not even get anything useful out of it at the end.

Spencer took that as a direct invitation to shut his mouth and just let you think to yourself, although his eyes continued to scan your expression and your body language as he waited for you to come to your own conclusion on how you were currently feeling and what exactly made you feel that way.

“Will you stop staring at me?” Despite your gaze focused downwards towards the pavement your frustration at his lingering gaze made it sound like he was making direct eye contact with you.

“Sorry,” Spencer averted his eyes from you immediately after your order, flickering them around the parking lot of the coroner’s office and absentmindedly reading all of the number plates he could see from a distance so that he didn’t frustrate you anymore than he already had.

You gave up psychoanalysing your own mind after a few minutes, partly because it was an effort you didn’t want to expend and partly because it felt safer for you to just lock your emotions behind a wall of glass and leave them for another day.

Instead, you turned your gaze back to the doctor sitting next to you and watched him as he watched his surroundings.

“Your eyes are very alive,”

It’s an odd thing to say Spencer thinks. The concept of his eyes being ‘alive’. Of course, he’d heard the term ‘dead eyes’ before in reference to the lack of emotion shown on someone's face. He’d consider you to have rather dead eyes if he was thinking about it. Although he’s not sure if you’re referring to his eyes in terms of expressiveness or genuinely being ‘alive’ in a physical sense.

“Alive?”

You give him a short nod. “They have a lot of life in them,”

“Thank you?” He chooses to take your odd statement as a sort of compliment. Surely having ‘alive eyes’ couldn’t be a negative thing, right?

Now that he’s thinking about it you really did seem to have some sort of fixation on people's eyes. You constantly chased eye contact with the people you spoke to. You apparently had a habit of studying people’s eyes and how ‘alive’ they were. You pierced roses into the eyes of your victims.

Spencer’s gaze focused on you as he came to the conclusion in his head. You’d become uncomfortable in the mortuary because you couldn’t see the victim’s eyes. Because instead of being able to judge him based off of the look in his eyes you were instead greeted with a blank slate where they were supposed to be.

But why? Why was your judgement of somebody based off of what you could see in their eyes? Something had to have caused it.

“Why did you put roses in your victims’ eyes?” He could see the flicker of intrigue in your expression at his question, although he was unsure whether it was conscious or not.

From the way you’d spoken earlier about your discomfort, it seemed that your apparent fixation was unknown to even you, a subconscious thought process that even you were unaware of for whatever reason.

“I told you this already, I held subconscious knowledge about what they represented.” You furrow your eyebrows at his question, one that you’d answered a little over five minutes ago. Why was he asking you again? “I thought you had an eidetic memory.”

“I do-” Spencer’s not sure whether to be surprised that you remembered that small snippet of information or not. “I mean, why did you put them… you know, in their eyes specifically?”

A small amount of discomfort seeped into Spencer’s tone as he asked the question. As much as he’d become desensitised to the gruesomeness of what his job held, actively thinking about having somebody’s eyes being physically pierced with a blunt object was something that anyone with two functioning eyeballs would feel uncomfortable about.

“I don’t know, I just did,”

So it was subconscious. Something that the dark void in the back of your mind was aware of but wouldn’t let your conscious self have any knowledge of.

“Would you like to help me analyse the victim’s eyes? The pathologist said they were still being stored,” Your eyebrows turn from furrowed to raised, clearly confused by Spencer’s sudden fixation on eye-related things.

“They could be a useful asset to the investigation,” Spencer shrugged softly, lips pressed into a line, an awkward smile present on his face as if his suggestion was completely unrelated to the conversation.

You found yourself agreeing to Spencer’s suggestion despite that lingering discomfort in the back of your mind, and as the two of you stood up to re-enter the coroner’s office, Spencer pulled out his phone to send an email to Morgan.

‘Cover the victim’s face.’

Morgan had clearly read the message before the two of you arrived back at the mortuary, shooting Spencer a glance of confusion as you entered the room ahead of him, eyes already locked on Youlier’s body as if you were drawn to it by some unexplainable force.

Of course, with the blue sheet now placed back over the victim’s head, you couldn’t actually see anything, but you still had the image of his face in your head, causing a sense of unease to remain in your stomach, although not as bad as when you were originally presented with it.

Spencer gave Morgan a small shake of his head as if to shut down this conversation for later, leaving your side to seek out the pathologist so she could retrieve Youlier’s eyes from storage.

He returned not two minutes later, freshly gloved with a glass jar in hand, two vaguely spherical shaped objects floating inside it.

Morgan saw them before you did, his expression widening and then furrowing at the sight of just how ripped up these eyes seemed to be. “How on earth did they end up like that?”

Morgan’s question is enough to pique your curiosity and rip your gaze away from the victim's covered-up face, walking up behind Spencer to look at the jar over his shoulder.

“Dr Toth said the damage was from the thorns on the roses,”

You examine the jar as Spencer explains how they ended up in the state they were in, and you had to agree that Morgan’s bewilderment was right.

They barely even looked like a pair of eyes anymore. They were more ovular than spherical, with two gaping holes where the pupil and iris should be, and countless tear lines all over the scleras, presumably where the killer had struggled to push the stems through the eyes from the resistance of the thorns. Although, you couldn’t deny that seeing them somehow ailed any lingering discomfort in your stomach.

“Well that’s just stupid,”

Spencer jumped from your statement like he hadn’t even realised you were standing behind him, almost fumbling the jar out of his hands in the process.

“…maybe you’re just stupid…” Morgan’s muttering doesn’t go unnoticed, and you shoot a glare in his direction that he mirrors right back at you with just as much venom.

“What’s stupid?” It takes Spencer a second to regain his bearings, but once he does he turns his attention to you with round eyes and a slightly tilted head, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly.

He watches as your focus shifts back and forth between the eyes in the jar and his own as if you were trying to visualise what he’d look like with the ripped-up excuse for a pair of eyes instead of the ones he currently had.

“Obviously you should de-thorn the roses first,” Your tone carried your phrase like you were telling him that you shouldn’t put metal in a microwave rather than de-thorning a rose before piercing someone’s eye with it. “This guy’s on what, their fifth victim? You would’ve thought they’d figured that out by now,”

You take the jar from Spencer’s hand to get a closer look at the remnants of the victim’s eyes from a better vantage point.

“I mean come on, I figured it out after my first try,” You’re edging into a rant about the intricacies of how to most productively pierce somebodies eyes with rose stems now, and it was beginning to remind Spencer that you had in fact actually done all of these things and it wasn’t just hypothetical. “It literally takes like ten seconds per rose if you know what you’re doing and then saves you five minutes of effort,”

Morgan takes the jar from you like you’re a child with a bottle of bleach, a scowl still etched on his face as you give him an incredulous look.

“I’m not going to like eat them or whatever, god-”

“Knowing your track record I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” Morgan places the jar down on the small table by where the victim is lying.

“One, that’s disgusting, two, what the fuck?” Spencer finds your bewilderment at Morgan’s suggestion that you might eat the victim’s eyes quite amusing on a surface level, your response sounding like something a high schooler would say rather than a prolific serial killer.

“What? You’re the type of sick bastard that would probably get off on that sort of thing,” Morgan shrugs his shoulders as he turns back around to face you once more.

“I was experiencing a manic episode, I’m not some weird sadist who has a fetish for eyeballs,”

‘Not a fetish, but something,’ Spencer chooses to keep to himself during your squabble this time, walking over to the autopsy table to hike up the blue cover sheet and check for other injuries lower down on the body.

There’s nothing truly substantial, with no defence wounds courtesy of the blow to the back of his head before the attack, another staple of your spree to keep your victims complacent. The only thing of note was the two gashes across each wrist, severing both radial arteries, the source of the bleeding-out portion of his death.

He had to give you props on that part. The average time it took somebody to bleed out was only 3 and a half minutes, meaning it was a pretty effective way to kill somebody with minimal effort and ensure they were completely dead before any first responders might have time to arrive even if they were called immediately after the gashes were made.

It was very controlled, much more of an execution than a murder if he was to really think about it, especially considering all of your victims were unconscious when it happened and therefore probably didn’t even feel anything aside from the original blow to the head.

For a serial killer, it was actually very humane. Even if you did go out of your way to desecrate their eyes afterwards. But was the real harm in that, they were already dead anyway, it’s not like they felt it.

It ruled out any sort of sadism from your spree, one of the reasons he thinks your story of a manic episode was so easily accepted in court. You weren’t killing people for the fun of it. You didn’t drag it out or make it unnecessarily painful. It was like you were just following the steps of how to kill somebody with as minimal effort as possible to satisfy whatever violent urges you had in your head at the time and then fulfilling the apparent subconscious fixation you had with eyes by covering them with roses.

“Wow, this guy really has no idea what he’s doing-” You again cause Spencer to almost jump out of his skin as you appear behind him once more, looking at the gashes over his shoulder.

You reach out to touch one of them, stopped by a harsh hand on your wrist from Morgan, who continues to glare at you like you’d set his house on fire. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Checking out the shitty incision work from this stupid ass copycat?”

“Put some gloves on you idiot,” Morgan drops your wrist with a scoff, walking across the room to pull out a pair of latex gloves from one of the boxes and shoving them into your palms.

You roll your eyes at his attitude but tug on the gloves anyway, making a show of raising your hands up in his face once you had them on. “Happy now?”

With a swat of your wrist away from his face Morgan concedes to stop antagonising you for now and let you focus on whatever you were originally doing, which you turn to do immediately like you’d completely forgotten about Morgan’s existence as soon as he exited your peripheral vision.

“What is it?” Spencer’s eyes follow yours down to the victim’s left wrist, and he watches as you prod at the gash with your gloved fingers as if trying to pry it back open.

“This is probably the shittiest attempt at bleeding someone out I’ve ever seen,” You bend down with narrowed eyes as you examine the wound. “It’d probably take like 20 minutes from a cut this shallow,”

Spencer can’t help but agree with your assessment. The cut was extremely shallow, so much so he’s sure that this victim probably could’ve survived it if he’d gotten immediate medical attention. He checks the other wrist just to be sure, and he’s granted with the same sight, an extremely shallow cut for somebody actively trying to kill people.

“So, what? He just sat around for twenty minutes whilst Youlier bled out so he could put the roses in his eyes?” Morgan furrowed his eyebrows at the revelation. “What sense does that make?”

Can they be sure that they were inserted post-mortem?

Spencer walked around the table towards the autopsy report to re-read the file in case he’d somehow missed that detail whilst reading it the first time.

Alexander Youlier. Age 22. Died of blood loss with the roses believed to be inserted post-mortem.

He hadn’t missed anything. But then that didn’t make sense. There was no way that the killer would just wait around for almost half an hour for somebody to bleed themselves dry, especially considering that Youlier was found under an open gazebo in a dog park. That would just be reckless. For it to work the roses would have had to be inserted whilst he was still alive.

“Having an epiphany over there or something?” Spencer turns his eyes upwards at your comment, leaving the report on the side table as he walks into Dr Toth’s side office without giving you an answer.

You and Morgan share a glance at his sudden departure, probably the most civil interaction the two of you had ever had, fuelled by the joined want to know what was running through Spencer’s mind.

The door of the office opened less than a minute later, Dr. Toth leaving her office with Spencer hot on her trail. “-reports from the main office so that you can cross-reference them all,”

You only catch the end of their conversation as they enter back into the mortuary, and Dr Toth leaves the room to assumedly go and gather whatever ‘reports’ she was on about from the main office, leaving you and Morgan blankly staring in Spencer’s direction with confused expressions.

“I think that our unsub might be inserting the roses into the victim’s eyes whilst they’re still alive,”

The revelation that the unsub was purposefully dragging out the death of their victims made the team have to rebuild the profile from the bottom up.

Spencer took the opportunity to do some digging. Or more accurately have Garcia do some digging.

He had her pull everything humanly possible regarding your biological parents, their life, their death, and most importantly, how they treated you.

They were 29 and 32 when they died, you having been born when your mother was only 23. They both had a history of substance abuse, and according to their autopsies, both of them had lethal levels of diazepam in their bloodstreams at their time of death.

What was interesting about their deaths though was that they were dead for three days before they were found, rotting in their own house with a six-year-old left living with them. Now that was something that could cause a mental break. A six-year-old, left for three days with the corpses of their dead parents and only found when the neighbours complained about the smell.

The file Garcia had faxed over also happened to have images from the scene when the bodies were recovered, and they were just as disgusting as he’d imagined they’d be. The two were sat paired on a couch, skin pale and turning slightly grey with the beginning signs of decay, small insects roaming on their skin, and the clothes they were wearing.

But the selling point for Spencer was their eyes. Wide open and staring blankly into open space with clouded pupils and ruptured irises. It freaked him out and he was looking at it through a piece of paper. He couldn’t imagine how it made a six-year-old child who lived with them like that for three days feel.

There was the origin of your eye fixation, and he honestly couldn’t blame you for covering the dead stare of your victims so you wouldn’t have to relive that.

The more he read the more devastating the report seemed to be. When asked why you didn’t call for any help from neighbours or the police you stated that you “just wanted them to sleep for a while,” and that your mother would “give me the sleepy pills when she wanted me to go to sleep, so I did the same for her and daddy,”

In an effort to get your parents to go to sleep so they would stop presumably treating you horribly, you’d unintentionally overdosed them both.

You were in a paediatric rehabilitation centre for almost four months after you were recovered from the house. A six-year-old. Being rehabilitated for an addiction to diazepam because your parents would solve any blip in your behaviour by feeding you sleeping pills instead of treating you like the child you were.

All of a sudden forming an addiction at 25 didn’t seem all that detrimental anymore.

He supposes that’s how you knew right off the bat. Addiction recognises addiction and all that. Although by the look of it, you’d made a full healthy recovery by the time you were adopted into your new family.

You’d been diagnosed with ASD after you were removed from the house, and Spencer is surprised by the fact that the mental impact it had on you only seemed to be acute, although, he’s sure that in hindsight the psychiatrist that diagnosed you would’ve made sure to be more thorough in their examination of your mental state.

Still, what happened had happened, and although Spencer nor anyone else could do anything to change that, he could form a greater understanding of who you were and why you did what you did.

Except he still didn’t really know why, he knew the origins, but what was the trigger that caused you to deteriorate mentally until you were back at your lowest possible point?

That wasn’t important right now.

He needed to focus on the actual case at hand and not the closed case of a serial killer from four years ago. It didn’t matter how much of a fascination he’d formed with your psychology, he needed to focus so that no one else had to die.

It was insane to think about, just how distracted he’d get with uncovering your past like it was a mystery novel that required the reader’s involvement to solve.

But now he really needed to knuckle down and actually put his intelligence forward to help the team find the unsub they were looking for or else earn a chastising from Hotch and up to 13 more victims if they followed your pattern to a T.

Why you though? Why was this unsub following your crimes specifically? Sure some people were mentally deranged enough to want to gain the same notoriety as the killers they replicated, but your case was in a small city and didn’t even make national news. Not only that, it was new. Really new.

Most copycat killers replicated national or even international-level crimes that had decades to form a legacy and settle into the back of people's minds. Your case wasn’t like that. Not to the full extent anyway. The state of California had recognised you as a prolific killer but in any other state your name was unknown.

So why you?

Spencer watched intently as the team scribbled down notes and ideas on the whiteboards taking up most of the room, leaving him sitting at the head of the conference table with his files on your background and you engaging yourself in the pass-time of making origami cranes out of discarded bits of paper to stop yourself from getting bored.

A serial killer replicating your crimes almost step by step. Bleed out the victims, put roses in their eyes, move on. Same victim pattern. Same time frame. But still with distinct differences.

This unsub bled their victims out considerably slower than you did. They used red roses instead of white roses like you did. They left the thorns on the rose stems when you pruned them beforehand.

Why did this unsub not de-thorn the roses first? After five separate murders, why would they not make their process easier by discarding the thorns to stop them from tearing up the victim’s eyes?

‘I figured it out after my first try.’

“Hey uh-” Spencer turns his head up towards you, tapping his pen absentmindedly against the table. “Do you remember what happened to your first victim? After your parents?”

“What?” You furrow and then raise one of your eyebrows at his sudden question, especially because he’d been sitting in his own little cocoon for the last thirty minutes.

It was quite a long shot of a question if you had been experiencing mania at the time, but you seemed to be remembering select details about your spree, so your first victim surely should be present in your mind at least somewhat.

“How did you… You know-” Spencer’s roundabout question was half amusing and half frustrating from your viewpoint, and you take a break from your paper crafts to indulge in it.

“Well…” You drag out the word and you divert your eyes from him to stare upwards towards the ceiling like it’ll aid your memory. “I incapacitated her first, with a… brick I think? It might’ve been a regular rock I’m not sure-”

“Him.” Morgan’s venom seeps into his correction of your account. “You killed eighteen people and you don’t even have the decency to remember the gender of your first victim? Seriously?”

“I do know my own victim pattern thank you very much,” You override Morgan’s correction with just as much ferocity. “ And it was definitely a woman. I chose her specifically because she’d be easy.”

“That’s not what our files say.”

“Then your files are wrong? What do you want me to do about it?”

Spencer runs over your victims in his head. Your first filed victim’s name was John Brandy, found lifeless on a park bench after a woman walking her dog called it in to the police.

He tried to remember any other things he’d read about your case that might indicate that Brandy wasn’t your first victim. Nothing. John Brandy was the only thing he could affiliate with the identity of the first victim from your spree. And most notably, Brandy was very male.

“…What did you do after you incapacitated her?” Spencer slowly edges his way back into a conversation between you and Morgan, mind on full alert as it continues to run through all of the details he knows about you and your case.

“I moved her against the like wall of the street we were down and then did the rest of it,” You shrug your shoulders in mild scepticism of Spencer’s sudden interest in this specific kill of yours. “You know, cut the wrists, wait a few minutes, then stick in the roses. Although I’m pretty sure I got one rose like half in because the thorns were being difficult and I gave up when she started twitching,”

You exhale exasperatedly. ”That’s probably why she’s not ‘in your files’, because the rose I did try and do wasn’t even fully inserted and probably just fell out or something,” You glare pointedly at Morgan, tilting your head back and forth in condescension. “It was my first time alright? Everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”

Sure everyone’s gotta start somewhere. When it comes to working a job or starting a hobby. You don’t usually ‘start somewhere’ when it comes to murdering people.

It’s the fact that you say it so nonchalantly that gets to him, talking about your murder spree of eighteen people like it was you learning how to bake a cake. Nineteen people. You’d actually killed nineteen people in your spree, and your poor first victim probably didn’t even get given the light of day that the rest of your victims did when it came to justice.

“Morgan,” Hotch’s voice proved to pull Spencer out of yet another spiral consisting of endless questions surrounding your psychology, even if not directed at him. “Call Garcia and have her pull up any unsolved murder cases that involved two slit wrists and trauma to the eyes in Malibu during the time they were active as a killer,”

“On it,” Honestly, Morgan would’ve taken any excuse to get out of your presence for a few minutes, feeling the overwhelming urge to punch you square in your face grow stronger with every snippet of information about yourself that you shared out loud without a single care in the world.

Did it have anything significant to catching this copycat? No. But that victim deserved just as much justice as any of your others.

One profiler down, the rest of the team turned back to fleshing out the profile, and you turned back to your half-finished paper crane, muttering to yourself under your breath about something that Spencer couldn’t quite hear.

“Okay, so we’ve ruled out mania as a possible cause of the kills because of how long it took for them to bleed out, we’ve ruled out paranoia because of the victim pattern following the original to a T instead of being random, it could be some form of ASD but that doesn’t really make sense with the rest of the profile-” Emily scans over the notes of the whiteboard as she speaks, picking absentmindedly on the red polish covering her nails and leaving small flakes of it all over the table by where you’re sitting.

“Would you stop doing that?” You make a show of wiping the table with your hand, and Emily doesn’t respond to you with more than a glance as she stuffs her hands in her pockets.

“Alright babygirl thank you,” Morgan sends a kiss through the phone before hanging it up and putting it away in his pocket and you swear you almost gag at the sight of it.

“Nothing,” Morgan shrugs his shoulders half out of resignation and half out of frustration as he takes a seat opposite you on the table. “There are no unsolved murders matching the description you gave us,”

He glares into your eyes like he’s trying to burn them right out of your eye sockets. “So? What is it? You get a kick out of lying or what?”

“Do I look like the type of person who makes the effort to lie? Because news flash, I don’t, it’s not like saying I killed one more person than I actually did benefits me in any way,” You furrow your expression with a scoff, leaning back in your chair to rest your ankles on the table.

“Right, sure, because someone like you totally doesn’t care about how they’re perceived by other people,”

“Why would I want to say I’ve killed more people than I actually have, it just makes me look more crazy than you already think I am-” You weren’t backing down on this. You were adamant that this person was your first victim and that you weren’t lying to him.

“Then why isn’t there any file of her whatsoever?”

“What if she’s still alive?” It’s like all of the puzzle pieces fall into Spencer’s mind at once, and he interrupts your arguing with Morgan yet again, except this time it’s not about keeping the peace.

“You said you gave up because ‘the thorns were being difficult and she started twitching’, was she alive when you tried to put the rose in her eye?” Spencer turns his gaze towards you, a completely different air surrounding his expression than the mildly awkward and apprehensive one you’d gotten used to.

“I don’t know, maybe?” You shrug like his question was absurd, watching as he stands from his seat to look over the whiteboard detailing the autopsies of each of the victims.

“Reid?” Hotch’s raised eyebrow asked a hundred different questions, and Spencer answered every single one of them with a single phrase muttered under his breath.

“…PTSD by proxy-”

He takes a second to study the photos on the board before continuing. “It’s a psychological disorder where victims of PTSD will project their trauma onto others,”

He pulls a few of the images from the board to lay them out on the conference table. “Of those who develop PTSD from traumatic incidents, roughly 2% then go on to try and satiate their trauma by projecting it onto other people,”

“If what you remember about your first victim was true and she survived, then there’s a high chance that the new killer we’re looking for is that first victim,” He arranges the autopsy photos in two groups, with one of the wrist gashes and the other of the eye damage.

“The victims bled out slowly, which in a lot of cases with first-time murder or murder attempts happens unintentionally because the killer doesn’t know how deep a cut like that has to be for it to be fatal,” He points towards the photos on the left first.

“And then the eyes would be pretty self-explanatory,” He turns one of the photos towards where you and Hotch are sitting. “If your first victim was in fact alive when you tried to pierce her eyes then that could explain why these victims were also still alive when the roses were inserted,”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Emily chimes in with her two cents as Spencer gives his explanation. “We’re in a completely different city,”

“And it’s been three years since the original spree,” Rossi swirls the coffee in his mug with a furrowed expression.

“Well Las Flores is only an hour's drive from Malibu,” Spencer moves from the table to go back over to the annotated map on one of the boards, marking an invisible line with his fingers. “Maybe she decided she needed to get away from her trauma, 46% of individuals who experience life-changing trauma do,”

“But why now?”

Spencer’s eyes turn back towards you at Rossi’s question, as if you held all the answers to what the stressor was for this sudden murder spree. Your answer of course was nothing more than a shrug and an expression that asked ‘How am I supposed to know?’, which put a halt to Spencer’s theory.

That, and the fact that they hadn’t even confirmed if this woman was still alive let alone living in Las Flores.

“Alright,” Hotch cut through the team’s conversation with a wave of his hand. “Morgan, ask Garcia to track down women who went into the hospital for ocular injuries three years ago and have moved to Las Flores since then,”

Morgan gives him a determined nod as he leaves the room once more, Hotch then turning his attention towards you.

“What have you done in the last few months that would’ve been told to the public?”

“I don’t know?” You give him an exasperated expression and raise your hands in a defensive manner. “Why would I know that? It’s not like I have someone telling me when I’m on the news,”

Hotch furrowed his eyebrow at your immediate defensiveness, reminding himself to be patient and bear with your short fuse because it technically wasn’t your fault.

Although it didn’t make it any less frustrating either way.

He turned his eyes towards Spencer, gesturing towards the door and then towards you as a silent order for him to speak to you privately outside.

If anyone was going to be able to get a piece of information out of you, consciously or subconsciously, it would be Spencer.

It took him a few seconds to compute Hotch’s message, but as soon as he did he stood from his seat, mug in hand.

“I’m going to make some more coffee, do you want some?” Spencer gives you a small and slightly awkward smile as he looks at you, and you raise an eyebrow in his direction.

“You don’t know how to make my coffee,”

“You can show me,” Spencer raises his eyebrows enthusiastically, lips pressed taut into a line as he silently prays for you to take the bait. And you do.

You don’t respond with more than pushing your chair away from the table to stand, but Spencer follows after you as you leave the meeting room nonetheless, gaining a small nod from Hotch that he returns with one of his own.

In the break room, Spencer watches you prepare your coffee, taking mental notes of the precise amount of creamer and sugar you add. He's careful to keep the conversation casual, asking about your preferences and subtly steering you towards the topic of recent events.

"I got a new therapist a few months ago," you admit, stirring your coffee. "She recommended having me moved into psychiatric care." The implication hangs clearly in the air.

"Psychiatric care?" Spencer echoes, his mind eagerly piecing together the information.

“Mhm,” You give him a small nod and you leave the teaspoon on the counter, taking a sip of your coffee.

Now that was something that might’ve been made public. If you had been recommended by a specialist to be moved out of a high-security prison and into a psychiatric institute the local news was bound to know about it.

"You being moved to a psychiatric facility would definitely make the news," Spencer mutters, drawing your attention back to him. "That could be the trigger point for our unsub,"

“Me going to a hospital? Seriously?” You scoff like that being a motive is pathetic.

“Yes, seriously,” Spencer replies, his expression serious. “It could signify a turning point, a change in your situation that the unsub might interpret as you escaping justice. It could be the catalyst that pushed them into action.”

He abandons his coffee mug on the counter as he ushers you back into the meeting room with the rest of the team, and all it takes is Hotch getting a single glance at Spencer’s expression to know that there was indeed a trigger for this murder spree.

“A few months ago, their therapist recommended moving them to a psychiatric facility," Spencer shares the information as soon as you both re-enter the room, "That could have been publicised, potentially triggering our unsub-”

“We found her,” Morgan interrupts Spencer’s explanation as he hurries into the room, phone still pressed against his ear as he reaches over to scribble down the name and address Garcia had recovered.

Louise Nueves, aged 29 was born and raised in Malibu, never having left the city for more than a week her entire life. That was, until she was hospitalised for three days for a severe ocular injury to her left eye.

She left the city less than a week after she was discharged, and supposedly never returned as she settled down in Las Flores instead.

She settled down, got married, started working in a small bakery, and overall just seemed to have a well-rounded and stable life after the trauma that she had endured back in her home town.

Morgan knocked harshly on the front door of her house, gun held firmly in his hand just in case Nueves deemed the threat of their presence as an incentive to act violently. “Louise Nueves, this is the FBI,”

The silence from the other side of the door seemed only to heighten the adrenaline running through the veins of the team.

It didn’t take long before Morgan was looking for permission to force the door open, and once he gained a nod from Hotch that’s exactly what he did, kicking the door handle loose and forcing the door open as the team filtered into the house to search for their suspect.

You were an exception of course, being confined to the entranceway with Spencer as your personal babysitter in case you managed to get yourself into any trouble or think about running off.

You hear an echo of ‘clear’s from the group as they sweep the house, seemingly completely devoid of any human presence outside of the FBI team. Until…

“You guys might wanna come see this,”

Emily’s voice sounded from upstairs, and she backed out into the stairway as she gestured for the team to join her up the stairs.

You give Spencer a look before walking over to the stairs, and his curiosity overrides his need to try and keep you in the entrance as he follows after you with the rest of the team following closely behind.

“This little bitch-“ The sight you were greeted with would’ve been extremely disturbing under normal circumstances, a corpse of a man - presumably Nueves’ husband - lying in its first stage of decay on the bed of the house’s master bedroom, a red rose resting on his chest.

Instead, your response was more angry at the blatant lack of originality in the way he was killed.

"Copying my kills is one thing," you spat out, your eyes burning with rage. "But having no innovation or creativity of their own? That's just pathetic." You crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze fixed on the lifeless body in front of you.

"Unique or not, it proves our hypothesis of who the copycat is," Morgan retorted, his gaze hardening at your callous words.

You rolled your eyes, huffing in annoyance. "Great."

Ignoring your sarcasm, Hotch spoke up, "We need to find Nueves before she kills again. Morgan, Reid, you're with me. We'll check her workplace. Rossi and JJ I want you to track down some of her friends, maybe they've noticed something off."

As they left, Emily turned to you, her eyes scrutinising. "What about them, Hotch? Do we just leave them at the station?"

"No," Hotch replied without missing a beat. "They’ll stay with you as you monitor the area. Keep an eye on them. We don't know how they might react now that their 'legacy' is being threatened."

With that, they left you in the company of Emily, the silence in the room amplifying the eerie sight of the corpse on the bed.

The tension was still very apparent despite you and Emily having no previous background, and you could tell that she wasn’t exactly thrilled with your company as the two of you left the house just as the authorities arrived, presumably called by Hotch as they left the scene.

“How does it feel to babysit a grown adult instead of doing something important?”

Emily shot you a sideways glance, her lips forming a thin line. "I'd like to think that keeping an eye on a serial killer counts as important, don't you?" she retorted, her voice icy.

“You’re supposed to be finding a serial killer, I haven’t done anything in years, what makes you think that I’m the threat?” You can’t help but scoff at her intonation as she speaks to you, it feeling oddly derogatory considering that you couldn’t even remember what her name was. “That’s some audacity alright,”

Emily narrowed her eyes at you, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. "You may not think so, but your presence here is still a potential risk," she said, her tone sharp. "And until we know more, I'm not taking any chances."

She quickened her pace, leaving you to catch up as you followed her out of the residential area and into a nearby public park. Emily’s eyes scanned the area like a hawk as she walked, making you roll your eyes. “You really think she’s just going to be hanging around right next to her own house?”

Emily's gaze flickered toward you, her expression unyielding. "We're not looking for Nueves herself. We're looking for any clues, any signs of her recent activity or whereabouts," she explained tersely. "Every detail matters in a case like this."

She continued to lead the way through the park, her pace steady and purposeful. Despite your scepticism, you couldn't deny the intensity in her demeanour, the determination to solve the case weighing heavily in the air between you as you reluctantly tailed her like a toddler on a leash.

As you walked, Emily suddenly halted, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of a lone figure sat on one of the park benches with their back to the two of you.

“Oh come on, it’s the middle of the day, of course there are people in the park.”

“Be quiet.” Emily approached the individual with her words barked out between her teeth. As you drew closer, you could see the figure was a woman, her head bowed and shoulders slumped. Emily called out to her, her voice firm yet cautious. "Excuse me, ma'am. Are you alright?"

The woman looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears. "I-I'm fine," she stammered, quickly wiping at her cheeks. "Just... just having a moment." Her eyes seemed to flicker downwards towards Emily’s vest in confusion but she didn’t make any move to mention it.

Emily studied her for a moment longer before nodding, her hand slowly retracting from her weapon. “Alright. Just be careful out here, okay?” she advised before motioning for you to follow as she continued on the path.

You glanced back at the woman, her eyes following you in a mix of her previous sadness and confusion, seemingly unsure of how she should feel at an apparent FBI agent approaching her out of nowhere and then advising her to ‘be careful’.

“It’s you.” The new voice turns both of your heads in its direction.

Standing a few feet away was a woman and her dog, her demeanour tense yet strangely familiar. She looked at you with a mixture of surprise and recognition, her eyes lingering on Emily’s vest for a moment before returning to you.

“Excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow at the bluntness of her recognition of who you were, furrowing your eyebrows dismissively like she didn’t have the right to have recognised you in whatever way she had.

“You don’t know me?” Her tone carried a clear betrayal, as did the furrow in her eyebrows as she took a step towards you, one which Emily retaliated to by forcing you behind her with a heavy grip on your arm, one which you did not appreciate whatsoever as you pulled yourself from her grasp.

“Mrs Nueves?” Emily’s voice held a mix of apprehension and concern as she spoke, and she reached into her back pocket to thrust her phone into your hand before holding her fingers ready over her gun holster.

“You don’t remember me, do you? The woman ignored Emily completely, her voice tinged with bitterness as she stared at you, her features filled with betrayal as she realised you weren’t even looking at her, too preoccupied with trying to figure out why Emily had given you her phone.

“Mrs Nueves, my name’s Emily, I’m with the FBI, I understand that what you’re going through right now is extremely difficult but-”

“Shut up!” Nueves’ voice was harsh and drenched in ice as she spoke, holding her hand up dismissively. “I don’t care about you or your FBI friends-”

You had your back to the two by this point, and after a message had come through from Spencer about Nueves not being at her workplace you figured that the reason Emily as given you the phone was to get backup from the team.

oh. Right.

‘shes in the park by her house’

Of course she was. Because she was continually proving to be one of the stupidest people you’d ever encountered. Who decides to take their dog for a walk in the park two minutes from their house whilst being actively pursued by the police? Stupid people, that’s who. God, couldn’t the person copying your crimes at least be a competent one?

‘We’ll be there in ten minutes. Hold tight.’

“Look at me!” Nueves’ raised voice caused multiple heads to turn from the people wandering the park, including your own, and you turn your eyes away from the phone screen with a furrowed expression of annoyance.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me? How much I suffered because of what you did?” Nueves’ outbreak was very quickly garnering an audience from passersby, and could could practically feel the tension rolling off of Emily in waves as she tried to figure out what to do.

“You lived, get over it,” You were not helping.

The look on Nueves’ face at your words was almost incomprehensible, like she didn’t know what emotion she was supposed to be feeling at your nonchalance about what happened. Like you hadn’t ruined her entire life and caused her eternal suffering.

“Get over it? Look what you did to me!” Nueves barked out her words as she brought her left hand up to her eye, pulling at it until the sclera fell into the palm of her hand, leaving a dark pink void in its wake.

Your eyes immediately widened at the action, eyebrows furrowed in clear distaste for what you’d witnessed and that uncomfortable feeling that you’d experienced in the coroner’s office rising in your stomach the longer you looked at her.

“This is my life now.” She held up the piece of glass in her hand. “This is what I have to live with because of you.”

“Mrs Nueves-” Emily took a small step forward in her direction with both hands raised to appear as not threatening as possible.

“Don’t move-” Nueves dropped her dog’s leash at Emily’s advance to pull a small kitchen knife from her pocket, similar to one that would be used to cut vegetables or peel a potato.

Emily’s shoulders tense at the emergence of the weapon lips pursed into a tight line, and you’re sure that you might’ve been mildly concerned yourself if the knife blade wasn’t smaller than its handle. It didn’t make her look as intimidating as you assume she thinks she is, more like a teenager who carries around a switchblade in an attempt to make themself look tougher than they actually are.

Then again, this woman had actually killed people. Just not very well.

Still, if she thought that was a ‘big’ knife then her husband must’ve not been very satisfactory when it came to the bedroom.

"Put the knife down, Louise," Emily's voice was stern yet calm, her gaze unwavering. "We can talk about this, help you get the help you need. But first, you need to put the knife down."

Nueves seemed to consider this for a moment, her grip on the knife wavering. But then, her expression hardened, her eyes filled with a cold determination. "No," she stated firmly, "I won't."

“Mrs. Nueves,” Emily tried again, her voice laced with a calm authority, “you're not a killer. You're a victim, and we want to help you.”

Nueves let out a bitter laugh at this, her gaze never leaving Emily's. “A victim?” she echoed, her voice filled with scorn. “I stopped being a victim the moment I stopped letting them control my life.” She thrusts her arm forward with the knife in hand to point it in your direction, thankfully too far away for it to actually be anywhere near harming you. “You left me alive and it ruined everything.”

“I had to live with the pain, the nightmares, the constant fear. I had to watch my life fall apart while you just moved on to your next victim and left me without so much as a footnote in your confession." Nueves continued, her voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. "You think I'm the one who needs help? You're the monster, not me!”

“You had a hard time. Boo-hoo. But guess what? You're not the only one who's had to deal with shit. You're not special, Nueves.” You replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Nueves' eyes flashed with anger at your dismissive words. "You don't get to talk to me like that. You don't get to belittle my pain. You don't get to decide how I should react to what you did to me."

"Actually, I do," you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'm the one who put you in this position. I'm the one who made you who you are today. And you know what? I'm not sorry. Because without me your life would’ve been completely insignificant.”

“Maybe I am a monster. But you, Nueves, are just a sad, pathetic little girl pretending to be a serial killer.” Nueves' face twisted with rage at your words, her grip on the knife tightening. But before she could react, Emily stepped in, her voice calm and authoritative.

“Enough,” she commanded, her gaze fixed on Nueves. “This isn't helping anyone. We're here to bring you in, Louise. To make sure you get the help you need.”

“I don't want your help,” Nueves spat back, her eyes still fixed on you with burning hatred. “I just want them to pay for what they did.”

“They are Louise, they’re paying for their actions every single day in a high-security prison,” Emily stated, her gaze unwavering as she shook her head gently. “They’re getting their punishment, you don’t have to do this, please, just put down the knife…” Emily’s eyes caught the SUV that parked on the side of the road as she talked. Looks like she’d managed to buy enough time for backup to arrive.

For a moment, it looked like Nueves might actually consider following Emily’s suggestion. But then she glanced back at you, her gaze hardening at your stare of indifference. “No,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “I won't let them get away with this. I won’t let them have control of how I live my life anymore.”

Nueves’ ramble deemed her oblivious to the agents approaching her from behind, ushering the few lingering witnesses to a safe distance away so that they could contain the area, and your eyes caught Dr Reid carefully scooping up the leashed dachshund into his arms after it’d scampered away from Nueves in her fit of rage.

“You don’t remember me?” Her eyes turned from seething to desperate in the split second she looked at you, voice raised as she tried to force your attention back onto her from your seeming uninterest in the confrontation. “You will.”

Morgan didn’t even have time to un-holster his gun before Nueves utilised the knife in her hand. Not on Emily, nor on you, but on herself, impaling the blade of the knife directly into her operational eye and forcing it deeper by slamming the palm of her hand into the wooden handle until it was almost completely encapsulated into her eye socket.

The sight was ghastly, blood spurting out of her eye as she fell onto the ground, convulsing from the pain and shock. You watched, a morbid fascination in your eyes as Emily quickly called for medical attention, her gaze flitting between you and the dying woman on the ground.

As the medics rushed to stabilise Nueves, Emily looked at you, her face pale. “You-” She said, her voice barely a whisper, “stay here.” She then hurriedly joined the medics, leaving you behind. You watched as the medics tried to recover her, but it was clear that her chances were slim. The sight of her writhing in pain, the blood pooling around her, was oddly satisfying to watch. A small, twisted part of you felt a sense of triumph at the confrontation's results, if not a little discontented with just how dramatic this woman proved to be.

The rest of the team moved to properly secure the area now that it was officially a crime scene as Emily, still with the medics, was applying pressure to Nueves' wound, her hands smeared with blood.

As you watched the scene unfold, a bizarre sense of calm washed over you. This chaos, this pain, was a result of your actions, your legacy, and despite the horrific circumstances, you couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction.

From a distance, you could see Hotch talking to Emily, his expression unreadable. Emily nodded, her eyes briefly meeting yours before diverting away. She looked shaken, the dark red of Nueves’ quickly oxidising blood on her hands a stark contrast against her pale skin.

You tried to imagine the emotions she was grappling with. After all, she was a part of a team that had sworn to protect innocents from people like you. And now, because of you, she had blood on her hands.

The medics finally lifted Nueves onto a stretcher, rushing her towards the waiting ambulance. Emily stood there for a moment longer, watching as the ambulance sped away, before finally turning her eyes towards you, unfocused on how Morgan was gently trying to usher her towards another pair of EMTs so that she could be checked over.

There was zero chance Nueves was going to make it to the hospital in time.

Emily’s gaze was hard, filled with a mixture of anger, confusion, and something you couldn't quite place. Fear, perhaps? Or maybe disappointment? Regardless, it was clear that the events of the day had left a deep impact on her.

As you watched them walk away, the satisfaction from earlier began to fade, replaced by a strange emptiness. You were alone again, left with nothing but the aftermath of your actions. And as you stared at the spot where Nueves had fallen, the blood still fresh on the grass, you couldn't help but wonder if this was all worth it.

But then, you remembered the look on Nueves’ face, the horror in her expression at her own pain. And you knew, without a doubt, that it was. Maybe she was right, you just might remember her for that stunt she pulled, although most definitely not in a positive light.

“Are you alright?” The ever-calm voice of Spencer Reid pulled you away from mulling over your own feelings, and you give him an animated sway of your head back and forth as a silent communication of you not falling in either emotional direction.

It truly was fascinating how removed you were from everything, and as twisted and convoluted as it might sound, Spencer wasn’t looking forward to your departure from accompanying the team. It meant that he didn’t get to speak to you anymore. Didn’t get to slowly peel away the layers of protection you’d built over your psyche so that he could pry at your inner workings.

And he didn’t exactly mind having you around. But that was something he was going to keep to himself for a multitude of reasons.

“It’s all too over the top for my taste,” You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, stretching your arms above your head. “Here, it’s the one with the ponytail’s,” You hold the cell phone out between your thumb and index finger like it might give you a disease if you hold it properly.

“Why-” Spencer starts his question and is immediately interrupted by your answer. “She gave it to me to message one of you where we were,”

So it was you who’d messaged him then. He thought the punctuation was different.

“Right, that makes sense,” He takes the phone from you with an awkward smile as he puts it away in his back pocket. “Thank you,”

You give him a short hum in reply, crossing your arms over your torso and leaning back and forth on the balls of your feet like you were becoming bored with just standing around. You’d just been a potential hostage at knife point and then watched someone graphically commit suicide specifically to gain your attention and less than five minutes after it was over you were looking for something new to capture your attention.

It utterly fascinated him. You were fascinating.

And you were leaving.

Literally.

You were walking away, obviously having had enough of Spencer’s silence and wandering off to find Hotch and maybe experience something more enticing.

“Hey-” Spencer called out to you as you began to walk away, and you stopped with a glance over your shoulder and a raised eyebrow. “What are you feeling right now?”

You stuff your hands in your pockets at his question, turning 180 degrees to face him once more with a slightly furrowed expression as you tried to figure out the motive behind his question.

“I wonder if she saw the afterlife.”

Spencer’s shoulders drop at your admission, his expression morphing into a mix of understanding and confusion, contradiction written all over his features.

You seemed more objectively curious than humanly concerned, but you still were curious nonetheless.

That was another fascinating part about you, or just about sociopaths in general, he supposes. But he wasn’t speaking to every sociopath in existence, he was speaking to you. So it was less about sociopathy and more about you specifically.

“Do you think she saw the afterlife?”

“Logically, she didn’t have any eyes so she wasn’t ‘seeing’ anything, but metaphorically I’d like to believe so,”

Spencer has to stifle a surprised laugh at your morbid joke about Nueves’ condition, pressing his lips into a tight line with a small nod as he tried to focus on the second part of your statement. “Me too,”

There was a small sense of deja vu surrounding your conversation as the two of you fell into a mutual silence, hastily interrupted by Hotch calling the two of you to gather with the rest of the team now that the case was officially over.

You noticed the distaste in Emily’s gaze immediately, looks like you’ve gained yourself another detractor. She and Morgan stood side by side with matching expressions as the two of you joined them, although neither had time to make any comments as the team loaded up in the SUVs to head back to the station.

It was rather hard to believe it’d only been six days in Las Flores, but dates don’t lie, and by the time you stepped back onto the BAU’s private jet, it felt like you’d only left it for a matter of hours.

Nueves’ face was fading from your mind by now, as was her name, and as you plopped yourself down on the same seat you’d occupied on your flight from Quantico, you’d almost forgotten that she even existed.

Your mind was more preoccupied with what was going to happen next. You were going to fly back to Quantico, be recovered by California state officials, and taken back to the concrete hell of the California Correctional Institution until your appeal to be moved to an inpatient psychiatric care facility was considered and ultimately rejected because they still deemed you ‘too dangerous’ to be around vulnerable individuals despite sharing mental issues with a lot of them.

Spencer gave you an awkward wave as he walked down the aisle of the cabin and stopped at the seat opposite you, hoping the movement would grab your attention.

“Do you-” He half gestures to the seat facing you with his hand, and you dismissively wave him into it as you return your attention to the window. “Thanks…”

You give him a hum at his politeness but otherwise remain uninterested in his presence, fastening the seat belt over your lap as the jet pilots prepare for the five-hour flight back to Quantico.

“What’re you thinking about?” Spencer abandons his original plan to sleep through the entire flight the second he sees the pondering in your expression.

You glanced at Spencer, contemplating whether to confide in him about your concerns. Out of everyone, he was probably the one person you’d met on the team who seemed genuinely interested in your experiences. He was one of the few who could understand the complexities of your situation. With a sigh, you decided to open up a little, "Just thinking about what happens now. Back to the concrete hell of my enclosure I guess.”

“I thought you were appealing the decision? That’s why you agreed to help, isn’t it? So the officials are more likely to accept your appeal?” Spencer tilts his head slightly in your direction, raising an eyebrow in your direction as he curled his legs under him in his chair.

“You really think that it’s actually going to do anything?” Your voice is dripping in sarcasm as you let your head fall back against the seat. “They’re seething enough that I didn’t get the death penalty, there’s no way they’re going to cut my sentence,”

“I don’t see why they shouldn’t,” Spencer blinks at you with a mildly furrowed expression. “You’re not an active threat to anybody, and having the help that you need could greatly improve your quality of life,”

“Yeah well you’re not the person who’s going to be analysing my case, so your opinion doesn’t really matter in the greater span of things does it, Dr. Reid?” Your tone carries no malice in your statement, although it comes off much more rude than he’s sure you mean it to be.

His opinion could matter. He knows that as a part of the evaluation you’ll have to go through Hotch will have to write a report on how you acted during the case. Maybe he could put in a few extra things he’d experienced with you. He’s sure that the psychiatrist assessing whether you were actively violent would benefit from knowing how much you adored your parents, how you wondered if your childhood pet was in the afterlife and how you engaged in a genuine emotional conversation with him despite all of your social stunts from your disorder.

You obviously still had your humanity, so he didn’t see why they wouldn’t allow you to have the facilities to improve your mental state to a point where one day you could possibly be a functioning member of society, or at least be in a position to help researchers understand more about your condition.

“Having optimism about an upcoming situation has proved to actually affect the outcome of said situation, with 36% of people who had been optimistic about negative situations physically affecting the outcome of those situations based on their outlook alone,” Spencer presses his lips into a line, another one of those awkward smiles that you’d become used to over your time with him.

“I prefer realism, but I suppose I’ll take that into account,”

“That’s all I can ask,” Spencer gives a soft exhale at your inadvertent agreement to take his advice, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’ll visit you once your appeal has gone through,” The statement fell out of his mouth without any real thought behind it, simply a reflection of his brain deciding he wasn’t quite done with your company yet despite the case officially being over.

“Of course you will,”

Spencer gives a short laugh of mild embarrassment. “Of course I will.”

[oxxjustfrankieandmikuloverxxo]

WELCOME TO MY ACCOUNT LOVELY PEOPLE 🫶

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YOU CAN CALL ME KUROSAMOCHI, KUTISAMOCHI, KUTOSAMOCHI, KIRA

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THIS BLOG CONTAINS:

BLOOD

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DNI:

NSFW BLOGS

HATER

ANONS

SAMURAI440 FAN

HORNY PEOPLE, WHO ARE UNDER 20 YEARS OLD (I trust such people only to those who are not engaged in nsfw)

BLACK TUMBLR SUPPORTERS

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COPYCAT

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FANDOM'S ABUSE

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HOMOPHOBE

LGBTQ+PHOBE

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RACIST

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INTERACT WITH:

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AI

GIANTESS FETISH

A FEW ANIMALS

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[whencartoonsruletheworld]

I have to admit the reveal that glitchtrap was the mimic was a p good twist like I vividly remember when hw came out and the fandom collectively went ???

Apparently the Mimic is controversial rn and you know what I'm gonna out myself as a HUGE Mimic fan. I'm obsessed with this little freak. I LOVE the narrative implications of him. I love the commentary on the dangers of AI. I love the metaphor for the cycle of abuse. But at the same time and in contrast, I ESPECIALLY love the fact that it basically became an antithesis to the idea of "cycling the same story over and over." We all thought Willy-boy escaped HELL but no! He's just a normal bitch who's still over there! The Mimic is just a copycat trying to make the original story happen again and the new characters will be fighting to break the narrative cycle. How fucking COOL is that for a sequel villain??? I fucking love it

also.... i dont remember if it was Cori or North who pointed this out to me, but it's pretty sick how the original video game's premise, if you missed the ghost newspapers, was that the animatronics were malfunctioning AI who didn't realize they weren't doing their jobs, and now the Mimic is doing the same thing. The Mimic Epilogues specifically rely on the Mimic not being able to tell humans from endoskeletons. It's so fucking cool

[lafemmemacabre]

My personal top albums of all time

If anyone who respects my music opinions is interested, IN NO ORDER because I can't choose between my babies. Also, warning, it's mostly gonna be albums from the 90s. Only the albums that are described as Gothic Rock, Darkwave (Neoclassical or not), Deathrock and Ethereal Wave are goth, the rest are some other flavor of dark alternative.

Aégis, by Theatre of Tragedy (1998)

Exquisite Gothic Rock, despite the band usually playing Metal, with themes of mostly Greco-Roman mythology with some other European folklore thrown in. The most angelic and soft soprano vocals delivered by Liv Kristine with baritone whispers delivered by Raymond. Ethereal yet complex atmospheres with soft guitars, strong bass, poetic lyrics in Shakespearean English.

Highlights: Cassandra, Venus, Poppæa, Bacchante.

Inferno, by Lacrimosa (1995)

Gothic Rock that flirts slightly with Metal in some tracks. This is when they made the jump from Neue Deutsche Todeskunst (basically late 80s/early 90s German Darkwave except it's a little weirder than most other Darkwave at the time) to more Rock-based styles of music, as well as the first album Anne Nurmi was featured in. Tilo's best studio vocal performance in my opinion. Beautiful lyrics about love, passion, devotion, and the end of the world, could only be written by a goth guy with a gift for poetry who just fell in deep love. Only iffy track is Copycat but even that one is still a classic among fans if only because of its high energy, and killer guitars, bass and percussion.

Highlights: Schakal, Vermächtnis der Sonne, No blind eyes can see, Kabinett der Sinne.

Passion's Price, by Diva Destruction (1999)

Diva Destruction's debut, from back when Darkwave was actually dark and dreary in sound. Songs about heartbreak, betrayal, abuse and love, in the band's most musically complex and hauntingly atmospheric album. A definite classic with nothing but great track after great track.

Highlights: The Broken Ones, Snake, Prey, Glare.

Selected Scenes from the End of the World, by London After Midnight (1992)

Some of the best Gothic Rock to have ever come out, in my opinion. Deep, rich, dark, mysterious, sensual, macabre, romantic (arguably too romantic even by 90s goth standards as the album apparently got criticized for being almost entirely love songs? Wtf). The song that introduced me to goth in February of 2007 is in this album and it's the reason why I never looked back.

Highlights: The Black Cat, Claire's Horrors, Sacrifice, Spider and the Fly.

Annwyn, beneath the Waves, by Faith and the Muse (1996)

Ethereal Wave royalty in maybe not their most iconic album, but definitely the one closest to my heart by them. Despite goth music being associated with darkness in the minds of most, this album is full of glittering light in the most poetic and heartfelt way possible. The vocals are soft and tender when they need to be, delivered by Monica Richards, or firm and epic when needed, as delivered by William Faith. The lyrical themes are full of Celtic folklore, love, hope, magic and a feeling of reclamation of nature and an ancestral past (but not in like, a white supremacist way, I promise).

Highlights: Annwyn, beneath the Waves, The Hand of Man, The Silver Circle, Rise and Forget.

Treasure, by Cocteau Twins (1984)

Walking a thin line between Ethereal Wave and Dreampop (as they're pioneers in both genres). Some tracks are darker than others, but they're all equally delightful, full of beauty and a dreamy gaze hovers over every single song, all of which contain some of the most heavenly vocals in the scene. One of Robert Smith's favorite albums (he also really liked Diva Destruction's debut!). If you're into more relaxing and atmospheric music, this might be your intro to goth.

Highlights: Beatrix, Persephone, Pandora (for Cindy), Lorelei.

Anthology, by Nosferatu (2006)

Legendary Gothic Rock band among those of us who enjoy a campier vampiric goth sound that takes itself too seriously, and deliciously so. Yes, I know I'm cheating by going with a compilation album, sue me. It's simply a collection of their best tracks and I honestly couldn't choose between all their actual albums, so there!

Highlights: Inside the Devil, Lucy is Red, Rise, Witching Hour.

Es reiten die Toten so schnell (or: The Vampyre Sucking at his Own Vein), by Sopor Aeternus & The Ensemble of Shadows (2003)

Probably the gothiest and most elite Neoclassical Darkwave out there. Deeply macabre, equally horrific and beautifully crafted, with expressive and dramatic vocals, themes of vampirism and death masking more human subjects such as social rejection (Anna Varney-Cantondea is a trans woman/transfeminine person who's battled suicidality and depression from a very young age), depression, gay/trans desire, and suicidality. It truly is a masterpiece of macabre and neoclassical goth.

Highlights: The Feast of Blood, Holy Water Moonlight, Baptisma, Dead Souls.

Blood Death Ivory, by Angelspit (2008)

Probably one of the few modern Industrial bands who have thoroughly kept the spirit of early Industrial alive, fashioned after greats such as Skinny Puppy and Die Form, especially in the 00s when the Industrial scene heavily turned to more superficial lyrics based on the aesthetics of cyberpunk art rather than its subversive content. The music is aggressive, simultaneously animalistic yet robotic with a touch of demonic, rarely ever without smartly phrased critiques of capitalism and consummerism. At this point in time the band was a duo between Amelia Arsenic/Destroyx and Zoog Von Rock. It's definitely some edgelord shit (affectionate), but by no means in a vapid, only-for-shock-value way.

Highlights: Skinny Little Bitch, Lust Worthy, Devilicious, Jugular.

Alles für dich, by Grausame Töchter (2012)

Some of the most dynamic, deliciously quirky, sexual, hyper and twisted Dark Electro bands currently making music. The lead vocalist and lyricist of the band, Aranea Peel, is a lesbian dominatrix, fetish model, trained ballet dancer, and lover of Weimar republic era artistry who absolutely imprints lots of dark flapper energy into the band's music and imagery. The lyrics are unabashedly perverted, kinky, sapphic and fucked up. Her singing is nothing short of chef's kiss worthy, always expressive and strange, but with pristine execution and technique.

Highlights: Tanz für dich, TABU, Therapie für dich, ICH DARF DAS!

The Astonishing Eyes of Evening, by Cinema Strange (2002)

KINGS of 00s Deathrock with touches of Dark Cabaret influences, as inescapable in the goth scene in the 00s as She Past Away and its many copycats are now, and for very good reason. Delightfully macabre, not the first to use ghostly androgynous vocals but certainly one of the bands who better utilize that style of vocals. Imo, this and their homonymous album are must-listens for people interested in the goth music scene in general, but especially those interested in Deathrock. Truly Halloween turned into an album.

Highlights: Tomb Lilies, Catacomb Kittens, 'Ere the Flowers Unfold, Legs and Tarpaulin.

Opheliac, by Emilie Autumn (2006)

Literally music for mentally unstable sapphic girls with a poet's soul and flare for both irony and intense earnest feeling. It's a very original combination of Synthpop, Punk Cabaret, and Neoclassical music, with influences of Industrial and Darkwave. It's all masterfully crafted by classically trained violinist, poet, writer, actress, and somewhat of a burlesque performer with a rich alto voice; Emilie Autumn. She wrote this album after suffering medical abuse at a mental hospital after a suicide attempt brought on by an abortion and emotionally abusive relationship. I'm not exaggerating when I say this album saved my life and also changed me as a person.

Highlights: Opheliac, Liar, The Art of Suicide, 306.

Of the Want Infinite, by Requiem in White (1995)

You don't often hear of bands combining Deathrock and Ethereal Wave as they're often perceived as the polar opposite ends of the spectrum of goth music; Deathrock being the goth subgenre closest in sound and idiosyncrasy to punk, and Ethereal Wave being one of the goth subgenres furthest from goth's punk roots. Add in an operatic soprano and you get... Some of THE best, most underrated goth bands of the 90s. Dramatic, ethereal, creepy, elegant, ghostly and complex, with incredible vocals. Truly a pity they only released one album and a couple of EPs.

Highlights: Everlasting Peace, Beneath the Leaves, My Shame, Acanthus.

Agony of the Undead Vampire Part II, by Two Witches (1992)

Truly another giant of vampiric Gothic Rock, absolute 90s legends and Finland's most iconic goth band. Themes of vampirism, occasionally anti-Christianity, sex, sensuality and kink abound. The vocals might put some people off, but it's definitely worth it.

Highlights: The Hungry Eyes, The Omen, Mircalla, We All Fall Down.

Mors Syphilitica, by Mors Syphilitica (1996)

Requiem in White may have disbanded after their first proper album, but two out of its three core band members, then spouses Lisa and Doc Hammer, went on to form pure Ethereal Wave act Mors Syphilitica right after and while it's generally less dark and spooky than its predecesor band, they're still a delight to the ears.

Highlights: The Woman Who Believed, Fell a Dance, The Vain Stroke, Below the Baleful Star.

Beyond the Veil, by Tristania (1999)

I've raved about this album so many times. Just... THE definitive Gothic Metal album to me. The lyrics, the choir of sopranos (aka all Vibeke Stene and her rich, sensual, dark, gorgeous voice), the perfect growling, the somber baritone vocals, the perfectly crafted guitar riffs (no guitar salad, all expressive and precisely timed), the exciting epic percussion, the piano, the violin solos, THE SYMPHONICS. Oh, my God. There's not one second wasted in the entire album, and I'm not being hyperbolic, I mean that. Truly the perfect Gothic Metal album.

Highlights: Beyond the Veil, Angina, Heretique, Opus Relinque.

Serpentine Gallery, by Switchblade Symphony (1995)

Tbh all of Switchblade Symphony's discography is fantastic, but their debut truly is a masterpiece. Creepy ragdoll vibes all over, great vocals, rich composition, poetic yet accessible lyrics. If you're into a more kindergoth vibe (Wednesday Addams, creepy dolls, child-like or even lolita-esque looks), this might be the band for you.

Highlights: Clown, Mine Eyes, Dollhouse, Bad Trash.

Vampyre Erotica, by Inkubus Sukkubus (1997)

The other band that introduced me to goth in 2007 and got me to never look back. Though the first song by them I ever listened to, Samhain, isn't from this album, this album is the one that truly got me hooked for life. Vampiric, sensual, decadent and dark. It has everything including really sweet vocals.

Highlights: Vampyre Erotica, Danse Vampyr, Hell-Fire, Heart of Lilith.

Link to a YouTube Playlist containing all the songs from all the albums above.

[mollyjimbly]

🚨🚨🚨DANGEROUS INTERNET CENSORSHIP/SURVEILLANCE BILLS WILL NUKE THE INTERNET AS WE KNOW IT🚨🚨🚨

WE WILL BE SPIED ON DUE TO NO ENCRYPTION

LGBTQ CONTENT WILL BE WIPED FROM THE INTERNET

SEX WORKERS WILL BE CRIMINALIZED

The EARN IT Act of 2023 threatens to undermine online encryption by punishing companies that provide encryption services. And by repeating the same mistakes as a previous bill called SESTA/FOSTA, it would lead to widespread Internet censorship and crackdowns on marginalized communities. When EARN IT was previously introduced in 2020 and 2022, it was shelved in the face of overwhelming public outcry and opposition from human rights groups. Now, lawmakers are introducing EARN IT for a third time, hoping to pass it and break the internet while we’re distracted.

KOSA claims to make kids safer, but it’s really a dangerous censorship bill that would give the government unprecedented control over the internet. This would put youth in danger by preventing them from accessing potentially life-saving resources. Lawmakers concerned about online safety should reject KOSA and instead work to protect all internet users from abusive tech companies by passing a Federal data privacy law.

Lawmakers claim the RESTRICT Act addresses privacy and security concerns around TikTok. But this is about so much more than just TikTok. RESTRICT gives Biden (and all future presidents!) extraordinary new powers to ban Americans from using entire apps simply by claiming they pose a “threat to national security,” outside of any democratic process. Politicians are pushing this bill to show they’re “tough on China”—but instead of protecting us, this law would lead to an internet censored by the president.

Regressive states across the country are taking away teenagers’ online rights. It started in Utah with two laws that create a mandated social media “bedtime” and give parents complete control over their kids’ accounts, messages, and passwords. Utah lawmakers claim their curfew-and-control bills help children, but these bills actually make children less safe by increasing state and parental surveillance and restricting access to community. To make matters worse, legislation like this is spreading. Arkansas has passed a copycat bill. Louisiana and Texas are trying to follow Utah’s lead, and it’s been introduced federally in Congress.

STOP CSAM wouldn’t actually stop CSAM. Instead, it would make CSAM cases harder to prosecute—like SESTA/FOSTA before it—while reducing privacy protections in ways that would harm vulnerable people. Like EARN IT, STOP CSAM undermines end-to-end encryption, a technology that’s vital for LGBTQ+ youth, survivors of interpersonal violence and stalking, abortion seekers and providers, and activists. Weakening E2EE as a means to funnel more information to law enforcement also sets an alarming precedent for government surveillance. All of us, including children, need to be able to communicate in the digital age without our conversations being spied on.

ALSO WE CAN TACKLE ALL OF THEM TOGETHER, LINKS BELOW

DISCORD THAT YOU CAN JOIN

[wastedchildhood]

my abusers called me paranoid for calling out their actions. it’s not paranoia if i have proof.

[edgy-ella]

I think the Fnaf movie (and all the sequels it will inevitably get) is a great way to see what Scott views as the most important aspect of each character in the series.

Spoilers below.

Obviously, Mike and Vanessa are both very different here than in the games. Mike is (PROBABLY) no longer an Afton, Vanessa is definitely an Afton, Mike isn’t going by an alias, Vanessa is a victim of abuse rather than possession, etc.

In some regard, they almost feel like completely different characters (especially Mike). So with that in mind, when we look at the traits that these characters do share with their game counterparts, we can boil these characters down to their fundamentals (or at least what Scott views as their fundamentals)

Mike is riddled with guilt over the death of his brother, which he feels like he should have been able to prevent. Even well into his adulthood, long after the deed is done, he is still trying to fix what he perceives as blood on his hands, whether that is the case or not. This guilt often manifests as vivid dreams.

Vanessa is William’s reluctant follower. She has been manipulated into supporting him, even though she knows deep down how wrong her actions are for helping him. To aid him in his exploits, she takes up a career in a position of authority that lets her inconspicuously hang out around Freddy’s.

On a personal note, I think it’s interesting that these are the traits that Scott chose to emphasize between the two characters. While Mike’s relationship with his brother is definitely a strong part of what makes his character interesting, I’d argue that it is better executed in the games because there, he actually did cause his brother’s death and has reason to feel guilty over it. I also think that Michael’s dynamic with William is just as important as his relationship with Evan/Garrett/the Crying Child—William is Michael’s shadow archetype, he represents the absolute worst of what Michael could be. The movie completely lacks this dynamic, which makes their beef feel less personal despite the fact that William did kill Michael’s brother in this timeline (though I’d argue that that’s more the fault of the fact that William only has THREE SCENES in the movie total)

Movie Vanessa fares better, but mostly because she absorbs a lot of Michael’s role from the games by virtue of being an Afton child that lived past adolescence. I personally prefer her role as William’s successor rather than as a reluctant follower; copycat killers are a staple of the horror genre, and we are severely lacking in batshit crazy, irredeemable female villains in both movies and video games. That’s more what I was hoping Vanny would end up being in Security Breach, but I also acknowledge that that’s 100% just me projecting.

Unlike the two protagonists, though, William stays mostly the same between the movie, the games, and the books. I think it’s interesting that they chose to continue the trend of giving him an alias to hide under, while his real name is something of a dirty word because of everything he did. We notably don’t have proof that he did this in the games, and it’s got me thinking. Is there a named character mentioned somewhere in the games that’s actually just William under a fake name?

Who knows. Get speculating!

[divinerapturesys]

I didn’t expect my last AsPD post to blow up so here’s another infodump about it rooted in my own personal experiences

let’s get into fucking PARENTS

aka “primary caregivers”

I touched based on this a little bit on my last post which you can find here

“AsPD is a disorder that is caused primarily (according to current research) by trauma and abuse in childhood; most notably being emotional neglect and absent caregivers that cause a child to have emotional shutdowns and repression episodes in an attempt to self soothe. Primary caregivers who do not bond with their children are also a factor. Children learn how to behave from those around them. If a primary caregiver is emotionally distant and unavailable, children will learn that is normal behavior and that’s how people are. If a primary caregiver does not provide empathy and sympathy during moments of distress and fear, children will learn that aloofness and disregard of others feelings is normal behavior. If a primary caregiver does not keep a child safe, children will learn that they should not prioritize their own safety.”

So let’s break this down:

❌ “Primary caregivers who do not bond with their children are also a factor”

- bonding with an infant is incredibly important; this builds the first imprints of safety and security into a child; when a caregiver consistently and positively responds to an infants needs, this creates attachment and trust.

- Babies are inherently going to try to initiate a bond with their primary caregivers; crying, eye contact, cuddling, grabbing, all of these are ways an infant is trying to connect; these are natural cues asking for comfort and safety

- Not being given those causes children to start out with an unstable baseline; it has been proven repeatedly via research that children who are not held and comforted during the first stages of infancy are more likely to struggle with relationships and struggle with appropriately expressing emotions

🍓 Personal experience:

I did not bond with almost any of my primary caregivers (both bio and adoptive). To my knowledge, I was heavily abused, trafficked and starved the first 18 months of my life before CPS stepped in after I almost died. Being so neglected and left to self soothe, I learned from the start that no one cared for me and that I couldn’t depend on anyone but myself, ever, even in my most vulnerable moments, because when I was at my most vulnerable stage, I was not cared for or protected and was even taken advantage of by my primary caregivers.

❌ “If a primary caregiver is emotionally distant and unavailable, children will learn that is normal behavior and that’s how people are.”

- this is pretty explanatory I think but I’ll still go into it

- children are mimics and copycats; they learn how to act and think based on who they’re with the most

- Primary caregivers who are distant to their children unknowingly ingrain the concept that distance is safety, and that being unavailable is normal, and that it’s a way to be strong

- Children will begin to expect adults to not respond emotionally to them, and will similarly begin to limit their own emotional responses to match their caregivers in an attempt to connect and mirror

🍓 Personal experience:

My adoptive mom was very distant; I was homeschooled until I was 9, my dad worked full time and my mom was a sahm. However she spent most of here time handling their business. Which meant I was left to my own devices, every day, for the majority of the time. I vividly remember that in order to spend time with my mother, I had to write a note asking for her to pick a time slot to hang out and sign off on it. She would then show up at the allotted time and we would do whatever the activity was, and then she’d go back to the other room and I would once again be left alone. Even being homeschooled, I was alone. She taught me skeletons of workbooks and I figured the rest out myself. I learned once again that even when I needed guidance, I was expected to be an adult and figure it out, and if I did, I was praised for competence. If I failed, I was disciplined accordingly. It was very apparent to me as a kid that I needed to be entirely self sustainable, in every way, if I wanted to stay alive and not be drowned in feeling unloved.

❌ “If a primary caregiver does not provide empathy and sympathy during moments of distress and fear, children will learn that aloofness and disregard of others feelings is normal behavior.”

- again, pretty straightforward but I digress

- Children need to be given support and love when they are having emotional episodes

- Children do not know how to emotionally regulate themsleves, they don’t know how to help themselves and they get overwhelmed just like adults when they’re scared and unable to understand what’s happening

- Primary caregivers who do not help set the foundation for how a child should positively navigate emotional disregulation set them up to fail

- Children will think that ignoring others pain is correct behavior, and that disregarding how they make others feel is okay as well

🍓 Personal experience:

My mom thought that beating my crying out of me would for some reason solve the issue. Instead of spanking me a few times to get the point across of the transgression, she would often “spank” (imo it was getting beat) me until whatever she was using broke, or until I stopped crying. Unfortunately this caused me to eventually just.. not cry. I learned very quickly that being emotional and showing emotional distress would not get me comfort and safety, and instead usually caused me to have more pain and to be ridiculed for being emotional. I was basically conditioned into emotional shutdowns, and rewarded for having them. I would get praised for being mature if I stopped crying or having emotional reactions to situations. So I did. I experienced a lot of sensory issues and trauma responses as a child, which caused a lot of meltdowns, and those were consistently met with lack of comfort and connection.

❌ “If a primary caregiver does not keep a child safe, children will learn that they should not prioritize their own safety.”

- this mostly fits in with risk taking behavior tbh

- Children learn self worth and value from adults; if that’s not important and/or disregarded, it’s never going to be a priority and will have to be forcibly learned later on in life

- Children learn that if their primary caregiver does not prioritize their safety, that means they can’t rely on them when they’re in pain, being abused by someone else, or even hurting themselves

- This leads to self destructive and risk taking behaviors; they don’t value their own safety, and they don’t value the safety of others because they were not taught that it’s important

🍓 Personal experience:

Touching back on my early childhood; I was definitely not kept safe and unfortunately I was not kept safe in my adoptive family either; I feel like for a long period of time, I genuinely did not think my safety was important (if I even knew what that meant) and therefore it didn’t matter what I did because if the people who said they loved me the most didn’t want to protect me, why should I try to protect myself? This led to a lot of drugs, self harm, a lot of klepto shit, getting into fights, a lot of sexual abuse, etc, all because I genuinely did not understand what safety was, or what it meant. I put other kids in dangerous situations often because I didn’t value their safety either. I thought no one did.

All in all, interactions with primary caregivers builds the foundation for how your brain builds it’s emotional house.

Unfortunately for people with AsPD, we had to build our own emotional foundation as kids and it was done very shittily bc we were little kids and not fucking architects.

Thank you for coming to yet another infodump abt this disorder lmao I hope it made literally any sense bc I’m writing this at 4am and I am very tired :)

[railingsofsorrow]

Hope you're having an awesome day/night

I was wondering if I could request a BAU Team x Male reader who is a serial killer but in prison

The team pull him out to help on a complicated case unfortunately knowing reader can help its just if he will.

Reader is smart and cunning, he wants his freedom back if given the chance any chance he'll take it. (He reminds people of a wolf not so much a human)

Maybe a lil enemies to lovers with Derek

If you can maybe could you add this prompt for reader

It was unending horror after unending horror and at this point the terror in my blood had run dry and given way to apathy and exhaustion.

Skeletons In The Closet

A/N: this was so fun to write. I've done lots of research on psychopathy and the sources will be at the end of the one shot but remember I'm not a professional in the field! I tried my best. I hope I granted you wishes, sorry for taking so long! 

summary: a copycat killer is out in the city and the BAU needs your help to uncover the case. you just have one condition: to see derek morgan.  pairing: slight derek morgan x male!reader  w.c: 5.3K warnings/content: probably wrong portrayal of police procedures; case-related violence; graphic description of dead bodies; different povs; reader has heavy mood swings and has a cruel interpretation of things; manipulation; descriptions of child abuse; a portrayal of psychopathy; derek is Frustrated (with reason); discussion about the paradox of being saved; there is no comfort, no matter how much you search, but there's humor; italics are flashbacks; this is not a romantic fic; (let me know if I've forgotten something).

navi 

masterpost 

requested by @xweirdo101x 

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❝ The mind is its own place,

and in itself

can make a heaven of hell,

a hell of heaven. ❞

[john milton - paradise lost]

“No.”  

It's the first thing Derek says when the room becomes silent. He's been a member of this team for years and they know each other's quirks and twitches like no outsider can. They can basically read each other's minds; in a very amateur way of saying things. Which is why he knows when Hotch's brows furrow in thought that your name will be the next thing leaving his boss's mouth.  

He wanted to avoid that from happening. “Absolutely not.” Derek shook his head in disbelief. “Hotch, you know this won't work.” 

“If he's willing to cooperate, it might.”  Blake quipped, not understanding Derek's sudden defensiveness. It wouldn't be the first time the team is dealing with serial killers to resolve a case.  

“That's the thing; he won't cooperate,” Derek stated, straightening his posture as tension weighed on his shoulders. “He will talk at first, give his insight pretending he wants nothing in return. Then, he will leave us hanging and confuse us until we give him what he wants. This is how he works.” 

“He's the only one who has the M.O. similar to Kyle Weathers,” JJ remarked, giving Derek a sympathetic look because she knew the topic made him touchy. It made everyone on the team extra cautious, in all honesty.  

Y/N Y/L/N was one of the hardest Unsubs they had to capture. The investigation lasted three weeks. There were a number of suspects until the team acquired a successful profile. It had been one of the victims, that had been attacked in the same spot as the bodies had been found, who almost sidetracked all of the clues they gathered up if Reid hadn't of caught on the lie.  

Y/N was cunning from the start. He inserted himself in the investigation, providing every bit of evidence he could muster. Such a helpful witness, really. This is what they had thought.

“I just want the bastard to be caught. That was the worst night of my life. I've never felt so scared, Agent Morgan.” 

“I get it, kid.” Derek let out a sigh, leaning back on the chair. He pitied the boy sitting in front of him in the investigation room. You had bruises all over his arms, a busted lip, a purple eye along with a small cut above his left brow. He believed he also saw him limping when he arrived at the station for the second time that week.  

Derek wanted to throw the asshole who did that in jail, as well as the rest of the team. But it had been a week and they had gotten nothing. The leads were scarce and the only two victims that survived the attacks couldn't be much help. Lyra Michaels, the first survivor, was in the hospital, breathing through mechanical ventilation. Y/N Y/L/N, the second one, fortunately, were in a better condition than Lyra and he was currently helping out as much as he could by repeating what happened the night he was attacked by the Unsub.  

You and Lyra had no connections whatsoever. You didn't frequent the same college nor did you have common friends, or shared the same GPS route on a daily basis.  

Spencer was having trouble narrowing down the areas for the geographic profile. This is why they needed you again to provide more information. 

“He hit me in the head with a bat. I passed out. When I woke up he was about to—to—” 

“Deep breaths, Y/N.”  

“He was wearing a red shirt.” Emily tilted her head beside Derek. They exchanged a look. His first statement claimed it was a yellow shirt. “And, and a black hat... I can see the scar on his jaw...” He jolted up, chest going up and down with heavy breaths. “I'm sorry, I couldn't— He was getting too close.” 

“Hey, kid.” Derek squeezed his arm in a comforting manner. “It's okay. You did more than enough. That was very helpful.” 

“Derek.” Emily watched you leave the room through the blinds. “He's lying.”  

Derek remained quiet, he knew she was right. 

The supposed memories you had of the night you was attacked were all lies. You weren't the second victim. You had never been attacked. When they figured that out, two more bodies were found and you vanished. A week later, you surrendered.  

You had lied. You had been lying to them ever since the first moment you were interrogated in the hospital room. As a victim.  

Y/N Y/L/N was a twenty-eight-year-old sadistic psychopath classified as a serial killer according to the number of victims he's made and the patterns in his M.O. He approached his victims and befriended them for a period of two weeks prior to the murder, keeping them for two nights and torturing them by cutting off their tongues and stabbing their left thigh — that last one was intrinsically connected to the scar he acquired on his left thigh as a kid, inflicted by his own mother the same way he did with his victims.  

Spencer Reid was sent to Sussex I State Prison at eight o'clock in the morning. A manila folder in one hand and his satchel in the other. As a security guard accompanied him on their way to the visitation room, he repeated his only goal today: get you to talk. Then, he would try to convince you to help. Which, honestly? It's a shot in the dark. He visualized this going two ways and none of them worked in his favor. He profiled you once and according to his studies, despite the good behavior in prison, you hadn't changed.  

Psychopathy is not a mental illness that can be treated with psychiatric medication and therapy. It is a personality disorder, there is no cure for it. 

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SUSSEX I STATE PRISON – 8:05 A.M. 

One thing you knew well was how to mask your true emotions. You're not sure if your mother taught you, but at some point in your messed up life, you learned it. Maybe from watching her. Maybe when you understood that swallowing up your cries was better than letting it all out because her punishments wouldn't be as harsh as they usually were. 

As you entered the room, your attention fell on a figure you hadn't see since you got locked up in here. Well, he was one of the people responsible for putting you in this place. This was not gift giving situation. You knew the reason and it made something in your chest leap. They needed you. 

Your gaze danced around Spencer before you sat down in front of him.  

“I know you.” You stated the obvious, leaning back on the chair.  

Spencer introduced himself even if it was pointless. He was trying to insert himself in your narrative, but he'd lost that game since the first match. 

“I'm Doctor Spencer Reid from the Behavior Analysis Unit.” Spencer straightened his posture, lips pressing together in a tight-lipped smile.  

You offered him a smug grin, slouching. The chains collided with the table and Spencer almost flinched at the bothersome noise.  

“I know you,” You repeated. “That wasn't a question, Doctor. I don't forget a pretty face.” 

Spencer cleared his throat, opening the manila folder to expose the crime scenes. Oh, straight to business. “I have a few photos to show you. May I?” He received silence in response and as he looked up. Your expression was blank, a faint line in your mouth. You studied him carefully. 

“A couple hundred PhD's and a few BA's, right?” Spencer blinked confused at your affirmation. “You're very smart or something, aren't you, Doctor?” 

You don't let Spencer answer. 

“You know, you gave me Hufflepuff vibes the first time I saw you. But now I definitely think you're a Ravenclaw.” You pointed at him, eyes narrowing as if you were searching for something specific. “Yeah, definitely a Ravenclaw.” 

“Aren't those two of the houses from that famous book franchise?” Spencer's brows furrowed in thought. Your brows arched in amusement. “Harry Potter, is it?” 

“Bingo.” You gave him a grin, clearly pleased. “Congratulations, Doc. You've earned one point for guessing a pop culture question right.” 

“Why do you think I'm in Ravenclaw?” Spencer had no idea what that even meant, did he? You bit your lower lip to avoid laughing. 

“Because you're a know-it-all.” You deadpanned as if it was obvious, head lolling to the side. You're getting bored. “You know what isn't very Ravenclaw of you?” You asked, giving him a sideways glance. 

Spencer raised an eyebrow, feigning interest. “What?” 

“Coming here and making me purposely leave my UNO match.” It was a mumble, an edge of annoyance. He was making you bored. Doctor Reid was boring, actually. He wasn't the one in the BAU that spiked your interest. “No, that was idiotic of your part, Doctor Reid.” 

Spencer placed two crime scene photos in front of him.“They were found yesterday. Killed two weeks ago. Buried in the same disposal site. Do you recognize this?” Okay, he was losing his patience as well. Good.  

“Dr. Reid,” You drawled, gazing falling in the photos for the first time that morning. Hm. That's... oddly familiar— No. No, you are not engaging. He does not deserve a second of your attention. Who did the FBI think they were? People only had power over you once in your life, in the past. Not anymore and never again. “I know about the recent murders and I know why you're here. I, however, am not speaking to you about them. You've successfully wasted your time.” You said short, calling up the guard. 

“They have your M.O., are you really going to let someone else take credit for your work?” He tried foolishly. All that academic knowledge and so so stupid. 

You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes. Lucky for him, you have watched CSI: Miami so you knew that M.O stands for Modus Operandi. Did you really need to spell it out what was it that you wanted for him? “Agent Morgan.” You turn back to look at him, a pointed gaze. “He's the only one I'll speak to. Goodbye.” 

You wondered if you had that much effect on Derek Morgan for another fed to be sent in here instead of him. 

Finally, back to your UNO game. 

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SUSSEX I STATE PRISON - 3 P.M 

The crisp breeze of November curled around the back of his neck along with the descending temperature of this time of the month.  

Derek was frozen in front of the Sussex State Prison's entrance. Quite literally, actually, if he didn't have his thick jacket on he would probably be frozen by now. The autumn weather prepared the city for winter, the cold air already taking over, the sky cloudy. Derek didn't enjoy winter that much, he wasn't fond of the cold. Penelope, on the other hand, loved the winter. She told him once that she would live inside a snow globe if she had the chance because then she would have an excuse to always dress up and decorate everything with Christmas lights.  

She wanted to come with him today. Derek said no. He had to do this by himself. He watched her hesitate to agree with him but there wasn't any other alternative. If they wanted to get a new lead, they had to play your game. By your rules.  

He hated every part of it, but that was the job, what could he do about it? 

“He's a sadistic psychopath,” Spencer told him before he got into the car. For some reason, he had followed him out to the parking lot. “He will try and devalue speaking about the case to enhance his grandiosity—” 

Derek furrowed his brows, “Reid. I read the files. I've interviewed him before.” I've been through this before, you think I can't do my job? He was honestly frustrated. The kid had been prowling him like a hawk the entire morning. 

Spencer sighed, resigned. “Y/N is cunning. He'll use the fact that you trusted him to his benefit. He'll use it against you. Just- just remember that, yeah?” 

Derek knew it from the start. The main reason for him to be resistant to bringing you to the case was that it would all come back. The victims. The chase. The failure. He failed to save those people. If he had caught on to the odd behavior from the first moment, people would still be alive; Lyra Michaels included.  

“Am I hallucinating or is that Derek Morgan in this very room?” 

Now, he had to look at the reminder and convince it to help his team. He signaled that it was okay for the officer to leave. You moved slowly from the door, analyzing him with mirth. That joy seeping from your eyes was what made him cautious.  

“He's also got an unhealthy obsession with you.” Spencer folded his arms as Derek shut the car door. “So be careful.” 

“Not my first rodeo, pretty boy.” Derek sent him a wink. But thanks for caring. “If you got any change in the geographic profile or something, call me.” 

“Will do.” 

“It's been what, four, five years?”  

If there's something you loathed, that was the silence. The feeling you have when someone is not paying attention to you.  

Derek used that to his advantage.  

“Four bodies were found in Widewater State Park.” Derek unceremoniously placed the images of the bodies in front of him. “It started with one week apart from the first and two bodies, but it escalated to three days. The dump site and the torture seem familiar to you?” 

You gave him a flat look but looked downward nevertheless.  

The first image displayed a caucasian man with his mouth ajar and dried blood around his lips. He had small cuts and bruises all over his body, but what really grasped your attention was the cut in his left thigh; a vertical slash, precise. He couldn't deny the keen resemblance.  

A cheap copy. 

“I don't know.” You settled for, fingertips grazing the photos with curiosity. Did the person admire what you did? Did they admire you?  

The scoff you heard made you look up. “So you're wasting my time.” Derek spat, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Were those the five minutes of attention you wanted?”  

You spared him a look of bewilderment. You didn't know if he was playing a part or genuinely pissed off. Your bet was on a bit of both. 

“Agent Morgan, I have no idea what you're talking about.” 

Derek let out a hum as he started to gather the pictures. You straightened up in your seat. Fuck. “What are you doing?” You questioned, voice on edge in alarm. Derek merely shrugged and you grab one of the pictures haphazardly. He raises one of his brows in a silent question. “Did he drown them?” You choose to stare at the image instead of the satisfaction in Derek's face.  

“What do you think?”  

You breathed out in relief when he sat down again. This is more of a bodily response. You have attention, you have eyes on you and you have who you want giving you their precious time.  

It was part of your work, bringing them to the park, pulling their heads under water and holding it until you felt them stop fighting, stop breathing. The power you had over them at that moment was exhilarating. And a bit funny given that they never.stopped.fighting. Not until their bodies did it for them. 

Your eyes narrowed at the rope marks around their necks. That wasn't right. But the cut on the thigh was on the exact same spot you used to do. Staring at the blue lifeless eyes of the man caused annoyance to travel up your features. 

"He's not doing it right." You spat, sliding the image in his direction with disdain.  

"You think so?"  

"I never tied a rope around their neck, I used my bare hands. I did it all myself, I felt life leave their bodies knowing that I was responsible for it and I felt good." You marveled, slamming your hand against the table. Derek wasn't phased. "That was my work. My work was flawless. He's an amateur." 

"Okay." 

"Okay what?" You gritted.  

"I get it, kid. Your ego is bruised. I understand why. This guy is an amateur. That's why we're trying to find him." 

Your shoulders relaxed as you leaned back. The anger seemed to dissipate as it had come, suddenly. Your face became emotionless. That triggered a memory in Derek's brain. 

“Never understood why you kept on calling me kid..." You commented, head tilting to the side. "We're almost the same age, six years of different or so, right? You're not the only one who does that either. It's funny, isn't it? No matter how many people I've killed, If I look young, they'll see me as a boy.” The corners of your lips raised slightly.  

Derek placed another picture in front of you. This one wasn't from a crime scene. "Do you know this guy?" You took your time analyzing him. Not the picture, not the unknown man. Him.  

Derek Morgan had ghosts as well as you did. You concluded that as soon as he walked into the hospital room. Great physique, a strong voice and a kind persona. But his eyes carried that fog beneath the light and the will to help people.

He also wore a mask to display to society. You did the same up to your twenty years of age. After your mother died, it became easier to let go of things. To accept your true reality. You weren't like most people, you had a distinct way of thinking. They never understood you. That never bothered you that much. When it did, you got rid of them. Why should you deal with stupid problems if you could nip it in the bud? 

Your childhood hadn't been perfect. It was the worst part of your life, truth be told. Your mother being responsible for half the pain you endured while the other half remained with the bullies in your classroom. Yes, kids were cruel. But living with your birth giver was unending horror after unending horror and at some point, the terror in your blood had run dry and given way to apathy and exhaustion. You were simply sick of it. Of her. 

Back then, you used to wonder if something was wrong with you. But after having a taste of blood in your hands, you acknowledged that something was wrong with them. And you couldn't have that. You didn't want to.  

Thanks to your mother, you figured out the easiest way to deal with people. So you passed it on. Your legacy. You called it your own work of art.  

And now someone attempted to make a poor copy of your work. 

"That's Kyle." You say, looking away from the photo. "Kyle Weathers." 

"And you know him." That hadn't been a question so he already knew about Kyle and the relevance he had in your life. Well, you could confirm you had more relevance in his life than he ever had in yours. He was a bit obsessed with you for a while. You didn't stay in his life long enough to feed into that sick reality of his.  

“I knew him.” You corrected him. “We went to the same community college. And no, he wasn't my boyfriend or anything like that.” 

“Was he your accomplice?” 

Your lips draw into a flat line. “I just told you he was nothing. Less alone my partner in crime.” You said with humor. “He wouldn't pull it off.” 

“But you had some sort of connection?” 

Your brows knit together slowly as you add one plus one. “You don't want me to keep repeating myself, Derek. Does he have anything to do with this? That would explain this shit show.” You mention the photos with disgust and wait patiently for him to clarify his claims.  

“Why do you think that?” 

“You're becoming annoying like that Doctor.” 

Derek couldn't help the chuckle. Satisfaction spreads through your chest and you decided he deserved more than you were letting on. You were almost getting where you wanted, after all. 

“Kyle had some sort of a... fixation with me.”  

“How so?” 

“We were enrolled in the same classes. Visited the same bars and such. But until the third year of college, he started to act out.” You paused. “He was interested in being more than friends. I never saw him that way. He kept on bothering me for a few months, sending me gifts, even showing up to my mother's funeral.” You snickered. “Kyle was... something. A little sick in the head, if you ask me.” 

And you're not? — Derek thought to himself, analyzing the story. Kyle Weathers was their first option in the suspect list as of now. And according to your newest information, he also matched the profile. That would explain why both M.O.'s were so similar. Kyle was trying to relive the narrative of a relationship he created in his head. That still didn't explain the victimology or the entire reasoning for the murders.  

“I'll have to take a closer look to be sure,” you interrupted his train of thought. Derek noticed you were slightly closer, elbows leaning on the table as your eyes traveled through his face.  

He figured you'd ask something like that at some point. This is what he warned Hotch about. The cooperation only lasted until a particular stage, then you'd want more.  

“You'll have to take a closer look at the crime scenes?” Derek said, narrowing his eyes at him. “Is that what you're saying?” 

“It's been a few years, Agent Morgan. It's not easy to trigger those memories.” 

“You're only trying to relive the murders.” 

You shrugged, unaffected by that affirmation. Honestly? You just wanted to breathe some fresh air away from this prison. “Maybe. But who would be better than me to help you on this?” You raised an eyebrow. “Because that's what you need, isn't it? My help?” 

Say it. 

Derek's jaw clenched. He wanted to bang your head on the table, you could see by the conflict in his gaze.  

Say it.  

“What's it gonna be, Agent Morgan?” 

“If you so much as slip once,” Derek apprised. “I'll sent you right to death row. Is that clear?” 

You pressed your lips together, staring at him with a glint in your eyes. “Yes. Pretty clear.” You paused, tongue poking your cheek in smugness. “So, you need me, right. You need my help?” 

Derek shut the Manila folder after placing the photos in it. He stood up, stepping towards the door, but before he could call for the security guard, your voice rang through the room. A mellowed sound mixed with salient confidence.  

“If you don't admit it, I'll make sure the BAU never hears from me again and Kyle will be gone long before you think of him.” He froze at the door, inhaling sharply as to avoid snapping and screwing up his team's plan. 

Say it. 

“Yes, we need your help, Y/N.” 

There. You smirked. That's what you wanted. 

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WIDEWATER STATE PARK — 10 A.M. 

Dry leaves snapped under your feet as you walked further into the park. Last time you saw the sun, the trees carried a yellowish color; it was the start of the autumn season. Now, the air was chilly, it tickled the tip of your nose and caused you to sniffle pathetically. You had always been sensitive to the cold. 

You missed your freedom. Not being pushed around by pricks that thought they have power over you and schedules to follow or else you'll be thrown in solitary confinement. You missed the gashes in your feet every time you'd walk aimlessly through the woods. Barefoot. 

The truth was that you didn't actually need to be transported to the latest crime scene to recall valuable information on Kyle Weathers. The BAU knew that was an excuse as well, they had to. But they chose to work by your rules for a brief period of time, your guess was that they were running on short notice. 

"He liked to tie people up." You blurted out, eyes fixated on the marks around the man's neck. He used rope. "He used to boost his abilities in bed as if I gave a shit about it. And he mentioned about tying people up. How he enjoyed feeling in control." 

"BDSM involves power exchange, as in someone is dominant and the other person is submissive. Kink and fetishes play a big role in this world as well, although they are two different things. Handcuffing, for example, falls under the kink classification, which means that some people may be aroused when they get tied up."  

Your attention was anchored on the youngest in the team for a hot minute. "You may just not be as annoying as I thought you were, Doctor Reid." His forehead wrinkled as if he was trying to figure out whether that was a good thing or not.  

"It doesn't make sense how he knew so much about your process of doing things, does it?" You recognized Agent Prentiss when they last conducted a cognitive interview with you. "It's almost the same M.O." 

"Except that it isn't." You said with an eye roll. You were getting annoyed of this non-sense comparison. Kyle didn't have your thought-out scheme. Kyle wasn't you. That was why he failed. That was why he would get caught and it would be your pleasure to be of help with that. "I never used ropes in the neck, just in the feet and hands to make my life easier. You know, sometimes they would never stop moving. For some reason, they didn't accept their fate until I brought them here." You looked around, forcing the setting into your brain to poke back the last memories you had here. That last screams. The last begging for help.  

"Where is he, Y/N." You had seen him before, but you didn't remember his name, just the stern frown he had permanently etched on his face. He, too, was losing his patience with you. You chuckled, shaking your head. 

"Is something funny?" The blonde one spoke with you for the first time since they had arrived at the park. You barely spared her a look before you glanced up at Derek. He had been watching your every step as if you would disappear from thin air and they would have to chase you down. Again. Oh, those were fun times. You wondered where they would put you this time if you did that again. 

"He's bad at this." You said. "It's like he's asking to be caught."  

"He was interested in you, that's what you said, right?" Another brunette referred to you. She reminded you of your mother, except for the kind eyes. Your mother didn't have those. She didn't have kind in anything. "Is there a place you would visit together? A secret spot? Just for the two of you." You studied the woman for a while, quietly. She was the only one who remained calm until now. The color of her hair and the shape of her face made you feel... confused. As much as she looked like your mother, their stances were distinct. The woman in front of you didn't stand with her nose up as if she was above everyone else, no. She looked at you as if she were interested in what you had to say. As if she cared. 

You looked down at the body, choosing to focus on the lacerations on the dead man's legs. "His first murder was by my side." A needle could drop on the grass and it would echo through the silence that formed. "That night, I taught him everything he needed to know to do... this." You glanced down at the body. There was no reasonable motive for you to be confessing deliberately to them like this, but you did it, anyway. You told them about Kyle's first body, which was not included in his current body count. You told them about how he knew who you were and what you did and still became obsessed with an idea of you he constructed in his head. A fantasy.

In short, you gave the FBI the intent, the ability and the opportunity so they could finally find Kyle Weathers.

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SUSSEX I STATE PRISON - 5 P.M 

You didn't lie. There wasn't an appeal to do it. Boredom curled up on your shoulders and not even the bloodied images or the fact that you were out of that cubicle you had to live in for the rest of your life made you the least excited.  

“You're still trying to help me.” You muttered to Derek as you arrived back in Sussex. There were some pigeons fighting for a dead squirrel near the entrance.  

Derek danced in his own silence as you were guided back to your cell.  

Maybe that's why Derek Morgan intrigued you. Despite the anger and disappointment, he looked at you as a person. Deep down, he saw you as someone he could have saved from the torment of human life. Except that you became your own torment and you ate it as a snack on a daily basis. It was bitter, but when did you ever enjoy sweet things?  

You couldn't be saved.  

“There's no fixing me, Agent Morgan.” You told him as you stopped in the corridor that lead to your home sweet home. “I don't have anything broken. This is who I am. If I came to terms with it, you can too.”  

He didn't say anything. You didn't wait for an answer. But you felt his eyes following you as you were escorted away.  

Somehow, his silence said everything. He knew that he, too, couldn't be saved. Could anyone ever escape their own sorrows? Our ghosts were always there, in the corner, whispering and conspiring against the darkness, tampering with our minds. We ended up limping, as if a leg was missing because we couldn't interpret what the world told us and what the voices — the ghosts' voices — claimed as truth.  

Your mother might have been right; an apple doesn't fall far from the tree, after all. 

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sources: [1] [2] [3] [4]

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A/N: life has been hectic lately and I'm struggling with my mental health as usual. so this is going to be my last request for a while. I have to focus on other things but I'll still be around, just gotta take a break from requests <3

[thecrazygamingzombie]

How Viviziepop kickstarted the third wave of indie animation.

Okay, I've been seeing a lot of people talk about the tweet below and how Viv doesn't deserve to take credit for the success of other indie animation projects online but the fact of the matter is...she does, in an indirect way at least.

First, let's start off with a brief history of indie animation:

everything started out on a site called newgrounds, I'm sure you've all heard of it. Created by Tom Fulp in the 90s to show case some of his half baked game ideas. Which eventually evolved into a place where indie creators could post anything they wanted without fear of censorship; the rating system that automatically removed any posts that dropped too low being the only source of quality control.

This gave indie animation it's initial foothold online but without any way of obtaining a revenue stream it never really moved beyond a fun hobby done to practice one's art/coding skills or just screw around with friends online.

This problem got more significant as time went on and many of the teenage artists that gave newgrounds it's inital success, such as RicePirate and Tom Fulp, grew into young adults who needed a revenue stream. Luckily they found one in the form of youtube.

With these monetization policies, many indie animators were actually able to go into animation practically full time. Their pre-existing income bolstered by that of youtube and what followed was a golden era of animation, just an explosion of content across the board. You had stuff like Eddsworld, Salad Fingers, ASDF movie, and tons of other creators bursting onto the scene.

all putting their content out there on Youtube for the world to see. All bolstered by revenue coming in from Youtube...but the good times never last

See, back then youtube's monetization policies were pretty simple: the more views your channel got, the more money you'd make. Great for short form animators and also great for clickbait youtubers who abused the system with deceiving thumbnails and titles!

To combat this, Youtube changed it's monetization policies in March of 2012: instead of being rewarded on view count, monetization would instead reward the time watched during a video. Which created a system where longer videos with frequent uploads were rewarded

In theory this was supposed to stop clickbait videos as people would just watch for a few seconds and leave. But in practice? It meant that animators were put at a heavy disadvantage as now they'd have to put in significantly more work for the same result.

This caused a complete and total crash of indie animation online. Between an unfair algorithm and the rise of gaming channels, most indie animators couldn't gather the same level of funding they could before and had to either quit or scale back.

Only the big name animators who could coast by on brand recognition such as Harry Partridge and TomSka among several others, or larger channels with dedicated teams similar to tv studios such as Mondo Media and Rooster Teeth. Were able to keep going.

This started a brief dark age for online animation until the advent of story time animators. People like Jaiden Animations, Swoozie, and TheOdd1sOut who relied on simplistic art styles with minimalist animation that focused on content reminiscent of old vlogs where the animators simply share stories from their everyday lives that allowed them to put out longer videos faster; thus working around the monetization system that had put so many animators out in the cold.

While they didn't solve the problem, in some ways they made it worse by starting a trend that attracted countless copycats, they did help sustain an interest in indie animation online and ensure there was a consistent audience for such a medium.

Now it wasn't a total wasteland mind you, as I said there were still plenty of animators who survived the purge. There were even a few channels such as Shut Up Cartoons and Mondo Media, again, that helped produce dozens of animated series from indie creators.

But even at it's best, these series were still very amateurish. The passion was obviously there but these were still very simplistic flash or stop motion animations with low budgets and small teams, focusing more on episodic skits than any sort of overarching plot

This environment of amateur passion projects, where animated series were usually very small scale and never really escaped from the limited sphere of youtube, went on for several years and kept the animation community alive. Until Viv posted Hazbin Hotel and brought about the third wave of indie animation.

Unlike the previous examples, Hazbin Hotel was a VERY different beast from most indie animation. Not only did it have an extremely distinct visual style but the animation was so fluid, so professionally made, it felt like something you'd see out of a mainstream studio. It felt leagues above the average indie project in terms of quality.

Now Viv had already a decent audience from her Zoophobia webcomic, her speed draws, and the die young video. So it wasn't like she was starting from nothing. But there was no denying that this new form of animation caught people's attention and caught it FAST.

You all can probably recall the explosion of discussion that surrounded the original pilot and how it was all the internet was talking about for awhile. Viv road that wave and used the momentum to launch 'Helluva Boss' another indie production with a similar style.

This made her even more popular, especially when she started cranking out new episodes of the latter series with the same high quality as before, and soon her fanbase swelled to millions. A fanbase that was more than happy to crowdfund Viv's work through patreon and merch sales. Then other animators saw this and realized that there was a sizable audience for animated content; one that could not only sustain professional level animation, but was desperate for more content of this scale. Soon several other series started cropping up like MurderDrones, Lackadaisy, Monkey Wrench, and the Amazing Digital Circus. All of which followed Viv's lead of producing high quality, fluid animation with overarching plots that drew funding entirely from legions of online fans.

For the first time in a long time, indie animation was breaking out of it's original platform and reaching far more mainstream audiences than it ever has in the past on a scale never before seen and it's all because Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss kicked off this new animation renaissance!

Now I'm not gonna say Viv was solely responsible, the series we enjoy now have thrived primarily on their own merits and the creative minds behind them.

But as it stands, her work played a big role in setting the stage for other indie animation projects and creating the perfect conditions for them to thrive amidst the current digital landscape. Like it or not, Viv is the catalyst for modern indie animation. To deny Viv her rightful place in history out of spite is nothing short of historical revisionism.

Give the gal her due, she's done some amazing things for this crazy world we live in.

Here's the videos I got most of my info from, it's important to cite one's sources after all!

[narabea06]

Any insane chance that you have any general Jeff headcanons brewing up to yap about? 🤨🤨🤨

Sorry this took so long!!! This is only the tip of the iceberg of my Jeff hcs ngl 😭

Jeff the Killer Headcanons -

TW: Suicide Attempt, Implied Abuse, Bullying, Hospital + medicine talk, Manipulation, Talk of delusions, Murder, Toxic Relationship, Dissociation

Clockwork and Jeff both did a lot of sports and clubs in middle school and highschool, and would often get picked up together by Lyra or Liu. Jeff did it because his parents put him in a lot of activities to put a lot of pressure on him to have many talents and to be good at something so that he would get a scholarship, despite him hating the activities and never having free time because of it. These activities included hockey, soccer, STEM club, and karate. The only one Jeff actually enjoyed was karate due to it helping him get his anger out.

The incident was not Randy and Keith lighting him on fire. Instead, Jeff was relentlessly bullied by Randy for years, and was generally terrorized by people at school, that he tried to kill himself by starting a fire in his room when nobody was home. He left his suicide note in the mailbox, and it explained in detail what Randy, Keith, and Troy did to him and how they hurt him and Liu. While Jeff survived the attempt, his mother decided to publish the note in the newspaper, and everyone at school read it. Randy and Keith then actively got blamed for Jeff's attempt and everything that came after. Granted they deserved it for what they did, but it still was not a great experience for them.

When Jeff came home from the hospital, he barely spoke for the first week or so due to both his declined mental state and a side effect of the painkillers.

Margaret, Jeff's mother, was a infamous journalist who had many connections, and actually often lied and blackmailed her way to the top. She also often would write and publish about her sons, practically constantly sharing any personal moment they chose to share with her like she was a family vlogger. Because of all this, she actually ended up publishing Jeff's suicide note, exposing him to their entire state.

He's a manipulative bastard, but doesn't realize he is. He truly believes what he did to Nina, Liu, and Jane was for the best and was helping them. He doesn't have a good mental state in the slightest, but refuses to accept help because he believes he doesn't need it.

He still actively despises Randy and Keith. Hell, at one point when Randy and Keith were trying to go about their lives and move on, Jeff came after them and attacked Keith. He survived, but Jeff said he wouldn't let either of them live while he himself is still alive. Keith and Randy started staying with Troy and Jesse after that.

The only specific targets Jeff has are Randy, Troy, Keith, and Jesse. The rest are at random, though he steers clear from the Alliance, EJ, Lulu, the kids, Sadie, and Toby.

Jeff has ADHD, though his parents refused to believe he wasn't neurotypical, and would refuse to take him to therapy until after the incident, leading to Liu having to do the research for him.

Jeff has anger issues, control issues, a bit of a god complex, as well as a slight victim complex.

Jeff is terrible at social cues and body language.

Jeff often sharpens his knife as a stim during the times when he's deep in thought.

Jeff has big main character syndrome, and constantly believes that everything revolves around him.

Jeff absolutely adores copycat killers of himself, since he loves the idea of people looking up to him and his “work”, and seeing his crimes as he does, like art. He sees copycats almost like people just inspired by him, and even sometimes will stalk people and encourage them to follow in his footsteps to go down the path he did.

Jeff has had so many times where he will say stupid shit, and Liu has to get him out of trouble because he never watches his mouth. Due to Jeff having no self preservation nor any sense of consequences, they never end up realizing when to back down though.

Jeff is very impulsive and will do stupid shit a lot because "why not". As long as it's fun and doesn't include him eating or drinking anything, he'll do it. He has terrible self control.

He truly believes him and Jane are still friends and that he isn't in the wrong for killing their parents, because in the moment, Jeff made themself believe Jane's family was abusive. Jane actively expresses to him that she hates him, but Jeff just thinks she's joking around.

Jane has kicked Jeff in the shin with her heels too many times to count to the point where his heels are super bruised.

Ben and Jeff are frenemies, and BEN kinda sees Jeff almost like a weird cousin she doesn’t want to hang out with. She does enjoy Jeff's company though, and is happy to have a friend.

One of his best friends is Killing Kate. They hang out every Wednesday to do karaoke.

Jeff used to somewhat be in a relationship with Nina for a few months after the incident, though neither had actually verbally expressed that the relationship was anything romantic, leading to Nina believing they were in love and Jeff thinking that they were nothing serious and Nina would never be his top priority. Nina, heartbroken, left him after hearing him say to her face too many times that if she died, he wouldn't care.

Jeff learned Spanish from Nina. He still has a bit of a struggle with it though, and he always pronounces the words in the whitest way possible. Nina would tease him about his pronunciations a lot.

Jeff loves the Nightmare Before Christmas movies, and once dressed as Jack for Halloween pre-incident, and convinced Nina to dress as Sally with him.

Jeff can very easily lucid dream. He doesn't always know why, but usually when he's dreaming, he always realizes it's a dream rather quickly, and almost always, he will just shut down the dream he was in and start something else. Because of all of this, he has become unaware what is reality or not, and constantly just thinks almost everything is a dream. Most of the time he spends with his friends he assumes is a dream because he doesn't think in reality they would want anything to do with him. This is also why he's so careless about life, because he doesn't know whether or not anything is real or not and if he'll have real consequences, especially since he's even had times where he did actually try to do the right thing and make things right between everyone, only to realize that it was just a dream and he didn't accomplish anything.

Jeff talks in his sleep a lot. This has woken up and scared the hell out of anyone he shares a room with. Ben even has a couple videos of Jeff talking in his sleep on her phone.

Jeff secretly has a pet frog named Georgie. It chills in a pond behind the Refuge, and has a specific symbol on its back that Jeff uses to recognize it.

He has a huge fear of clowns, and absolutely hates the IT movies. A couple gag gifts that Liu got him growing up because of this were Pennywise merch. Jeff stuffed them all in a box in his closet never to be seen again.

He was a big music theater fan, though he was never able to actually take theater in highschool due to his parents seeing the class as useless.

Jeff often wears an eye mask when he sleeps so he can rest his eyes properly.

[whenthedeeppurplefalls]

I’m gonna go on a brief rant but. I think whos lila is also about internalized misogyny. Putting this under a readmore so I don’t torture my followers

Take a look at how Lila specifically treats women and girls in game compared to how she treats male characters- while it’s true she has a certain playfulness with all of them, Lila seems to have a certain bitterness, disgust, and jealousy towards women in the game. The only female character she does not seem to regard with negative feelings is Mrs Hutchins, who she might consider too old to “bother” her.

We know that Lila has a bad relationship with her mother. In jungian psychology, a “devouring mother” is a mother who feels so oppressed by her own emotions, society, etc. that she takes complete control of her children through abuse- this can cause a lot of complicated feelings for obvious feelings, etc. i feel like it’s not out of possibility that Lila could have this instilled subconscious respect for Older women, while bearing a grudge/resentment/jealousy towards young ones.

Reasons as follows: Lila has something negative to say about every female character in the game. (Calls ellie a “gossip”, Martha a “rat/bad girl, insane for eating junk food, etc” and Ofc, Tanya, who she refers to as “stupid bitch, copycat girl” she also seems to have a strange jealousy towards Tanya, calling herself “more beautiful”, despite them looking the same. Internalized misogyny is unfortunately a very common result of maternally based trauma, so it’s not at all uncommon for Lila to have trauma like this.

Contrarily, even to her biggest male “enemies” in game, she rarely insults them, (the exception being Strupnev, but he deserves it so it’s based) even the detective interrogating her, she doesn’t really have anything negative to say about him.