criminalizing

Talk to me about Aaron Hotchner who is a sociopath and decided to be different and have a wife and child who lost the one who helped him feel and love to the hands of another sociopath. Who conceals his emotions because he feels to strongly. The “walking drill sergeant” is what people whisper.

Talk to me about Spencer Reid who dealt with being an autistic genius 12 year old in college, who dealt with his mom having schizophrenia, who dealt with drug addiction, anxiety, and depression. Who also has the possibility to become a schizophrenic. Who feels like he can’t help his mom or himself. The “prodigy boy genius” is all people seem

Talk to me about Emily Prentiss who moved around all the time and was never settled because her never around mom was an ambassador to the USA. Who dealt with her best friend having mental issues and drug addiction, who dealt with religious fanatics and had to choose to abort her child. Who was known as a “disappointment child”.

Talk to me about JJ who lost a sister to suicide when she was younger. Who deals with anxiety and depression too. Who watched her son and husband be taken hostage. Who herself was taken hostage and tortured. Who was the all star athlete and “perfect girl” because that’s what her parents wanted for her.

Talk to me about Derek Morgan who lost his dad while he was on the job. Who was known as a “gangbanger”. Who was sexually abused by someone he trusted, who suffered from anxiety and depression from that incident, who lost a cousin to a serial killer.

Talk to me about Penelope Garcia who was the nerdy little kid who got picked on for being “overweight” and “nerdy” and so she hacked the kids phones and put all their secrets on social media. Who had to deal with maybe an eating disorder and abusive parents which is why she loves technology more than the people around her. Who has such a pure heart.

TALK 👏 TO 👏 ME 👏 ABOUT 👏CRIMINAL👏 MINDS. 👏

2

Jeffrey Dahmer: Childhood

Born on the 21st of May 1960 in West Allis, Wisconsin, Jeffrey was the first of two sons born to Joyce and Lionel Dahmer. His brother was to be born six years later, and his doting parents loved Jeffrey so much that they let him choose the name of his new baby brother. He picked David, after a male classmate whom he had grown fond of. When David was born, a teacher told Mrs. Dahmer that Jeffrey was feeling neglected at home. Although he loved his little brother, Jeffrey was understandably jealous of the sudden shift in attention and love. His response to this was an alarming one, Jeffrey became “terrified” of new people and of social situations. What seemed a perfectly normal reaction would follow him right throughout his adult life, as Dahmer’s fear of abandonment grew so out of control that he began to kill his dates out of fear that they would “leave him”.

When Jeffrey was four, he was diagnosed with a double hernia in his scrotum. This caused him unimaginable pain, even after the hour-long-surgery, and many criminologists have suggested that the permanent scar tissue and disfigurement of such an area could have made Dahmer feel sexually inadequate all throughout his life. His father remembers that, during that period of his life, Jeffrey became noticeably withdrawn and asocial.

Keep reading

  • Rossi:Only one victim?
  • Hotch:It's what he did to her that concerns me.
  • Garcia:[passes a folder to Reid] Morgan sent this late last night.
  • Hotch:He and Prentiss are waiting at the district.
  • Reid:[checks the folder] Body seems posed, left arm raised. Oh, it's a first. I see your concern.
  • Garcia:What?
  • Rossi:The photo wasn't all he took.
  • Garcia:Reid, what?
  • Reid:Her lips have been removed.
  • Garcia:Oh my god
  • Rossi:Maybe a trophy
  • Reid:[chewing on a muffin] Maybe he ate them?
  • Rossi:
  • Garcia:Okay, now I have that memory burned in my mind for the rest of my life.
  • Reid:You asked
The Name On Your Lips

Author: Cherrywhisp

Y/N was tired, she’d been awake for over 36 hours and the team was not making much progress with the latest case. She was practically falling asleep at the round table when Hotch dismissed her, telling her to go and find some where to get a couple of hours sleep, they’d let her know if they made any head way.

She wandered out of the briefing room and down into the empty office space below. She wanted a desk to lie on, somewhere hard to stretch her back out on. Her desk was full of various crap but the desk opposite hers, the one belonging to her colleague and long time office crush, was not. Spencer wouldn’t mind, she thought as she shifted his desk phone to one side and crawled atop of his desk, her legs dangling off the edge. Ahhh, she could almost feel her back cracking as she sprawled out resting her head on her arms on closing her eyes.

Just an hour or so she thought, then she’d be okay.

“Reid, go and get Y/N. We need her back here now,” Hotch commanded the younger profiler who sprung to his feet almost immediately.

Finally the team had had a breakthrough, Garcia managing to track down a vital piece of information. He exited the office looking down into the bull pen and spotting Y/N straight away. She was lying face down on top of his desk, her head buried in her arms.

He crept down the stairs hating the fact that he had to wake her up, she looked so peaceful asleep on his desk, so beautiful. And he tried not to read too much in to the fact that she had chosen his desk to fall asleep on.

Spencer liked Y/N, alot. Not that he would ever tell her because there was no way that a girl like her would look at him twice. She was beautiful, smart, funny and just so lovely. And she was kind to him, not making fun of his the way the others did sometimes.

Approaching his desk he hesitated slightly before touching Y/N’s shoulder gently.

She snored softly, her lips opening.

“Spencer….”

“Y/N. Hotch needs you. We have a lead.”

“Oh Spencer… Mmmmm. Don’t go, stay… ”

It was then that he realised she was still asleep, dreaming.

Oh god. She’d said his name. Was she dreaming of him? No way. He touched her shoulder again, crouching down so his face was level with hers.

“Y/N…”

“Mmmm… Hold me Spencer.”

Oh christ, she was. He felt his face burning red as he squeezed her shoulder more firmly this time. “Y/N, please wake up. Hotch needs you.”

Her eyes suddenly flew open and she bolted upright awkwardly, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

“Shit… How long was I out for?” Y/N felt a blush creeping across her cheeks, recalling the dream she’d just been having about the man standing in front of her.

“About an hour or so. We’ve got a lead.”

Y/N nodded and slid off Spencer’s desk, wobbling as she stood. He caught her arm and steadied her.

“Y/N?”

“Hmmmm.”

Could he ask her? Should he ask her?

No. He couldn’t. He’d only make a fool out of himself.

“Erm… You head into the office, I’ll go fetch you a coffee.”

“Okay. Thank you. Sorry for snoozing on you desk.”

“It’s fine…. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Reid walked away, looking back at her with a strange look on his face. She smiled, thinking back to how close they’d been in her dream and then suddenly having a horrifying thought.

A roommate in college had once told her she sleep talked. Had she been? Oh fuck. Had she said his name and he’d heard?

Was that what the weird look was for?

Could she… Could she ask him? Should she ask him?

No. She couldn’t. She’d only end up making a fool out of herself.

A/N: I wrote this a while ago from a prompt @louiseeleanorbee sent me from one of those Otp blog things. I can’t remember which one lol.
3

Hotch | Gif is mine

I got an idea for a crossover imagine that I just had to share, imagine both Hotch and Gibbs being interested in the reader and kinda competing for your affections

Requested by yournightingale~


These damn FBI agents. Coming here and ruining what Gibbs had been working for.

Especially the tall one. Black hair. Gibbs could tell you thought he had a nice smile. He didn’t think so. But the Marine did try to smile a bit more when you were looking at him.

And that worked wonders. Every time Gibbs would smile at you, he’d be rewarded with a bright grin. And he couldn’t help but cast a glance to Hotch every single time. He may be a prestigious FBI agent, but Gibbs won this round.

That is, until Hotch started touching you more often. Innocent little touches on your arms while going over files or your back when he opened the door for you. And it made Gibbs’ blood boil every time he was witness to it. 

anonymous asked:

Heeeey what's the name of the series you posted a gif from? The one about what men and women are afraid of? It looks really interesting and I wanna watch it!!! ありがとうございます!

It’s called The Fall! It’s about a stone cold bisexual has-a-hundred-college-degrees detective called Stella Gibson who is investigating serial murder in Ireland and she wears amazing blouses and throws shade at everyone and drinks wine and eats cheeseburgers while going over case files. it’s incredible.

2

Gif source:  Spencer

Imagine Spencer getting jealous when he sees someone flirt with you.

——— Request for anon ———

He loved the way you laughed. The perfect combination of your smile and the ring of the sound that made you look adorable in a way he’d never really appreciated on anyone else before. At least, not the way he appreciated it on you.

But in this context, your laugh was a reminder that he wasn’t the one causing those giggles to erupt. It didn’t bring him happiness this time to watch you laugh with another man, who had been flirting with you for the last five minutes without being sent away by you. Instead, you were a pillar of politeness, taking his flirtations with jokes of your own, all the while making Spencer’s jealousy grow as he watched from the sidelines.

His courage wavering, he was on the brink of resigning himself for the night. Heading home alone and hoping that the unnamed man didn’t coax you into his. That is, until you looked towards where Spencer stood uncertainly near the door, and sent him an inviting smile upon realizing he’d actually accepted your invitation to catch a drink after work.

JBrew’s Predictive Algorithm

This predictive text generation is an excellent example of what I like about the future of human-machine artistic collaboration. The way it works is Markov-chain-esque: it builds a weighted word list of the most likely word to follow the previous set of words, picks the top words, and the human chooses from that subset.

Neither half of the partnership can come up with the result on their own. The human gets enough input to steer the result from something comprehensible, while the machine dictates the constraints.

In addition to making the program, Jamie Brew has a blog with a ton of other outputs. Including dystopian car owner’s manuals:

And IMDB parental advisory information:

Jamie Brew is the head writer over at ClickHole, so this project is a pretty good example of human-machine collaboration on another level. The human, in this case, provides the sense of comedy. The machine provides the contextually-relevant chaos.

Each is doing the part that is hard for the other. Teaching the machine comedy is difficult, so the human does that part. And humans are really bad at being random and thinking outside their little boxes, so the machine handles that side.Creativity and coming up with new ideas involves learning new associations. Because the machine is outside our human neural architecture, it can free-associate ideas in ways that would never have occurred to us.

As it turns out, the comedy part involves directing the chaos into an ordered form. Which is interesting, because my naive thought would be to think of comedy as being inherently chaotic compared to the ordered seriousness of life’s drama. But maybe life is inherently chaotic, and by laughing at the chaos, comedy provides the order we need to deal with it.

Checkmate, Ch. 2

Sorry this took so long! I’m at the beach and it’s a little frantic. Back now!
Warnings: violence
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She should have called. He chewed his lip, tapping his foot on the floor. He stared at his phone, silently willing it to ring, even when it should have rang seven hours ago. It was dark outside. He still waited.
Come on.
Y/N always called after her lunch break. It was law; out of the small time they got to see each other, talk to each other in the way they wanted to, lunchtime calls were important.
“Everyone?”
Spencer looked up. Hotch stood at the entrance to his office, a very grim and controlled expression on his face. Penelope stood a little bit behind him, her face white, fingers fidgeting with her lanyard.
He had a bad feeling.
He didn’t know how bad it would be.

“Say hi to the camera, Y/N. Won’t you?”
She didn’t say hi. What she did say was a stream of curse words in all of the languages she could think of, from Portuguese to Swahili to Mandarin. She trusted that Spencer would understand them.
Her head throbbed-had she been hit? She didn’t remember anything after being put into the van. He must have knocked her out. Now here she was, her clothes gone except for her underwear, tied to a Cold metal chair, shaking like a leaf. Oh, and her eyes were covered. It was a nice touch. Keep her disoriented, confused. When she woke up, head lolling, she feared she was blind-until she recognized the feeling of fabric.
Wherever she was, it was gross. It smelled dank, musty. Something whirred softly in a corner. A generator?
“Play nice,” he chided, before a blinding pain exploded across her thigh.
She screamed for half a second before biting it back. Come on…. Dad trained you for this…. She took deep, gulping breaths of the gross air, clenching her fists.
“Little Y/N here is in the confessional. Reason for the blindfold and dark atmosphere. Until she confesses, I’m afraid she’ll be here for a while.” His tone was pleasant, and caused a wave of nausea to roll over her. “Of course, priestly hours end at sunset…. So what happens after that will NOT be on video.
"You’ve got a few minutes before your hours are over.”

Spencer’s white knuckled grip on the table was plain to see. The tv screen showcased a horror that he thought he would never see again. Shaking, he shut his eyes tight.
“You would die for her?!”
“Yes!”
The gunshot echoed in his head, bouncing around with echoes of sobbing, a comforting voice, a new laugh, a soft song…
“Garcia, the signal,” Hotch said sharply. His grip on the table was as tight as Spencer’s, his face white. “Now!”
“I’m t-trying,” she stammered, tears streaming down her cheeks, Derek standing behind her with a protective hand on her shoulder as her fingers flew over her keyboard. “He’s bouncing it off a ton of towers, I-I don’t know if I can pinpoint it in-”
“Do it NOW!” Hotch roared, spinning around and throwing a folder in her direction. Garcia jumped as it hit the wall and Derek glared at him.
“Hotch!”
“Do you like it when he does this?” The crackly voice of the man dressed as a priest permeated the tense atmosphere and demanded attention to the screen. They all spun to see the man biting deep into Y/N’s shoulder. She gasped, a tight, pained sound. It was obvious she was holding back a scream.
“Or this?” He slid his hand up her neck gently, almost lovingly, to her hair, yanking it back and digging his nails into her scalp. Even in the dim light, it was plain to see he was enjoying every moment of it, and she was shaking.
“The rest of it isn’t too holy… Good thing our time is almost up, isn’t it?” He laughed and walked toward the camera, covering her figure in the chair. “See you at sunrise. Perhaps she’ll be in a confessing mood then.”
“Garcia…” Hotch warned through clenched teeth.
“Almost!” She squealed, her fingers flying even faster.
The picture shut off. The room was silent. Emily and JJ had solemn, somber faces. Hotch was staring out the window in pain. Derek was holding a sobbing Penelope, his face pale.
Spencer hadn’t stopped staring at the tv screen. His whole body began to shake. An odd buzzing filled his ears.
“Spence?” The voice was far away. It was JJ’s. He paid it no mind. “What’s wrong?”
He shut his eyes tightly, before saying softly:
“Me. He was talking about ME.”