𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝.

𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭   &   𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲   𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞   𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠   for   david   rossi   of criminal   minds,   profiled   by   tinez  (  she/her,  29  ).   primarily   influenced   by   headcanons   and   seasons   4 - 7.   

        INQ.                 PIN.              CARRD.               SIDEBLOG.

quick reference rules:

content discussed on this blog may be triggering because of the nature of david’s work. he’s a profiler and works with especially gruesome cases. i rarely go into detail but there will be mentions of violence and murder. everything is tagged tw tag or / tag.

because of david’s background there may be mentions of war, miscarriage, divorce, and organized crime.

my portrayal is semi canon divergent. this means that canon events do take place but they may be portrayed differently from how they are in canon. my portrayal is also very much founded in headcanons and there will be a lot to my portrayal that simply does not happen in canon.

i love shipping but i will only write romantic ships with writers who are above the age of 20 and with muses who are not more than 15 years david’s junior. 

my activity fluctuates. i work and i have other blogs to maintain, this is a hobby and i love it but don’t hound me for replies or i will softblock you.

i'm not particularly interested in plots or interactions with unsubs. i'm not interested in "rossi is profiling/questioning/interviewing your unsub character".

i love continuing memes so if a reply resonates with you please do not hesitate to turn it into a thread!

your muse is free to know or know of david as a lecturer or public figure without any prior plotting, it is also perfectly fine for you to assume david having worked a case with/involving your muse before. if you do send memes/like starter calls without reaching out for plotting i (usually) default to a casual acquaintance type of relationship, if there is anything you don’t vibe with please let me know and i’ll backtrack!

fingers  weave  through  familiar  motions:   fill,  roll,  seal.  the finished cigarette gets tucked into his pocket as a new leaf is plucked out,  the process repeats.  over and over again,  his hands busy themselves with the filling,  rolling,  sealing,  tucking,  repeating;  all as dark eyes are fixed above.  they do not shift away from where they’ve latched on in the distance,  not even when the roar of an engine disturbs the morose stillness that blankets the small town,  or when the inhabitant of the car steps out,  offering his hand.  his own still for a moment,  a half finished cigarette trapped between index and thumb. eyes remain averted,  but his body turns to the other,  as if to invite him into the observation in lieu of shaking his hand.

“   jason is fine.   “   he interjects,  voice only just above a hum,  as if being heard isn’t the purpose of speaking at all.  he moves past it quickly,  they have more important things to discuss than titles and names,  like migratory animals,  for example.  “  what do you know about new world warblers,  david rossi?  “   the question comes with the first touch of gideon’s full and  undivided attention as his eyes finally stray from their faraway place,  now latched onto his company,  gaze wide and waiting.  the cigarette in his hand is sealed and,  without pause,  it is passed into david’s offered hand,  his presence seamlessly assimilated into the rhythm,   

“    you  know,   the  songbird. “

silence  lingers  for  a  weighted  moment.   is he being tested?  he’s new,  but he wasn’t born yesterday  --  he knows to expect sharpened elbows in a room full of men in suits.  but they’re still in the empty and dreary parking lot and the man in front of him has an unnamed urgency in his eyes,  a pair of nearly unlaced sneakers and a corduroy jacket that has seen not only better days but perhaps a better decade.  there is something so eager and genuine in the way he waits for an answer;  as if gauging david rossi’s knowledge on american birds is the most pressing issue at hand.  if this is some try at establishing dominance,  it sure is the strangest one david has ever been subjected to.  sharp elbows and suits,  he begins to realize,  may not be things agent gideon troubles himself with at all.  however,  not participating in the culture of bureaucratic pissing contests doesn’t equate to making a man more decent than the rest.  and so,  his defenses remain and he keeps his shoulders squared,  tone measured,  façade unbothered.  “   well,  jason,  it’s a bird.   “  

             ❝      𝐚  𝐥𝐨𝐭  𝐨𝐟  𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞  𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩  𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠.      ❞      it’s  the  first  words  he’s  spoken  over  the  past  thirty  minutes   ,    attention  focused  on  the  chessboard  before  him.   they’ve  already  completed  a  game  ,  him  &  @bauretired  ,   but  his  opponent  had  suggested  they  play  another  –  beard’s  not  so  convinced  he  isn’t  currently  being  studied  by  the  professional  profiler   before  him.   but  it’s  not  like  he  minds  too  much  —  how  much  could  you  learn  about  an  individual  simply  by  watching  them  play  &  win  at  chess   ?    —-   okay.   maybe  more  than  he  thinks.        ❝      playing  chess  with  me  ,  i  mean.      ❞      he  isn’t  a  cocky  person  by  most  standards  ,  but  even  he  knows  he’s  more  qualified  at  chess  than  most  people.

“   oh,   i  bet  they  do.   “   years of restless nights in gideon’s company has taught him a thing or two about playing ( and losing ) at chess,  and while he doesn't fault anyone for surrendering a game they cannot win,  he has found victory to be second to the play itself.  winning is a thrill,  no doubt,  but finding the thousand various ways to pose a challenge is something else entirely.  three moves into their first game was enough,  he knew there’d be no beating beard,  but then there was no beating jason either.  the thrill is not in beating them,  it is in making their brows crease.  it is in finding the little ways that make the cogs behind their eyes turn.  he can lose all night,  it’ll never get old.

 ❝ EASILY  the  worst  part  of  all  of  this  … ❞    the  waiting,  that  is.  there’s  comfort  to  it,  though,  she  has  to  admit  that.  knowing  that  she  helped,  if  only  to  some  extend -  and  that  she  can  KEEP  ON  HELPING !   ❝ -  i  will.  but  for  now:  can  i  get  you  anything ?  it’s  alright  to  take  advantage  of  the  fact  that  i  get  anything  for  free,  you  know.  and  we  have  sodas,  too -  peanuts? ❞

college verse: dave fresh back from the war -- after having cut off his old life he’s trying to build a new one for himself with getting into the fbi academy as his sole anchor. meet him at a part time job in the city as he pays his way through school, at the library, or at a frat party he refuses to admit to being uncomfortable at.

 bsu verse: resent fbi academy david rossi is young and impeccably professional. he’s all hard edges and rules until heat is applied, and when a case has him showing his true colors in regards to following the rulebook maybe all he needs is a push from someone to go a little apeshit. it’s good for him, he’s sick of being nice.

post-retirement verse: dave has left the bau for undisclosed reasons and is now writing his first book. maybe they meet at the park when its only populated by people with nowhere else to go, or perhaps you recognize him at the coffee shop where he sits writing every day.

dave’s little tussle with laughter almost sets wendy off, and so she has to focus all of her attention into the very blouse in question, looking very intent on studying the stitching of its cuffs with a razor-sharp gaze; if the smile – yes, a smile, and not a smirk for once – she wears happens to be hidden by her hair falling down around her face, well, then, consider it a bonus point.  “what an interesting thought, agent.  i’ll wear a red one next time, put your hypothesis to the test.”  she’ll make social scientists of them all yet.