#katyswip

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: our romantic storyline picks up not too long after this oneshot was written, where Hotch and Spencer have formed an ‘arrangement’ that Spencer puts a stop to because of -reasons- of the emotional sort. Hotch can still feed from him when he needs, but that’s all that will happen. They have a small tiff, and Spencer is about to leave the room when he has an epiphany...) 

--

"It's the blood,” Spencer states, eyes wider in astonishment. Any melancholy gone from his face as his realization forms fully in his mind. “My blood is so…” 

Pure. 

“--undebased that you can taste the chemical composition in my blood. Or your palate is just that refined.” Which is amazing, unheard of, baffles him and his mind is whirling a million bits a second trying to process what that means, exactly. “You can... when I'm sad, you can taste it. That’s why you don’t want to feed. You’ve always been able to taste it. When I'm happy, when I’m worried, aroused, when I’m lost in... infatuation." 

Hotch doesn't answer, doesn't give away that he can also intimately feel what Spencer feels when he drinks his blood. But Spencer barely notices, is already falling deep down the informational rabbit hole and barreling towards that disastrous need to know more.

"What does it taste like?" There's a brightness returned to his eyes, and Hotch didn't realize how much he'd missed it until it reappeared. Knows he could never deny him anything, when he’s looking at the undead man like that. He pauses, collects himself, resigns himself to answer -- because by God, does he want to give Spencer an answer he’ll remember.

"It's subtle,” he begins, slow and careful, “like notes in a glass of wine. Not everyone has the nose, or the taste for it." But he explains further, steps closer, the brightness in Spencer's eyes like stars in the sky he can't look away from. Drawing him in; a creature of the night, who should not be lured by something so fleeting. But he is, and he does, and he speaks slow as he crosses the room. 

"Sadness is caused by a lack of dopamine; it tastes bitter, mineral, like charcoal but not always unpleasant.” There’s a time and a place for a sad drink, but he never wants to know Spencer’s sorrow so intimately. 

“Excitement, like what you're feeling now,” the thing in his eyes Hotch can’t look away from, “is bright. Floral. Light on the tongue.” 

“Arousal," said low and closer than Spencer realized he was, "serotonin and endorphins. Pleasure is always sweeter. Juicy, almost, yours especially. Cherries, and black currant.”

“But love…” It almost stops him in his tracks, but he carries on -- as if in a trance. Ironic, the roles reversed. “Infatuation, as you called it. It's more of a texture. Thick and full bodied, like how Chardonnays can be buttery, so can love. Something pleasant that sticks to the tongue and reminds you it's there. Long after it’s gone."

Spencer is breathing hard, pupils dilated, staring back now that Hotch is looming so close and afraid to move. Pinned by that black diamond stare. Prey in a trap of an entirely different sort. 

One he’s not sure he wants sprung from.

--

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: Absolutely nothing you don’t already know, this is legit from the first chapter. Hotch is a Vampire (although the LEOs don’t really know that), Rossi is a priest, Morgan is so empathetically telepathic he can touch the auras in the air, and Reid is Reid. I know I’ve been giving you the juicy HotchReid stuff but here have some case stuff too, to see what you’re in for with the plot and everything. This is FIRST DRAFT so it’s terribly unpolished, first part is generalized POV (hence the more professional titles) and the second is within the team dynamics so they get more familiar. idk my first drafts are messy and indecisive, enjoy anyway. 💕)

–

They approach the body and Rainer shoos away his pestering, hovering officers and --- winces once again at the sight of the bloodied woman. “This is the third body in two days; a jogger found her about 6 am. Coroner says she thinks she’s been dead for about 6 hours; killed in the middle of the night, just like the others.” 

“Closer to five hours, I think,” Dr. Reid says, crouching down to look closer. All long legs and his gun looking too big on his belt next to his FBI badge. “Could still be within the Witching Hour, though.”

“Do you have accurate time of death estimates for the other two bodies?” Agent Morgan adds on, already picking up the train of thought Dr. Reid has started on. The detective pulls out an old-school flip notebook book and looks through it before answering.

“3:15am the first night, 9:30pm last night and now this.”

“Well that rules out hex, sacrifice, and spell gone wrong,” he concludes, as the other agents surround the body to inspect it from all angles. “So what are we thinking?”

“It’s a frenzied bite,” Agent Hotchner points out, looking from where he stands and not having to get as close as Dr. Reid to inspect it accurately. His eyesight is better than any microscope. “Shows multiple entries, it couldn’t get a good enough hold to rip her throat. Or she struggled, so it wasn’t strong enough to keep her pinned down.”

“The boys think it’s a Vamp,” Detective Rainer points out. “Maybe a baby one, still learning the ropes?”

“Vampire changes are regulated and no sire would allow whoever they turned to do this,” Agent Hotchner says, a colder flint to his voice that matches the way his dark stare cuts up to the detective. “No one has been turned in the United States in the past twelve years.”

“It’s not a Vampire bite,” Dr. Reid agrees, putting on latex gloves to further inspect the body and test the bite radius. “And it’s not a werewolf bite, either.”

“...Werewolf?” the detective says with a winded sound, eyes wide and looking to the three agents who didn’t even blink at the word. “There’s -- there’s such thing as werewolves?” 

“Detective, I think you should let my team and I work, we will come to you with our findings and then help you track down your killer.” Agent Hotchner doesn’t leave room for argument, his dark brown eyes looking pitch black in the early morning light, and Detective Rainer… suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to walk away. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t comply; he fights it, tries to fight it, and feels his will crumble beneath him like a sand bank giving way under his feet. He turns, even that small gesture lessening the pressure crushing his chest, and takes a step away from the group, air swept into his lungs like a riptide. He makes a hasty retreat after that, winded as if he just ran up a flight of stairs and the sweet taste of oxygen being his only reprieve. He doesn’t know what happened, and wouldn’t upon further inspection until much, much later.

-

“That wasn’t very nice, Hotch,” Rossi points out with a look of glib reprimand towards their team leader. “I thought compelling feeble minded beat cops was for those who have no skills to avoid it.”

“My patience was running thin, and we need to move faster on this case before our unsub kills again. He’s escalating.” That much is obvious, by the timeline alone, but Father Rossi still gives him a side-ways glance that says he finds far too much amusement in the undead’s antics. “Reid, are you sure it’s not a werewolf bite? It would explain the lack of control and precision.”

“I’m sure,” Reid says with finality, and no one makes a mention on why. He had done more research than any human possibly could in the past few months on werewolf transformation and the after effects of attacks. With what happened to one of their former agents mere months ago, no one doubted his newly learned expertise. “It’s also not a shifter, or a ghoul. We can rule out ghost and poltergeist as well, no residue or temperature shifts.” 

“Demon possession?” Morgan asks, looking to Rossi just as he does his customary Sign of the Cross at the mere mention. Can’t help the gesture, after his own past experiences. Giving anything the power of a name, even arbitrary, can be a dangerous thing. 

“We can’t rule it out,” he admits. “The teeth marks are human, someone possessed would still have a hard time biting that deep and doing that much damage. Cannibalism is only reserved for the amusements of level three demons, however they aren’t usually powerful enough to reach the mortal plane or take possession of someone’s body. They would need help.” 

“You really think someone would weaponize a demon like that?” 

“We’ve seen people do worse things, as has history, but I’d like to hope it wouldn’t happen in my lifetime.” 

“We need more information,” Hotch concludes, arms crossed and watching as Reid stands up and removes the blood stained gloves. “Morgan,” his gaze cuts to the tall man in his deep blue suit. “Can you walk the scene, tell us what you see?”

“Not with this many people around,” Morgan shakes his head, eyes glancing to every person within a twenty foot radius. “Too many readings, the aura field here looks like an oil spill. The only thing I can latch onto is…” his gaze is back on the ground, hovering over the dead woman, who would have no aura to speak of at all and therefore a blank canvas. He replaces Reid’s space, crouching down to touch the air over the bite wound. Fingers spread wide, less than a foot from her but not touching, palm suddenly curving as if over an invisible shoulder, the place where someone had once been not so long ago. It could have been the coroner, or the crime scene photographer, but with it being so close to the body -- chances were it was the unsub.

“They were crouched down, half on the ground, no… human thoughts that I can hear,” he says, closing his eyes and letting his hand glide through the air a little more, following the curve of someone’s spine and up their neck, resting where the head would be. “They have a fever burning them up, hot as a furnace--” he keeps his hand there too long, suddenly jerks it back as if it had physically burned him, then stands up again. Shaking off the aura reading still sticking to his fingers and the forefront of his mind. “Sound like anything you’ve heard of, pretty boy?” 

Reid shakes his head, sharing a glance with Father Rossi. “We might have to go through some of your demonology books.” The older man grins wide.

“You just want to get your hands on them, at this rate you’ll have them memorized by next week.” 

“Dave --” Hotch says slow, a reprimand of his own.

“Fine, fine, I’ll have Garcia send us some scans. If the Vatican knew I was putting a book like that in his hands they’d strip me of all my titles.”

“Didn’t they already do that?” Morgan teases with a grin.

“Ex-communicated. I got to keep the dog collar, the honorifics, bless the holy water, you know -- the party tricks.” 

–

-

When Morgan arrives at his house, it’s like four in the morning. Clooney doesn’t come greet him, nor does he chase him off, and Morgan finds the dog with Spencer in his bed -- because the pipes burst and flooded the room Spencer was staying in. He’s fast asleep, in Morgan’s clothes, cuddling his dog and soft from sleep and… Morgan almost doesn’t have the heart to wake him. Brushes some of his hair out of his face, watches how Spencer wakes gently but not fully, stretching and the long lines of his body curve in a way Morgan hasn’t allowed himself to stare at in a long while. Against his bedsheets.

“Reid.” he tries to wake him, but damn if the boy isn’t a heavy sleeper. “Reid. Pretty boy, wake up --”

“Tooearly,” he’ll mumble rolling a little but not enough and his curls are everywhere and Morgan isn’t sure what he wants to do beyond fall asleep also. And be as warm as Spencer looks.

“Sleeping beauty, either wake up or scoot over,” he teases, and Spencer hums noncommittally, not even questioning why Morgan is there. “You’re hogging the whole bed.”

“NoI’mnot, Clooney is.” The dog looks at Morgan with an expectant stare and Morgan can’t help but grin, enjoying… whatever dynamic this is. This domesticity.

“Well then both of you scoot over.” He rumbles, taking off his winter jacket and soaked socks.

“Don’t gotta answer to you if I’m dreaming,” Spencer grumbles out, curling into Clooney’s fur and dozing as Morgan gets dressed for bed. Usually he doens’t dress much at all, but it’s freezing and… fuck it, he’s about to share his bed with his dog and his best friend who has a serious crush on him so. Clothes.

“You argue with me even in your dreams? I’m touched, pretty boy,” he snickers, then kneels on the edge of the bed about to either pick up and move his dog, or push the both of them all the way over. “Now seriously, move before I move you myself.”

The dip in the bed is Spencer’s first clue he needs to wake the fuck up.

His eyes snap open and he’s pushing himself up onto one arm slowly, hair a mess and Morgan’s shirt half off his shoulder. Lips parted in shock and not sure what to say beyond --

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying to sleep, but someone won’t let me into my own bed.”

--

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: this takes place in chapter 02, what you will all see on Saturday evening, and this version is insanely unpolished (I’m about to go through and fix it up and give it a good make-over) but basically this is the first time Spencer is meeting Emily Prentiss and it makes... an impression. Also, Emily has been at the BAU for about 0.2 seconds and Hotch is already done with her. The sibling energy I love to see. It’s also hella long, as an apology for missing last week and being a day late. All you’ve missed is Spencer about ran into Emily turning a corner and she saved him from spilling his case files and coffee all over the floor. Now they are talking)

–

.

“I apologize, I thought you were an intern or still in the academy.”

“It’s alright, everyone does,” Spencer says without taking offense. He wouldn’t have gotten where he was or lasted very long if he did; however, if he had a nickel for every time someone had been surprised by his age, he’d be as rich as Father Rossi. His full hands actually aids him as he mentions, “I don’t usually shake hands with people, so don’t think me rude. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” He offers her a smile in exchange, and it is mirrored on her face just as her surprise kicks up another notch. 

“Doctor, my my I am in for a trip on this team, aren’t I?” she laughs, and it’s a melodic thing that stretches over an expanse of time and history. Ballrooms in Russia and palors of France, Elizabethan and the roaring 20’s and everything in between all rolled into one. He’s not sure how he sees it, an impossible thing, but he can read it like a book and that must have something to do with what she is. “Emily Prentiss, it is a remarkable pleasure to meet you Dr. Reid. Now, I have to ask--” her tone is so charming and playful and probing he barely notices the nuance, “And I’m sure it’s taboo around here, but I have to know -- your regeneration process. Tell me what it is or what you do. You look so young.”

“I am young,” he states simply, finally stunned by a question he’s not usually asked. 

“Yes, yes, we all can’t be a thousand years old like your fearless Vampire leader,” she waves off and Spencer’s eyes widen because… he hadn’t known Hotch was that old. Sure he’d said he’d been alive for the better part of a millennia, but he always said it like a hyperbole. A turn of phrase that’s off by a couple centuries. But --

 A thousand years old. 

That would put him… 

God, that would put him alive, as a human, just before the start of The Crusades. 

“Oh, did he keep that to himself? Oops, my bad. Pretend you don’t know. Anyway -- so are you a Shifter? Or use a particular spell? Oh, or is it a curse? I’m fascinated by curses, I don’t use them often myself but the rigidity of terms using a power so chaotic is just such a fun juxtaposition that I--”

“No, no, I’m… normal, human,” Spencer interrupts her, still the smallest bit shell-shocked, but now connects a few dots himself as she speaks. Realizes very suddenly that Ms. Prentiss appears ageless because she is ageless. She’s also a Witch. One of the broadest terms for subspecies categories, which really doesn’t do it justice. A Witch could be a number of things. Someone who uses magic and science and the very Earth itself paired with the spiritual planes to do impossible things. Witches are beings so powerful they should be uncategorizable. Something Spencer is fascinated by as well. He’s never met anyone like Emily. “I look young because I am young. I’m 27, I’ve only been with the BAU for the past three years. I’m a little excited to not be the newbie on the team any more,” he tries to joke, but Emily’s gaze has gone distant and sharp all at once.

“You’re only 27? And you’re a doctor?” She asks in clarification, Spencer nodding along each time. “You’ve been a doctor, since becoming an FBI agent?” 

“Um, well -- I’m not a medical doctor. I do have three doctorates, though; in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering,” he finds himself shrinking a bit under her intensely interested gaze. “What?”

“Chemistry?” she asks, vaguely more distant.

“That was my first doctorate,” he murmurs back, not sure what has her looking so contemplative. 

“You’ve achieved all of this: three doctorates, FBI agent, BAU -- in 27 years?” she questions, a grave yet wondrous sound.

“Technically I did all of that in 15 years. I graduated high school when I was 12,” he manages to do more than mumble, and Emily’s wide-eyed stare has him spewing forth information like it requires an explanation. “I have an eidetic memory, and I can read 20,000 words a minute, and my IQ is 187 so by human standards yes -- I’m a genius, and borderline on the advanced brain developments scale. But I’m still human. Nothing paranormal or extraordinary.”

The pause that follows is palpable.

“Oh,” she says in an exhale, “Oh, you young soul. You have no idea, do you? What you are capable of...” She tilts her head as she steps closer and Spencer is very suddenly aware that he’s not sure she’s blinked since they started speaking about his qualifications. What he can do, how he got to where he is. No one usually shows this much interest, he makes them uncomfortable for reasons he doesn’t always understand. 

Emily doesn’t look uncomfortable, she looks… hungry. 

“You are so very, very extraordinary. Exceptional, really. Look at all of what you’ve accomplished with just 15 years of life.” That astonished sound again, like she can’t believe her luck--

And then she’s in his space, gaze boring into his, and Spencer can see galaxies in the depth of her eyes. His breath stolen from him and feet rooted to the floor. So he doesn’t step away as she leans just the smallest bit closer, words resonating with echoes across ages.

“Imagine what you could do with a thousand.” 

“Prentiss,” the deep voice of Hotch’s monotone (edged in something vaguely aggressive, and more than a little aggravated)  breaks through their moment. The trance fading like a fog from Spencer’s eyes. “No recruiting. It’s in your contract.”

“You have such a gift, it’s a shame to waste it,” Emily whispers in a rush as Hotch approaches them from down the hall. More earnest than intimidating, now.

“Prentiss!” 

“Think about it,” she winks, and then turns to give Hotch a smile that’s all teeth so sharp she resembles a shark. “Oh, what a sour face. What’s wrong? Were you planning on asking him first? You snooze, you lose.” 

“Conference room,” he instructs, pointing the way Spencer had just come. “Team meeting in 20 minutes. Try not to summon anything between here and there.” She sticks her tongue out at him childishly as she leaves, and sends a quirk of a smile Spencer’s direction that shifts her whole expression into something comically entertained. He’s never seen Hotch interact with someone like this, like they were… familiar, even exasperatingly so. The closest in comparison is probably Father Rossi. But this is less like old friends and more like sibling rivalry. 

The space Emily had just vacated is suddenly filled with Hotch, an overwhelmingly welcomed presence and it eases the tension out of Spencer’s spine and shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was there. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, low and quiet. They’re the only ones in the hallway, but secrecy is a hard habit to break.

Spencer nods, still gaining his bearings once more. “I think so. That didn’t feel like hypnotism. I don’t know what that was.” 

“Prentiss doesn’t manipulate minds or the wills of other people,” Hotch tells him, which is soothing if not for the foreboding question of what just occurred. “She doesn’t need to. She can do a lot of things: change her face, her voice, make illusions and talk circles around anyone -- even you.” Spencer looks up to him at that, aware that his level of intelligence is the only thing that keeps him safe from JJ or Hotch’s influence. His mind can’t be bent, or tricked.

“Then what was she doing? I felt compelled but… not against my will. What was that?” he asks, also quiet but much more high in pitch as his confusion turns his voice to a winded sound.

Hotch’s thin, stern frown does nothing to alleviate the apprehension caught up in his chest like a bad cold. 

.

“Possibility,” he states, grim and not liking that Spencer had fallen prey to such a short moment with Emily Prentiss and her promise of what her craft could do for him. Hotch is well aware that Spencer’s gift of soaking up every speck on information he’s given like a sponge isn’t something to let wither and die like so many before him. There’s so much he could do with an infinite life, such as his and Emily’s, but the curse of living forever alone is not something to be taken lightly. And not to be decided by someone who still has so much more life to live unaided by other forces.

However, Emily was right about one thing. Hotch can’t deny that he’s thought about it. More than considered it as a definite possibility. 

An offer, all his own.

–

(sorry it’s so short but I really just outlined the entire thing and this is the barely coherent part that will end up being close to the original outline -- and I’m very excited about it. Without too many spoilers, shit goes down and now Derek get to do some ‘thinking’ and decide if he loves Spencer back like so many people assumed he already did. It was fun to write, still half an outline and super duper unpolished, but enjoy anyway 💕)

--

Then Morgan gets to think, and remember and he will go through so many images. Spencer with tears on his face in the snow. Spencer the way he looked at him after he kissed him, before he kissed him, how he kissed him. Frantic and careful and loving and needing and conveying everything he could through lips and caress alone. Pent up for so long, released in a single moment because it was going to be his only chance --

Spencer in his kitchen, Spencer with Clooney licking his face, Spencer curled up in his bed, Spencer’s hair in his face wearing Morgan’s clothes. Spencer beside him in the SUV on a case. Spencer across from him on the plane. Spencer at his desk, looking up with narrowed eyes and a wry smile. “What?” Spencer smiling wide, Spencer laughing, Spencer scowling, Spencer biting his lips or reading too fast, talking with his hands and the excited glint in his eyes when he launches into a side tangent he loves. Spencer watching him, Spencer staring, adoration and careful concealment, Spencer sad and forlorn. Spencer lost in a look that Morgan now thinks might be love… 

Spencer tucking his hair behind his ear, Spencer flushing pink at Morgan teasing him. Spencer listening to him, and joking with him, and arguing with him with that little side smile Morgan loves so much. Spencer with sunset colors caught in his hair. Spencer fast asleep on the plane, at peace after a long successful case. His light brown eyes and angular face that looks too beautiful to be real some days. Lips that draw the eye, wit that boggles the mind, astonishing and amazing and more than anyone ever gives him credit for. Not just his brain, but his heart. Spencer his friend, Spencer his partner, Spencer his -- his --

“Holy shit.” 

Morgan thinks he might love him, too.

--

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: it helps to remember 4.18 Omnivore for this snippet. Because this scene coincides with about halfway through the episode, when the team has finally managed to track down George Foyet and believe he is the only surviving victim of The Reaper. Hotch and Father Rossi find him coming home with groceries to one of his four houses he moves between, living off the grid, in fear that The Reaper will come back and finish what he’d started. And for the *drama* of it all, I made it 20 years instead of 10 since the original Reaper killings -- so it’s going to be very obvious when they meet with detectives and officers that had worked in Boston when The Reaper was at large... that when everyone remembers Hotch, it’s like seeing a ghost.)

–

“You haven’t aged a day,” he repeats, the same words he’d said outside upon seeing Hotch’s face, and it’s still in awe. Shock. This poor man didn’t deserve any more shocks like that in his life. “Can I ask… what are you?” 

Hotch isn’t usually one to just tell people left and right his true Nature, but George Foyet lived through more pain than most Human’s ever would. He was a stooped, shadow of a man now; hiding in multiple houses across a city that will never know his real name. 

“I’m a Vampire,” he answers the man, catching his wide eyes behind those circular glasses. He reminds him so much of Spencer, like that. “I would ask you not to go around sharing that, but at his rate half the Boston police department knows. Most were working the cases as well, back then.” 

“Yes, I suppose they were.” He swallows thickly, rubs at his chest where Hotch knows there were knife wounds scaring the flesh. “If -- if you had been there when they found me, could you have healed me? Would I not have these… reminders.”

“No,” Hotch shakes his head, sadly. “It doesn’t work like that. The accelerated healing properties are in my saliva, and they only bind to my venom. They can only heal bite wounds made by me, and no one else. They are useless against normal injuries.”

“But you really -- you really don’t die, you never will,” he murmurs, and Hotch nods. Not knowing what the man is getting at until he sees the paper on the table. From a few days ago. Open to Detective Tom Shaunnesy’s obituary, unmoved since it had printed and dropped in shock.

“You know what that means, Mr. Foyet?” Hotch asks, firm and steady, but gentle in the face of his fragility. “It means I will never stop hunting him. You can have my word, on that.”

George Foyet makes a small sound, ducks his head down and swallows back another violent string of coughs. Exacerbated by his stab wounds, but when he gathers the strength to speak -- what he says will stay with Hotch for the rest of his days. Although he doesn’t know why at the time.

“I don’t believe in a lot of things anymore, Agent Hotchner -- not God, not fate, not dumb, terrible luck. Nothing. Just the Reaper, for the past 20 years,” Foyet tells him shakily, but with a steady tone as if he speaks nothing but the truth that he holds in his very bones. Then, the traces of a smile flit at the corner of his mouth, a disbelief held there that even Hotch can’t quite decipher the source of. Something he hasn’t seen before in all his centuries of life. “But I -- I think I just might believe in you.”

–

tbc...

–

--

Hotch = Vampire, very heavily established already (as we all know lol). Which means he's undead, nearly a thousand years old, he's very powerful and has devoted his afterlife to studying the human condition and it's perversions. Specifically psychopathology. He isn't necessarily responsible for starting the BAU, but he was one of it's earliest members.

Rossi = Human, he's an excommunicated priest who's primary focus is ALSO psychopathology and the evils of man, with specialties in demonology and religion. We're channeling Constantine here, because his 'abnormal quality' is that he is impossible to kill -- because he fucked up in his 30's and a very powerful demon has his ticket and only they get to punch it when the time comes.

Morgan = Human, he is an insanely strong Empath. Telepathy would be the technical category, but basically that thing in the early seasons of the show where he 'role-played' and would walk through the steps of the unsub step by step (my favorite instance being when he tried to climb through the window like the unsub did, caught the vase like the unsub did, immediately knew the unsub was at least a little athletic) well we channel that here. His empathetic telepathy is so strong that he can quite literally follow the unsub's steps through a crime scene and know exactly what they did, where they stood, how they moved. He can't exactly read minds, but it's just as good as. Because of this his specialties are still in obsessional crimes.

JJ = Human, we're taking 'communications liaison' to the next level. Because where Morgan is more to the empathetic side of telepathy (auroras, reading emotions, knowing what happened in a space) JJ is the other side of it. She can read minds, and can also influence them. She is communication liaison because she can bend people and the media to her will. A very dangerous skill, one that Hotch has to monitor very closely, but also a very useful one when they are met with people so distraught they refuse to see reason.

Emily = it is... very hard to describe what Emily is, because she doesn't reveal what she is. The best the bureau can determine is she is undead (they have no other explanation), and a witch (because no other category fits what she is and she is not forthcoming about it). Emily has been alive for centuries, possibly older than Hotch, they officially met a few decades before the Salem Witch Trials. Her specialties are in cults, undercover operations, and organized psychopaths'. If we follow the terms of what a traditional 'witch' is, she fits a few criteria in that Sergio is her Familiar, she can change her face at will, and is very hard to control. But she loves to be mischievous, and her favorite past time is to get on Hotch's nerves in any way possible.

Penelope = Human, her delegation is still Tech Analyst, and I'm still ironing out details for her because her special abilities will have to do with electromagnetic manipulation and quite literally being able to converge and communicate with electronic systems. She doesn't just build programs with ones and zeros, she builds them with her bare hands. It'll be cool, once I figure it all out.

Reid = Human, Spencer is quite literally as he is in the show. High IQ, multiple doctorates, can read 20,000 words per minute and remember every sentence of it down to the page number. This should make him super human in his own right, yes? In the canon version of the show, he's the freak of nature that they all love and need, but in this world he's the 'normal' one, and that makes him remain the outlier in the group. But still the one they all love and need. This whole story stemmed from 'what would happen if I flipped it and made him the normal one?' -- and now we have vampires and witches and telepaths.

I also have backstories for Gideon, Elle, Tara, and Luke so far. Idk who will end up in the story or how much will be told, but I do have them figured out at least and I'll probably do all the other additions to the BAU as well. Just to have on hand.