Of course not, I'm a Criminal

So yeah, here’s the thing.

The season five finale of B.lackl.ist N U K E D my Red muse from orbit. Like, the destruction of Alderaan-level nuked. I’m not sure when–or if–he’s coming back. It actually sent me into a depression for a while because I adore everyone I’m met through this blog, and all the fun we’ve had, but this blog is on an indefinite HIATUS. 

FOR THE MEANWHILE I will be over here:

  @rafaelbarbaesq

So yeah, here’s the thing.

The season five finale of B.lackl.ist N U K E D my Red muse from orbit. Like, the destruction of Alderaan-level nuked. I’m not sure when–or if–he’s coming back. It actually sent me into a depression for a while because I adore everyone I’m met through this blog, and all the fun we’ve had, but this blog is on an indefinite HIATUS. 

FOR THE MEANWHILE I will be over here:

  @rafaelbarbaesq

          They’d searched him the moment they had captured him — taken his coat, the sweater he was wearing, his hat, his phone, his weapons. Pat him down for good measure, then hauled him away. He hadn’t gone down without a fight, and certainly made it difficult the entire way in. It took several agents to physically shove him into the back of a car, and several more to escort him once they were inside… well, wherever this was. A black site of some sort, something off the books. That in of itself didn’t bode well.

Then they’d put him in the cage.

The cube wasn’t very large at all, barely furnished, and stood strong against whatever he did to try and break out of it. Aiden spent a good hour slamming his fists against the surface and screaming himself hoarse, pacing the tiny space like a caged animal. Even after finally calming down and sitting on the cot, he remained visibly agitated, glaring daggers into the opposite wall as if he could convince it to open through sheer force of will.

He hears the elevator moving, his head lifting to turn and stare at it. A part of him expects Ressler, here to rub it in his face about catching him. The man that emerges from the doors, however, isn’t an agent at all. The suit is what gives him away, far too expensive and fancy for someone who worked with the FBI. His eyes narrow, and he goes still where he sits.

Though, when he got there and found a screaming, frenzied animal, Reddington simply sat in the big room with all the cameras and watched him yell himself and beat himself into some sort of resigned fate. Even from this far away, he could tell the man still had a lot of fight left in him. Good, just how he liked. Maybe he’d had a smoothie while watching, waiting, for the man to calm enough that Red wouldn’t have to talk over him. 

He didn’t answer the question, didn’t need to, “The glass was developed by DARPA for secure cover and housing in combat zones, your fists stand as much shot of doing damage to this wall as a housefly does of going through a solid wood door.” The man didn’t so much as cross the room, as it looked like the room--and the cell--came to him, and he stood, a few inches from the front, tight-lipped smile contorting his face. 

while arguing that the police force was built on racism and still has TONS of racist coding in it’s enforcement. 

And this woman(older, cis, white, of course) had the AUDACITY to say “ that’s not what I said. I said that they are stopped and arrested more because they committed a disproportionate amount of the crime. You have to read better and not be so judgy. “ when I called her out on saying like, literally the CATCHPHRASE of racial profiling. 

OH GOD AND AS I WAS TYPING THIS SHE SAID REVERSE RACISM WAS A THING. I CANNOT EVEN. HOLY SHIT.  images behind read more