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#brick’s not even super violent I just keep giving him fighting stuff to do
waywardxsouls · 2 years
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Hi! I really appreciate all of your work! Hope everything will go smoothly with you and your life! Can i please request a yandere Dean, Lucifer, Gabriel, Dick Roman with a socialphobic reader with extremely low self-esteem who is afraid of guns and violence.
You don't have to write about it if you're not comfortable.
Thank you so much for appreciating my work and for your kind words!!
Hell yea I’m up for this (AND FINALLY SOMEONE FUCKING REQUESTED DICK ROMAN YAS QUEEN)
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Dean
This dude is scary at the best of times
He’s so tall and built like a mf brick wall
Very intimidating, to say the least
But not to you
Instead, he’s like that to everyone BUT you
To you, he’s like a snuggly teddy bear
Super warm and always gives good snuggles
Initially, he didn’t understand what was going on regarding your self-esteem and being social phobic, so he asked Sam and googled stuff
This man is literally the best
He’s not the best at verbalising his emotions, but he’s the best at acts of service
He makes you feel like a fucking princess and practically worships your body
He pays extra attention to parts of your body that you feel the lowest about
He whispers complements in that deep, gravelly voice of his that just makes you melt and turns your mind to mush
He’ll keep going until you’re confident in your body and mind, and long after that
He prefers to keep you indoors, and the fact that you choose to be indoors too makes him really happy
On the rare occasion that yall do go out, you generally hide in Dean’s shadow or cling to his arm
It gives him an ego boost, really
Being able to protect you from both supernatural things as well as the mundane makes him really happy
Regarding the safety thing, Dean locks away all guns etc. around you or keeps areas of the bunker off-limits to you
He definitely keeps anything violent away from you and always comes back to you completely clean with no trace of blood or monster guts after a hunt
Part of the reason he hunts is to keep you safe
It’s also a threat to keep you with him – there are all sorts of creatures that go bump in the night that will be gunning for you in order to hurt Dean the second you step outside the bunker alone
Dean’s one of the best hunters out there
It’s really in your best interests to stay with him
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Lucifer
This dude does take you out and about, but it’s more of a power thing for him – he likes seeing you cling on to him
As well as hiding behind him
He’s also pretty tall (his vessels are, and we’re not even going to talk about his angel form, lmao)
He burns cold, so he’s good for cuddles when it’s warmer outside
does he misuse his powers to raise the room’s temperature, so you cling to him??? Who knows…
he’s a warrior by nature but knows that not everyone else is used to violence and bloodshed like him
so, he tries to temper his more bloodthirsty and wrathful sides around you
and if he does unleash his wrath on others, you’ll never know
he keeps his dirty dealings very quiet, so you have no reason to fear him
he’s terrifying to literally everyone other than you
plus, the idea of “the devil” leaves a bad taste in people’s mouths, so most avoid you and him lest they want to get on his bad side
he also comes back completely clean after he’s gone out, so you don’t suspect that he’s been out fighting people or whatever
he’s really safe to be around too
he’s super powerful and can just snap threats into nothingness
or use his angel blade if it comes to it
he’s super dangerous to anyone who even has a bad thought about you
he doesn’t need any weapons other than his blade and powers, so there’s not much for him to lock away
he tries to be respectful to you and even reads up on the human mind and how best to support you
might even ask Gabe for help or ideas on how to support you
attends sessions on how to support you best
and brings up the idea of therapy with you
he makes you feel like the most beautiful thing alive
and Lucifer may be many things, but he is not a liar
especially not to you
he truly means everything he says about you
while you may not love yourself, Lucifer will love you until the day you do
and long after that <3
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Gabriel
this dude is generally bubbly and a carefree guy
but there’s a hint of darkness in his honey-coloured eyes
not that you’ll ever know, really
while Gabriel isn’t a warrior by nature, he knows how to fight well
and you’ve seen his fighting abilities first-hand
he’s not exactly innocent when it comes to spilling blood
plus, three’s his angel powers
and his time as Loki too
so, it’s obvious that he’s gotten his hands dirty
but Gabe prefers to use his powers to mess with people
not necessarily hurt them
but more to confuse them
or make them look bad
like that one episode where he was the “trickster” and made that one guy gets abducted by aliens and forced to slow dance with one
Gabriel prefers to do that
And you prefer that too
And Gabe will do anything to make you more comfortable
But that’s all thrown out the window if you’re in the slightest danger
The whole “Archangels are fierce, they’re absolute, they’re heaven’s most terrifying weapon” comes out to play
He’ll smite the fuck out of whatever threat is harming you and whisks you back home
He’s a terrifying guy to everyone other than you
You’re the only one who fully gets to see his bubbly side (besides his brothers, ofc)
You never really worry about safety or danger with him because he doesn’t need any weapons
Other than his blade, but you know what I mean
And he never puts you in any social situations, not even to make you cling to him
He prefers keeping you indoors
Gabe is the type to leave little love notes and motivational quotes for you in both obscure places and easy-to-find places, so you can get a pick-me-up without him hovering
E.g., notes will be hidden in your lingerie drawer or favourite books or in the secret stash of chocolates you think Gabe doesn’t know about ;)
He’s super affectionate and makes you blush every time he does anything sweet
And builds your confidence up little by little until you’re a bright, shining star <3
He also puts your ass in therapy
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Dick Roman
At first, he thought it was just some silly human thing he didn’t need to concern himself with
But that all changed when he became obsessed with you
And he started to understand that if someone so brilliant and one in a billion like you could be affected by self-esteem, he’d need to know more about it to combat it
He believes you have “that spark” that is impossible to replicate, even if he commanded it from his most talented and loyal subjects
That said, he did obtain some of your DNA and morph into you himself so he could figure out what was going on behind those pretty eyes of yours
He took notes of all the things that made you tick, but he found the low self-esteem shocking
Shouldn’t someone as lovely as you know it already?
Seeing how you interacted with the world informed him that this wasn’t the case
He is indeed a brutal monster, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have emotions or feelings
Or know actual value when they see it
And darling, he sees it in you
You were too good for the humans; they’d never understand you truly
The world would just eat you up and spit you back out
Knowing this, of course, he had to steal you away
Being with him isn’t so bad once you get past the whole retractable jaws thing
And the whole “monster from purgatory” thing as well
He’s charming, sweet and kind – even more so than the actual Dick Roman that you used to work for
Dick makes sure that the house – more like a mansion – he’s taken you to is all to your tastes and designed for your comfort
It’s also practically a stronghold too
And under guard by leviathans
But they never interact with you because they know Dick will bite their heads off – he only likes your attention on him
Regarding the décor and clothing and other stuff inside
He’s literally been inside your head. He knows you better than you know yourself
Most of it is designed so that you’ll never want to leave the place
And that’s what Dick prefers
He prefers to keep you to himself
All locked away and held tightly in his arms
He hates sharing and is a very jealous man, so he doesn’t take you out often
Not even to galas or events that he needs to attend to maintain appearances
But will grudgingly allow you to go if you’re up to it
He also signs you up for therapy
But makes sure that it’s online
He pays so much attention to you and loves you so wholeheartedly, especially in the places that you’re most tender about and have never spoken to anyone about, that your self-esteem starts to get better
Regarding the violence thing
You know Dick could easily snap you in half like a twig
But he hasn’t, and you know he won’t
And he’ll even keep all bloodshed and matters related to unaliving people hidden well away from you
You know it happens and what Dick’s true nature is like
But hidden away in this stronghold of a mansion under guard 24/7 and in the arms of one of the most powerful creatures in Purgatory…
You feel safe
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(I've never written Dick Roman before so please tell me what you think <3)
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gelbraddy · 2 years
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Donovan and brick doodle dump feat. Their miraculous ladybug lovesquare shenanigans and brick’s job as a chainsaw guy
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characcoon · 3 years
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The Way of Business
Words: 2143
Summary: How Donnie first met Charles. 
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"I'm trying my best to not question, but… "Cat claws, be sure they fell naturally" and he wrote the last word with capital bold letters." Donnie pokes the shopping list with his finger "And my favorite, "Coffee beans (digested)", which, by other terms, means coffee that has been shat."
"Keep not questioning." April says, hands on her pockets "It's witchy, magic stuff. We already went through this, Dee. Sometimes it doesn't make sense and that's fine."
"I'm aware. But it's not everyday you have poop coffee on your grocery list. What's he even going to do with these?"
"I don't think that anything Barry does should be our business."
April and Donnie walk around a busy street in the shopping district of the Hidden City, trying to identify the things on Draxum's list only by looking at the shops and vending stands, since the old sheep Yokai didn't think of writing where exactly to find the stuff.
"Maybe it's a cake." Donnie mumbles, stopping by a counter and quickly examining some items "Mikey's been teaching him some more recipies, he might be returning the favor by making Yokai food."
"Pooped coffee cat claws cake! Yummy." April gags, then points at a jar filled with sparkly deep blue glitter labelled mermaid bone powder "I think we need that one."
They continue shopping for another 20 minutes until they reach a part of the district that is definitely more shady and quiet. Sales are made among whispers and the shops have much less products on display, everything of importance stocked in the back. 
As April intimidates a merchant to lower the price of the cat claws, Donnie spots something familiar in a corner and curiously turns around to look. It's one of Big Mama's guards, but not just any guard; it's that specific one that seems to be on a higher rank, that was at the scene when the spider Yokai first took the Shredder to make him her champion. Donnie hums, watching as the guard dives between two stores and vanishes into another street.
"Got it for half the price." April comes to him, smiling proudly and shaking a tiny bottle filled with cat claws, then notices Donnie isn't paying attention "Earth to Donnie?"
"Wanna put some noses where they don't belong?" He sends her a trickster smile, bumping his fingers together.
"That depends, are you going to explode the whole street again?"
"Scoff!" the turtle scoffs "I saw one of Big Mama's guards going that way."
"And we need to go after them because…"
"Because it's her personal guard. The personal, stealthy, silent guard. The guard she sends to kill people without leaving a trace. The guard that probably has a cool name that makes people shiver in fear upon hearing it. The guard I just saw going that way."
April puffs her cheeks and blows out air in sections, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she sighs, puts the bottle on Donnie's hand and starts walking.
"Alright, let's seek trouble, why not."
Donnie silently celebrates and dashes across the street, April right on his tail, following the same path of the guard. They go between the stores and find themselves in a smaller street with much less stores that are much more shady, to the point of being just holes between the brick walls. They reach the end of the street, turn to the only side available into another short road that hits a dead end. The guard is on that far end, with their back to the two curious teens who are slowly and quietly getting closer by using the little things around that can be used as barricades.
“We could make business faster if you tell me what you want straight up, I don’t do well with riddles.”
Donnie peaks behind a depression in the wall he and April are hiding in and notices a big trashcan shoved inside the wall with some christmas lights dangling from the sides and some mechanisms bending the lid and forming a roof. The guard is in front of whoever’s speaking, neither Donnie or April can see who.
“Or you could send the Great Milf here personally! Would love to catch up with her, if you know what I mean.”
Donnie gags in silence.
“She wants the Barnacle.” the guard speaks, voice muffled and distorted.
“The Barnacle! Wow! And why would I have that, exactly?”
“You were seen with it, at the docks. Took the package from Captain Piel.”
“Stupid lump of rotten flesh ratted me out, huh.” the other mumbles and sighs “Alright, I’ll get it, gimme a minute.”
April and Donnie glance at each as they hear ruffling and some crashing, the immovable form of the guard giving no indication of noticing the eavesdropping happening behind them.
“Is she gonna pay me at least?” the guard doesn’t answer “Y’know, in my land we have this saying. Quem cala consente. It means “silence means yes”, so I’m expecting some good cash unless you say words. No? Nothing? Talking to a door is funnier than talking to you.”
“The Barnacle, Charles.”
With a flicker of their wrist, a kunai appears between the fingers of the guard. Donnie instinctively moves his arm to his back, near his staff, and April gets into a better position to either fight or run.
“Is that handle made of Calligraphy Stone?” the merchant, possibly named Charles, speaks with excitement “Oh, damn, how much do you want for that?”
“Not for sale.”
“Oh, c’mon, it’s Calligraphy Stone!”
“Not for sale.”
“You’re boring. Y’know that? Boring. Wanna know what’s for sale? The Barnacle inside this box, this pretty doormat I made this morning and this GUN!”
A loud bang can be heard and the guard violently flies backwards, a blast of light illuminating the whole street. The guard smacks hard on the floor, smoke coming out of their chest, unmoving. Charles can now be seen; it’s a raccoon, very short, doesn’t go past Donnie’s knees. His tail is pink and orange, he wears duffle bags strapped to both sides of his hips, metal bracelets taking both his entire forearms and a gray sleeveless hoodie. On his face, big steampunk goggles and a wide, manic grin. On his hands, a gun definitely made out of garbage and nonsense, reminiscent of a grenade launcher, bigger than his whole body.
“I lied! The gun is not for sale!” he laughs and points the gun to the guard again “Now scram before I blast you into pieces!”
April notices the guard starting to move first, but doesn’t have time to warn everyone; they’re up and running in a second, blade slicing where Charles’ standing. The raccoon hops above the slash, smacks the guard in the head with the gun and drops it, then dashes towards the exit, but takes a sharp turn and bumps into the two teens. Before any of them can make any noise, he removes a disk from one of his bags, puts it on the floor and clicks. A translucent green wall blinks for a second before going orange. Donnie opens his mouth to speak, but the raccoon turns and shushes him so hard he even forgets what he was going to say. April goes equally quiet.
The guard finds his footing again after the blow and walks a few quick steps to the exit of the road, stopping right in front of the hideout of the other three. Charles silently clicks on his bracelets and long, sharp claws form as gauntlets on his hands and he gets into position, fur standing up, body tense and ready. Donnie’s breath gets caught on his throat when the guard swiftly turns their head and locks eyes with him, even knowing that the disk on the ground is some sort of cloaking tech making them all invisible.
The guard stands down, turns to the end of the road and walks back to the trashcan. They’re after the Barnacle, after all. Before they can reach it, however, the raccoon takes a small switch from his pocket and clicks on a button. The lid of the trashcan slaps close with a car alarm noise and the entire thing, wall included, poofs out of existence.
The road, not a dead end anymore, extends back to the one Donnie and April were previously on. Passersby and merchants turn to look at the wall that vanished and the guard just standing there, hand stretched to grasp nothing. Their stance slowly becomes neutral and it takes another minute for them to go away as a blur of movement.
Only then Charles snorts, so sudden and loud that Donnie jumps away from him.
“Idiot.” he continues laughing, disengaging his gauntlets and the cloaking device.
“That was so cool!” April speaks up “You played them so hard!”
“Yeah, I-” his ears go up and he flinches, remembering there were other people there too. “GUN!”
He turns around with two properly sized guns on each hand, pointing one to each of them. Donnie shows his hands and April smiles.
“You’re a human.” he shakes a gun at April “The hell you doing down here?”
“Shopping.”
“And the mecha-frog?”
“Frog?!” Donnie makes an offended expression and scoffs “Frog!”
“Are you a pokemon, only speaks your own name?”
“Wh- no! I’m a turtle!”
“Be nice, Dee. This dude’s super cool. And has a gun pointed at your face.”
“You should listen to the lady, Dee.”
“My name is Donnie.”
“Okay, Donnie Dee.” Charles opens his hands and his guns turn into liquid metal that surround his arms and turn back into being bracelets “I gotta go now. See ya around.”
He pulls the same switch he used to make the wall disappear and opens a side panel.
“Wait, you sell stuff, don’t you?” April takes Draxum’s list from Donnie “Do you have crystallized coral?”
“I do, yeah. But the shop’s all the way up to the surface now, so you should finish everything you have to do down here first. Y’know, time efficiency.”
“We are done here, right?” Donnie asks and analyzes the list “If you have the coral, digested coffee beans and petrified wood. Did we get the owl feathers?”
“We did.” April answers.
“Then.” he turns to the raccoon “Do you have those other three items?”
“100%.” Charles smiles “Hold onto me and we can warp there, pronto.”
Charles extends one hand to them and they grab one finger each, April making a squeaky noise. He clicks on his switch and they all teleport away.
Donnie recognizes the street they appear on, it’s not too far from the Lair. The trashcan store shoved into the wall is there, creating another dead end that he’s sure didn’t exist before. Charles rushes to it, opens the lid and jumps inside, sighing in relief.
“Alright, let’s get to business. Coral, wood, coffee. Talking about coffee, would you like some to drink? I always have one jar ready.”
“It’s not digested, right?” Donnie makes a face.
“No, it’s black coffee. From the store. Completely normal, I assure you.”
Donnie asks for a cup and the raccoon serves him, then asks which street they’re on. The turtle answers, gets a thanks and watches as the small merchant goes around opening drawers and boxes.
“What’s the Barnacle?” Donnie asks “And why would Big Mama want it?”
“It’s an invisible creature.” Charles answers, putting one big box with crystal coral by the counter “A plague. Sticks to the boats and sucks out life force to grow bigger. When a ghost ship is found and they can’t find out why everyone’s dead, they blame the Barnacle. 80% of the time they’re right.” another box, with petrified wood balls “And I think you can guess why Big Mama wants it. The damn thing might have a preference for boats, but it can stick to any wood structure.”
And finally, a bag of digested coffee beans.
“Pick as many of these as you need.” he points to the coral and wood “Only have this bag of coffee for sale. Stupid spider shut down more of my contacts.”
“You two seem to have some history” April starts to collect some wood balls.
“Oh, dear, if only you knew.” the raccoon laughs “You gotta keep a hold of the competition. It’s how business go.”
After taking the necessary quantity and paying, they say their farewells. Charles slides two business cards to them before they leave.
Quinquilharias, the card says, with a resume of the services and products in the back of it. Donnie hums as he reads it, considering returning more times soon, since it’s so close to the Lair and he’s the most charismatic merchant he’s ever met. And his coffee is decent enough.
And of course, he would be lying if he says he’s not curious about what’s his deal with Big Mama.
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wasteland, baby! || kol mikaelson - chapter five
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Summary: Kol makes a deal with the Hollow to bring revive the first woman he ever loved. Unfortunately, things don’t go as planned.
Trust’s Note: Please like and reblog! I hope you enjoy.
Word Count: 1,983
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten
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HENRY PEARL'S HEART BELONGED TO WOODLAND FORESTS. His peridot eyes were reminiscent of fae portals hidden beneath large oak trees, flecks of gold dancing in his irises. His passions belonged to oil paints and coffee, and Aniya swore she would know know him blind.
    She confirmed her suspicions as she watched the boy paint in his studio apartment. He hadn't completely moved out of his father's home, so it was mostly empty apart from the stained canvases that covered the wooden floors. Henry was stood shirtless, with a palette in one hand and a paintbrush in the other as he painted the tiny details onto the flowers surrounding a tiny cottage. He hadn't noticed her standing by the door yet.
    Internally, Aniya couldn't help but wonder if she could ever bring herself to love him. In the same way her husband had loved his mortal.
    She'd been sneaking out of the Abattoir every night for two weeks. In modern time, that is. She would leave every night when the clock struck twelve, and return at five. Rebekah had pointed out the dark circles beneath her eyes once, and Klaus had complained about how often she slept; but the Mikaelsons were quiet apart from that.
    Henry would wait for her in the diner every night. Every two nights, he would be working, so she would spend her time at the counter as he offered her plates of waffles and vanilla shakes. He'd caught a glimpse of the scar on her neck once, when she tied her -- Rebekah's -- scarf too loosely. He only motioned for her to move it, and never brought it up again. Perhaps that was her favorite part about Henry. His ability to make her feel human.
    Aniya had gone to the diner in search of Henry, but Ruby had told her he was at his studio. She would have gone and walked around the Quarter for the rest of the night if Ruby hadn't given her directions.
    "It's a beautiful piece," Aniya said after a moment. A light smile played onto her face when the boy jumped, quickly turning to see the younger girl. "I don't know much about art, but I know beauty when I see it."
    He blushed, soft shades of pink rising to his ivory cheeks. "I'm glad. It's a piece I'm working on to give to that art shop downtown. They pay pretty well. Enough for me to get this place, so..."
    "Yes, well, the home is beautiful as well." Aniya walked towards Henry, who, despite his hunch, was still several inches taller than her. She turned to face the painting. Three beautiful, pale-skinned girls danced across the painting wearing bright, flowy dresses. They smiled, immortalized in a green, woodland forest as flowers grew from their fingertips up their arms. Earth witches. "Do you usually paint völva? Pagans, you call them."
    "Yeah," Henry said with a shrug. He set down his supplies on a nearby desk, unbothered by Aniya's speech patterns. "They're probably not real, but it's nice to think there's magic in the world. My mom was super interested in that fairytale stuff, too. I guess it reminds me of her."
    Aniya's eyes flickered to the photos he'd taken of his artwork, taped in rows across his walls. Paintings of women, mostly, of women in the cemetary. She frowned. "It'd rather invasive, don't you think?"
    "Oh, those aren't just regular people grieving or anything!" Henry said quickly, his eyes nearly jumping out of his head. He quickly approached Aniya and stood by her side. "They're New Orleans witches, according to myths and stuff. Legends say they practice ancestral magic."
    "New Orleans witches?" Aniya's dark brows knitted together. "What do you know of them?"
    "They're supposed to be really powerful." He said, taking a step closer to the photographs hung from his walls. He was rarely able to keep his paintings, so he preserved his art in the only way he knew how. His gaze fell on a young girl -- likely seventeen years old -- with light brown hair and crystal blue eyes. They'd called her a harvest girl. "They harness their magic from the their ancestors."
    "How much do you know of witches, Henry?"
    "It's... a hobby," He laughed nervously. The 'older' boy reached up, scratching the back of his neck. It was endearing how nervous the Pearl boy could be at times. The name truly did suit him. Pure; beautiful; his heart itself was worth thousands. Aniya would know his tender charm by touch alone -- she would know him blind.
    "And of black magic?" She watched as he shook his head, biting nervously at his bottom lip. As if she would condemn him, even as she reached her hand up to touch his swollen and reddened cheek. Purple bruises were forming on the bones beneath his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Forget I asked of it."
    "It's okay. I-I have a b-b-book at my house. It has, um, it has really beautiful art -- pagan stuff -- but it's all, uh, it's all in Latin anyway. I can give it to you, i-if you want?"
    "I would appreciate it. Thank you." Aniya took a step closer to him, her touch gentle, and still he didn't look at her. A pained smile crossed her face, and she pressed a soft kiss to the bone beneath his eyes, where yellow bruises had formed. She had seen marks like that before, but she wouldn't ask. She couldn't bring herself to.
    "So, do you use, um..." Aniya held her hands up, fingers forming a rectangle as she made a clicking noise with her lips. She'd seen Hayley use it, at some point, on her daughter, Hope. An odd-looking device.
    Henry stared amused and confused for a moment before the concept came to his head. He quickly turned and walked towards his kitchen cupboards, reaching in and pulling out a black and silver device. "This?" When Aniya nodded, he told her, "It's a, it's a camera. People use it to take pictures. Look, smile."
    The boy walked towards her and held the camera up to his face. When she only stared oddly, he laughed and pressed a small silver button. A flash went off and Aniya stumbled backward, cringing at the light.
    "It's all right, don't worry," Henry comforted, resting his hand on Aniya's clothed shoulder. When a small, white piece of paper emerged from the bottom of the camera, he slipped it out and set down the camera, heading towards the light and placing it down. "Most people will shake it, but you're not supposed to do that."
    "It was empty." Aniya frowned. When Hayley had used her camera, there was a photo of her small, red-haired daughter on it. Had it been empty because she had died? She was almost positive she wouldn't have to explain it to Henry, he never seemed to ask any questions, but it was still saddening.
    "It's supposed to be," Henry explained. He walked back to her, leaning down to her height. "How it works is you, uh-- you take a photo, and then it comes out, and you wait for it to develop. Then, you have your picture."
    Aniya hummed in response, and then turned to prop herself up on the bare marble countertop. She lied back, resting her head against the cool stone and shut her eyes as she felt the cold temperatures seep into her -- Rebekah's -- black turtleneck sweater. She felt eyes on her, and turned to look at Henry, who was stood, watching her with an admiration she'd last seen a thousand years ago.
    "What are you doing?" She asked curiously, brows raised at the beautiful boy.
    "Looking at you," He admitted, before turning back to his paintings. Tears welled in her eyes and she closed her eyes once more, allowing herself to be consumed in darkness and sweet words for the night.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
The journey home was quiet. Henry had offered to walk her to the Abattoir, as he always had, but Aniya refused. She didn't know much of the Mikaelsons' desire to feed. She couldn't have him die on her behalf. If there was one thing he deserved, it was the privilege of staying away from who she truly was.
    The walk was longer than the one from the diner, as it had taken about fifteen minutes in modern time to travel from the diner to his 'studio,' they had called it; but she'd had a photo to keep her company. It had been the photo Henry had taken of her earlier, in which she stared into the lense with nothing but a cartoonish look on her face. Her obsidian features had been emphasized by the bright flash of light, her once dark brown eyes and hair nearly obsidian in the photo he'd taken of her.
    It was when she felt a cool blade pressed against her throat that she finally dropped the photograph. She swallowed as she heard a raspy voice in her ear, the air beginning to escape from her lungs.
    "Your money," The human demanded. "Give it to me, now."
    "I haven't any money," Aniya gasped out, clawing at the flesh on the human's arm. "Let go of me, please. I don't want to hurt you."
    The blade was pressed closer to her throat, nearly opening the wound that had taken weeks to close. The human's actions were clear. If she wouldn't give her money, she would die; and even reborn witches were not immortal. The human was closer to her ear now. She could feel his breath on her ear as he whispered, "I'm not gonna be the one getting hurt tonight."
    He clasped one hand around her mouth and another behind her head, squeezing together. Her body cried out for air, and she scratched violently at his arm. The world around her seemed to fade into darkness, and Aniya felt her will to fight grow weak with each passing moment. Perhaps death would be merciful this time.
    'You know what to do; so do it. Do it now,' Vihaan whispered. 'Don't be afraid. Do it now.'
    "हाथ," Aniya murmured. As the word left her lips, she felt something push itself forward. Something more powerful, as if guarding her from the terror that would ensue. Her neck snapped to the right, and the human's knife fell to the ground. She turned and watched the human collapse into the brick wall beside them, his wrist twisting backward as he cried out.
    'Again.'
    It should have felt draining. She should've felt exhausted just whispering the spell, but then this was the magic she was given. What was once terrifying would become natural to her.
    "धार." The blade twisted its direction, turning to face the now terrified human. Aniya swallowed, whispering prayers to herself as she snapped her wrist. The silver dagger travelled across the concrete and landed in the shoulder of the man that had attacked her. A shaky breath left her lips, and she took a step away from him as a wail left his throat.
    She turned to pick up the polaroid photo that had fallen to the ground, the edges now covered in dirt. She was quickly blocked by a tall figure -- one that she would recognize if the universe had struck her dead.
    Oh, yes. It already had.
    "How did you find me?"
    "Hope Mikaelson is a powerful little witch," Kol said, as if it were obvious. His eyes flitted to the injured man only a few paces behind her. "And it seems you are, as well. Would you like to tell me what you've been hiding, or shall I delve into your pretty little head and find out?"
62 notes · View notes
warriorsredux · 5 years
Note
Can you reveal more information about the Redux’s version of BloodClan? I’ve been brainstorming a bunch of ideas for its hierarchy and I would like to know your take on it!
Well, it’s not likeI’m gunna return to this once the third arc is done, so why not! 
I actually haven’t done a whole lot of work onthe community, to be honest, but I do have bits and pieces of it built up in myhead. Under a readmore to save space:
The town has multiple names for the group - The Blood, Scourge’sClan, Town’s Clan/TownClan, and The Scourge(s), to name the ones I came upwith. 
“The Blood” and “The Scourge(s)” come from the same place.There’s a sort of cult of personality built around the gang’s leader, to thepoint that he’s almost as godlike as a…well, as a cult leader! Blood issomething Scourge (or at least his lackeys) preaches about all the time; hebasically perpetuates the idea that the gang is of one blood, and under onemind (his), hence “The Blood”. “The Scourge(s)” falls under the samementality: they might as well be one cat, and go under one name!
Any of the names having “Clan” in them are only used by thosewho don’t know anything about the Clan cats - those who are intimately familiarknow this is nothing like a true Clan. Not that they’d dare to say it to thefaces of anyone in that gang. 
Not all town cats are part of this group, but all of this groupare town cats. They make up a pretty big portion of the community, but thereare those that have their own little gangs and families, and try to fend themoff with varying levels of success. There’s even a small renegade group ofyoung former kittypets that try to protect the current kittypets from beingbullied or killed by… I guess I’m just gunna call them The Blood for rightnow. 
The renegades were never intended to come into the story, by theby. They’d probably have been killed off by the time the Clans learn aboutthem. YMMV on how sad the warriors would feel for anyone protecting kittypets.
Scourge has a few cats working directly under him who sort ofserve as both bodyguards and PR. This, of course, is Bone, who’s a lot moredecent and tired in this universe, and Brick, who has been wanting to killScourge and disband the Blood ever since its conception.
Bone gets into fights and kills at the behest of his leader, buthe barely has any real power. He’s sort of resigned to his fate of being amurderer, but he doesn’t like killing simply because he’s been told to.However, if he refused, it’s entirely possible that Scourge would order hislittle cult to kill Bone instead. Bone doesn’t know if that could happen forsure, so he plays it safe and just tries to help Brick where he can.
He also serves as Scourge’s “translator”, which I’ll get into ina second.
Now, Brick is abackstabber from day one. He’s a smooth-talker and very sarcastic, and has longaspired to be the leader of his own group (or the pants-wearer of a big family),but under Scourge, he can only play the Squealer to his leader’s Napoleon. Ifhe tries to push any authority or starts paying more attention to outsidemollies, Scourge ensures he gets a beatdown. That long stretch of hairlessnesson his back was no accident. Brick doesn’t like to talk about it.
He was also planned to be the one that took an interest inMousefur and mated with her as a sort of “trade” – she gets a litter she’s cometo desire over the time gap between the third and fourth arcs, and he’s got alegacy of his own somewhere safe and away from Scourge’s claws. That, uh, “momentof bonding” also encourages him to side with the Clans and give theminformation on how to take Scourge’s group down. Mousefur doesn’t get attachedto him, much to his disappointment, but after Scourge’s death, he ends upbecoming the next leader of the Blood since Bone bows out, and obligations keephim from joining the Clans (not that he super wanted to to begin with, but hedid develop a lot of sympathy and admiration for them).
Now for the actual head of the Blood: Scourge is, contrary tomost of the fan stuff that resulted from the reveal, not albino. He’s just purewhite with blue eyes. The Clans assume he’s deaf because of that, partiallybecause of his stilted, monotone way of speaking. He doesn’t move his body atall when he talks, which is the more intricate and elaborate half of the felinelanguage gone. It’d be like someone having a thick accent, a quiet voice, and alow-to-moderate understanding of English.
For this reason, he’s got Brick and Bone to help him duringnegotiations. Bone more or less translates what Scourge is trying to say, andBrick is quick to explain what he means(or “means”) when it’s not clear enough or very suspicious. (Scourge: “You go t’do’.”Bone: “You will go to the dogs.” Brick: “By which he means that you could endup in a very sticky place if you don’t negotiate with us.”)
Scourge is also a total sociopath that switches between havingno emotions at all and going through violent mood swings. He doesn’t have anycompassion, or seemingly any ability to feel joy, sadness or excitement. Catsare killed under his orders because they impede business or stir up feelings inhim. These feelings being rage, confusion or fear. It’s completelyunpredictable who and what could cause this, so everyone is in danger. He tendsto be emotionless way more, and those who see his mood swings are threatenedinto keeping their mouths shut.
He’s not quite a manipulator, but Brick and Bone definitelyhelped him earn a cult following by weaving words and actions into prettylittle tapestries that look good at first glance. His group believes that hewill unite the town into a massive, powerful army that can take theoften-lofted territories that belong to the Clans, and that, once everyone istogether and trained to work in unison, they could take down even foxes andeagles.
No one need ever go hungry again.
No one need suffer out of fear of some rogue or small gang chasingthem out of their territory, or murdering their children.
Scourge only has that name because some hooligans claimed he wasa small-time murderer before the Blood anyway. He’ll be known as the Championsoon enough.
All will be well.
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findsomeoneelse · 5 years
Text
       This might be a very angsty thing to say but I kind of legit hate my dad. He complains all the time that my brother (who i think probably has depression or something rn) and I don’t help him around the house but 1) when we do he’s a huge asshole, literally calls me retarded all the time bc he’ll verbally tell me like 10 things in a row to do and my ADD ass can’t remember it like that and he often  threatens me as well (and there have been incidents with physical violence between him and me). 2) gives us the most useless and asinine tasks i.e. vacuuming a BRICK PATIO or WASHING ROCKS. 3) will ask us when it’s convenient for HIM, my brother and I are 20 and 21 and have either a job or school and for a while I was doing both. 4) he is NEVER satisfied no matter how much we do. 
        And concerning the physical violence shit I have so much pent up feelings about it. As far as I know he’s never come after my brother like that. He may have hit my mom before but I’m not sure. I just know that once they got into a bad argument or something bc he was being really loud bc of a football game and then suddenly my mom was crying (she doesn’t cry a lot) grabbed us kids and went to our grandma’s. He’s also kicked every dog we’ve ever had, literally drop kicked one through a small tree bc it chewed the blinds and then left him outside to run away while he took off to who knows where to sulk. But my point is he has NEVER treated my brother the way he has treated me and it shows. My brother gets away with avoiding so much work and a fuck-ton of lying. My dad almost never invades his space or commandeers his stuff. I’ve almost failed several big school projects in the past bc he’d randomly decide to punish me or that his stupid yard work was more important and that it was my fault for not accounting for his random chores. 
         I literally keep a bug-out bag in my car and a knife by my bed bc of him. I spent my entire junior and senior years of high school with a stomach ache every single day and horrible insomnia from anxiety bc if he wasn’t threatening me with violence he was talking about kicking me out of the house for no real reason. His response to my worsening mental health was to make jokes or just ignore me when I managed to finally muster up the determination to say something. If my mom hadn’t taken action and helped me get help I’d most likely be dead now. I’m still trying to rebuild my self esteem that he destroyed. Then years after I was on medication (that he was opposed to and mocked, my mom was the only one on top of that) and doing better he had the fucking audacity to ask me about how I was doing. Me being like 16 yrs old I lacked the vocab to say that I feel that he forfeited the right to ask me those things so I just shrugged it off.
          He insults and mocks every friend I have in some way shape or form. He also once told me that some older friends I was extremely close to at the time would eventually get tired of hanging out with an annoying little kid so I should get used to them not being around bc they would leave me. I mean he was right about that, and they were pretty toxic for me but that was really fucked up and I’ll never forget it.
          I finally have a good romantic relationship now, with a boy surprisingly, and he’s so sweet to me. Every time he tells me anything remotely kind I almost fucking cry bc I immediately assume he’s lying or somehow delusional. We had our first sort of disagreement, it wasn’t even that big a deal he had just made a few jokes that had upset me, but I was so terrified to bring it up and was so ready for a fight that when he simply apologized for his behavior and promised to correct it I immediately broke down in tears of relief. I’m so terrified for him to meet my dad bc I don’t want him to belittle and invalidate us, or try and take away all our privacy in a weird attempt at policing my sexuality (he has tried something like this in the past with my brother). I’m also so scared my boyfriend will just assume my dad is a normal nice guy and that I’m crazy, bc my dad is good at appearances. We’re well-off but honestly the only reason my brother and I ever see any of that money is bc of our mom, she handles the finances (and p much everything else around here). 
        That’s another thing I hate is that bc I turned out okay everyone assumes he must be a good parent. I had to work so fucking hard to become who I am now DESPITE him NOT because of him. I had to work so hard to become a kinder person, and learn to motivate, comfort, advocate, take care of myself. I’m an intelligent person (at least i’ve been told I am) bc I work to teach myself, both in school and life. I had to learn all my emotional intelligence and social skills myself. I’m working to make my life good and full of the love I never felt from him and to a slightly lesser extent my mom. I’m still working at it. Which is why I’m just as afraid that he’ll be accepting of my relationship and be “proud” or whatever. Thinking he raised a confident and smart daughter. That he has any right to be a voyeur to my happiness or take any credit for it.  
      I work hard so work through so many issues he caused in me on my own. I work so hard to keep myself from sabotaging my current relationship bc I feel unworthy or like it will just vanish. I still can’t fully grasp that this boy could genuinely like me and feel like I’m worthy of his time and effort bc of how stupid and ugly my dad has made me feel my entire life. I have so many things I want to tell my SO but in the moment feel like I physically cannot get the words out for fear of looking stupid when he finally leaves me. I still have so many walls up with him and I really don’t want to but I can’t get them down bc I’m so fucking scared despite all the evidence he’s given me that he cares about me and just wants to know me. It’s honestly incredible how just having someone like him has changed me for the better. He makes me feel smart and capable, like I can have the life I want. He doesn’t see any of the shit my dad seems to see in me and hate. Like fuck the fact that I only seemed to need one stable and loving relationship in my life to succeed really says something I think. 
       I hate feeling like I can’t talk to my own parents, well mostly my mom, but they really make it impossible. My dad bc you never know what will piss him off or if he even gives a shit and my mom bc she will probably tell him whatever you tell her. I have other adults, my aunt (my mom’s older sister) and uncle (tho he’s a newer addition to the family, they married last year.) but I’m so scared to talk to them in case they slip up and let stuff slip to my parents. My aunt also just doesn’t Get a lot of things like mental illness so she can invalidate ppl and be mean. She does encourage me a lot tho, more than my parents EVER have. 
      My SO doesn’t have much of an idea of my relationship w my family other than it seems strained and we barely talk despite all living together. He sometimes half-jokingly tells me I should spend more time with them or make an effort too, and I don’t tell him that I’m not the one who fucked that up for us. I try not to talk about any of this with him yet, and I honestly don’t know when a good time is or how to go about it. He’s gotten little hints here and there before I change the subject. He has a relatively big family that he regularly spends time with, so I don’t know if he’d understand all this. His dad is a little similar to mine in the sense that he always seems to have weird projects around the house that he drags them into but it doesn’t seem like he’s violent. I honestly don’t know what to say about the physical abuse. I’m so scared of how he’ll react. I’m scared he’ll brush it off, I’m scared he’ll get super concerned or angry for me. I just don’t want it to change how he sees me. People seem to get the impression that I’m confident and that I don’t take shit, and it makes me feel so embarrassed that I let myself be pushed around by my dad.
      If anyone actually reads this post and has suggestions for talking to an SO about this stuff (especially in the case of an abuser being good at manipulation/gas lighting) let me know any suggestions you have. I thought by this point in this rant I’d have some sort of clarity but I don’t really. My dad has been slightly better the last year or so, since we moved to a new house that’s bigger and we’re on opposite sides of it. After one of his worst outbursts (at the beginning of my senior year) I gave him a book about male abuse in an attempt at confrontation but I doubt he read it. He’s been better but I can’t let go of all these feelings. Older people tell me that eventually I’ll forgive him and move on but I honestly don’t want to. I don’t want him to just get away with treating us like garbage. Maybe that makes me petty and childish but I am barely 20 so. It be like that. Might make a separate post about my brother might not. I love him but dudes got issues rn.
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stargleeksil-blog · 6 years
Text
Criminal Minds S07E07 “There’s No Place Like Home”
Episode 07 – There’s No Place Like Home
Hey guys!
So, I am kind of excited about this episode, because the title is implying tornadoes, storms and chaos, oh my. And also some amazing references that I am hoping will crop up - fingers crossed ...
So without any further ado, my pretties.
Let’s see what unfolds and let’s prance down the yellow brick road towards murder.
“Finally got him down.”
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“The Ibuprofen must have kicked in.”
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“It’s about some missing kids.”
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“Please don’t walk away like that.”
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“We’ve talked about this.”
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“I know this is hard on you. On all of us.”
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“Look, if I had someone to cover my shifts, I would.”
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“What if it was Henry?”
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“What if it was?”
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“You’d want someone out there looking for him.”
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“I wasn’t helping anyone there, Will.”
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“Fine, I’ll tell them I can’t come in.”
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“I was supposed to have time off.”
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“Henry’s not feeling well.”
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“You don’t have to be here.”
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“Ah, I get antsy when I’m gone too long.”
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“And thanks for the team’s donation to ALS in Carolyn’s name. She would have appreciated it.”
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“So how are you doing?”
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“I’m okay. It’s funny, though. We were divorced 20 years. And I never missed her as much as I do right now.”
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“Hey, you. Welcome back.”
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“Good to be back, Penelope.”
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I love their friendship.
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“We’re ready when you are, sir.”
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“The bodies of two unidentified boys were found near Wichita, Kansas, a week apart.”
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“Both were Caucasian  and between the ages of fifteen and seventeen.”
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“They were each found mangled in the aftermath of a tornado.”
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“Yeah, but that’s not what did them in. The ME has determined that the case of death was blunt force trauma to the head before the storms hit.”
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“Well, the death blow in each case was in almost exactly the same spot.”
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“Now, what about all the other damage to their bodies? Some of their limbs are missing.”
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“Yeah, victim number one, his right leg was taken off. Victim number two, both arms were severed. But was that because of the tornado or the unsub?”
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“The ME still hasn’t discovered that. He’s a busy guy. Major storms have hit the area. 23 dead. The morgue is slammed.”
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“It fits the unsub. He’s got a hell of a sadistic streak.”
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“Well, a tornado would clear the air and give the unsub the privacy to do his thing.”
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“He may be using the storm as the body disposition modality. Forensic countermeasure, wind, hail, rain, mother nature destroys the crime scene.”
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“Or he wants us to think mother nature actually committed the murders.”
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“What concerns me is the brief periods between kills.”
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“Only a week. He’s moving fast.”
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“We need to move faster. Garcia, get me IDs on all the victims.”
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“I’m a gale-force wind.”
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“Wheels up in thirty.”
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“Oh, and pack for foul weather.”
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“The forecast is nasty.”
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George Gissing: “For the man sound of body and serene of mind, there is no such thing as bad weather. Every day has its beauty. And storms which whip the blood do but make it pulse more vigorously.”
“Right in the middle of tornado alley.”
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“If this unsub is using tornadoes as a forensic countermeasure, then Kansas certainly is the ideal setting.”
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“Tornadoes do pose a significant threat.”
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“During this year’s super outbreak back in April, there are 336 confirmed tornadoes in just several days, resulting in over 300 lives lost.”
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Ding dong
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“Hey. Tell us something good, mama.”
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“Okay, I’ve IDed your victims. I’m putting this all on your tablets if you’d like to follow along.”
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“First up is Jason Meredith, 16-year-old runaway from Garden City, Kansas. Mom said he took off over a year ago.”
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“Next up is Eric Janelle, 15-year-old kid form Wichita. He’s been gone three weeks.”
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“Oh, both of these kids have records for possession and prostitution.”
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“They were street hustlers.”
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“At-risk teens. This could be a sexual predator.”
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“An extremely violent one if the unsub is responsible for the damage done to the bodies, especially those missing limbs.”
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“Well, now, he could be keeping the body parts for some sort of fetish.”
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“Oh, okay, eew. That is my cue.”
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“I’m here if you need me with my binary machines that don’t say gross things.”
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She’s so cute!
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Is he praying? Oh Rossi.
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“I didn’t know you were a bad flyer.”
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“I’m not. I just hate turbulence.”
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“You know, turbulence very rarely causes planes to crash.”
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“That does me absolutely no good at the moment.”
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“Thank you.”
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“What we really need to worry about are microbursts, sudden downbursts of air associated with thunderstorms.”
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Someone needs to shield my poodle from this angry stallion.
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“But a small craft like this, if we hit one of those at the wrong attitude
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– 
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pulverized.”
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Oh Reid.
“I beg of you to make him stop.”
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JJ already has Will and Henry to deal with, why add poodle to her list of worries?
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“Well, the unsub definitely has his own mode of transportation. This is way up the beaten path.”
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“And the first victim, Jason Meredith, was found over thirty miles away.”
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“You say you were able to clear this place before the storm hit?”
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“I didn’t know you could do that for tornadoes.”
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“Okay, so the unsub either found a way in or he was already here and he hid during the evacuation.”
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“That, or the body got sucked up into the funnel cloud and was thrown there from someplace else.”
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“Either way, he came into close contact with this storm. Maybe even close enough to put himself in danger.”
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“Or he waited someplace safe for it to pass and came back and dumped the body.”
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“No, I think the storm itself actually means something to this guy.”
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“You don’t think he’s just using it to cover his tracks?”
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“I played ball in college with a guy from Indiana. He said he and his boys used to get drunk and then chase storms. Said it was the closest they could get to the true power of God.”
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“Okay, so he’s impulsive, probably young, maybe a loner with nothing to lose.”
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“We should be looking at actual storm-chasers.”
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“Where can we find them?”
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“They mostly work with the university.”
Well, crap. 
“You think this guy’s educated.”
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“Well, he knows enough about the weather to use it to his advantage.”
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“So far it’s working.”
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“Here you go.”
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“When was the last time you saw Jason?”
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“Do you know why he would leave home?”
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“And how did Jason cope with that?”
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“So it sounds like you and Eric were pretty good friends.”
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“Your foster mom said that you used to get in a lot of fights before Eric got there.”
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“So he looks out for you.”
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“When was the last time you saw him?”
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“We found him a couple of days ago.”
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“He took the news about Eric pretty well.”
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“Tough kid.”
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“I guess they have to be. They’re all alone.”
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“Each of the victims had a strong protective instinct and was looking out for somebody else besides themselves.”
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“Maybe the unsub is keying on that.”
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“Boys like that are hard to fool.”
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“What if he used to be one of them?”
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“I mean, those kids would see right through someone trying to be a poseur.”
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“If his MO is connected to the weather, he’s gonna try to grab another boy soon.”
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“Identical blows to the head.”
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“They had alcohol and dextromethorphan in their systems?”
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“It’s cough syrup.”
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“It’s a cheap high, if you can steal it.”
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“And these two had a whole lot of it on board.”
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“What were you able to from all the damage to the bodies?”
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“Mostly?”
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“I’m guessing with an axe or a cleaver.”
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“Cut off postmortem.”
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“They both have ligature marks on their wrists and ankles, at least what they have left of them.”
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“He held them before the kill.”
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“Was there any sign of sexual assault?”
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Nope. Even if there were, the tornado probably cleaned it up real good.
“So, he guts them drunk and high, he restrains them, kills them, and cleaves off a limb as a souvenir.”
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“Then he dumps the body and lets the storm clean up his mess.”
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“But why the souvenir?”
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“What or who, exactly, is he trying to remember?”
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“Okay, time to go.”
And get out of that creepy morgue with the sandwich-eating ME who handles dead people and eatsd in the same room .... gross.
“Name’s Gary Dyson. Sixteen. Runaway from Kansas City.”
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“This particular area get hit with a tornado last night?”
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“The weather’s gotta be the trigger.”
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“He’s following the patterns.”
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“We track the storms, we find the unsub.”
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“Forensic evidence has been washed away. But behaviorally, it’s the most intact crime scene we’ve encountered so far.”
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“It’s the same blow to the head, but no cuts, no abrasions.’
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“Except he’s missing his torso.”
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“It was only a matter of time before he missed one.”
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“Tornadoes are extremely unpredictable and sometimes last only a matter of minutes before they dissipate.”
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“The fact that he was able to leave his previous victims directly in the path of one is astounding.”
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“So the conditions were perfect last night, but his tornado never came.”
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“It’s only been four days.”
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“He’s accelerating.”
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“And the weather’s driving him to do it.”
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“Guys, we know that fetishists are loyal to the body parts they take, but I think that this unsub is loyal to the whole of these parts.”
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“If you were to take the missing pieces from all the victims so far, you could almost assemble an entire body.”
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“So he’s not taking bodies apart, he’s putting one together.”
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Yup.
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“We’re looking for a white male in his mid- to late-20s. He’s mobile and he travels great distances to follow storms.”
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“He’s probably in a tuck or a van.”
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“We believe he may live in that vehicle. It’s probably beat up, maybe rusted from the elements.”
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“Sorry.”
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“Jeffrey Dahmer, serial killer, was under the illusion that he could create young male sex zombies that wouldn’t resist his advances.”
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“And when Dahmer’s test subjects died, he kept their body parts souvenirs.”
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“Skulls, hearts, even genitalia.”
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“Restoring body parts is no small task. They’re gonna get ripe fast.”
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“He needs lots of ice, salt, maybe, something to preserve them.”
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“And he’s paying for all that stuff somehow. Gas, too.”
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Uh-oh.
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“He doesn’t have the social skills to hold a job for long, so he’s most likely a day laborer, handyman, anything transitory.”
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“We think he’s using the weather as a forensic countermeasure to destroy evidence, but we also think he might be some sort of symphoraphiliac.”
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“Sorry, symphora what?”
I’m with that cop.
“Uh, excuse me.”
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“Symphoraphiliacs – they’re sexually aroused by disasters.”
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“Usually fires or traffic accidents. In this case, the weather must enhance his excitement.”
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“He hunts street kids, so he may be from a similar background.”
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“And he’s most likely uneducated, but he’s still charming enough to engage his victims.”
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“We’ll talk to the press.”
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“You should warn any transient kids you might know.”
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“As this weather gets worse, so will the unsub.”
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“Since when is a seizure fine?”
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“But his fever broke.”
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“Did you give his medicine this morning?”
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“Did he feel warm?”
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“Well, you checked, right?”
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“Nothing. I … where is he now?”
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“Okay. I’ll call you when my flight arrives.”
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“Henry’s sick. I’m coming home.”
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“Call you later?”
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“What’s wrong?”
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“Uh, it’s Henry. He had a whole seizure.”
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“Will took him to the ER. He … he’s fine.”
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“Apparently, it’s totally normal.”
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“Look, I gotta get back home.”
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“Of course.”
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“Anything I can do?”
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“Can I borrow the jet?”
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“I think the budget oversight committee might not appreciate my generosity.
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“Yeah, well, worth a shot, right?”
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“Check in and let us know everything’s all right.”
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“Okay. Thanks.”
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“Hey, Hotch.”
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“I’ve been thinking … the vast majority of unsub with this type of MO aren’t driven by the killing.”
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“They’re really fascinated by the body parts.”
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“Psychologically they exist in a realm where fantasy meets delusion. It’s basically the perfect blueprint for the creation of a serial killer …”
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“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
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“Yes.”
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“Should probably get to the point.”
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“I think I know how this unsub may have gotten started.”
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“All right, the first victim was found missing his right leg, the second, both arms, and the third had no torso.”
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“So that leaves the left leg unaccounted for.”
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“We can assume the head would be the most difficult piece to find.”
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“That part would have to fit an unsub’s fantasy perfectly.”
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“So he’d most likely save it for last.”
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“Now, what that tells us is there’s a victim out there we haven’t found yet who’s missing his left leg.”
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“Or the unsub hasn’t acquired it yet.”
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“True, but most body part collectors evolve to this level, and in many cases they  exhume bodies for parts before they start killing.”
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“All right, let me call Garcia.”
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“So you think our unsub did the same thing.”
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Was my poodle’s lecture unclear?
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“PG at your service, don’t let the name fool you.”
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“Baby girl, you’re on speaker.”
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“Garcia, can you look for grave robberies in tornado alley over the last five years?”
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“Okey-dokey.”
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“Searching.”
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“Oh. That’s a shockingly big list.”
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“Who knew grave-robbing was so on trend?”
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“How many of those involve the bodies of teenage boys?”
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“Uh …”
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“None.”
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“What about morgues and funeral homes?”
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“Momentito …”
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“Again, that is a list that should not be that big.”
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“Mostly stolen embalming fluid, though.”
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“It’s often used like PCP, Garcia.”
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“I’m feeling optimistic about the youth of America.”
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“There are no teenagers involved in this either.”
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“All right, try looking for thefts involving body parts, specifically left legs.”
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“Okay, ew! See, this is why I can’t talk about how my day was at dinner.”
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“Breakfast, lunch.”
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“Spencer, you scare me.”
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“Join the club.”
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Ha.
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Hey!
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“A left leg was stolen off a body a year ago at the Riggio Funeral Home in Tulsa.”
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“They never found who did it.”
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“Garcia, what was the weather like in the area at the time?”
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“Uh, thunderstorms and tornadoes.”
Yup.
“An F2 cyclone hit right around there, and then the robbery took place after they evacuated.”
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“It’s gotta be our unsub.”
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“Wait, there’s more.”
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“The guy whose leg was stolen, he was a 47-year-old father of two who died of leukemia.”
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“That’s a huge jump.”
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“Preferential child sex offenders don’t usually stray from their preferred age range.”
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“It’s not about the sex at all.”
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“He used the body from the funeral home to develop his MO so he could live out his fantasy and kill in a storm.”
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“Whatever it is, this unsub won’t stop until he finds a perfect head.”
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“That’s the final piece to his puzzle.”
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“Hey. Thought you were out of here.”
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“Flights are canceled ‘cause of the weather.”
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“How’s Henry?”
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“He’s headed home. Finally released him.”
Finally.
“That’s great news.”
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“Where are you guys off to?”
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“To the university to talk to some storm chasers.”
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“Stay dry.”
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“Yeah, right.”
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“Who’s that with Hotch?”
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“There’s been another abduction.”
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“A boy named Shaun Rutledge. That’s his younger brother Billy.”
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“He says a young white guy with an RV attacked him with a crowbar in the rain.”
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“He’s also changed his victim selection criteria.”
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“The boy he grabbed gets straight As, plays football, even volunteers at his church.”
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“So he wanted him so badly, he was willing to leave a witness?”
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“Which suggests he’s losing touch with reality and his delusions are starting to take over.”
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“What is it about this kid that was so attractive to him?”
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“He was teenage and Caucasian like the others, right?”
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“We also think that a sexual element may actually not be at play.”
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So then what the hell is driving this guy?”
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“Maybe it’s love.”
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“What if he’s trying to recreate someone he loves?”
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“It is an emotion that drives us to extremes.”
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“If he’s trying to recreate someone, it’s probably somebody he loved and lost.”
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“Wait. You said he was with his big brother, right?”
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“Holla at your girl.”
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“Baby girl, I need those great big beautiful brains of yours.”
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“Jazz hands ready. Gimme.”
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“Okay, look at all the teenage male victims or tornadoes in the last ten years. Same geography as before.”
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“That would be male, 13 to 18 … 42.”
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“How many victims had younger brothers that survived/”
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“Uh … ten.”
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“The unsub might have been a high-risk kid.”
No shit.
“Garcia, how many of the survivors have criminal records?”
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“I got two for you.”
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“First up is 27-year-old Justin  Harris, had a DUI in 2008. Next is 22-year-old Travis James.”
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“Ooh, little troublemaker. Shoplifting, possession, and prostitution. Oh, my.”
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“And all when he was a minor.”
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“You got a home address or a vehicle registered in his name?”
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“Uh-uh. None.”
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“You got a photo on this guy?”
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“It’s on your tablet right now.”
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“All right, this is a composite sketch from the description the kid gave.”
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“Old school.”
Huh? What’s going on?
“Oh, my God. This poor kid.”
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“In 2001, Travis James lost his big brother Tucker and his mom Jan when a tornado hit the McCleary Trailer Park in Enid, Oklahoma.”
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“So our guy’s a local.”
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Oops.
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“Oh, that’s great.”
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“Hang on, Garcia. The power just went out.”
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“Garcia, I think we’re good. Keep going.”
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“Sometime before this evil tornado touched down, Travis, along with five other boys, testified against a one Roscoe Gulch.”
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“For what?”
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“It appears that this Gulch character was a notorious pedophile in the area, and he was a resident of the same trailer park as Travis and his family.”
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“It looks like brother Tucker had confronted this Gulch person lots of times. He even broke the creep’s nose once.”
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“He was protecting his little brother.”
Cutie.
“Oh. And then the plot thickens. According to a statement from Travis, right after Gulch was acquitted, he and his brother went to Gulch’s mobile home.”
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“Travis said he saw the mobile home get swallowed up by the tornado. And when he came out there was nothing left.”
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“He was found in pieces. It took his DNA and dental records to ID him.”
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“Travis went into foster care and he was reported missing in 2003. He ran away.”
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“Ten years ago his brother got ripped apart, and now he’s trying to put him back together?”
Frankenstein, anyone?
This reminds me of something.
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“But why start killing now?”
Good question.
“Garcia, send me current weather reports for the area, including radar images if you have them.”
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“Ask and you shall receive.”
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“It is on your tablets.”
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“With the weather in the area, he’s going to be so excited, he won’t wait.”
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“He’ll take the boy to the closest area with the most activity.”
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“That’s right around here, just southeast of us.”
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“It’s Frankenstein.”
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“What?”
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“The unsub isn’t trying to put his brother back together, he’s trying to bring him back from the dead.”
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“He believes that tornadoes have the power to take life, so conversely, they should have the power to restore it.”
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“We’ll pick up Rossi and Prentiss on the way. Let’s go.”
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“Garcia, what have you got?”
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“Sir, I found your trigger.”
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“A year ago, a tornado ripped through a cemetery near Tulsa. One of the 53 graves that was disturbed was that of Tucker James.”
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“His brother was killed by a storm, then his memorial was destroyed by one.”
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“Now he’s using both to build a memorial of his own.”
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“Now that he has that boy’s head, the delusion will completely to take over.”
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“Garcia, those storm chasers at the university we talked to, they should be out in full force.”
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“I’m sending you their number now. Tell them to be on the lookout for the unsub’s RV.”
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“And, Garcia, patch into their radio chatter.”
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“They’ll know where the storms are.”
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“On it, my pretties.”
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“We need to head into those areas with the most precipitation.”
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“So make a right at the next intersection.”
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“It should be Pawnee Road.”
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“Hey, how exactly are we supposed to chase this storm?”
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“The unsub won’t actually chase the storm.”
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“To get close to it, you have to get in front of it.”
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“It’s a little like playing chicken.”
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It’s official, I iam un-American ... I have no idea what playing chicken is ... is that like when a kid is being stupid an drunning after something that might hurt it andx then running away? Oh, I get it, cuz chickens are stupid ... oh my god ,I cannot believe I had to actually think about this.
“Uh-oh.”
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“What?”
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“It’s frozen.”
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“Hey, Hotch. We just lost the internet.”
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Worst thing to ever happen.
“I’m frozen up, too.”
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“The weather must be affecting the upload.”
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“I’m patching Garcia in.”
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“Yes, boss.”
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“Garcia, we just lost our internet and we need you to guide us into the storm.”
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“Consider me your eyes and ears, sir.”
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“Okay, guys, a twister has been spotted near Rose Hill just south of your position. The storm-chaser dudes are calling it a landspout.”
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“We don’t want that one. Landspout tornadoes are relatively insignificant.”
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“Where to, then?”
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“Garcia, look for hook echoes on your monitor.’
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“Hey, hook echoes.”
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“Yeah. Okay, I’m gonna do that.”
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“Just tell me what they are.”
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“They’re swirling hook-like radar signatures that look surprisingly like what you’d expect them to.”
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“Okay. Uh …”
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“No, I don’t see anything like that.”
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“They’ll likely form in those red and violet areas on the map.”
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“I don’t see anything that looks even remotely like that.”
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“Okay, they shouldn’t be too far from our current positions. He’s close.”
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“Oh, God.”
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“No, wait ...”
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“Wait, yes!”
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“Yes, I see it.”
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“Oh, that’s gotta be it. Yes, ye…”
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She’s just the cutest thing ever!
“Where, Garcia?”
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“Oh, no, no.’
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That’s never good.
“What? What is it?”
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“There are two.”
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“We’ll have to split up.”
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“Which way, Garcia?”
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“Uh, okay. Half of you can stay in your current heading.”
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“The other half, make a … right on Meadowlark Road.”
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“Morgan, take Meadowlark Road. We’ll keep going.”
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“Got it.”
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“Hey, I just got a hit from the storm-chaser dudes on the RV. You guys are the closest.”
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GPS - Garcia Positioning System ... sorry .. I just couldn’t help myself.
“Where are we talking, Garcia?”
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“Heading east on Summer Road just north of your position, make a left on Prairie Creek.”
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“It’s the next left.”
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“You got it.”
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“Hang on, guys.”
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Uh oh, reckless Derek driving!
“What’s that up there? Near the old house.”
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Whoops, poodle spotted something with his little eye.
“Travis James, FBI!”
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“Put the weapon down!”
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“We can’t do that, Travis.”
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“Just let Shaun go and we can work this out.”
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“That’s his name, you know.”
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“He has a little brother, too.”
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“We know you saw them when you attacked them.”
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“Travis, Tucker would not want this. He would want to protect you like he did with Roscoe Gulch. Just let him go and we can help you.”
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“I’m telling you, we need to cover now!”
Yeah, no kidding, dude!
“Come on, man, put the weapon down!”
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“Put it down!”
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.... The fuck did we just witness?
Did that twister just sweep a dude? FUCK!
At least they saved the kid.
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Here’s how my honeys deal with a Gale-force twister:
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Arthur Golden: “Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are.”
Aww, momma bear is callin ghome, I love JJ so much.
“So the weather’s supposed to break tomorrow. I should be home sometimes in the afternoon.”
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“I’ll call and let you know for sure.”
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“Yeah. Sort of. It’s kind of weird.”
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“I’m … I’m fine. It’s just … been a really long day.”
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“Listen, I’m really sorry about everything.”
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“So, uh, is he still up?”
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I love this kid!
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“Hi! Hi, little man.”
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“How … how are you?”
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“I heard you, um, you went to the doctor.”
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“Not yet, buddy. Tomorrow. I promise.”
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“So, are you ready for story time?”
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“Yeah? Okay.”
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“Daddy, you ready?”
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Daddy is ready.
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“Bedtime for Baby Star.”
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“Once there was a Baby Star, he lived up near the sun. and every night at bedtime, that Baby Star wanted to have some fun. He would shine and shine and fall and twinkle, oh, so bright, and he said, ‘Mommy, I’ll run away if you make me say good night’. And then his mommy kissed him on his sparkly nose and said, ‘No matter where you go, no matter where you are, no matter how big you grow, and even if you stray far … I’ll love you forever, ‘cause you’ll always be my Baby Star’.”
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“Good night.”
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This is the cutest kid in the world! (Aside from Jack Hotchner)
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So this episode was all over the place - I was fearful for Henry’s health, for my pretties handling that weirdo in the tornado - that dude getting torn apart by that twister! Oh my! Also, the many - many - references from Garcia just made my day and the reference to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was pretty cool ... and lest we not forget that all the parents awards go to JJ and Will ... they really should tie the knot, they’re so cute together!
As ever, thank you ever so much for keeping up with my inconsistency in publishing these posts ... I’m just trying to get my shit together with these and I’m seriously lagging behind because my work (currently a call center representative taking messages for over 5,000 different companies) is demanding and toll-taking and sometimes I’m just not in the mood to review my facve show ... BLASPHEMY!
So I’mt rying to get back on track.
LOVE YOU GUYS
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itgetsbetterproject · 2 months
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