#love and kindness will prevail but there will have to be violence for it

[comradekatara]

Your atla analysis is the best so I wanted to ask your opinion on something I've found the fandom fairly divided on - what did you think of Azula's ending within the show proper? Unnecessarily cruel or a necessary tragedy? Would you say that her mental breakdown was too conveniently brought about in order to 'nerf' her for the final agni kai? Also, do you think it was 'right' for Zuko to have fought with his sister at all or would it have been better for him to seek a more humane way to end the cycle of violence?

okay so im saying this as someone who loves azula to death like she has always been one of my absolute favorite characters ever since i was a kid and i’ve always vastly preferred her to zuko and found her to be extremely compelling and eminently sympathetic. i am saying this now before the azula stans come for me. i believe in their beliefs. but i also think her downfall is perfectly executed, and putting aside all the bullshit with the comics and whatever else, it’s a really powerful conclusion to her arc. obviously that isn’t to say that she wouldn’t continue to grow and develop in a postcanon scenario (i have a whole recovery arc for her mapped out in my head, like i do believe in her Healing Journey) but from a narrative perspective, her telos is in fact very thematically satisfying.

no, she wasn’t nerfed so that they could beat her in a fight. the fact that she falls apart is what makes them feel that they can confidently take her on (although i do think in a fair fight katara could win anyway), but the whole point is that it’s not about winning or losing in combat. the whole point is that zuko and azula being pitted against each other in this gratuitous ritual of violence as the culmination of their arcs is fundamentally tragic. yes it’s a bad decision to fight her, and zuko should have chosen another path, but the whole point is that he’s flawed and can only subscribe to the logic he has spent his whole life internalizing through violence and abuse.

that’s why aang’s fight against ozai, while tragic in its own way, is also a triumph for the way in which his ideals prevail in the face of genocide, while zuko and azula’s fight is very patently tragic. there is no moment of victory or triumph. even as zuko sacrifices himself in a beautiful mirroring of “the crossroads of destiny” and as katara uses the element of her people combined with techniques across other cultures to use azula’s hubris and ideology of domination against her, it’s presented as moments of personal growth occurring within a very tragic yet inevitable situation. it was inevitable because azula had always been positioned as an extension of her father, and thus to disempower ozai also means disempowering azula, his favorite site of projection, his favorite weapon.

yeah, it does rub me the wrong way when zuko asks katara whether she’d like to help him “put azula in her place.” it’s not a kind way to talk about your abused younger sister. but it’s also important to understand that zuko doesn’t really recognize his sister’s pain, despite the fact that they obviously share a father, because he’s always assumed that she was untouchable as their perfect golden child and thus never a victim. and he’s wrong. zuko and katara expect a battle of triumph and glory, noble heroes fighting valiantly so that good may prevail over evil. but as they discover here, even more so than their previous discovery two episodes prior, a battle is not a legendary event filled with bombast and beauty until after it has been historicized. often a war is simply fought between pathetic, desperate people who see no other option but to fight.

aang’s ultimate refusal to fight despite having all the power in the world is what makes him so important as the protagonist. but katara and zuko both share a more simplistic view of morality and what it means to be good. and zuko assumes that by fighting azula, he can only be punching up, because she has always been positioned as his superior, and she (in her own words!) is a “monster.” and then azula loses, and his entire worldview shatters. joking about putting her in her place makes way for the realization that behind all her posturing and lying (to herself more than anyone) and performance and cognitive dissonance, azula has always been broken, perhaps even more than he is.

azula says “im sorry it has to end this way, brother,” to which zuko replies “no you’re not.” but i think azula is truly sorry, because in her ideal world, she wouldn’t be fighting zuko. she doesn’t actually want to kill him, as much as she claims to. she’s already reached the conclusion that zuko will only truly reach once their fight is over. she lacks a support system, and she needs one, desperately. if she could somehow get her family back, do everything differently, less afraid of the consequences, she would. she’s smirking, she sounds almost facetious, but really, she is sorry. as of this moment, she really doesn’t want it to end this way. but zuko cannot accept that, because in his mind, azula is evil. azula has no soul nor feeling. azula always lies.

her breakdown doesn’t come out of nowhere, either. it’s precipitated by everyone she has ever cared about betraying her. first zuko betrays her, then mai, then ty lee, and then ozai — the person she has staked her entire identity to and to whom she has pledged her undying loyalty and obedience, become nothing more than a vessel for his whims — discards her because she had the audacity to care about someone other than him. what i don’t think zuko realizes, and perhaps will never realize, is that azula betrayed ozai by bringing zuko back home. he was not supposed to be brought back with honor and with glory. azula specifically orchestrated the fight in the catacombs to motivate him to join her, and it’s not because she’s some cruel sadistic monster who wanted to separate a poor innocent soft uwu bean from his loving uncle, it’s because she genuinely believes that she’s doing what’s best for him. she believes that their uncle is a traitor and a bad influence, and she believes that bringing zuko home with his honor “restored” is an act of love. to her it is.

yes, she claims that she was actually just manipulating him so that she wouldn’t have to take the fall if the avatar was actually alive, but also, she’s clearly just covering her own ass. she didn’t know about the spirit water, and only started improvising when zuko started showing hesitation. but even if she was only using zuko, then that was an insane risk to take, because either way she was lying directly to ozai’s face. and zuko admits it to ozai while simultaneously committing treason, so of course ozai would blame azula, his perfect golden child who tried to violate his decree by bringing zuko back home a prisoner at best and dead at worst, and instead found a way to restore his princehood with glory.

we only see ozai dismissing and discarding azula in the finale, but it’s clearly a tension that’s been bubbling since the day of black sun. and we know this because we do see azula falling apart before the finale. in “the boiling rock” she is betrayed by her only friends. in “the southern raiders” we see that this has taken a toll on her, that she is already somewhat unhinged. she and zuko tie in a one on one fight for the first time. and she takes down her hair as she uses her hairpin to secure herself against the edge of a cliff. unlike zuko, who is helped by his friends and allies, who has a support system. it’s a very precarious position; she’s literally on a cliff’s edge, alone, her hair down signifying her unraveling mental state. azula having her hair down signals to us an audience that she is in a position of vulnerability. she is able to mask this terrifying moment wherein she nearly plummets to her death with a triumphant smirk, but it should be evident to us all that her security is fragile here.

and the thing is, even though she’s always masked it with a smirk and perfect poise, her security has always been fragile. azula has never been safe. azula’s breakdown is simply the culmination of her realization that no matter how hard she tries, she will never be ozai’s perfect weapon, because she is a human being. she is a child, no less. and there is no one in her entire life who loves her for nothing. zuko has iroh, who affirms to him that he could never be angry with zuko, that all he wants is simply what is best for zuko. but azula doesn’t have unconditional support in her life. she doesn’t even have support.

everyone she ever thought she could trust has betrayed her, and so she yells that trust is for fools. because she feels like a fool. of course fear is the only way; it’s what kept her in line all these years. azula is someone who is ruled by fear, and who is broken by the recognition that fear isn’t enough. her downfall is necessarily tragic because her worldview is wrong. the imperialist logic of terror as a tool for domination is her own undoing, just as ozai’s undoing is losing the weapon he has staked his national identity to. it’s a battle of ideals. aang v ozai: pacifism v imperialism. katara and zuko v azula: love and support v fear and isolation.

zuko is unfair to azula, it’s true. he tries to fight her even as he can clearly recognize that “she’s slipping.” instead of trying to help his little sister, he uses that weakness to his advantage, tries to exploit her pain so that he can finally, for the first time ever, beat her in a fight. it’s cruel, but it’s also how siblings act. especially considering the conditions under which they were raised, and how zuko has always viewed her. and in zuko’s defense, she has tried to kill him multiple times lately, both in “the boiling rock” and in “the southern raiders.” zuko is someone who gets fixated on a goal and blocks out everything else, including recognition of his surroundings or empathy for others. so of course when he’s promised to put azula in her place he’s going to exploit her weaknesses to do so. after all, isn’t exploiting his weaknesses exactly what azula does best? so he allows himself to stoop to her level, and in fact only redeems himself through his sacrifice for katara. but it is when azula is chained to the grate and zuko and katara, leaning on each other, look down and observe the sheer extent on her pain, that zuko realizes that “putting azula in her place” isn’t actually a victory. it feels really, really bad, actually.

they’re in a similar position as they were when they faced yon rha. and now it is zuko’s turn to understand that he is not a storybook hero triumphing over evil, but rather a human being, facing another human being, in a conflict that is larger than themselves. to “put someone in their place” is to imply a logic of domination, of inherent superiority, that someone has stepped out of line and must be reordered neatly into the hierarchy. but aang disputes the notion, ozai’s notion, that humanity can be classified along these lines, that there exists an ontological superiority among some and not others. so operation: putting azula in her place was always going to be flawed, even if she was performing competency the way she always does, because they’re nonetheless subscribing to her logic.

of course they should be helping azula, of course they should be reaching out to abuse victims through support instead of more violence. but first they must recognize her victimhood. first they must come to understand that they didn’t get lucky, and they didn’t dominate her because they are more “powerful,” that they weren’t “putting her in her place.” they must understand that they are not heroes fighting villains in a glorious trial by combat. that the logic of the agni kai is flawed. that they are all victims. that they are all just scared, hurt children who are still grieving their mothers.

[sundrop-writes]

Figure It Out

A Criminal Minds Casefic

“All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.” -Friedrich Nietzsche 

Summary:

Since you joined the BAU, you have been keeping a terrible secret from the team.

When the team takes a case in your hometown - your festering secret comes to be known with a vengeance.

Fem!Reader x Gen!BAU Team (Platonic). General Casefic, modelled after a Criminal Minds episode. Angst, Mystery, Hurt and Comfort. Set during Criminal Minds Season 3.

Word Count: 18,000

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed Warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is a general casefic - there is no romantic pairings in this fic, it is more about the mystery of the case and how the reader character fits into it (if this were a real Criminal Minds episode, this would be the episode named after the reader) - with that being said, the main relationship focuses are between Emily and the reader and Spencer and the reader (because I am biased and I love them) but there isn’t any romantic threads or romantic tones, it is all platonic; the reader character uses she/her pronouns and is described as a woman, but I went out of my way to make sure that there is no descriptions of the readers looks or body type; there is use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); mentions of the reader being from Georgia (because the case takes place in her hometown); smoking/cigarettes - mentions of the reader character smoking tobacco; mentions of the reader character being injured (severely in a past incident, and minor injuries during the course of the fic); mentions of vomit/mentions of the reader character throwing up; lots of warnings for general Criminal Minds topics; murder, killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, violence, guns/gun violence, mentions of rape and sexual violence, mentions of systematic violence towards women; there is no graphic depictions of rape/no rape scenes in the fic, but there is mentions of the event of rape happening to certain characters, references to rape culture, and the shame/guilt/self blame a rape victim feels; mentions of stalking/stalking behaviors - including the delusion mindset of a stalker, obsessiveness, sending someone unwanted letters, mentions of a ‘one sided’ relationship; mentions of trauma/PTSD; descriptions of symptoms of PTSD; themes surrounding the cycle of violence; I did kind of purposefully make the warnings a bit more vague than I usually do, because I really don’t want to spoil the plot of this fic. But as lot as you are okay with the maturity of all these themes, you should be okay with this fic!!

A/N: This is pretty much 100% inspired by the music video for Figure It Out by Royal Blood - which the fic is named after. I highly recommend watching the music video, because it is fucking art in my opinion, but I have taken such heavy inspiration from it in terms of the style, tone, and even storyline - so the music video kind of spoils this fic. So probably watch it after you read the fic lmao. I also feel like the instrumental version of the song goes very well with this fic. This fic is not at all typical and I am terrified that people won't like it, or that they won't 'get it'. But I am very proud of it, so I am going to put it out there and hope that people enjoy it. So - please enjoy!! I really love writing Criminal Minds casefics and coming up with the details of a case, and writing it in this style was so, so exciting and interesting for me, and I really do hope that you can enjoy reading it.

...

“All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche 

...

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department, Interrogation Room #1 - Madison, GA. 3:39AM.

The chilled air of the interrogation room only made the regret more palpable in your lungs. 

The hum of the fluorescents overhead made you feel like a bug about to be zapped - like your entire life was over and you would soon be resigned to a cage. 

You hated it, but you had to wonder what you would have done if you had ten more minutes. Ten more minutes before they had arrived, sirens screeching, lights flashing. Your mind kept replaying the moments over and over again. The knife had felt so perfect in your hand. 

Ten more minutes. 

“I just want to talk.” 

So caught up in your thoughts, your mind so foggy from the hectic night - you had almost forgotten that there was someone sitting in front of you. 

He looked so entirely stiff - wearing his cookie cutter suit and his carved-in scowl. He did nothing to shift your mood. 

“This is just a conversation. Nothing more.” 

He continued on, using a monotone, would-be soothing voice when you didn’t say anything. 

The metal chair felt stiffer underneath you, and you felt further suffocated within that small, concrete box. 

You felt inclined to call it an interrogation, but you wouldn’t be so quick to tell him that. It’s not like you were going to tell him what he wanted to hear. 

“You can smoke in here if that makes you feel more comfortable.” He added on, pushing something from the middle of the table toward you. 

A pack of cigarettes and a lighter. There was also an ashtray. A collection of things that someone had put there, knowing that you would be resigned to this tiny, tiny room. 

“You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves, Hotch.” You huffed, saying his name, using the same technique that he would likely be using on you. You could mirror him, get ahead on the mind games. “I’m not as crazy and detached from reality as you think I am.” 

Perhaps that was a false statement. You weren’t even sure how crazy he thought you were. Perhaps, that in itself made you detached from reality. You couldn’t be sure. 

Nonetheless, you took him up on the offer. You reached out and eagerly picked up the pack of smokes, ripping off the outer plastic before you took one out, shoving the tip between your lips and lighting it up. 

You took a heavy draw, and the nicotine throbbed through you. Seemingly adding to the headache you already had from the large gash on your forehead that they had hastily bandaged before bringing you in here, rather than relieving it. Still, you sucked on the cigarette like it was your only lifeline - taking a moment to tap some of the ash into the small ashtray while you stared at Hotch carefully. 

You wondered if you should really tell him all the gory details. 

“Just tell me what happened. Tell me your side of the story.” Hotch said, trying his best to sound warm and convincing. It didn’t work. “I’m just trying to figure it out. Just like you are.” 

Perhaps your biggest regret was that you were here, cooped up in this hole - and he was in the hospital somewhere, laying in a soft bed, being attended to by nurses, being comforted. The fact that he was still breathing - even with the assistance of a tube down his throat, and not in a body bag.

“You’ll never look at me the same if I do tell you.” You managed to find these words, and these words only. Ominous, almost threatening - more so than you intended. 

“I won’t.” He returned. Shallow, fallible. 

Suddenly, a crash from the hallway broke the tense silence that was brewing between the two of you. The door was thick, but it wasn’t enough to disguise the ruckus coming from outside. 

“No! No! You have to let me through! I have to be in there!” 

The voice was familiar, but that tone of desperation certainly was not. 

“Reid, he specifically told us to sit this one out-” 

“Sit this one out?!” Reid repeated the words back, his voice warping with pure shock, the inability to conceptualize such a thing. “You expect me to just sit out?” He scoffed. “If it wasn’t for me, two more people would be dead, and there wouldn’t even be a ‘this one’! Now let. Me. Through.” 

“Reid-” 

With all his bolstering stubbornness, he shoved past whoever had been trying to stop him, and as you took another heavy puff off your cigarette, the interrogation room door came flying open. 

Hotch stood up, rushing to block the door, but you smiled. Though you were numb from the day’s events - it was your natural instinct upon seeing him. 

“Reid-” Hotch choked out, trying to block the gangly man from even entering the room. 

“Good evening, Doctor Reid.” You greeted him gently. 

Upon seeing your reaction - so much more open and warm - Hotch allowed him in. This was the wedge that he needed to pry you open. Reid closed the door behind himself with an indigent huff and a glare toward his superior. 

Reid crossed his arms, hovering near the door as he turned his stiff-jawed glare toward you now. Your cigarette turned to a hot cherry in your hands - sucked to death already, and you stubbed it out in the tray before starting a new one. You knew chain-smoking was an even filthier habit than the occasional ciggy, but you had one hell of a day under your belt. If there was ever a time, it was now. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Reid asked, his voice stiff and oppositional. 

“Oh, so many things.” You said, your tone clever and unphased. Hotch let out a sigh as he sat back down in his chair. He was glad that you were talking openly now, at least. “Shall we go in alphabetical order, or start at my birth and work or way back from there?” 

Reid let out another nasal thick sound. Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for banter. 

You were met with nothing but a stony wall of silence, and cold glares of disapproval. It almost made you feel guilty. Almost. 

“Let’s start with this,” Reid corrected you. “Why?” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t give him that answer. You didn’t think you would ever have enough time to conjure it up within yourself. 

“You’re the genius profiler, Doctor Reid.” You fired back coldly. “You tell me.” 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 2:20AM.

Prentiss led the team as they searched through the house. It was the only solid lead they had as to where you might be. It was a house that your parents used to own - a place of significance because you had lived there the summer when it first happened. 

“Clear!” 

She went through the living room, the kitchen, the entire first floor, leading the team with Reid at her side, guns drawn. 

“Clear!” 

As she crested the top of the stairs, she heard sobbing. 

It was distinct - something that tugged harshly on her heartstrings. 

Even though it was against protocol not to clear the rooms in order, she rushed toward it. Reid continued to flank her - obviously he had heard the noise too. 

Prentiss landed a sharp kick on the door’s handle, causing it to fling open. 

The picture on display in front of her almost caused her to drop her gun. 

Hotch had been right. 

You were on top of the man, straddling him. Both you and the man were badly beaten - but right off the bat, Prentiss could tell that he was far worse off. Clearly, you had bested him in the fight this time. 

The contents of the room strewn about; broken glass, busted furniture, the curtain rod torn down. It looked like the remnants of a bad WWE brawl. You were the picture of desperation - heavy, hot tears coming from your eyes, blood smearing down your face from a gash on your forehead as you stared down the man beneath you with fiery madness in your eyes. 

You had a knife to his throat. A large hunting knife - the same kind that all the other victims had been stabbed with. 

You had the tip of it poised to his throat, just barely touching his skin. If you put any amount of pressure on the blade - if you bared down, then you would slice right through his esophagus. It would take almost no effort from you at all to end his life. 

From what Prentiss could see, the man was unconscious. He was completely slack, his body still on the ground. He was bleeding from a small head wound. His life was entirely in your hands. He couldn’t fight back. 

Both your hands shook vigorously as you struggled with the warring inside of you, as you struggled with the weight of the confrontation with your life’s biggest monster. 

Though it went against everything inside of her, Emily kept her gun raised. She kept her arms stiff, keeping her gun pointed at you. As much as she detested that man, knowing what he had done - it was her job to shoot you if you tried to kill him. Right now, she hated that job. 

“Put the knife down!” Prentiss ordered sharply. 

You didn’t move. 

Naturally, Reid, in all of his softness and empathy, slackened his arms and holstered his gun before anyone could blink. 

“Come on, put it down.” She tried again. 

You ignored Prentiss entirely, your hands still shaking, making no moves to lift the knife away from the man’s throat. 

Reid moved to step into the room, and from his view at the top of the stairs, arms stiff and gun pointed in your general direction - Hotch called out to him. 

“Reid-!” He tried to warn Reid against doing this. Of course, he didn’t listen. 

Reid knelt down beside you, posturing in surrender with his arms. Of course, he wasn’t even on your radar at the moment. Your entire gaze, your entire focus was on the unconscious man underneath you - the true target of your agony. 

“Y/N,” Reid said your name calmly, trying to capture your attention. “You don’t have to do this.” 

You hesitated for a moment, and Prentiss worried that even his gentle voice wouldn’t be able to get through to you. 

“I have to.” You sobbed out. More heavy tears slid down your face, and you began to shake more visibly, shockwaves moving throughout your entire body. 

“You don’t have to.” Reid told you, his voice calming, gentle. “You - you can give me the knife, and then we can just… walk away. And then it all ends.” 

“It won’t just end!” You screamed out, your voice a curtling weep that bounced off the walls. 

It made Prentiss’ heart jump inside of her chest. If it wasn’t protocol, she would have dropped her gun and run over to comfort you with a hug. But she knew that you weren’t in the most stable place. You might have tried to stab her with the knife. 

“It can end.” Reid assured you calmly. “You just have to come with me. You just have to put the knife down and-” 

“I have to make it stop!” You screamed, trampling over his quiet voice. “I killed those women. I killed them!” 

“Prentiss!” Hotch edged in, warning her. 

If you didn’t move off of the unconscious man soon, then she would have to take you down. 

“Just give him a minute!” Prentiss fired back. She had faith in Reid. 

“We both know that’s not true.” Reid told you. “You didn’t kill them. You didn’t mean for this to happen-” 

“He killed them because of me!” You shouted, cutting him off. “We both know it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not.” Reid choked out. “Please don’t say that.” 

There was a gutting silence. 

“Please, just give me the knife.” 

At this point he was doing some pleading of his own - but your hands were unsteady and you still refused to look at him. 

You weren’t going to give up the fight that easily. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Somewhere On The Country Backroads - Madison, GA. 2:11AM.

“I want two squad cars down the road, I want state police cutting off all the possible exits to the major highways.” Agent Hotchner was on the scene, doing what he did best - giving orders. “I want to cut off any chance of possible escape incase the suspect tries to flee-” 

“Hotch, do you really think that’s necessary?” Morgan asked. “We’ve got the house. Thermal cam’s got two bodies on the second floor. There’s nowhere to run from here. We’ve got spike strips on all the dirt roads. No car is getting past any of that. It should function as a hard extraction from here.” 

Hotch glared at Morgan as he fastened the straps on his bulletproof vest. The glare of the red and blue lights from the squad cars only made the deep frown lines on his face look firmer. 

“I am not taking any chances.” Hotch said. “We both know this is an incredibly delicate matter. We found one of the victims across state lines. We know this suspect has mobility. I’m not risking finding another body.” 

The air became tense as everyone realized what he meant by ‘another body’. 

“I want tactical swat to go in first-” Hotch began, and was quickly cut off by Morgan. 

“You’re sending in swat when there’s a hostage in there?” Morgan questioned harshly. 

“Even if we go in there blazing, showing force, she might not come in quietly.” Hotch explained.

“You’re serious?” Prentiss replied, hooking the wire of her earpiece around her ear in order to tuck the mic in. “She’s the one you’re worried about? She’s a victim in all this.” 

“You saw the incident report.” Hotch reminded her. “The amount of defensive wounds she had… the first time he attacked her, she fought back hard. She’s desperate, she’s feeling cornered, she-” 

“She’s terrified right now.” Prentiss pressed harshly. “She doesn’t need a bunch of men going in there waving guns in her face.” 

“She could sacrifice him.” Hotch theorized, further trying to prove his point. “This could be her chance to finally get justice. Finally getting rid of the man who’s tormented her for all these years.”

“So we have to bring them both in. Quietly.” Morgan said. “We can’t just go in there shooting. If your theory is correct, then she could use him as a human shield.” 

Hotch nodded. “Fine. No tactical swat. Prentiss, you take the lead.” 

“Yeah, and I’m taking Reid with me.” Prentiss told him sharply. “Somebody with a little compassion around here.” 

Prentiss nodded and scoffed, walking past Hotch, gently whispering ‘what the hell is wrong with you’ on her way to get in the car with Reid. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

When JJ let out a harsh sigh, Emily turned to her, swiveling in the borrowed office chair with a creak. 

“What is it?” Emily asked. 

“Don’t you feel that?” JJ replied. Emily shrugged, waiting a moment for her to finish the thought. “That… overwhelming feeling of dread?” 

Of course, it was obvious. No leads. No breaks in the case. 

It was hopeless. 

“Come on, I thought you were the hopeful one.” Rossi pointed out, tossing his empty paper coffee cup into a nearby trash can. 

“How can I be hopeful when one of my best friends is caught up in all this?” JJ fired back. “If she-” 

Before she could finish that thought, Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention. 

“Guys, I think we got the profile all wrong.” He announced, a look of worry knit into his features. “And - if I’m right, then I think I know where she is.” 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

You knew that it was cruel, but you couldn’t help but to enjoy his groans of pain. 

There had been so many others - so many monsters to take down. So many men that you had gotten rid of without a second thought. Men you had put bullets in that didn’t mean as much to you as this. So many others you had easily forgotten about. But he had taunted your soul in a special way. And you knew that you were enjoying this too much. 

“Tell me you like it!” 

You screamed, taking another downward swing with the piece of wood - a leg broken off from the chair he had bound you to. He had been convinced that you wouldn’t break free. Laughable. He should have known better.  

When he didn’t respond, you took another swing. 

You could have stopped. You could have ended it. But you didn’t. 

“Come on, tell me you like it!” 

You screamed in his face, sputtering blood across him. At one point, he had punched you in the mouth. You weren’t exactly sure where the blood was coming from. You didn’t exactly care.

That would be your excuse.  

He had hit you too. You were battered. You were just a fragile woman, after all. 

“You’re a fuckin’ crazy bitch.” He coughed, sputtering out some blood himself. “I… I always liked that about you. It was one of the reasons I fell in love.” 

He grinned - bright red spread out across his teeth, and it gave you the intense desire to see those teeth missing. To make him swallow them. 

“You don’t love me.” You told him firmly. “You just get an adrenaline rush from being around me because I’m not afraid of you.” You explained. “Unlike the other whores, I fight.” 

While you were preoccupied with the words, he flipped onto his stomach and began crawling across the floor. 

He thought you were too stupid to notice, but he was inching his way toward the hunting knife that had been thrown out of his hand during the scuffle. It was a slow, sluggish crawl. You had broken a few of his ribs, his kneecap. It was nice to see him so slow. You had probably severely damaged his internal organs with how hard you had been beating him with the makeshift baton. 

It was worse than last time. You stood above him like a menace - watching and waiting. You hated that you knew you would take an odd kind of joy in removing his hope when you stole the knife from his grip. 

Just as he grazed his fingers across it, you brought another harsh swing down across his achilles tendon, causing him to scream out in pain. 

You still had a lot of strength left in you. He was tiring out. 

He was losing the game. 

“Come on baby, tell me how you like it.” You continued to mock him. “Tell me how good I am.” 

“Fuck you.” He moaned out. 

You felt satisfaction bloom inside of you - those were the words. 

He had finally given up hope. He had finally realized that maybe: he wasn’t going to beat you. Maybe he wasn’t above you on the playing field anymore. He was fucking around with a fellow predator, not toying with his prey.  

“Oh baby. You know I’m only doing this because I love you.” You said, repeating his own words back to him in a cruel mockery. 

That was when he realized: this wasn’t just a lover’s spat. This was a culling. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Just Outside of Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:04AM.

Reid needed some air. 

Working on the case so diligently, not coming up with any leads. It was intensely difficult. Letting the balmy summer Southern air flow over him, getting a good gulp of the fresh air into his lungs - it was a bit more awakening than drinking his sixth cup of coffee for that day. 

He was surprised when he rounded a corner, trying to go for a short walk to stretch his legs, and he saw a very recognizable face hovering near a gray Honda. 

“Mrs. L/N?” He posed, approaching her gently. “It’s late. What are you doing here?”

JJ had promised to call her if there were any updates. Reid didn’t want to disappoint her by telling her that there were none. 

“It’s Miss L/N.” She said quietly. “I never married.” 

Reid nodded at this. “My apologies.” 

She looked deeply troubled. 

Reid waited patiently for her to reply to his initial question - for her to tell him whatever was burdening her. If he was lucky, it could help with the case. It was always the families who could help put those final puzzle pieces into place. That was something Gideon taught him, so he took it as sacred advice. 

“You’re Doctor Reid, aren’t you?” She posed, stepping forward to approach him slightly - still stiff, still stand-off-ish. He easily understood why. He nodded in response. “My daughter speaks very fondly of you.” 

Reid cracked a small smile at this. 

His attention was then brought to a small box - a shoe box as she held it out to him. 

“I don’t mean to bother you at this late hour, but… you said to let you know if I thought of anything that might help you.” She reminded him. He nodded again. “And I - well, the reason I didn’t bring these up the first time… you can understand that I have a need to protect my daughter?” 

“Of course.” He affirmed. “It’s every parent’s natural instinct to protect their child.” 

She looked solemn at his words. 

“I had no idea that… that what happened to her could potentially be connected to these… these murders in any possible way.” She told him, shuddering as the word passed through her lips. “I was just trying to shield her, you have to understand.” 

She handed him the shoebox, and when he took it and lifted off the lid, it took him only a moment to understand. He would need to find a quiet place to fully inspect the contents, but it was all being pieced together in his mind now. 

“Thank you for bringing me this.” He told her quietly. 

“Doctor Reid, you have to promise me that you’ll bring my daughter home unharmed.” She said, tears coming to her eyes. “She’s a good girl. Please, just bring her home.” 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t promise her that. Not under the circumstances. 

“Ma’am… I will try my best. That is all I can promise you.” He told her. 

She nodded in quiet understanding before Reid turned and marched back inside. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 11:03PM.

The flint of the lighter flicking seemed to be the loudest thing in the room in that moment - even with the low hum of the eleven o’clock news playing in the background. 

It was so odd. Everything was exactly like you remembered it. Withered - but the same. 

Even the chair you were sitting in. The old wooden chair that had been lugged up from the kitchen, one that you used to sit in for hours and do homework - it was rickety, but somehow the same. 

You took a sharp drag off the cigarette after it was lit for you, continuing to listen to the feminine voice on the radio as the news played. 

“I’m Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, and I’m speaking on behalf of the Madison Police Department. Tonight, we are making an urgent appeal to the public for information. Earlier this evening, a woman went missing in the area of-” 

“I never took you for a smoker.” He said, his voice sharp and confident in the words. 

You tapped your cigarette into the ashtray with your free hand before raising it up to your lips to take another drag. Right now, the smoke heavy in your lungs was the only thing keeping you sane. 

“I never smelled it on you back then.” He added on when you didn’t respond to him. “Bitches who smoke always smell like dirtbags. You just… smelled nice.” 

“I didn’t smoke back then.” You quietly replied. 

He had driven you to take up the habit. 

You took another drag of your cigarette - you wanted to enjoy it. The longer you could drag it out, literally, the longer you could delay the inevitable. 

“-The suspect was last seen driving a blue and white, 1970s Ford truck. If you see the vehicle, please-” 

“They’re lookin’ for ya.” He said casually, nodding toward the radio. 

You wished they weren’t. 

You directed the conversation elsewhere. 

“Tell me how this is gonna end.” You urged him quietly, ashing your cigarette again. 

“You and I both know… this was only ever gonna end one way.” He told you, his voice irritably cocky. 

He had you now. He had won. 

“-We believe that this abduction is connected to a string of recent murders in the area. It is critical that if you have any information, you call our tip line at-” 

He rose from his spot then, and turned off the radio. 

The silence was gutting. 

He moved toward the door, but you abruptly caught his attention. 

“Remember,” You told him. “You made me a promise.” You said quietly. “No more. No more girls.” 

He chuckled at this. “Of course, darlin’. No more.” 

It felt like a lie. 

“But only because I love you.” He gave a filthy grin along with these words, and your insides shuddered. 

You knew that he wasn’t actually capable of love. You had known that from the moment you first laid eyes on him. 

You didn’t bother to muster any words in return. 

He crossed the room back toward you and leaned down, planting a kiss on your forehead. Your body stiffened, entirely stony toward it. It was selfish on his part - loving on you like a doll, rather than trying to bring you any comfort. 

He moved back to the door silently. 

You worried about what would happen the moment he went out the door. He turned to you just before he left. 

“Don’t run off now.” He said with a wink. Ego. Sarcasm. 

“Where am I gonna go, Dan?” You sighed. 

You lifted your tethered hand up to drive the point home, and the clink of handcuffs was now apparent in the otherwise silent room. 

He shut the door with a chuckle. You put out your cigarette in the ashtray, reaching for the loose spoke in the back of the chair. This was a chair that you used to sit in for hours while studying. That loose spoke used to bug you all the time. 

It came free after only a few tugs. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. QuitTrip (Corner Store) - Madison, GA. 10:24PM.

The previously dark parking lot of the secluded, back country convenience store was now entirely lit up with red and blue. Four police cars had crowded into the area, surrounding the place where you had last been seen. 

Inside, under the harsh white fluorescent lights of the store, Hotchner and Prentiss were interviewing the store clerk - a young man who had supposedly been the last person to speak to you before the abduction. 

“So, you’re sure that you didn’t see anything?” Hotch pressed the young man - someone who seemed so entirely nervous under his harsh, unmoving gaze. 

“I swear, man, I didn’t see anything.” He said, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “She was parked in the back of the parking lot, and once you walk around the corner, there’s no way to see someone through the doors. It’s like - like a total blind spot, man.” 

“The UnSub had to have known that.” Hotch noted quietly, turning to Prentiss. “He approached her knowing that he wouldn’t be seen.” 

“Do you think he was waiting out there?” Prentiss wondered aloud. 

Then she turned back to the clerk. 

“Was there a man in here before she came in? He would have been in his 30s. Very cold, he wouldn’t have said anything. Just paid quietly and left. He might not have even bought anything - he might have just walked around, checking the blind spots. And if you asked him what he was looking for, he would have given you a glare rather than speaking. This man is not sociable. He’s very distant. He likely wouldn’t have looked you in the eye.” 

The clerk shook his head. 

“No, nobody like that.” He explained. “That lady - she was my first customer in, like, hours. She just bought her ciggies and left. And I thought it was weird cause she bought a lighter too. Most smokers already have a lighter on them.” 

“I didn’t know Y/N smoked.” Prentiss said quietly. 

“Me either.” Hotch confirmed. 

Hotch’s attention was captured by a screen behind the counter - surveillance feed, showing several different places inside the store. There was one camera just outside the door. If he wasn’t mistaken, that camera was pointed at that ‘blind spot’ in the parking lot. 

Without asking permission, he raised the partition and walked around the counter, his eyes hyper-focused on the screen. 

“Can you get me this footage from a few hours ago?” He prompted toward the clerk. “The view of the parking lot. We need to see what L/N did after she left the store.” 

The clerk nodded and began typing things onto the keyboard, and Hotch prompted him to stop when he saw you appear on the footage. Prentiss came around the counter as well, leaving the three of them crowded in close to the small screen as they watched the past version of you. 

You walked across the parking lot - toward your car, a cigarette hanging out of your mouth. You were making determined steps - until something stopped you. 

“The UnSub caught her attention.” Prentiss noted. 

Then - something entirely strange happened. While staring at the man off screen, you leaned against your car, and began ashing your cigarette, as if chatting idly with him. 

“He’s not using force.” Hotch thought aloud. “Do you think he’s got a gun trained on her?” 

“Maybe.” Prentiss hummed quietly. 

He was out of the frame, so it was only a guess. 

Then, after a few moments of this - you simply walked off. You walked in the direction he had been standing. 

“Did - did she just go with him willingly?” Prentiss gaped, entirely in shock. 

When she glanced over her shoulder, Hotch was gone. 

He stormed out into the parking lot, frantically gazing around. Prentiss followed him, chasing his chaotic energy. 

“Hotch!” She called out. “Hotch-!” 

“We need more camera angles! We need-” 

“Calm down.” She urged, grabbing him by the shoulders. 

“It just doesn’t make any sense.” He rasped. “Why would she go with him willingly? Why - why? Why would she?” He was frantic. “He must have threatened her. He must have-” 

They both didn’t want to think of the obvious. 

That you didn’t fear him. That - it hadn’t even been an abduction. 

“He must have threatened her.” Prentiss easily agreed. “She wouldn’t have gone with him otherwise.” 

They didn’t bring up the fact that you had a gun and plenty of training on how to use it. They didn’t bring up the fact that the profile said the UnSub couldn’t easily charm - he would have kidnapped you by force. 

Unless you were special. Unless he thought he could talk to you specifically for some reason. 

“Guys, what’s the news?” JJ asked, finally walking onto the scene. 

She hated the grave looks on Prentiss and Hotch’s faces. 

“I want you to put a press conference together.” Hotch said, straightening himself out and turning to her. “Make an appeal for witnesses. Tell them that there’s been a woman abducted in the area, but don’t tell them that L/N a Federal Agent. It could set the UnSub off if he believes that this abduction is being treated with a higher priority. If he feels a higher pressure from law enforcement, he might-” 

“Right.” JJ nodded. Hotch didn’t need to say the words in order for her to understand. “So: release her name and her photo, but act like she’s just a regular civilian?” 

Hotch nodded. “Exactly.” 

“If I get going now, I think I could still make the eleven o’clock news.” JJ said, rushing off with her cell pressed to her ear. 

“Let’s just hope that it brings Y/N home safely.” 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. QuitTrip (Corner Store) - Madison, GA. 8:03PM.

You felt an odd amount of relief having nicotine in your system again. 

This was the first time you had smoked a cigarette in years. You had quit the habit shortly after you joined the FBI Academy when one of your advisers warned you that it might cause you to fail the fitness test. And you felt like you should just knock the habit, seeing as the only reason you had taken it up was because of… him. 

But - all of this was so triggering. Being back in your same small shitty town. Feeling it suffocating you like a plastic bag. 

The murders. 

You sucked on the cigarette for dear life as you walked back to your car, and just as you were about to get in - the windows of the car open, inviting in the sweet summer air, the keys still inside because you did feel an odd amount of trust in your hometown - something captured your attention. 

“Y/N.” 

Hearing your name in that voice made you freeze on the spot. The warm breeze felt like ice against your skin as you took your hand off the door handle, turning toward him. 

“You’re lookin’ gorgeous as ever, darlin’.” 

“You.” You ground out the word with as much disdain as possible, hot rage boiling in your blood as you looked at him. “I should have known it was you.” 

He let out a sharp chuckle - a sound that made your throat tighten up. He flicked his tongue out across his teeth, grinning his terrible Cheshire grin at you. 

A hand instinctively went for your gun, and your palm hit an empty section of your belt. He let out another sharp chuckle when his eyes followed yours, making the same realization that you did. 

You had left it sitting on the passenger’s seat of the car. Right beside your phone. 

You wondered if you could dive through the open window before he could get to you. When he made a posturing move, brushing his unbuttoned plaid shirt away and revealing the gun he had strapped to his belt underneath - you realized he would shoot you if you moved too quickly. 

You were stuck. 

“Of course it’s me, baby.” He said, casually replying to your earlier words. “You had to know that I did all this for you. For us.” 

Giving into your fate, you propped yourself against the side of the car - trying desperately to steady your wobbling legs without making it look like you were doing so. You tapped your cigarette, spilling some of the ash before you brought it to your lips once again. 

“I missed you like hell.” He told you with a snakeskin grin. 

“I didn’t miss you.” You bitterly fired back. “Not for a fucking second.” 

“Guess I made it difficult to miss me, huh?” He said, cocky as ever. “With my frequent correspondence and all?” 

“You know what I meant.” You fired back.

You glared at him sharply but didn’t say anything more, afraid that he would whip the gun out and shoot you. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, something that sounded utterly sarcastic. 

“Ooh, darlin’ that’s harsh.” He said. “That would almost hurt. If I didn’t know the truth.” 

You wanted to argue. You took in another large drag to help hold your tongue. You knew the results of arguing with him - it wasn’t worth it. 

“So… I think you know how this goes.” He announced. “You can come with me now. Or… I can go get another girl.” 

“No more girls.” You told him. “I’m here now. You won. Whatever business you have - it’s with me.” 

You stamped out your cigarette as you walked toward him, and your phone began to ring on the front seat as his truck rumbled to life and pulled out of the parking lot. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 7:26PM.

“Hello! Everyone, listen up.” Hotch called everyone to attention as the local police continued to filter in, most of them standing around with cups of coffee in hand or notebooks out, ready to take notes. “We’re ready to give the profile.” 

“Yes, and please keep in mind that this is just a general set of guidelines describing the suspect.” Rossi said. “This is not a concrete list of things you should be looking for. A profile is more useful in the elimination of suspects, rather than the inclusion of them.” 

He then turned to Derek, who began reciting the profile that the team had put together so far. 

“This UnSub, or Unknown Subject, is most likely a white male in his thirties to forties.” Morgan explained. “He drives an American made vehicle, something large enough to conceal and transport victims, and something that has off-road capability in order to get to the more secluded areas where some of the bodies were found. So think trucks, heavy duty vans, anything with thick treads on the tires and a large payload. And his vehicle will most likely be in a more discreet color. This guy won’t be driving around in something flashy. He’ll be in something that blends into the background, like a beige or black truck.” 

“So what?” One of the local cops piped up. “We put out an APB for every single heavy duty black truck in the area? This is the south, do you have any idea how many people around here drive a truck? Especially ones driven by men in their forties.” 

“There’s more.” Hotch noted, looking toward you. 

“This UnSub likely believes that he is dating these women in some capacity before he kills them.” You explained. “He has left scraps of poetry at the scenes, pages of romance novels - several of the victims had wine in their stomachs or burns from candle wax on their skin. And it’s highly likely that he turns violent when the women reject his advances, or don’t live up to the fictionalized relationship he has made up about them in his mind.” 

“How does that help us?” Someone asked. 

“Well, it’s very likely that he frequents the same hunting grounds.” Rossi explained. “We encourage you to go to local bars, and nightclubs, even gyms or cafes and pass out the profile to women who fit this type.” He said, motioning toward the pictures of the other victims. “He will be on the hunt again soon, and he has a very narrow hunting ground, living in such a lowly populated area. So we might be able to catch him off guard if his potential victims have the profile as well.” 

“This man is romantic, but he’s not charming.” You added on. “He isn’t sociable. He’s very cocky, very self-centered. He believes that he is God’s gift to women, and he has a very fractured sense of reality in general. If women reject him in everyday interactions, he will get noticeably irritated, and even violent. So he will be remembered as an unpleasant person in most women’s stories.” 

“This UnSub most likely has an inside knowledge of law enforcement.” Reid stated. “But, because he has a very antisocial personality, he wouldn’t do well working with the public. We currently have our analyst combing through files of those who flunked out of the police academy or live in the area and are retired from the military in some capacity. We believe that he might have even been in prison for an unrelated crime or institutionalized at some point, giving him a close look at the inner workings of law enforcement, and also attributing to the large break between the first two crimes.” 

Reid took a breath, and then continued on. 

“He was knowledgeable enough to purposefully dump one of the bodies across state lines in order to get the FBI involved in this case, but it was just one of the bodies, and it was dumped in a very well trackied area where it would be found. So that leaves a heavy insistence that he was fed-up with the local police not giving his case enough attention or - simply not being smart enough to keep up with him.” He explained. 

“He is very cocky.” Prentiss added on. “Incredibly over-confident. He is a narcissist to his core, and he believes that he will never be caught unless he wants to be. He thinks that he has an intricate cat-and-mouse game with law enforcement, and he can go off the grid and disappear at any time that he wants.” 

“Well… isn’t that true?” One of the cops asked. “I mean, the guy’s been at it for years and we still haven’t caught him. There’s no DNA, no real leads.” 

Hotch hummed, nodding. And then he walked over to the evidence board and motioned to the pictures of the two most recent victims - barely recognizable compared to the shining, smiling photos their families had provided. 

“We believe that he’s decompensating.” Hotch explained. “He is growing more violent toward each victim, which means that he is getting more sloppy - eventually, he will go off-book. He will break his routine in some way, and that will be the moment he’ll give us something to catch him with.” 

“So… you’re just waiting for him to kill again so you can actually catch the guy?” Someone asked sharply. 

“No.” You easily replied. “We’re praying it doesn’t come to that.” 

“Thank you everyone.” Hotch said, clearing his throat, giving an unconscious signal for everyone to disperse. “That’ll be all for now.” 

Everyone easily fell under his authority, and meandered back to what they had been doing before, now armed with the profile and ready to distribute it to members of the public, to the potential victims. 

You had a harshly, sickly feeling in your stomach as you gathered some of your files. It was the same feeling that had been turning your guts into knots since you had arrived back in Madison for the first time in years. Your eye accidentally caught the evidence board - the tall, intimidating wall lined with the gruesome photos of all the women. 

Women who looked strangely like you. Same hair color, same skin tone, same body type. All of them horribly brutalized and left for dead. All of them terrorized, tortured right up until their last moments.  

“Hey.” 

JJ’s voice snapped you out of your swirling dark cloud of thoughts, drawing your eyes away from the evidence board with a gentle hand on your upper arm. You huffed out a harsh breath as you let her guide you, turning around to face the blonde woman as she stared you down with a distinct look of concern knit across her features. 

“Are you okay?” She asked. “I’ve never seen you like this.” 

She had a point. You had been doing this job for some time. You had gone to the FBI Academy straight out of college, after getting a degree in criminal forensics. And none of it ever bothered you. You had learned about the study of blood spatter and the decomposition of bodies on live body farms, and you never flinched. 

But this case - it was getting to you. 

It was likely the first time anybody on the team had ever seen you so disturbed. 

“I’m fine.” You lied, trying to shrug off her touch. 

“Come on.” JJ sighed in return. “I don’t need to be a profiler to figure out that was a big fat lie.” 

You rolled your eyes at this. 

“You’re so brilliant.” You let out a sigh of your own, and put down your files on the nearby conference room table. You stretched out your back, deciding that you would give her an inch, hoping that she wouldn’t take a mile. “I’m freaked out. So what? Doesn’t everybody have room for a bad day?” 

“Of course.” She nodded. “Of course, you can have a bad day.” Her lips pursed, and you knew there was more coming. “Is - is it anything more than that?” 

“I’m tired.” You lied again, hoping she wouldn’t call you out on it this time. “It’s been - what? More than twenty hours since we landed. For these guys it’s been years, searching for this bastard. I wanna catch him.” 

“We will.” JJ assured you, sounding rather dull in her declaration. 

“I’m gonna drive down the street and grab an energy drink or something.” You announced, grabbing your blazer off a nearby chair and putting it on. Not that you would need a jacket with the southern weather - but your cash and your keys were in the pockets. 

“I thought you quit Redbull.” She chuckled. 

“It’s been one of those days.” You replied, shaking your head as you walked out of the room. 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 5:13PM.

“There’s still one thing that’s buggin’ the hell out of me.” Morgan announced as he walked back into the room with a fresh cup of coffee in hand. 

“That is?” You posed, looking up from the stack of personal files - potential suspects - that you were reading in order to engage him in the conversation. 

“What is with the two year hiatus from this guy?” He said, motioning to the board. 

The first victim had been abducted and killed all the way back in the summer of ‘99, but none of the other victims matched up until a missing person from September of 2001. And from there, the killings picked up in frequency - and the killer had taken over twenty six victims in and around Madison up until now. 

“It is weird.” You commented. “Usually after the first kill is when an UnSub is the most hungry for more. After that first taste for violence.” 

Morgan raised a brow at your strange choice of words and you shrugged it off. 

“Maybe he was hospitalized.” Reid said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to make this comment, studying the board with his own intense expression. “Institutionalized? Maybe he was arrested for something completely unrelated, like - drugs, outstanding traffic violations?” 

“That’s helpful.” You sighed. 

“It could be.” Reid replied, sipping his own coffee. “I mean, we theorized that this UnSub has pre-existing knowledge of law enforcement - if he was in prison, maybe he was reading up on the law while he was in there? Who has closer knowledge of the law than ex-cons?” 

“Good point.” Morgan nodded. “I’ll call Garcia and have her widen the search.” 

“She is gonna love that.” You mumbled under your breath, already frustrated with the large pile of potential suspects you had to go through. 

Morgan took out his cell and walked into the other room, and you heard a distant ‘hey mama!’ as he chirped to Garcia on the other end. 

Then, you heard another voice that was all too familiar to you. 

“See, you’ve all just been working so hard, I thought you could use some sustenance!” 

It was your mother. 

You rushed out of your seat to find her in the middle of the bullpen, handing out muffins from a large basket that she had in her hand. 

It wasn’t entirely surprising to you, but it made your stomach sink. She was too much of a social butterfly for your liking. She knew about the last time you had been in this police station, she talked too much. No. You couldn’t risk her telling anyone. 

“See, that one’s blueberry, you like blueberry?” She was chatting idly, being her usual overly social self. 

“Yes, thank you so much Ms. L/N,” Prentiss smiled as your mother pushed more food into her hands. 

“Oh please, call me-” 

You knew that you must have looked like a storm, walking toward her with a scowl on your face. 

“Ma!” You barked, much harsher than you meant to, causing her to look up at you abruptly. “Ma? What are you doing here?” 

“Well see, you’ve been here all day, and you’ve been working so hard, so I made dinner for you and your friends,” She grinned, motioning toward a large tinfoil tray filled with mac and cheese that she had placed onto one of the desks next to a stack of paper plates and plastic forks. Naturally, a chunk of it was already missing. 

You wanted to scream when Reid walked over and began scooping out a portion for himself. 

“Ma, they’re not my friends, they’re my co-workers.” You said, exasperation ripe in your voice. 

You knew that this, too, ended up sounding much harsher than you had intended. As if you didn’t think of these people as friends. But you couldn’t stand the woman babying you. It’s not like she did much of that when you were an actual baby. 

“I’m an adult now, and-” You continued on, and she cut you off. 

“Oh yes, yes.” She nodded, reaching out to pinch your cheek in an utterly frustrating way. “Your co-workers.” 

“Please, Ma.” You sighed. “You can’t be here right now. This is a police station, not a bake sale.” 

“She can stay for a few minutes, can’t she?” Prentiss grinned, peeling the wrapper off her muffin. “We can take a break for dinner. I wanna hear some childhood stories about you.” 

Reid looked up eagerly at this, and you glared at both of them. 

“Oh, you should hear about the time she painted her face blue with the paint from-” Your mother began to tell a delightful embarrassing story, but you cut her off. 

“No.” You said sharply. “I’m sorry, but we have work to do. Important work. Once we actually catch the guy, I’ll bring everyone by the house for tea and cookies and you can show everyone my naked baby pictures, the whole nine yards. Just - not now.” 

You unceremoniously ripped the basket of muffins out of her hands and placed them on the desk beside the tray of mac and cheese, and she began to argue with you, calling you rude, telling you that she had raised you with better manners while you ushered her out the door. 

Prentiss and Reid exchanged a particular, concerned look as they watched you and your mother argue through the glass doors of the precinct. 

“Now what do you think that was all about?” Emily asked quietly. 

“For once, I have no idea.” Spencer mumbled in return. 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Georgia Highway 72 - Madison, GA. 1:32PM.

“This is new.” Morgan noted as the two of you walked away from the SVU, approaching the dumpsite where the latest victim’s body had been found. “This guy doesn’t usually dump bodies out in the open. You think he was in a rush?” 

The two of you had been sent to check it out while Hotch and Prentiss spoke to the family, and the others went over evidence from the many pre-existing cases at the station. 

“Not likely.” You replied. “Preliminary report says there’s still no DNA, no skid marks from his tires, no shoe prints. He’s not getting sloppy.” You felt a sickly wave of vomit splash up as you looked at the woman - her ankles sticking out of the tall grass just off the edge of the highway, where she had been left, entirely visible for anybody passing by to see. “This was a present. Like a fuckin’ cat leaving a dead mouse on the porch. He wanted us to find her. And he wanted us to find her quickly.” 

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Morgan noted, tentatively stepping into the grass and gently moving the long spokes of greenery back to get a better look at the victim. “He’s definitely escalating.” 

You crouched down to get a better look yourself, and you had to agree. 

Her face was almost entirely caved in, but it appeared to be from a series of blunt hits, and not from a singular swing with a heavy object. Between the pre-mortem swelling and the post-mortem rage, where he had continued to mutilate her even after her death, she was practically unrecognizable from the photo that her family had provided you with. The only reason the team had been able to confirm her identity for sure was that she had been reported missing, and she had been found wearing a unique custom charm bracelet that her parents could confirm belonged to her. 

You wished that you could guarantee they would never see her body in this state. 

“What’s that?” Morgan wondered aloud. 

You hummed back in confusion. 

Before you could wonder any further about what he meant, he reached out and gently pried open the victim’s mouth, fishing out a small piece of plastic that he had seen sticking out from the corner of her swollen, bruised lips. He had to fight to get it out of her stiff, death rigored body, but when he was able to - a small plastic bag came out of her mouth. 

A small plastic bag containing a piece of white paper. 

“What the hell?” Morgan mumbled quietly. 

Naturally, he opened the bag and took out the paper, and you looked on with nervous curiosity as he read what was on the note. 

“You are the stars hidden by clouds.” He read aloud. “I know you’re there even when I can’t see you. Your shine peeks out and reaches me in the depths of my soul. Tell me your arms are long enough to reach me across oceans. Tell me someday we will be together, somehow, some way. Tell me that this love we have can survive being together as well as we’ve survived being apart. Tell me we are more than the chasm of our divide.” 

Bile splashed up in your throat. 

You hated that the quote was distinctly familiar to you. You hated how you knew it. 

You could still hear his voice in your head, and it made your bones quake. 

“Hmm.” Morgan looked over the paper thoughtfully. “It’s another page ripped out of a book. Just like the other one. I’ll call Garcia and have her look it up, maybe-” 

“You don’t have to.” You said, hoping that your throat wasn’t too painfully constricted around your words. “It’s Jacqueline Simon Gunn.” 

Morgan easily saw the haunted look behind your eyes - the years old terror that you were having a much harder time suppressing now. 

Oddly enough, it was a feeling that he knew well. Perhaps that’s why he saw it in you so easily. 

“You alright?” He bothered to ask, even though he knew the answer was ‘no’. 

“I’m fine.” You lied. “We should bring this back to everyone else.” 

You rushed away from the crime scene like a bat out of hell, and even though he knew he should have pressed further - he let you. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 10:08AM.

“Good morning, y’all.” 

The BAU was greeted by Chief Dalton, the Madison County Chief of Police, as you all filed into the small police department. 

“You can set up in the conference room over there, I hope we got y’all everything you need.” He said, flashing a warm, welcoming smile. 

“This looks fine, thank you.” JJ said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, this is Doctor Spencer Reid,” She pointed to him, and he nodded in return - of course, rather than shaking hands. “This is Special Agent Emily Prentiss, Agent Rossi, and Agent L/N. Our Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner and Special Agent Morgan will be here later - they wanted to go and interview some of the families of the victims, get some more background information.” 

“L/N?” He motioned toward you, his eyes becoming fixated on you as you set down your bag and lifted one of the lids off the boxes to get a glance at some of the files. “That name sounds awful familiar to me - are you from Madison?” 

“Oh yes, I am,” You grinned at him, stepping forward and giving him a handshake, to which he grinned back widely. “I grew up here. This is actually my first time back in years.” 

“Well, welcome home.” He said. “I wish it was under better circumstances.” 

“Me too.” You easily agreed. 

You thought that would be the end of it, until: 

“You know I hardly recognized you. Such a pretty face, but the last time I saw you, you was beat to a darn pulp.” He remarked, giving a pained chuckle. 

Your stomach swelled with anxiety, and it felt like a pure balloon of concrete sitting inside of you. You felt all the eyes in the room on you - Rossi, JJ, Emily, Spencer - all of them staring you down as this man aired your dirty laundry like it was as casual as the weather report. 

“You came through here - what was it, the summer of ‘99? I’ll never forget that assault report. I’m surprised you can still see out of that right eye of yours, with the way-” 

“Coffee?” You cut him off when you managed to find your voice, rushing to change the subject and praying he would get the hint. “Where can I get a coffee around here? Long flight. And we’ve had an early morning. Long flight, going over the case.” 

You didn’t even realize you were tripping over your own words, repeating yourself in a rush to fill the air so he wouldn’t speak about the past anymore. 

“Oh, it’s right through there. In the break room.” He said, motioning vaguely behind him. 

“Would you mind showing me, please?” 

You knew it was cowardly, but you were now desperate to escape your colleagues, and wanted to drag the Chief away before he spilled anything else from his loose lips. 

He escorted you out of the room and it was only a mere moment before conversation ensued about the strange thing that had just happened. 

“Am I gonna be the first person to say ‘what the hell’?” Rossi asked, looking around to his teammates, who all had equally shocked and confused expressions. 

“It’s a small town. These people don’t exactly understand secrecy. Or tact.” JJ sighed. 

“Yeah, but why would Y/N keep that a secret from us?” Spencer asked, frowning. “If she was assaulted-” 

“Yeah, in the summer of ‘99.” Emily pressed. “That was a long time ago. Have you told everyone on the team every little detail about your life from ten years ago?” 

“Eight years.” Spencer easily corrected her. 

“Whatever.” Emily rolled her eyes. “We’re not here to profile her. We’re here to catch another scumbag and leave.” 

There seemed to be a resounding nod at this.

“If she wants to tell us about what happened, she will.” Rossi added on.  

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Outskirts of Madison - Madison, GA. 9:52AM.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” 

He had a perfect view of you through the scope of his gun. 

Of course, he would never hurt you. There was no bullet in that gun that was intended for you. This was just the perfect way to see you. Up close and personal. Just the way he liked it. 

This was the first time he had seen you in so long. You wore your makeup differently now - your hair was a bit different. But you were still his girl. 

“You’re gonna love the present I left for ya.” 

You spoke his language - violence. 

You wrote your life in blood, just like he did. 

You were perfect. His perfect girl. 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Inside the BAU Jet - Somewhere Above America. 7:12AM.

“So, the ME dates eight of these victims from within the last year alone?” Prentiss questioned, looking over some of the files on the table in front of her. 

“Well, it’s difficult to tell with the soil erosion and the heavy rain that the area had recently, but they are significantly less decomposed than the others.” JJ explained. 

“What I don’t understand,” Morgan noted. “Why would he give up his gig now? I mean, twenty four victims in a mass grave in the middle of the woods, and he leaves a twenty-fifth victim in the middle of the road, clearly intending for police to find it. With a damn note attached, giving up the exact coordinates of his mass dumpsite. Why?”

“It is strange.” Reid agreed. “Typically, whenever killers have contact with the police, it is to taunt them for their inability to get caught, believing that the police are stupid and they as killers are invincible.” He said. Naturally, this rolled into a rant as more facts came to mind about the subject. 

“Serial killer Dennis Rader, also known as the BTK killer, standing for Blind, Torture, Kill - he taunted police with letters over a period of three decades, between 1974 and 1991, each one that he sent to the local police simply saying ‘good luck hunting’.” Reid explained. “Occasionally, he would send them graphic descriptions of how he had posed the bodies at each crime scene. And he was only caught when a floppy disc he sent to a local television station was traced back to a computer that he had used at his church.” 

Reid laughed at this revelation, finding it amusing. With all eyes staring at him, he reached the realization that this wasn’t helpful to the case at hand - and then he easily clammed up. 

“So, this UnSub gives up the dumpsite because… he’s feeling remorseful? He wants to get caught?” Rossi theorized. 

“The level of violence across these recent victims has no indication of remorse.” You replied. “One of the bodies found at the dumpsite was missing over half her teeth, and had all ten of her fingers broken in multiple places. Seemingly pre-mortem.” 

There was a heavy silence at this. 

“Perhaps he’s feeling ignored,” Hotch posed. “He feels like his crimes aren’t being well covered by the media and he wants glory. He finally wants recognition for what he’s done.” 

“Well, wouldn’t he have sent some kind of manifesto or another letter to the police?” Morgan posed. “And it seems like the guy went through a whole lot of trouble for a long time, trying not to get caught. He buried them out in the woods, secluded. Wrapped them in plastic, scrubbed the bodies clean so there’s absolutely no DNA. Doesn’t seem like someone looking for glory to me.”  

“Not to mention that he wrote the coordinates for the dumpsite on the back of a page ripped out of a novel.” Rossi said, squinting down at one of the files - a close up forensic photo that had been sent over by the local police department. 

Prentiss held out her hand, and Rossi handed over the photo, and then she began reading the words off the page aloud. 

“-I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy, but-” 

“-but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.” You finished the quote before she could, the words flashing through your mind with a sickly twist in your gut. It was all too familiar to you, in the worst way. “It’s Sense and Sensibility. Jane Austin.” 

Everyone fixated on you with a strange gaze, wondering how you knew this off the top of your head. Especially when usually this would only be something that Reid would be able to recite so perfectly by heart. 

“Maybe he thinks that he’s romancing these women?” Prentiss theorized, trying to move on from the strange moment. 

“That’s plausible.” Hotch agreed. “When we land, Morgan and I will go interview some of the families. JJ, get us their contacts. I want to know if any of these women had problems with an ex boyfriend or even a bad date whom they rejected. It could be someone they once viewed as a potential romantic partner that went horribly wrong.” 

JJ nodded at this, going to look through her files for the information. 

“This level of torture - it’s likely a substitute for sexual gratification.” Morgan theorized, looking at the crime scene photos one again. “Maybe he is romancing these women, but in his mind, this is the ultimate form of romance? Having all of his conquests together in death - it’s a declaration of what a casanova he is. In his fractured world.” 

“It still doesn’t explain why he gave up the dumpsite to the police.” Prentiss argued. 

“Men like to brag about their sexual exploits.” Rossi said, nodding toward Morgan. “If these women are his conquests, in his mind, then he wants his manliness, his accomplishments, to be appreciated by other men.” 

Prentiss sharply rolled her eyes at this. 

“Well, at least we know our UnSub’s not a woman.” She remarked sharply. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. BAU Offices (FBI Headquarters) - Quantico, Virginia. 6:15AM.

JJ stood at the front of the room, ready to present the newest case to everyone. 

“Last night, a body was discovered on the backroads of South Carolina, about five miles outside of the town of Delph. She was found naked, mutilated. Heavy bruising all over her body that insinuates the killer kept her and tortured her for days. Final cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma from multiple hits to the head, but she also had several shallow stab wounds across her body, seemingly from some kind of hunting knife with a rough blade.” 

JJ explained, beginning to present the case as she clicked the small remote, causing images of the crime scene to pop up on the large screen in the room. 

“The victim - now identified as Ashley Prembrooke, hadn’t even been reported missing. She left her parents house in Madison, Georgia, about three days ago to drive back to her dorm at the University of South Carolina. When she didn’t show up on time, her roommate assumed that she was staying at home for a few extra days. Her father has cancer, so she wanted to be there for him.” 

There seemed to be a particularly dark aura in the room at this news. 

“Did the killer know that she wouldn’t be reported missing, or did he just snatch her up by chance?” Morgan asked. 

“Her car was found abandoned at a rest stop a few miles from the border of Georgia.” JJ explained. “So… it seems to be random.” 

“Well, I hate to ask this,” Rossi said. “But why are we being called out for just one body?” 

“That’s the thing.” JJ sighed. 

She clicked the clicker again, and several close-up photos appeared. Photos of the victim’s mutilated body - among the harsh bruising on her torso, there was a piece of white paper, partially stained with blood. It had been folded and stapled into her flesh. 

“The victim was found with this page… stapled into her skin.” JJ said, clearly finding the words disturbing to speak aloud. “Written on the back, was a set of coordinates. Local police discovered that these coordinates lead to a random patch of woods, about ten miles outside of Madison, Georgia.” 

JJ queued more pictures onto the screen. It was those very woods - overturned dirt. And more than a dozen bodies, wrapped in plastic among the soil. 

“It was the site of a mass grave with twenty-four other victims - all women around the same age, with the most recent ones all having the same body type, the same hair color, same general makeup as Ashley Prembrooke.” 

“He has a type.” Hotch stated the obvious. 

“And for some reason, he tipped the police off to his hiding place.” JJ reminded them all. 

“Twenty four victims?” Prentiss questioned, clearly shocked by this number. 

“That’s what they’ve found so far. The decomposition on some of the bodies seems to go back as far as a decade, but it’s difficult to date them exactly.” JJ replied. 

“So… the guy is experienced, hasn’t been caught in years, and he hands over his honey pot to the cops? Is he trying to get caught? Is he feeling guilty?” Rossi posed. 

“No, not with that level of violence. There’s no remorse there.” Morgan replied. 

“He dumped Ashley Prembrooke over state lines. We could be looking at somebody with an incredibly wide hunting ground who gave up one of many dumpsites as a way to taunt police.” Hotch theorized. 

“That doesn’t seem to be the case.” JJ explained. “So far, eight of the most recent victims have been matched up with missing persons reports, all of them women from Madison. All within the last year alone. It seems like he targeted Ashley because she was from Madison - that’s his comfort zone.” 

When the pictures of the missing women - now confirmed dead, murdered violently, popped up on screen, your throat tightened. 

You had known at least two of them. You had gone to school with them. You had seen them cheer proudly at high school pep rallies - you had known them lively and bright. And now they were bones rotting in the soil, taken by some monster. 

Beyond that, there was an alarming trend. 

They looked like you. You couldn’t deny that. Same hair color, same body type, same skin tone. 

And they were from your hometown. 

Between this, and the letter, the morning was getting to be too much for you. You wanted to believe it was all a series of terrible coincidences, but… 

Looking across the roundtable at you, Reid was the only one who saw that sickly look come over your face. He was desperate to know what was troubling you. 

“Reid?” Hotch got his attention, finding it strange that the overly talkative man was quiet this morning. “You’ll work the geographical profile?” 

“Yes.” Reid nodded, finally taking his eyes off you. “It’s unusual for the killer to hunt wider than a five hundred mile radius from home. So it’s likely that he lives, works, and operates all within Madison.” 

“Good. We could be looking at a copy-cat who knew about the previous killer’s dumpsite, or… something else entirely. But we need to get on the ground there and find out.” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.” 

Everyone dispersed from the table when Hotch finalized with this, and you found yourself much dizzier than you realized as you tried to stand. As everyone moved to their desks to gather their things, you moved to the counter to get a coffee - hoping to calm your nerves. 

“Y/N.” 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Reid’s voice came from behind you - your own blood was pumping in your ears, and seemingly, he had snuck up behind you. But his usually quiet footsteps simply couldn’t be heard beyond the nagging thump of your own anxiety. 

“What?” You barked back, knowing it was far too harsh. 

“Are - are you alright?” He asked, hesitant to bother you with the question. 

“I’m fine.” You lied as you dumped the sugar packets into your cup, your shaking hands accidentally spilling some across the counter top. 

“Are you sure?” Reid pressed. 

You let out a heavy sigh and turned to face him, crossing your arms heavily over your chest. 

“What?” You said the word again, sternly, glaring at him. 

All he did was give you a soft, understanding expression in return. 

You hated it. 

You hated how he was so open - it was almost horrifying, how you could have easily told him what was bothering you. 

Sweet, accepting, understanding Reid. 

If you told him the truth, he probably would have told you some statistic that he found comforting. It would have been sweet, coming from him. But then, he would have been looking at you with those eyes all damn day, holding pity in his heart and not truly focusing on the work that needed to get done. 

“Can you look at the shit we see every single day and always be okay with it?” 

You easily made up an excuse, pretending you were rattled by the crime scene photos, even though this murder was no more graphic in nature than any other you had been subjected to seeing recently. 

“I’m human. So what?” 

Reid studied your face carefully. He saw guilt dancing in your eyes - the way you gently bit your lip was your tell for lying, that much he knew from playing many rounds of poker with you on the plane rides home. 

But he felt that simply nagging you more wouldn’t get the truth out of you. Not right now. 

“Okay.” He acquiesced. “I know it’s hard. If you ever need someone to talk to-” 

You stormed off, accidentally slamming into his shoulder on the way along in your haste to escape the conversion. Reid heavily eyed the cup of coffee that you had left cooling on the counter before he turned and left himself. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. BAU Offices (FBI Headquarters) - Quantico, Virginia. 6:04AM.

You walked into the bullpen with your bag on your arm, sipping a strong coffee in a travel mug you had brought from home. 

“You look tired.” Emily commented as you walked over to your desk. “Late night?” 

You moaned in reply, not yet ready to let go of nursing your coffee mug, taking a few more long gulps as you took the strap of your bag off your shoulder and slung it into your chair. 

“Last night, the fire alarm in my building went off at 3am.” You told her, finally surrendering the mug and putting it down on your desk. “I was out of bed in a panic, barely awake, went into the hallway to evacuate - and the sprinklers had gone off. So I ended up standing outside for more than an hour in my little jammies, soaking wet, and it turns out - some teenager from the third floor pulled the alarm because he was having an argument with his mom. He didn’t want to go to summer school.” 

“Yikes.” Derek commented. “Well, you know, if you ever need a calm, cozy place to sleep, you can always give me a call. And you can bring your little jammies.” He told you with a wink. You rolled your eyes, knowing that flirting was his default. “As long as you don’t mind Clooney licking at your toes in the mornin’.” 

That almost made it sound more appealing. You did love that dog. 

“You know, a study was done at the University of New Hampshire that concluded that twenty to thirty minute windows of sleep actually optimize the human brain for functionality the most.” Spencer added on, leaning back in his chair at his desk as he explained this. 

“The schedule of a ten to twelve hour work day, followed by an eight hour sleep period has only been instituted in society as a commonality since the industrial revolution. And it doesn’t actually flow with how the human brain has been optimized by evolution. Before that, most people optimized their lives around a wake-sleep period of three to four hours, taking care of chores in the morning, participating in a midday nap, and then socializing in the evening and partaking in community events before sleeping again in the evening. And most communities functioned around people sleeping and waking at vastly different times rather than everyone having one collective morning routine.” He concluded, giving you a smile. 

You found his rambling fascinating, but you found it ironic that you could barely process half of what he had said - because you were too tired. 

“Well, unfortunately we can’t all live in villages and pick berries for a living.” Emily remarked with a yawn. 

The conversation shifted when Penelope walked in, and gave you a bright smile. 

“Good morning, pretty girl.” She greeted you. 

“Mornin’, Penny G.” You replied.

“This arrived on the mailcart for you, postmarked from a few days ago, stamped express. I figured you’d want to have eyes on it as soon as possible.” She told you, handing you a very average looking white envelope. 

You weren’t sure why, but it invoked a strange feeling in your gut. 

The moment that you saw the handwriting on your front - the script that made up your name. 

The way he had written it. 

Bile rose up in your throat, and you forced yourself to swallow it back down. All eyes in the room immediately knew that something was wrong. 

“What is it?” Emily asked. 

“Nothing.” You quickly replied. 

You didn’t even want to open it, but bitter curiosity was eating at you. 

How the hell had he found your work address? He knew where you worked now? 

“I’m gonna - bathroom.” You mumbled an excuse as you rushed back out of the room again, practically fleeing toward the bathroom, leaving all eyes on your shadow. 

In particular, Spencer’s eyes followed you hard as you retreated. He wondered how a simple letter could upset you so much. 

You secluded yourself safely in a locked stall, your heart thumping in your chest as you began to tear into the letter. The envelope turned to sinew in your hands with your anxious inability to open it properly. In a few moments, you pulled out the piece of paper with a shaking hand, and dropped the shredded envelope onto the floor. 

You barely managed to read its contents through tearful eyes. 

Lover, 

Fate has sent us on such different paths, but I will be with you again soon. 

I still miss you every single day. I remember your smell. 

I know none of the men you have spent your recent years with can measure up to me, which is why I have set you on the path back to me. 

“I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but like everybody else, it must be in my own way.” 

-Daniel 

Your chest caved in when you realized that there was something taped to the corner of the page. 

You recognized the piece of dark cloth in an instant. 

It was from that night. He had kept it. 

You couldn’t keep the bile down that time. You turned to the toilet and puked up a horrible swirl of black coffee and half a toaster waffle that you had scarfed down while getting dressed for work. 

When you had just barely caught your breath, you heard the door to the bathroom creak open. 

“Y/N?” Emily called out your name. “Are you in here?” 

You didn’t answer. 

Instead, you heaved a large glob of putrid spit into the toilet and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, her voice now coming from right outside the stall you were in. 

“I’m fine.” You handed out that lie, not knowing how many times in the next day you were going to be saying it. 

“You don’t sound fine.” Emily told you. “I thought I heard you throwing up.” 

“Bad sushi.” You lied. “Stopped by the corner store on my way home. You know I never cook. Food poisoning is usually 50/50 with that kind of shit. Just another thing to add to my great night, right?” 

You let out a sour, sarcastic chuckle, but Emily didn’t follow suit. 

You knew that you would have to face her sooner or later, so you wiped your mouth again and then turned and unlocked the stall door. 

“I’ll be fine.” You told her, throwing her a very fake smile. 

“Yeah.” She said, tone flat, entirely disbelieving. “Would it have anything to do with that?” 

She motioned to the letter, which you had almost forgotten was crumbled up in your fist. 

“Can I see?” 

You didn’t even consider how suspicious it would be, but as her hand moved toward the paper, you ripped it up and tossed it into the toilet, grabbing the envelope up off the floor and tossing it into the mess of paper and vomit as well before you flushed it all down. 

“It’s nothing.” You grunted out, another very poor lie coming from your lips as you exited the stall and moved toward the sinks. “It’s garbage.” 

You turned on the tap and leaned down, taking in a mouthful of water to rinse out your mouth while she watched you with careful, piercing eyes. 

“It’s kind of pathetic that you’re trying so hard to bullshit me.” Emily remarked. “Not just because we’re both profilers, but because it’s so painfully obvious that something is wrong.” 

You swirled the water around your mouth, rinsing it out, and then spit into the sink before you turned the tap off. When you rose up to your full height, you caught Emily’s eye in the mirror - pitying. You hated it. 

It was that kind of pity that held you back from telling her the truth. 

She reached over to the dispenser and got you some of the paper towel, handing it to you as she spoke again. 

“You know you can tell me what’s bothering you, right?” She said, reaching up to put a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

There was a small, quiet moment - the words edged on your tongue. 

You truly considered just coming out with it. 

But then- 

A harsh knock on the door cut through the silence. 

“Y/N? Em?” JJ poked her head in through the door, clearly looking for the two of you. When she spotted you, she continued on. “I need everybody at the roundtable in five.” 

“Let’s get going.” You said, wiping your mouth and then crumpling the paper towel to toss it into the garbage can. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention. 

After being given a shoebox full of strange letters by your mother, he had finally pieced it together. He finally realized the secret you had been hiding - the thing that put you right in this killer’s crosshairs. 

“Guys, I think we got the profile all wrong.” He announced, a look of worry knit into his features. “And - if I’m right, then I think I know where she is.” 

He motioned to something in his hands - it was a worn-out old shoebox, something that made everyone curious and confused. 

“What the hell is that?” Prentiss asked. 

“Come on.” Reid ushered everyone into the conference room, and once the whole team was gathered, he shut the door. 

He opened the box and spilled it into the middle of the table, revealing a flood of hand-written letters. JJ stood back in shock, Hotch observed carefully and silently as usual, and Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss began to pick through them while Reid explained his revelation. 

“Y/N’s mother gave me these.” He explained. “All of them are addressed to Y/N, and from what I can see, they’re pretty much weekly, and they go back as far as 1999.” 

“When the first murder occurred.” Morgan easily pieced the two things together. 

“Not only that,” Reid added on. “The first murder took place in August of ‘99.” He said, pointing to the picture of the first known victim on the evidence board. “And I think the first letter, or one of the earliest, is from July of ‘99. At least.” 

“So - so she was having correspondence with the killer?” JJ questioned. “What? Was he in prison? Are you saying that Y/N is involved with this in some way?” 

“No-” Reid rushed to correct this assumption, and Morgan cut him off. 

“She was at Quantico when the latest victims were killed. Even if the guy has a partner, I really don’t take her as bein’ responsible for this.” He said. 

“Plus, these don’t exactly read as love letters.” Pretniss pointed out, her expression growing disturbed as she read what the killer had written from the letter in her hands. 

“-every day I dream of you, my love. I remember the way you felt underneath me - clawing for your life, desperate. I remember the way you screamed. Tasting your blood for the first time made me feel alive again. I hope the bruises meant as much to you as they did to me.” 

“The use of ‘I’ language denotes self importance - the author has a natural narcissistic personality disorder, but he pretends that it’s a fulfilling two-way relationship, when naturally it’s a fixation on someone who could never truly live up to his fantasies.” Reid explained. 

The room fell silent as the reality of it hit everyone. You were the target of someone truly dangerous. Someone who was going to kill you when you didn’t perform the fantasy that he had in mind for you. 

“She was being stalked.” Reid declared quietly, sounding defeated. “She still is.” 

“These killings aren’t someone having separate, individual fantasized relationships with each victim; this is about the killer repeating the same relationship over and over again, performing the same ritual killing in order to relive the same fantasy over again, projecting it onto different women of the same type.” Hotch said, coming to the realization as he stared at the different victims photos on the evidence board with a firm look on his face. “He’s been in love with the same woman in his mind for years, but nobody can live up to the real thing. That’s why he gave up the dump site. Because he wanted to lure her here. He wanted the FBI here, because he wanted to get L/N here.” 

“Okay, but the bigger question is: why L/N? What was the incident that got him fixated on her in the first place?” Rossi questioned, asking what was on everyone’s mind. 

JJ’s face was struck with horrible realization, and she ran to the door, ripping it open. She screamed the Chief’s name at the top of her lungs until she got the man’s attention, looking entirely crazed to everyone else in the station. Naturally, she didn’t care. He bustled over, scurrying toward her urgent voice, spilling coffee on himself in the process. 

“Chief.” JJ breathed out. “You said that Y/N came through the station, and she was beaten up the last time you saw her - when was that?” 

“Oh, I dunno?” He creased his brows with concentration, trying to remember. “About ‘98? ‘99?” 

“Did she file a report about the incident?” JJ asked. 

“Yeah.” The Chief replied. “It was a break-in. Poor thing. Summer vacation, her mother wasn’t home, off with the church on a retreat hittin’ the bingo halls up in Texas. She said that she never saw the attacker, though. He was wearin’ a ski-mask.” 

There was a silent exchange among the group that said they knew the truth - you had seen the attacker, you knew him. It’s why you had gone with him willingly this time. But you hadn’t told the police the truth back then because you had been too scared. 

“Can you get me that report?” JJ asked. 

After too many anxious minutes, the Chief came back with an old file in hand, and JJ snatched it out of his hands with a mumbled thank you before she shut the door in his face once again. She placed it down on the table among the mess of letters, and flipped it open. 

“Oh my god.” Emily gasped when she saw the photos inside. 

There was a spread of old polaroid photos, pinned to the sides of the file. They were almost too graphic for the team to look at - one showing the damage to your face; both of your eyes bruised, one of them entirely swollen shut. Scratches, deep gashes, harsh bruising all over your body. You were wearing a dark cotton tee shirt with patches ripped out of it - as if someone had been clawing at you and nearly ripped the clothing off your body to keep you from getting away. 

“This wasn’t a burglary.” Derek mumbled, frowning as he picked up one of the photos and inspected it closer. 

“Get Garcia on the line,” Hotch told JJ. 

She dialed the tech’s number on the conference hub, having to unbury the small bit of technology from some papers before she did it. It rang for a few moments before the woman on the other end picked up. 

“Where’s our girl?” Garcia asked anxiously, talking about you. “Is there any news? You’re calling because there’s good news, right?” 

“Babygirl,” Derek called out, trying to get her to focus, but she trampled right past this and continued to ramble on. 

“Please don’t tell me she’s dead!” Garcia shrieked on the other end. “Cause I can’t keep losing people! And I know it’s selfish to say that I can’t lose her, but she’s one of my best friends, and I’m gonna be a mess! And she promised to be the maid of honor and my wedding, and I know I’m not even engaged, and I don’t even have a boyfriend, but I need to have her around for big milestones in my life like that, she’s like the best person I know, and-” 

“Garcia, we need you.” Hotch told her firmly, cutting off her emotional ranting. 

“Right.” The tech replied, sucking in sharply, trying to catch her breath. There was some scraping in the background - the wheels of her chair on the floor as she scooted her chair into her desk. “What do you need? I’m here.” 

“I need you to look up reports of rape in and around Madison County between 1991 and 1999.” Hotch told her. 

“Rape?” Garcia replied, seemingly shocked by the topic and how it might relate to the case at hand - how it might relate to you. 

“Come on, babygirl.” Derek encouraged her. “Work your magic.” 

“Yeah. I got it.” She said hesitantly, and then there was the clacking of her keyboard as she worked. 

“Oh. Ugh.” 

“What is it?” Rossi was the first to ask. 

“There’s over five hundred cases.” Penelope told them, clearly disgusted by this number. 

“Can you narrow it down to women in their twenties? With similarities to the victims who have been targeted by the killer. Same hair type, same race, same body type.” Hotch told her. 

“Turning on the creep filter.” Garcia said, using her usual sense of humor that she turned on to shield herself. “That leaves us with… about twenty cases.” 

“Were any of them prosecuted?” Hotch asked. 

“Two of them.” Penelope replied. “A couple of sorority sisters from the University of Georgia were held at gunpoint and raped by a pizzaman in ‘95. He went to trial, got ten years. And he was paroled for good behavior in 2003. Yikes.” Emily rolled her eyes in agreement with his comment. “And shortly after his parole, he crashed his car into a tree in a drunk driving incident. Looks like he’s probably not your guy.” 

“What about the other eighteen cases?” Reid asked. 

“Um… no.” Garcia replied. “None of them went to court. A lot of these say that the victims were attacked by a stranger… that he broke in through the back door. Hold on.” 

“What?” Derek prompted her. 

“There is one here. Terry Driver. She said that she was raped, and she identified her rapist as someone she knew - Daniel Matthews. But he was never arrested because his brother gave him an ability for the night of the incident.” Garcia explained. 

“I bet that one was air-tight.” Rossi scoffed. 

“What type of injuries did the victims have?” Hotch asked. 

“Um… nothing major.” Penelope replied. Hotch frowned. “A black eye… a few scratches.” She hesitated. “Ligature marks… from being tied to their beds. God. That sounds like the most horrible night of your life, doesn’t it?” 

Hotch shook his head, sweeping a tense hand over his face. “He doesn’t fit the profile.” 

“Wait.” Reid swallowed thickly, staring at the photos of you that were sitting in the middle of the table. 

Battered. Bruised. Broken. 

“Some of the letters refer to him having an awakening. ‘An awakening in my soul. A bond through blood.’” He explained, naturally reciting the words from memory after having only read them once. 

“She fought back hard.” He held up one of the photos - one of your arm, showing deep, bloody scratches. Defensive wounds. “She found back so hard - he must have liked it. It-” 

“It gave him a taste for violence.” Prentiss finished off the thought, fear written all over her face. “She - she was the one who made him realize that he could use violence to replace sex completely. So he switched from rape to murder.” She came to the shocking realization aloud, her eyes flickering from the photo of you to all the photos scattered across the evidence board - all the victims he had practiced on in the wake of you. 

“Oh - oh my god.” Penelope gasped, having heard all of this over the intercom. “He’s gonna kill her? He’s gonna kill Y/N?” 

“Garcia, What can you get me on Matthews?” Hotch asked. 

“Um, right - Daniel Matthews…” There was more clacking of keys, and then Penelope replied. “He grew up in Madison. Looks like he went to the same high school as Y/N. He used to play football. He has a juvenile record for… vandalism, underage drinking. The usual. Oh…” 

“Oh?” JJ wondered aloud. 

“He had a very brief stint in the FBI Academy. He was kicked out 2001 when he was accused of sexually harassing fellow female applicants, and he was flagged on the psych eval as having a possible narcissistic personality disorder.” Garcia explained. 

“Bingo.” Rossi sighed. “That’s our UnSub.” 

“Oh my god. The hiatus.” Morgan said, his eyes fixated on the evidence board now. “‘99 was the year he attacked Y/N, when he first got a taste for it… and then… he followed her to the Academy?”

“And he resumed the killings when he got kicked out.” Rossi picked up on the thought. “When he couldn’t be in close contact with her anymore… he couldn’t get a high off of retraumatizing her, reliving that night in his mind, he needed to relive it through the other victims.” 

It all fit together now. 

It was a horrible puzzle, but it all fit together around you. 

“Reid, you said you might know where he took her?” Pretniss said, turning back to the very tired looking genius. 

“Yes,” Reid shoved aside the file with the graphic photos of you, and went shuffling through the letters for something. When he found it, he handed it over to Prentiss. “A lot of the earliest dated letters make reference to ‘our special place’. Or-” 

“-the bed I first made love to you in.” Prentiss read it off the page, clearly holding back vomit. 

JJ grabbed up the file with the report about the break-in, shoving aside the photos, looking for an address. “It’s here. I’ve got it.” 

“Okay, I want squad cars, tactical swat, I want spike strips on every road in or out of that place. I need everyone mobile in ten minutes.” Hotch ordered sharply, causing everyone to jump into action. 

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 2:20AM.

It should have felt like a victory to hold a knife to the throat of your rapist - someone who had been taunting you for years after the incident. 

But somehow, you still felt small. You still felt so chaotic and out of control. 

Both your hands shook vigorously as you struggled with the warring inside of you, as you struggled with the weight of confronting your life’s biggest monster. 

In the back of your mind, you were aware of the guns pointed at you. You would have liked to believe that because Emily was your friend - she wouldn’t shoot you. 

Part of you thought it would be worth it. To kill this man and take a bullet in the process. 

You just hoped that she would aim to wound and not to kill. 

“Put the knife down!” Emily ordered, her voice sounding muffled in your ears as blood thumped hard through you. “Come on, put it down.” 

“Reid-!” 

You heard his name being called out, and you saw a figure moving from the corner of your eye, but all you could focus on was the blade in your hand. The sight of a thick, unmarked neck, ripe for the taking in front of you. The idea that all you had to do was press down and slice through flesh - and then, this would all be over. 

No more torment. No more letters. No more taunting. 

“Y/N,” 

His soothing voice spoke your name, and you held a sob inside of your chest. 

You had grown so much of a life beyond this. Beyond him. He had tried to ruin you, he had tried to keep you in some little cage in some shitty town, and you had outgrown him. You had friends. You had people who loved you. 

But you still couldn’t escape him. 

“You don’t have to do this.” 

Your hand shook as you held the knife. 

“I have to.” You replied, unable to hold back your sobs. You barely noticed the tears coming out of your eyes - barely able to identify why your vision was blurring, why your face was suddenly wet. 

“You don’t have to.” Reid told you, his voice calming, gentle. “You - you can give me the knife, and then we can just… walk away. And then it all ends.” 

“It won’t just end!” You screamed out, your voice a curtling weep that bounced off the walls. 

If you let Daniel walk away from this, he would come for you again. He would. 

Or he would keep killing other women in your place. And you couldn’t let that happen. 

You couldn’t let your cowardice be the reason that so many women had died. You should have killed him the first time he had ever touched you. You should have been brave enough then. 

“It can end.” Reid assured you calmly. “You just have to come with me. You just have to put the knife down and-” 

It just sounded like noises in your ears at that point. 

Spencer just didn’t understand. 

“I have to make it stop!” You screamed, urgent to make him truly hear you. “I killed those women. I killed them!” 

“Prentiss!” A voice called her name, but it was so distant in your ears. 

“Just give him a minute!” Prentiss fired back. 

“He killed them because of me!” You shouted, cutting him off. “We both know it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not.” Reid choked out. “Please don’t say that.” 

There was a gutting silence. 

“Please, just give me the knife.” 

You couldn’t give up. 

You had come too far to let Daniel win now. 

“It was my fault. I know what happened. If I had just been a good little girl… if I had just laid there and taken it… it’s all my fault.” You quietly wept, your arms still shaking - muscles ripe with hesitation as you struggled with your grip on the knife. “I have to be the one to make it stop.” 

By violence it was done, and by violence it would be undone. 

You could be brave enough this time. You could be the one to end it. 

“No, no you don’t.” Reid told you. “You don’t have to do it alone. We can make it stop together. Just give me the knife. Please.” 

You had been alone your whole life. What was one more thing? 

Just press down. Something in your mind screamed. Slice his throat. End it. 

“Please, just look at me.” Spencer begged, his voice growing more desperate. “Please.” 

You didn’t look up at him. 

You knew that you couldn’t. 

If you took one look at those soft, pitying eyes, then the tiny bit of bravery you had gathered up would crack away. 

“Y/N, please.” Spencer continued. “I know why you think you have to do this. I know that his face is the one that’s been in all your nightmares since that night. I - I know you were all alone then, on the night that happened. You must have felt so alone.” 

You let out another sob at this. 

You had been so alone. 

“But you’re not alone now. You’re not alone now, okay?” 

Spencer’s gentle voice delivering the words made them feel so true. 

“We’re here with you now. I’m here with you. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to fight by yourself anymore. You don’t have to be strong.” 

You heard a crack in his voice for the first time - his own tears. 

It wasn’t pity. 

It was genuine sadness for you, as he thought about what had happened to you. What had happened in this very bedroom all those years ago. 

“Spencer-” You choked out his name, and your body betrayed you. 

You finally collapsed, your hand dropping the knife, and Spencer reached out and grabbed you as you fell, helping to move your shuddering form away from the unconscious, horrible man as the others finally moved in. 

You heard more voices, more shouting - maybe Hotch giving orders. 

But all you felt was Spencer’s arms around you, creating a shield as he rubbed your back and gently hushed you, letting you sob as loudly as you needed to, giving you a kind of comfort that you had never felt on that horrible night. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department, Interrogation Room #1 - Madison, GA. 3:39AM.

The chilled air of the interrogation room only made the regret of it all more palpable in your lungs. 

Maybe Reid had saved you from yourself, or maybe he had caused you to make the biggest mistake of your life. 

You should have killed Daniel. 

You hated it, but you had to wonder what you would have done if you had ten more minutes. Ten more minutes before they had arrived, sirens screeching, lights flashing. Your mind kept replaying the moments over and over again. The knife had felt so perfect in your hand. You should have sliced his throat. 

Ten more minutes. 

The hum of the fluorescents overhead made you feel like a bug about to be zapped - like your entire life was over and you would be resigned to a cage. 

Daniel had been hauled away in an ambulance. He had been entirely unmoving. In ‘critical condition’. They would likely charge you with manslaughter if he didn’t recover - it wasn’t likely that he would. You had overheard Prentiss remark on the irony that he was an organ donor. Because you had beaten him so badly, but not killed him, it was likely that his comatose state would lead to his organs being donated, and saving more lives. 

It could be viewed as a beautiful thing. 

But you had to wonder if the poison he had in his veins was contagious. Should the heart of a killer really live on inside someone else’s body? 

“Let’s start with this,” Reid asked you sharply. “Why?” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t give him that answer. You didn’t think you would ever have enough time to conjure it up within yourself. 

“You’re the genius profiler, Doctor Reid.” You fired back coldly. “You tell me.” 

You let out another puff of your cigarette, and he frowned at you. 

“No.” He said. “No more bullshit. No more games.” 

You definitely were not used to this version of Reid. 

You were surprised that it had taken you almost killing someone to bring out his cold side. But you supposed that everyone had a line. And you had crossed his. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you had been raped?” He asked. “Why didn’t you tell us that the rapist lived in your hometown and was a viable suspect in all of this? Why didn’t you tell us that the letter you received the other morning was just one of many your rapist sent you over the years, stalking you, obsessing over you after-?” 

“Why?” You said, your voice scraping against the word harshly as you tossed it back at him, cutting off his ranting. 

He gave you an impatient expression as it hung in the air - eyes wide, pursing his lips. 

It caused you to flare with anger. 

You let the cigarette burn down to a hot cherry between your fingers, the harsh sting against your skin being the only thing keeping you from lunging across the table and strangling him. 

You stubbed it out in the ashtray before you answered him. 

“Why didn’t I want to suddenly announce to a group of my intellectual peers that I was raped?” You echoed back, more tears gathering in the corners of your eyes - you knew that you must have looked quite crazed, especially when Hotch stiffened, and Reid’s expression dropped. “You know, when I first came to the BAU, it was the only time in my life that I wasn’t viewed as a victim.” 

“Y/N-” Spencer said your name in that gentle tone again, but you weren’t having it this time. 

“My dad left us when I was only a year old. And everybody viewed my Mama as this fucking martyr because she raised me by herself. ‘Oh poor girl. She doesn’t have a daddy. Poor little girl, all alone. Her mama does such a good job.’” You said, ranting in a crazed tone. But the floodgates had opened, and you couldn’t stop it. “Nobody wanted to talk about how my Mama was off half the time, drinking at bars, out partying with friends. She got pregnant at sixteen and she didn't want to stop having a life. God forbid I get in the way of that. I took care of my damn self! I raised myself!” 

You knew you were screaming, but you couldn’t stop it. 

“L/N-” Hotch tried speaking to you in a firmer voice. 

But you couldn’t stop. 

“Daniel only broke into the house that night because he knew I would be alone.” Your voice warbled harshly on the word, and you hated it. 

You hated the look that Reid and Hotch were giving you. 

Pity. 

That look you had been trying to avoid for so long. 

“When I came here that night and made the police report, they all knew I was bullshiting. They knew that it wasn’t a fucking burglary.” You pressed on. “But none of them said anything! They didn’t care.” 

There was a tense moment. You swallowed thickly around your own tears, holding back sobs once again. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Spencer tried again, seeming to be personally stuck on this point. “I asked you if something was wrong. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“That look in your eye.” You told him, entirely honest. “That look you have right now. I - I couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at me like that forever.” 

“Daniel approached you in the parking lot of the corner store.” Hotch stated calmly. “Why did you go with him willingly? Did he have a gun on you?” 

“He had a gun.” You told him. “He did have it pointed at me. But - I didn’t have mine. I didn’t like the odds.” 

Hotch nodded at this. 

“I didn’t want him to take another girl.” You added on. “I knew they were replacements. At that point, I realized what it was. I figured nobody else should have to die because of my mistake.” 

“Mistake?” Spencer echoed back quietly. 

“Not killing him the first time.” You said, knowing this was likely a bit too honest. “I should have killed him the first time he ever put his hands on me. I should have. I wanted him dead.” 

Tears leaked hot from your eyes at this, and Spencer’s eyes grew glassy - he blinked back his own. 

“You wanted him dead, but… did you want to kill him?” Hotch posed. 

“I don’t know.”

...

“That is how heavy a secret can become. It can make blood flow easier than ink.”

-Patrick Rothfuss

...

A/N: This is a oneshot, meant to function as an episode of Criminal Minds, so please respect it as such. Please do not ask for a sequel or a continuation, because there will not be one. If you are going to comment about the work, please comment about the body of what has been written. I highly appreciate reblogs and comments if you enjoyed it, and if you want to see more of what I have written for Criminal Minds, definitely check out my Criminal Minds masterlist.

[rhyaxxyn]

a writeblr resurrection

my name is rhyannyn, and i'm looking to get more involved into the writeblr community after a lengthy hiatus of getting myself and my works in order. i'm always willing to follow new people, and reconnect with writeblrs i knew a few years ago when i was consistently on tumblr (going as kennedy :b)

if you write any of the following, are intrigued by any of the following, or just want to hang out and rip my OCs apart (i've got a list of where you should start, by the way) please feel free to follow and I will follow back. i'm really looking to find writeblrs right now who blogs are focused on writing, as i always love finding new things to read, and new stories to support :)

tragic characters--characters who see no way out, characters who are icarus coded and sisyphus coded AND antigone coded, characters caged by their duty and love and faith and it destroys them

in turn, complex characters with really rich backgrounds

stories influenced by slavic cultures (polish heritage plays a large part in one of my fantasy cultures)

queer fantasy stories by queer voices

FANTASY! CONTEMPORARY FANTASY! SCIFI FANTASY! DARK FANTASY! HIGH FANTASY! URBAN FANTASY! I WILL SCROUNGE THE FLOORS FOR FANTASY AND GORGE MYSELF ON IT!

stories that are anti-colonizer. i like seeing indigenous people win, and i love stories with irish, native american, sammi, and kurdish influences. i like seeing characters cling to who they are and old gods and kind ways while colonizers try to take it away, and i like seeing indigenous people prevail.

worldbuilding with a major focus on family values, religion, and magic.

any and all things dark

slowburn lovers, slowburn friendships, slowburn found family. make it teeth-gritting and loving and heart gouging. i will devour it.

characters who are hurt and traumatized and it isn't the end. characters in the dark who keep going even when there isn't any light in sight.

all things divine and demonic and grimy. i have a taste for violence as long as it serves a purpose to the story and isn't done just for fun

this is a list of things i write, and what i particularly love to read in literature, but i'm willing to follow any writeblrs and hopefully connect with some new and old accounts!

again, i've been off of tumblr for an official two years now (yes my bad, but alas i had the strangest hyperfixation on the job i despise and totally disappeared), but i am holding myself by the throat and forcing myself to resurrect because i am trying to publish a book right now!

oh and my wip page sucks. please avoid it at all costs while i try to edit it :3

[queers-gambit]

House of the Dragon masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

requests are CLOSED where to watch: HBO

Sands of Time

before his Bronzed Bitch, all he had was her. amongst the smoke of salt, sea, and war, Daemon gambles with more than he ever wanted.

word count: 5.4k+

🙊 general language and content warning 🔥 NSFW 💔 angst 🥊 depiction of (canon-typical) physical violence or aggression ⚠️⏳ show spoilers and AU timeline 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

The Battle Above the God's Eye [ Sands of Time part two ]

decades after the Stepstones, it's his turn to be rescued.

word count: 5.5k+

🎭 drama 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort ⏳ AU timeline ⚠️ spoilers 🙊 general language and warning content 🐍 toxic family 🥊 feuding families 😵‍💫 wonky brain go wonky 🩸 depiction of injury and blood 🤍 fuck it - dragon!rider!reader [ not a Targaryen } 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Split in Two

the Targaryen Curse prevails.

word count: 2.8k+

🙊 general language and content warning 🍼 depictions of traumatic birth 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Blue Moon Wreckage

you don't consult your husband, Daemon, about taking in your orphaned baby brother and this causes conflict in your relationship.

word count: 4.3k+

🙊 general language and content warning 🥀 misogyny (old-fashion views on marriage) 🍼 talk of child abandonment ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🐍 toxic family 🍄 borderline toxic relationship 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Midnight Calls masterlist

( completed ) your Prince summons you, a married woman, to the Throne Room one evening. so ensues your lovestory.

total word count: 44,503 total story parts: 6

🍒 author's favorite 🙊 general language and content warning 💦 smut 🔥 NSFW 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🍄 toxic relationship(s) 🐍 toxic family...? 🔏 barely edited 🥊 depiction of physical violence or aggression 😵‍💫 wonky brain go wonky 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Tell Me Every Terrible Thing And Let Me Love You Anyway

you embark on a secret but passionate affair with the Rogue Prince, and when his wife, Rhea Royce, passes away, he chooses you to wed next - a decision that angers his niece and changes history.

⚠️ mild show spoilers 🙊 general language and content warning 😵‍💫 wonky brain is wonky ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💔 angst 🔥 mild NSFW (brief female receiving oral) ⏳ technically AU timeline 1️⃣ written after season one

part one: read here word count: 5.6k+ part two: read here word count: 6.3k+

Not All That Glitters is Gold

during your engagement dinner, you learn from your fiancé's niece that he holds choice words about you. or finding out he calls you clingy behind your back.

word count: 3.1k+

🙊 general language and content warning 🎭 drama 💔 mild angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort ⏳ AU timeline 💣 relationship angst 🔏 not edited 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

part of the Clingy Baby collection

Daddy Takes Care

in comparison, your first pregnancy was a cakewalk. this time around? not so much. good thing Daemon's there to help where he can.

word count: 6.4k+

🙊 general language and content warning 🍑 named character ( daughter named Visenya ) 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🍼 depiction of difficult pregnancy and symptoms by an author who's never been pregnant 🔏 not edited 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Bloodhounds

you and your husband have a different kind of foreplay that include disguises, sneaking out of the castle, and sometimes, fucking in an alleyway... Or two.

word count: 5.7k+

💦 smut 🔥 NSFW 🙊 general language and content warning 🔏 barely edited 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Creepy Crawlies

Aemond and Helaena witness how deep your fear goes.

word count: 1.7k+

🕷 spiders 🙊 general language and content warning 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Mother Knows No Bounds

being Rhaenyra's daughter means taking on Alicent's generational anger, and one day, she takes it too far.

word count: 5.7k+

🙊 general language and content warning 💚 vilified!Alicent 💔 angst 🤮 depiction of physical illness 🐍 toxic family 🕊 depiction of lost pregnancy 💛 requires maturity and caution 1️⃣ written after season one

❗️ depictions of potentially triggering content - please read all warnings before continuing ❗️

read here

When Pride Married Prejudice masterlist

she is the (only) trueborn daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Lord Laenor Velaryon. after her younger brother, Lucerys, slices out the eye of their uncle, Aemond Targaryen, her hand is offered as payment to keep the peace. though unexpected, she finds herself in a loving marriage, until devastating news forces her to make an impossible choice.

total word count: 97,184 total story parts: eight + two 2-part alternative endings

⚠️ book and show spoilers 🍒 author's favorite 🙊 general language and content warnings 💦 smut 🔥 NSFW 💔 angst 🎭 drama 🐍 toxic family 🥊 depiction of physical violence or aggression ⏳ AU timeline 😵‍💫 wonky brain go WONKY ✅ completed series 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

Dornish Wine, Weddings, and Bruised Knuckles

your best friend's getting married and you've got a thing for her brother. during the bachelorette party, you learn maybe your affection wasn't so one-sided after all.

modern AU

word count: 11.1k+

🎭 drama 💔 small angst 🧸 small fluff 🥰 romance 💦 smut 🦋 modern AU 🙊 general language and content warning 🥊 depiction of physical violence or aggression 🧃 implied character age-up (legal to drink) 🔏 barely edited 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

You Might Think It's Foolish

meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time creates anxiety, so, you stick to his side. at dinner, his mother calls out your clinginess - and Aemond doesn't defend you. or when someone else calls you clingy and he doesn't defend you / agrees with them.

word count: 3.1k+

modern AU

🎭 drama 💔 angst 🥺 hurt 🚫 no comfort 💣 relationship angst 🐝 stand alone 🙊 general language and content warning 🐍 toxic family 🍄 toxic relationship...? 🦋 modern AU 🔏 barely edited 1️⃣ written after season one

read here part of the Clingy Baby collection

"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover"

ten years ago, Lucerys claimed Aemond's eye, and now, a Lannister will claim her debt.

soon to be merged into a developing series but will leave this version up. Lannister Reader will become Velaryon!

word count: 5.5k+

🎭 drama 🐑 filler ⚠️ spoilers ⏳ small AU timeline 🐝 stand-alone 🙊 general language and content warning ☠️ character death 💛 requires maturity and caution 🩸 deranged characters / blood lust 🔏 barely edited 1️⃣ written after season one

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Confection Invention

how Sansa Stark's favorite dessert, lemon cakes, came to be after discovering your husband's never had a nameday cake.

word count: 3.5k+

🧸 fluffy fluff fluff 🥰 small romance 💍 established relationship 🍒 author's favorite 🐝 stand alone 1️⃣ written after season one

read here

requesting rules and masterlist

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Baki Headcanons (II)

Featuring Jack Hanma, Kaoru Hanayama, Katsumi Orochi and Chiharu Shiba since the latest Baki season is out. TW: Violence, dubious consent

[Baki Masterlist] [Part I]

Jack Hanma

Once Jack finds a purpose or a goal to achieve, he will hunt it down in deplorable mania with no regard to any impediment along the way. He’s deemed you to be his newfound motivation and minor details such as your opinion of it are but a slight detour. He’s already had one dream robbed from him - that of being the strongest. He’s not as generous as to accept yet another loss. Really, (Y/N), why so afraid? He promises you won’t regret it.

Outside of his obsessive tendencies, Jack is rather kind and understanding. He pays great attention to detail when it comes to you and is willing to go to great lengths for your sake. Being a servant on the knee is a small price to pay if he gets to see your satisfied expression. What a strange effect you have on him. To think that his pride immediately crumbles at your feet…No, it’s the other way around. It’s because of you that he can keep his head up, no matter what.

Jealousy or possessiveness are not things that plague Jack. His mere presence is enough to signal loud and clear that you’re not to be approached. Like a wild animal guarding his territory, he finds intruders a warm-up sport to entertain himself with and nothing more. But what if, say, it was you trying to get out instead? Now that would be just plain nonsense. No one else can guarantee your safety to such degree. You must be confused, and in situations like these Jack has no choice but to bring you back to your senses. Regardless of what it takes.

I have to say, if you choose Jack as your boyfriend you should definitely brace yourself. He has vowed to shield you from all threats, but his love for you doesn’t count as one. The fact that you’re laying there bruised all over further shows how intoxicating you are to him. His brain turns into mush and the only thing he can focus on is that you belong entirely to him. He could crush you, break you, kiss you until your lips bleed, hold you until your ribs crack. He holds the power over you and you have willingly offered this vulnerability to him. He doesn’t expect you to hold back, either. He is yours to mark as you please.

He will return to his senses and apologize for the vicious, feral attack during intimacy. He is a man of instinct and logic rarely prevails when dealing with temptations. And you, darling (Y/N), happen to be the strongest drug he’s ever dealt with.

Kaoru Hanayama

Hanayama is initially very conflicted about his feelings. Has he not sworn to dedicate himself entirely to the Family? What kind of puny leader loses focus in the middle of an important agreement between clans to think of a normal civilian? What kind of respected kumichou asks his subordinates to take a detour in their debt collection to check on some regular human? Here he is, sitting between the women working for his business, reluctant to touch them in fear of being disloyal. To whom? You don’t even know him and he’s already built an entire code of honor to follow. Shameful.

It doesn’t take him too long to rationalize his inexplicable attachment. Just like his father had found his mother, he too was bound to stumble upon someone for him, a partner fit to bear the weight of the family honor. He isn’t betraying his Group, he’s providing it with an equally capable leading hand. Oh, he just knows you’ll do great. You were made for this. You were made for him.

Confessing to you is a difficult task. Hanayama usually conveys his feelings with his fists, and he’d rather not pummel you down as the sweet “will you date me” invitation. So you’ll often find him staring intently at you, a frightening aura surrounding him. Any moment now, he’ll say it. And what if you respond with no? He hasn’t considered that. He’s been so entranced by your future together that he didn’t even entertain the idea you wouldn’t want to be part of it. Small obstacle, you just need a little bit of convincing.

He’s not the type to show his jealously, mainly because there’s no need to. If someone flirts with you, you’re not worried for Hanayama’s feelings but for this stranger’s safety. You’ll choke in terror trying to warn them to step away and if they still persist you know you’ll never see them again. One does not mess with the yakuza and lives to tell about it. Hanayama further contributes to this reputation.

The young man is very much aware of your fragility and would never do anything to permanently damage you. That said, he really can’t help the dizzying adoration that overwhelms him whenever he uses his knife on you. Just small, superficial lines gently tracing across your body, that immediately bloom into bright red flowers, cluttering along until they finally burst into an intricate mosaic. He feels like a poet penning his love for you in the most intimate way conceivable, because you’ve offered yourself as a canvas for his eyes and his control only. The Madonna of his existence.

Katsumi Orochi

Katsumi wouldn’t say that he’s taking it too far. He followed all the proper steps, from the innocent secret crush, to shyly confessing his feelings, and finally the drunken delight of hearing your acceptance to date him. There’s nothing wrong with skipping some steps. There’s no textbook claiming that love has to be gradual and evolve in time. If you know you’ve met your soulmate there’s no reason to hold back. And from the moment he laid his eyes on you he’s been certain, this was not mere coincidence.

He’s clumsier than he’d like to admit when it comes to romance, but one thing his extensive karate training has provided him with is discipline. He has a little notebook to keep track of your interests and likes, and if he’s completely clueless about something he will research it later. It helps him keep his plans organized and simultaneously make sure he won’t miss any detail about you.

It he thinks about it, love is a lot like karate indeed. A natural charm for it can hardly compete with raw passion and hard work. Step by step, he can see the fruits of his labor. Martial arts require a cool mind however, and while he’s learned to remain collected and act without haste in a fight, when it comes to you he can’t seem to remain still. His thoughts are burning hot and erratic and the tangled chaos in his head is exhausting. He wishes he could lay out his love for you and carefully smoothen all the folds, but maybe the inability to do so just further proves you’re a special case.

He also doesn’t consider himself to be a jealous individual. Right? In the middle of his training he finds himself idly pondering about such a scenario. He faces the wall, trying to picture a rival that might steal you from him. Silly. You wouldn’t leave him like that. You know how much he loves you. Or do you? He loves you so much. So much. So fucking much. His vision returns and his eyes widen at the large dents and cracks he left in the wall. The skin of his fists is throbbing, irritated.

Katsumi is rather needy during intimate moments. Whether you want him as your dominant or submissive accomplice, he will beg or demand for your words of love. Let him know that you don’t belong to anyone else. That you’re all his, forever and ever and even after death. Always.

Chiharu Shiba

Chiharu is an extremely stubborn man, so if he concludes that he has feelings for you, absolutely no rejection will get through to him. He doesn’t just fall for anyone and isn’t as shallow as to base his interest on appearance alone (though he did almost crash his bike once daydreaming about your face). It’s everything about you that’s convinced him there’s no one else for him. So now he just has to prove that similarly, no one else is better for you.

I feel like he would use his sturdiness and resistance to pain as a way to manipulate you into agreeing with him. You’re unsure whether you like him more than a friend? Is it because he’s not skilled enough? You don’t trust him? He’ll pick random fights with anyone and no matter how battered and bloodied he is, no matter how much you plead he stops, he’ll keep going until he’s dead or until you give in.

It’s his personality to show off. From the flashy bosozoku uniform to his customized retro Kawasaki, he likes to make it clear to others where his priorities lay. That includes his partner, of course. Not only is he the proud leader of Tokkoutai, but more importantly the one you belong to. If he’s feeling extra cheesy he will greet you with a dramatic spin and reveal he had his jacket stitched to some kanji symbols representing your relationship.

Chiharu is not particularly proud of it, but his bouts of jealousy often end in violence. Potential rivals lead him on a downward spiral of anxious what-ifs. He struggles with a certain feeling of inadequacy whenever he compares himself to other fighters. Put him next to someone like Baki and he fades into nothingness; No elaborate fighting skills, just a hard skull and a bunch of dirty tricks. Will that be enough to protect you from anyone? For how long? Before he knows it, his knuckles are dyed red and whoever approached you too fondly is scattered on the ground.

Safe to say this man has a lot of stamina and will be at your service 24/7. Anytime, anywhere. Just let him know. Feeling especially needy? He’ll throw you on the hood of the nearest car and just take care of you regardless of who’s watching. You’re strongly considering keeping a spray water bottle in your bag to keep him under control when you’re in public.

Despite all this he is very soft spoken and careful around you. He would never, ever hurt his precious darling (Y/N). And he won’t allow anything else to hurt you, either. He would die for you. Actually, scratch that. He’ll do you one better. He would kill for you.

[flowerandblood]

Laughter from the depths (Oneshot)

[ nobility! • Aemond x rusalka demon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, virginity loss, fingering, angst, smut, violence, descriptions of injuries, mention of murder ]

[ description: Aemond and his family are deprived of their main estate in the capital in favour of his half-sister and have to move to a rural mansion that has long been neglected. There is a superstition among the village people that the nearby lake is home to Rusalki, beautiful female demons who tickle boys who peep at them to death. Angst, slavic demonology. ]

This oneshot is something special for me because it focuses on the lives of the people in the Slavic villages from which all my ancestors came. I am Polish, so what I am writing about has references to Polish beliefs and Polish traditions, but I suspect it was the same for all our Slavic neighbours.

In order to convey the realism of the era and the atmosphere that prevailed there, the nobility talk among themselves in French, and Polish, which I have also used here, replaces the language of Old Valyria, as some kind of relic of the past, something unworldly in the eyes of the aristocracy. Of course, all the dialogues are translated into English in brackets, but I wanted to show what my national Slavic language looks like.

I would like to point out that until the 1970s, superstitions about rusalki and other demons were very, very strong in the villages. The large percentage of people who could not write or read, the fear-mongering by local priests and organists who made money from exorcisms and banishing demons did not help at all in rationalising the events of their lives.

Slavic demonology is incredibly rich and elaborate, and often the same demons are named differently in different countries. The name Rusalka came to Poland from the territory of present-day Belarus; the same water demons were previously called topielice, panny wodne or boginki. However, the name Rusalka was adopted by Romantic writers such as Adam Mickiewicz and is therefore used most frequently today.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

They were finished. The moment his father died, he, his mother, sister and brothers lost their main residence in the capital, which from now on belonged to his half-sister, his father's daughter from his first marriage. His last will came as an unpleasant surprise to them all.

He had bequeathed them his country estate where no one had lived for years, filled with dampness and mustiness. For weeks their mother tried to get the manor house in order, pretending that their father's decision did not hurt her at all, that they would at least get a break from the hustle and bustle of the city.

Although he loved her he laughed cruelly at her words, shaking his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. Their servants and farmhands were simple villagers who could not even sign their names.

The only ones who knew the magical skill of writing and reading were the local priest and the Jews. The Jews were the ones Aegon was most friendly with, spending whole nights in their inns.

He and his family were decent Catholics attending church every Sunday.

They attracted great interest when they arrived in their carriage. The simple-minded people often came to church from distant villages barefoot and washed their feet in a nearby lake, only then putting on their shoes, usually having only one pair that they could not destroy.

Although he and his family knew the language of his ancestors, they preferred to talk to each other in French so that no one would understand them. However, he listened one day to a loud conversation between two boys, the sons of the village miller, who lived by the lake with other children.

"Tutaj mieszkają prawdzie rusałki! Wodne panny! Boginki! Nocą tańczą i śmieją się głośno, jak gdyby miały biesiadę, demony szatana. (This is where the true Rusalki lives! Water maidens! Goddesses! At night they dance and laugh loudly, as if they were having a feast, demons of Satan.)" Described one of them excitedly, swallowing his saliva quickly seeing that everyone was listening to him.

"Nie zwracają uwagi na dzieci, ale nasz kuzyn, Janek, raz próbował złapać jedną z nich, został wciągnięty i załaskotały go na śmierć! A miał się chłopak żenić na wiosnę! I na co mu to było? (They don't pay any attention to the children, but our older cousin, Janek, once tried to catch one of them, got pulled in and they tickled him to death! The boy was supposed to get married in the spring! And what good was that to him?)"

Shaking his head as he listened to this nonsense, his younger brother approached him, looking at them curiously.

"As-tu entendu, frère? J'ai lu que les Rusalki sont comme des nymphes grecques, belles, vêtues de robes blanches translucides avec des fleurs dans les cheveux, qu'elles dansent pendant la pleine lune et jouent toute la nuit. (Have you heard, brother? I've read that Rusalki are like Greek nymphs, beautiful, dressed in translucent white robes with flowers in their hair, that they dance during the full moon and play all night.)" He whispered, and he snorted, adjusting the material of his black cuff.

"Je t'en prie. C'est une absurdité. Les superstitions des villageois ordinaires. (Please. This is some nonsense. The superstitions of ordinary villagers)." He said lowly, Daeron fell silent and lowered his head, ashamed, never bringing up this subject again.

During the sermon, the priest made it clear that he was worried that the local people still used witches and quacks, believing in all sorts of demonic activities that were obviously the result of infernal forces.

"Za stosowaną opłatą ja bądź organista zajdziemy do Waszych domów by wypędzić te bestie. (For an applicable fee, I or the organist will visit your homes to exorcise these beasts)." Said the priest, and he pressed his lips together and chuckled under his breath, arousing the interest of his mother, unable to believe that someone even so well-read was preying on the naivety of these poor people.

They didn't understand what real medicine or science was, they didn't understand that when a disabled child was born to them it wasn't the fault of a charm or that a goddess had stolen their infant, but a congenital disease.

That when gales and hailstorms came it was not the Hanged Man, the demons that suicides who died by hanging themselves became walking through the fields, but it was ordinary weather, no demonic activity.

He was appalled at how much separated him from these people, dirty, simple, living in their own dark and cruel world, housing whole families in single rooms, sleeping sometimes even with their own cattle.

Although his attitude towards the people who, after all, worked on his manor, handled his crops and harvested for a pittance was harsh, he was not a man without compassion or heart.

When it was reported in the evening that the miller's son had fallen from a height into the water and almost drowned, that he had broken his leg and needed a doctor he rushed there on horseback together with his sister.

When they arrived people were standing with candles, crying and wailing all around him, begging him to call a doctor, that they could not afford it.

He and Helaena approached the boy, he couldn't have been more than twelve years old, he had an open break in his leg, his bone sticking out of the wound, he was pale and unconscious, shaking from the cold.

"Mówię Wam, ludzie, przysięgam, to Rusałki go z wody wyciągały, uciekły z piskiem gdy wybiegłem! To pewnie one swym śpiewem go przyciągnęły! (I'm telling you, people, I swear, it was the Rusalki that pulled him out of the water, they ran away with a squeal when I rushed out! It must have been them with their singing that attracted him!)" His father mumbled beside him, but he didn't listen to them recognising that he was talking such nonsense because he was in shock.

"Retournez au manoir et ordonnez à notre mère d'appeler un médecin. Sans médicaments, il aura de la fièvre et ne passera pas la nuit. (Ride back to the manor and order our mother to call a doctor. Without medicine he will get a fever and won't survive the night)." He said to her coolly, Helaena nodded.

He looked around, feeling his heart pounding hard and then he spotted her. He saw her face between the reeds, her big, curious, bright eyes clad in long lashes, when she noticed that he had caught sight of her she furrowed her black eyebrows and sank back into the water.

He looked there thinking that she was just a girl who had decided to swim, that it was impossible for what they were saying to be true, but no one surfaced there again.

He shuddered when a villager said to him that he had brought his cart and horse, that he would follow him to the manor, and he agreed.

The boy was laid in one of the rooms meant for servants, when the doctor arrived from a nearby village after a few hours the boy already had a fever and convulsions. The doctor said he was in an agonal state and there was no point in treating him anymore.

His mother decided to give him medication anyway.

Helaena and her maid kept vigil with him all night. He went back to his room and locked himself in it, trying to sleep, but all he could think about were these bright eyes shining between the lake reeds in the moonlight.

Despite the doctor's assurances that the boy would not survive, he lasted the night, but with such a monstrous break he had to be taken to the hospital in town, where he was transported by cart along with his family at his mother's expense.

The next day, the people of the village gathered outside their manor house to give them gifts, homemade cakes and breads, eggs, vegetables, milk and cheese. Everything they had, everything of value in gratitude for their act of grace.

He thought with pain as he watched his mother and sister's conversation with these people through the window, that he had judged them as clueless and simple-minded, seeing them as a mere grey mass, when they were simply people like him, for some reason condemned by God to such a harsh, ungrateful fate.

These thoughts kept him awake, and even though he knew it was madness, he thought about going to the lake in the evening to see for himself if what he had seen was true or just a mere prediction.

He had to prove to the rational side of his mind that it was just a figment of his imagination that had occurred under the influence of extreme emotion.

Therefore, he left the manor during the warm summer night, dressed in just a white chemise, tucked into his breeches with braces. He walked through the fields, hearing the loud pounding of his heart, having the feeling that the space around him at night was incredibly unsettled and dangerous, that something was lurking and watching him in the shadows.

He had the feeling that he was losing his sanity.

And then he heard it - loud splashes and laughter.

He stopped between the trees, breathing nervously, and that's when he spotted them, the star-shining figures of young girls, water flowers woven into their loose hair, dressed in beautiful white, embroidered, translucent robes from under which one could clearly see their bodies, some of them completely naked, standing in water up to their waist, apparently just taking a bath.

They were talking animatedly to each other, comfortably spread out on the grass or dancing, eating fruits, some of them swimming or splashing the others with water, taking it as a form of teasing and fun.

He had the impression that he was looking at some mythological scene, that he was just watching nymphs in the bath, beautiful, wild and unpredictable.

His heart was pounding like mad, he could not take his eyes off them.

However, one of them spotted him in the distance and squealed loudly, the others immediately rose up, frightening him, reminding him of the boy's words about killing men who peeped at them.

But they fled instead, one by one sinking into the depths of the water, disappearing beneath its mirror, leaving him with only the restless sound of the water and the silence around him.

He walked on trembling legs closer to the shore on the rustling grass, breathing unevenly, feeling as if his heart would leap out of his chest.

He sat down on the sand, looking at the depths in front of him and the great reflection of the moon that was painted on it, thinking only that this was true, that all around him lived beings that could not be comprehended by the human mind.

He shuddered and jumped up in place, moving away, hearing rustling among the reeds, noticing the same pale face as before, her eyes shining with concern and curiosity, her hair wet, some of its strands stuck to her face, on her head a wreath of tiny fresh flowers she must have woven for herself that night.

"Chłopiec. (The little boy)." He heard her voice, trembling, uncertain, determined, frightened. "Przeżył? (Did he survive?)"

He thanked God that as a child he had applied himself to learning the language of his ancestors, that he had even felt proud to speak it until he discovered that everyone in the salons of the capital spoke only French.

"Tak. (Yes)." He heard his own low voice, and felt a shudder at the thought that he had forgotten how melodious and pleasant the language was, at once hard and soft, rustling like the leaves of the trees, reeds and grasses around them.

They looked at each other for a long moment in silence, her gaze softening slightly.

"Uratowałeś go. (You saved him)." She said after a moment, her voice tender and warm, incredibly pleasant to his ear. "Ty i dziewczyna z włosami jasnymi jak księżyc. Czy to Twoja żona? (You and the girl with hair as light as the moon. Is that your wife?)"

He licked his lower lip, looking at her with wide-open eyes, feeling his heart pounding like mad, his body all tensed up.

"Nie. To moja siostra. (No. She's my sister)." He replied in a trembling voice and she blinked, cocking her head as if she didn't understand the meaning of the word.

He drew in the air loudly when he heard the loud splash of water as she rose from her knees, walking slowly towards him among the tall grasses and lily pads, the level of the lake now only reaching her thighs.

He could see her robe, all soaked through, clinging to her beautiful naked body, her skin the colour of pearls, her nipples were darker, like gemstones placed on her soft, firm chest.

He had never seen a naked woman before in his life.

She emerged from the grasses onto the shore, standing before him without a shadow of shame or fear, as if she understood perfectly how beautiful her body was and that he could admire her was merely an act of her grace.

"Ktoś odebrał Ci coś, co do niego nie należało. (Someone took from you something that didn't belong to them)." She said quietly, as if in surprise, and he realised, horrified and embarrassed, that she was talking about his eye patch, his scar on his cheek and in the presence of her beauty he was overwhelmed by the magnitude of his ugliness.

He swallowed with difficulty, terrified and shocked as she moved slowly, lightly towards him, afraid to make any move, not knowing if she would then suddenly transform into an aggressive, terrifying beast.

He felt both discomfort and excitement at the same time when she sat down next to him and he could look at her shamelessly naked body from so close, her robe all wet, covering absolutely nothing. He shuddered and drew in the air loudly as she reached up with a slight movement to his eye patch and grabbed her aggressively by the wrist.

Her pupils narrowed dangerously in rage, her expression changed, she pulled away from him and took a few steps back as if she was about to scream and call out to her friends, but she hesitated, looking at him with wide eyes.

He raised his trembling hand to his eyepatch, breathing loudly, he could see that she was watching his every move alertly, that what he did now weighed on whether he would live or die.

He slid the material off his face, for the first time in front of a stranger, for the first time in front of a woman, feeling oddly exposed and weak even though she was the one who was naked.

He was afraid that he would see disgust, that she would run away screaming, but he saw that her gaze slowly became gentle and curious again, her expression calm once more, her forehead straight and clear.

It seemed to him that she was reactive and curious about everything like a small child.

He swallowed loudly as she moved across the sand on her knees towards him, not a trace of her earlier aggression and rage. She sat even closer to him than before, leaning over the scarred part of his face, over his artificial white eye.

She looked at him with some kind of disbelief and shock, her lips slightly parted, as if he were some kind of magical being, not her. To his surprise, however, the expression on her face did not show any terror, he could feel the drops of water from her hair and her robe dripping onto his trousers, his hands clenched into fists on the grass.

He had no idea what he was feeling, many emotions running through him at once.

Fear, anxiety, excitement, curiosity, delight.

He gasped, pale, as she raised her hand, this time glancing at his face, as if to see if he would once again try to touch her. He didn't move, though; he didn't want to make the same mistake.

He felt a shudder when her moist, warm, soft, delicate fingers touched his scar and ran over it in a gentle motion that seemed to him like the ruffling of a feather.

"Czy sprawiam Ci ból? (Am I causing you pain?)" She asked quietly, glancing at his healthy eye, and he only shook his head, enchanted, his throat compressed, unable to get the words out, his heart pounding like mad.

He fascinated her.

She didn't run away from him.

He wondered if he could ask her a question.

Would he enrage her again if he tried?

He feared she was about to leave once and for all and he would never see her again, regretting for the rest of his life that he had remained silent when she sat being so close.

"Uratowałaś go? Tego chłopca. (You saved him? That young boy.)" He muttered lowly, looking at her with wide eyes. She took her hand away immediately, frightened, looking at him anxiously, her lips tightening as if she wondered if she should speak to him.

She looked down at her thighs, running her fingers over the sand, all around them was the pleasant, quiet sound of water, the rustling of grass and the singing of crickets.

"Tak. Topił się. Taki młody. (Yes. He was drowning. So young)." She whispered, and he licked his lips dried with stress, feeling that this was his chance, that he had won her trust.

"Nie zabijacie dzieci ani kobiet. (You don't kill children or women)." He murmured, and she looked at him alertly, measuring him with a gaze so impenetrable that a shudder went through him.

"Nie. Tylko mężczyzni próbują wziąć to co nie ich. Jak gdyby byli naszymi mężami. (No. Only men try to take what is not theirs. As if they were our husbands)." She said coldly. He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, subconsciously understanding what she was talking about.

They were killing men who tried to take them by force.

"Ale Ty nie próbowałeś mnie dotknąć. I uratowałeś tego chłopca, mężczyzno z białym okiem. (But you don't try to touch me. And you saved that boy, man with the white eye)." She said softly, looking at him curiously, leaning on one hand, her body curving like a spiral, slender and beautiful, shining in the moonlight.

He tried to look at her face but did so with difficulty, feeling a strong throbbing in his breeches. He was afraid she would see it, so he lifted his knees higher to shield himself.

She shuddered when he made the move, alert, but when she saw that he had merely changed position she relaxed again, settling down next to him in a half-lying position.

"Dlaczego mężczyźni to robią? Co takiego robią swoim żonom, że aż tak bardzo tego pragną? (Why do men do this? What do they do to their wives that makes them want it so much?)" She asked curiously, looking at him with a lightness that surprised him; he had the impression that her mood was as changeable as the weather.

He swallowed loudly, wondering how he should explain it to her, what to say to her to please her.

"Gdy mężczyzna bierze kobietę za żonę, stają się jednym w obliczu Boga i całego świata. Łączą się podczas nocy poślubnej swoimi ciałami. (When a man takes a woman as his wife, they become one in the face of God and the whole world. They unite during their wedding night with their bodies)." He said in a trembling voice, and she blinked, turning her head, her gaze bright and intrigued, listening to him intently.

"Ciałami? Dlatego próbują nas dotknąć? (With their bodies? Is that why they try to touch us?)" She asked as if she had just solved a riddle, and he nodded, not knowing what more he could say, embarrassed.

"Dlaczego są tak agresywni? Czy to bolesne? Krzywdzicie swoje żony? (Why are they so aggressive? Is it painful? Are you hurting your wives?)" She asked, wrinkling her eyebrows, clearly trying to compare the behaviour of the men she'd experienced with what he'd said and form a meaningful picture in her head.

He swallowed loudly, feeling his heart pounding hard as he played with the fingers of his hands.

"Nie. Dobry mąż nie krzywdzi swojej żony, tylko daje jej przyjemność. (No. A good husband doesn't hurt his wife, he just gives her pleasure)." He said uncertainly, her eyes shining, she moved closer to him, so close that he could smell her skin, the scent of water and flowers, her face flushed and soft, on her eyelashes the drops sparkled like small diamonds.

"A Ty? Jesteś dobrym mężem? (And you? Are you a good husband?)" She asked warmly, as if she recognised that she liked him, that she would not hurt him. He looked at her with slightly parted lips.

"Ja...ja nie mam jeszcze żony. (I…I don't have a wife yet)." He mumbled, breathing unevenly, feeling that he was already completely hard, she was so incredibly beautiful that he couldn't believe she was actually sitting in front of him.

He thought despairingly, although he had always laughed at men who ran after women, that he must have just fallen in love.

She blinked at his words, looking intently at his face, her gaze roaming over his nose, his lips, his cheeks, feeling that he was hot even though the night was pleasantly cool.

"Dlaczego? (Why?)" She asked and smiled. He felt a tightness in his throat, he was having increasing trouble putting his thoughts together into meaningful sentences.

"Nie wiem. (I don't know.)" He muttered, himself having no idea why, at the age he was, he still refused his mother when she said he had found a suitable candidate.

He didn't want to take as his wife a girl who would only be with him out of an unpleasant obligation, unable to look at his face every day.

"Skąd mężczyzna i kobieta wiedzą, że chcą zostać jednym? (How do a man and a woman know that they want to become one?)" She asked curiously, and he gave her a quick, embarrassed look.

He was silent for a long moment, unable to say anything.

"Gdy kobieta pragnie mężczyzny, staje się mokra między udami. Gdy mężczyzna pragnie kobiety, staje się tam twardy. (When a woman desires a man, she becomes wet between her thighs. When a man desires a woman, he becomes hard there)." He said in a trembling voice, watching her reactions, but she seemed even more intrigued by his words and drew in air loudly, her cheeks blushing a little more.

"Kiedy jest tak mokra jak ja? (When she's as wet as I am?)" She asked innocently surprising him completely, taking his hand in hers and slipping it between her warm thighs, pressing it against her womanhood, sticky and moist with her juices.

He looked up at her in disbelief, breathing rapidly, terrified and aroused, he felt like his length was about to explode with desire.

"Tak. (Yes)." He whispered, she parted her lips slightly as he ran his fingers over her soft folds, he felt a point under her skin from which her whole body shuddered, looking at him with fear and warmth at the same time.

She began to breathe faster and relaxed her grip on his wrist as he began to massage her in slow, circular motions, just as he had read in books in which he had discovered with embarrassment how men satisfy women.

He felt her involuntarily spread her thighs in front of him, allowing him to sink his fingers into her hot flesh, her almost naked breasts rising and falling in quickened, rippling breaths, her beautiful face all red, her lips puffy and glistening.

"− oh −" She mumbled simultaneously pulling away and pressing herself against his hand, herself unsure of what she felt, his fingers growing stickier and stickier with her moisture, his movements accompanied by a loud, wet click.

He saw her hand rise uncertainly to his knee and slide down his thigh, making a powerful shudder run through him. Her fingers ran over the bulge beneath his breeches, and he groaned low, surprised.

"Jesteś twardy. (You're hard)." She hummed with some kind of warmth, and he nodded, licking his lips, unable to focus on anything other than the touch of her soft hands between his thighs.

"Mocniej. (Harder)." He gasped, and she obeyed him, pressing her fingers against his manhood and hiding under the material of his trousers, trailing them up and down in a slow motion.

"Cały pulsujesz. (It's throbbing all over)." She whispered, and he closed his eyes, unsure if he had ever been so aroused before in his life, so thirsty for anyone's touch, breathing loudly along with her, their hips moving against each other in the direction of the movements of their hands.

"Czy to oznacza, że powinieneś wziąć mnie za swoją żonę? (Does this mean you should take me as your wife?)" She asked quietly, and he simply nodded.

"Tak. (Yes)."

She moaned sweetly, innocently, surprised, as his finger made its way inside her, teasing her, her body began to push against him, wanting to feel him deeper, her nipples all hard and stiff seeping through the transparent material of her robe.

"Weź mnie. (Take me)." She whispered and he thrust against her, drinking himself into her sweet, wet lips, she moaned loudly into his mouth, clamping her hands in his hair, spreading her thighs in front of him, watching carefully as he pulled his braces off his shoulders and quickly unbuttoned his breeches.

"To może odrobinę zaboleć. Nie obawiaj się, jeśli zechcesz, przestanę. Nie skrzywdzę Cię. (This might hurt a bit. Don't be frightened, if you want me to, I'll stop. I won't hurt you)." He mumbled out, breathing loudly, feeling how much they were both trembling, and she nodded, looking at him with a trusting expression that took him completely by surprise.

He slid into her with difficulty, her insides clenching against him, trying to resist him, however to no avail, the desperate thrusts of his hips and her slippery wetness allowed him to slip all the way into her.

She parted her lips wide and sighed helplessly, wrinkling her eyebrows as if in worry, certain she had never felt anything like this before in her life, this kind of fullness.

With an involuntary, subconscious movements, he began to move inside her, with sure thrusts of his hips filling her, each time he rubbed her right at her entrance a loud, surprised cry came from her lips.

"− czy będę teraz twoją żoną? (will I be your wife now?) −" She exhaled, stroking his scarred cheek with her soft fingers, her breasts bouncing slightly at each of his thrusts, his length pulsed hard inside her at her question.

"− tak (yes) − od teraz będziesz tylko moja (you'll only be mine from now on) −" He muttered and she blushed, looking up at him with a warmth from which he sped up, her insides so wonderfully tight and hot that he lost control completely, their bodies bumping against each other with a loud splat.

"− a ty? (and you?) − będziesz tylko mój? (will you be only mine?) −" She asked softly and he whispered that he will, before he pressed himself into her lips, his tongue forced its way deep into her throat, muffling her moans as his fingers tightened on her thighs, his length piercing her with all the strength he had in his hips.

"− o kurwa (oh fuck) −" He panted into her mouth, knowing, after all, that he was a devoted believer and servant of the church, that he prayed every Sunday, however, no prayer now seemed as salutary to him as the thought that he was about to come deep inside her, that he was about to cum in that tight, wet cunt.

They fucked like a couple in a brothel, like villagers on straw in a barn, wild and hot, their hands clenched on each other's bodies in a final decision that they would not let go until they had experienced fulfilment.

He saw her eyes close as she threw her head back with her mouth wide open and moaned helplessly, almost crying as waves of hot pleasure shook her body, her walls began to clench against him, making him start to moan low, giving in completely, letting his hot seed fill her.

He collapsed on top of her, crushing her with the weight of his body, trembling all over, her small hands embracing his waist, both of them unable to calm down, breathing loudly, writhing beneath each other, his hips moving inside her for a moment longer.

"− zapomnisz o mnie (you'll forget me) − już nigdy nie wrócisz (you'll never come back) −" She whispered in a quivering voice, and he pressed his face against her wet cheek, running the tip of his nose over her skin hot with exertion.

"− mylisz się (you're wrong) − zabiorę Cię z sobą (I'll take you with me) − miejsce żony jest z jej mężem (a wife's place is with her husband) −"

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi! I love your writing and especially your headcanons🥹🫶🏻🥹🫶🏻

Could I request Gur/Monster hunter Tav with Astarion? I feel like it would be a really interesting dynamic, kind of enemies to lovers. It could involve Tav questioning their long-held beliefs about monsters and vampires as they grow closer to Astarion. I don’t know!

Hope you like the idea!🤍🤍🤍

Hi! It took me time to think something coherent about the Gurs and I hope it won't dissapoint you! In this HCs, Tav isn't a "tadfool" - she is a companion in the Astarion Origin Run he picks up in Act 2.

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Gur!Tav

You were ordered to get bring to his master.

Once Gandrel failed and, presumably, died, you were ordered to complete the mission.

Of course, Astarion is a monster. He kidnapped the children of your tribe.

But you also question why your clan works for a vampire lord.

How come? Why?

The Gur demand their youth to respect the elders. You are violently beaten for disobedience.

Your people have a unique way of life. They are nomads who couldn't care less about the laws of big cities and small towns.

Laws are for the weak. Only the tradition matters.

And it often means violence.

You find the tadfools in the Shadow Cursed Lands.

They rest in the camp and Astarion is among them.

You can't believe those idiots allowed the vampire to be the leader!

You try to attack him stealthily while he's meditating, but he immediately wakes up and pins you to the ground.

The rest of the camp wakes up and, instead of helping, you they tie you up demanding to say who you are.

You keep telling them Astarion is a monster, he must be brought to his master...

"So, you think I am evil but it's you who work for Cazador? Am I getting this right?"

He tells you his side of the story.

Your ancestors decided Baldur's Gate was their hunting ground. He introduced the law to protect the citizens.

A night assault. Revenge.

The vampire, drinking his blood.

Slavery, tortures.

The miserable destiny of a spawn who can't say "no" to his master.

A mere puppet acting on his master's commands.

Your people - working for the person they were supposed to hate the most.

Hypocrisy.

It shocks you, but the puzzle comes together.

You stay at the party, not knowing what to do.

As the journey goes you see Astarion as someone you couldn't believe he was.

The leader. The fighter.

You constantly quarrel. He sees your people as no more than savages, the wild descendants of the Rashemi.

You prove him otherwise by telling what the Gurs really are.

Your honor, your beliefs, your world, your traditions.

It bewilders Astarion and he spends nights listening to your stories and legends.

And he introduces you to something else - the prospects of living outside the tradition. The chance to see the world from a different angle.

Your love evolves slowly and one night you offer him yourself.

First, your blood.

Then, your body.

When you reach Baldur's Gate, you are approached by the Elders - and you beg them to reconsider the decision to hunt Astarion.

Besides, what if the children are still alive?

You see the despise and hatred in your elders' eyes - your bite mark is visible in the sun.

The fight with Cazador goes hard, and you are at a loss for words, screaming to stop the ritual.

As Astarion collapses on his knees and weeps, you cover him with your cape, assuring he is safe.

Your clan promises they won't hunt Astairion down anymore - he is free to walk those lands.

But you-

You have to choose.

If you stay with the Gurs, you leave Astarion and forget him.

If you choose him, you are no longer a Gur.

Simple as that.

Your society is run on traditions as old as time. Your blood, your clan, and your family must prevail.

Astarion squeezes your hand and you know he will fight for you if necessary.

But you made your choice a long time ago.

You are a Gur. And will always be. The elders can't take this from you.

But if they can't accept you, so be it.

Post-game, Astarion and you become monster hunters and adventurers.

You go hand in hand into the future.

Your human life isn't going to be long - and Astarion is ready to spend with you every day till the death takes you.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids

[evescole]

eyes on me, babe || s.harrington

summary: steve harrington knew you like the back of his hand - except for one thing: your biggest fear. when he's kidnapped by the russians along with you and robin, he realizes he never wants to see you that afraid ever again.

aka the season 3 russians scene because i love angst warnings: detailed descriptions of injuries, panic attacks, cursing, physical violence/torture, angst she/her pronouns used, enjoy :)

Fear was such a complex emotion that often caused a train of reaction. You could probably list on one hand the amount of times you’ve felt true, heart-wrenching fear in your life. The situation in front of you threatened to move that amount up further and the dread in your stomach was building each second.

It took one glance for Steve to recognize the expression on your face. That was all it ever took for him. One glance and he could read you like his favorite novel. You and Steve were an open book with each other and had been since 7th grade. Then, you almost lost him to his King Steve era before Nancy Wheeler snapped him out of it. Despite all the drama and the arguments, you and Steve prevailed. You knew everything about each other down to the dark details but there’s one thing you’ve never told him.

“Come on, come on. I need a good one. Give me something juicy,” 17 year old Steve Harrington laughed as he leaned against the headboard behind him. “You can’t just say you aren’t afraid of anything. I know that’s a lie.”

It was movie night, a Friday tradition for the two of you when you weren’t chasing after his intoxicated form or struggling with work. More than often he ended up staying over so he didn’t have to return to his more-than-likely empty home. The movie had ended not long ago and faded into a game of random questions that you two played often. Most answers you already knew but you loved to watch him dig himself out of holes and light up at mentions of the kids, especially Dustin.

You shrugged your shoulders slightly from your place resting against his chest. “I mean yeah I’m scared of something but I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Why not! I tell you everything and you’re not gonna tell me your biggest fear?”

You grabbed his hand in yours. “Steve, it’s not that big of a deal.”

He shook his head aggressively from behind you as he closed the gaps and laced his fingers between yours. “But I wanna know! What kind of best friend am I if I don’t protect you from your biggest fear?”

Ever since then, he constantly spewed random guesses to what exactly could be so important you refused to share it. He swore up and down that he would never use it against you for fun but you still wouldn’t give him a slight hint and it drove him mad.

Staring at the large machine the Russians made that was spinning with energy, you tried to not think about the consequences if it worked. The Demogorgons, the Mind Flayer, the Upside Down. It wasn’t something fun to face and the idea of someone trying to reopen the gate was unnerving. 

“I don’t get it, you guys have seen something like this before?” Robin asked as she walked in front of you down the stairs away from the Russian infiltrated room. The two of you had clicked easily, both pointing at Steve as a target of fun. You were thankful for her presence to keep your mind from going dark in the midst of the chaos.

“Not exactly,” Steve mumbled quietly as he glanced over his shoulder to the emerging blue light. He wasn’t up for fighting other worldly monsters and really just wanted to be in your room, in bed, cuddling and watching movies.

“Then what, exactly?” Robin countered. She was easily terrified and her confidence was shaken so this situation had her spiraling easily. Usually she could feel some sense of control but she felt helpless down here. 

Your feet slipped on the stairs as you ran off the last one while Dustin and Steve attempted to convince Robin that the machine’s success would guarantee world destruction. Steve’s hand instantly caught your hip to keep you from falling as he answered Robin’s questions, unphased by your misstep. Glancing around the room, everything suddenly felt alarming and you took a step back in caution further into his hand. 

“Um, Steve?” Erica seemed to pick up on it too as she looked to the boy behind you. “Where’s your Russian friend?” In a true group fashion, everyone’s eyes searched the room for the said missing soldier only to come up empty handed. 

You reached over to grab Dustin’s arm just as a bright red light filled the room and an alarm followed. Steve scrambled to the nearest door where you could all see the previously knocked out man was gaining attention from his injury before guards rushed towards you.

“Shit. Shit,” Steve mumbled as he slammed the door shut before turning and pushing you all back up the stairs. “Go, go, go, go, go!!” His fingers grasped at your shirt as he nearly ripped it with the force of his grip.

“Fucking hell, Steve. This is not what I meant by a chill weekend!” You shouted backwards as Dustin guided you through a door. With your luck, it was straight into another room filled with soldiers. You stood frozen for a second before sprinting to the left with a shout.

“Come on!” You held onto Dustin’s arm as he continuously cursed in distress. The stairs in front of you led down to the side of the machine as the room vibrated with energy.  Dustin randomly shrieked and pushed the soldier to your left before he continued to run ahead of you.

Stopping just alongside the laser drilling into the wall, Dustin began screaming louder, “Holy shit! Holy shit! Shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” He shouted one final time, holding the word out for longer as you stared at him incredulously. 

“Guards!” Erica yelled, snapping you all out of your staring trance before Steve began to run further down the steps. He didn’t hesitate to shove a man over the railing of the stairs before tossing some empty barrels into more oncoming attackers.

“Steve!” You grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged him with you as you followed Robin’s lead into a hopefully empty room. After a brief headcount, Steve slammed it shut, using his body weight to keep it that way as guards started hitting it from the other side. 

Dustin and Erica scrambled behind you to find some other form of exit as Robin pushed herself next to Steve in an attempt to keep the door from opening. Your eyes scanned the room for something, anything that could help. The heavy feeling was creeping in again and you jerked your head around to look at Steve in hopes of reassurance. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” You whispered to yourself as you saw the door start to pry open. Without a second thought, you were on Robin’s right side and pushed yourself in between the door and the wall for some sort of resistance. 

“Here, come on! Let’s go!” Erica lifted up the grate of an air shaft before climbing in with Dustin hovering behind her. You hesitated at her call, knowing there wouldn’t be enough time for all of you to get over and in before a gunshot went off.

“Go! Just get out of here!” You shouted in return as your feet started to slide beneath you. Your breathing was beginning to pick up and you were quick to try and talk yourself out of the panic attack incoming but it was useless.

Dustin stepped down into the drop of the vent and looked up at the three of you. “Go! Come on, now!”

“No! Just go get some help, okay?” Steve responded. His hands were sweaty with adrenaline and he suddenly doubted his ability as a so-called leader to keep everyone safe. Removing the kids was always the first step in a dangerous situation but knowing you were here and he couldn’t guarantee your safety was enough to send his heart into his throat.

“I won’t forget you!” Dustin screamed before the three of you told him once more to go. The second the air vent cover clanged shut, the door behind your back threw you forward and into the wall on your right sending your head into the concrete wall. A scream almost left your throat at the pain radiating through your skull before you crumbled to the ground next to Robin and Steve.

Guns were suddenly in your face, the sinking feeling of dread now overwhelming as you tried to breathe. Your hands shook as you raised them in the air, mimicking Steve and Robin’s actions as the guards surrounding your small trio. 

Sparing a quick glance towards Steve, you tried to convince yourself you would find a way out of this. The uncertainty in his expression didn’t help in the slightest but it only got worse when rough hands latched onto your skin and pulled you from the ground. Your vision blurred with the movement as you tumbled forward.

“No!” You couldn’t tell if you or Steve screamed louder as the guards yanked your arms behind your back to secure your wrists with a belt. “Let me go!” Writhing in their grip, you couldn’t even begin to think of any defense other than biting the hand of whoever was holding your left arm. A sharp sting spread across your face before a gasp escaped your mouth at the sensation. You guys were screwed.

“Don’t touch her! Let her go, she didn’t do anything!” Steve shifted on the floor towards you before a gun pressed harshly against his forehead forcing him back against the wall with a harsh swallow. 

The guard holding your arm chuckled at the action, evidently amused. “Weak. Cares what happens to her.” You could understand bits and pieces of his sentence as you silently thanked Dustin for his books on Russian translation. “Take her.”

An ear piercing scream left your throat as they tugged you backwards towards a long hallway. Robin and Steve shouted in panic, both of them too scared to try anything but fearing for your safety. Your cries continued as they pulled you out of view, Steve wincing at the sound like it physically pained him. He never liked when you were upset. He could count the times you’ve cried in front of him on two hands and he swore it hurt him more each time he sat through it and comforted you. 

Now, sitting here, with a gun to his head, Steve could only watch as you were ripped from his view with a clear expression on your face that made him sick to his stomach. You were terrified, and there was nothing he could do to help.

--

The room they held you in was freezing. A shiver ran up your spine every so often as you curled up as best as possible. Every so often you could hear a shout from Steve down the hall causing you to wince at the sound. Your shoulders were tense with the awkward position of your hands being behind your back. All you could do was sit there and wait with hopes that Dustin and Erica would come back soon with some help.

The lock on the door clicked as it shoved open to reveal three Russian guards. Your heart clenched at the sight of blood on their knuckles and you prayed it wasn’t Steve’s or Robin’s. Harsh fingers pressed into your jaw, forcing you to look up into the commander’s eyes.

“He cries for you,” He spoke as he leaned down to your face. “Lies to us to protect you. Shame, isn’t it?”

You twisted your face out of his grip as you glared up at him. “Don’t fucking touch him. I swear to God you’ll regret it.” The notion of Steve being hurt enraged you and terrified you at the same time. You were always so used to his strong exterior that the idea of him being in pain made you want to throw up.

The commander laughed at your attempt to suede him before pain suddenly radiated into the side of your already concussed head. Thrown off balance, you fell back against the bench with a harsh groan as you realized the other guard punched you.

“Oh great, you guys aren’t above hitting females, that’s awesome.” You hissed as your vision blurred again and your ears rung. The metal was cool beneath your back but it didn’t bring any comfort. “Fuck that hurts.”

“Who do you work for?” 

Cruel fingers dug into your shoulders and forced you to sit up. You groaned at the movement of your head. “I’m a babysitter. I watch kids. Steve and Robin work at the ice cream place, Scoops Ahoy.” Apparently your answer wasn’t good enough as another aggressive punch had you tumbling to the floor. The copper taste in your mouth told you that one broke skin as you attempted to roll onto your back. “Fucking hell you people are so aggressive.”

“How did you get down here?” 

Pushing yourself against the wall behind you, the thought of just screaming at them crossed your mind but you had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well. “There was an elevator at the loading dock and you morons turned it on while we were in it,” You explained as you closed your eyes, wishing this would all disappear. “We didn’t mean to, okay? And if you let us go, we’ll act like nothing ever happened and you’ll never see us again.”

The thing about hiding from reality is things caught you off guard. You always relied on Steve to keep you safe when you wanted to relax and shelter yourself from the darkness of life. He was always there too, until suddenly he wasn’t and you didn’t have time to clock the aggressive kick coming towards you. The sound of your shoulder popping out of its socket was sickening but the scream that followed was even louder.

“Holy shit!” You hissed as tears escaped your eyes at the force of the injury. If this was their reaction to honest answers, you feared what would come if they didn’t believe you. Evidently, you were on the path to finding out as two guards pulled you up off the ground and began leading you out of the room.

Digging your heels into the ground, you tried to stop their movements but it was fruitless. The pressure in your shoulder was suffocating and your head rattled with each aggressive movement. “Let me go!” You begged repeatedly, trying to kick out or twist from their grip. Another door was open and in a blur, you were tossed to the floor again with a loud groan. “Ow, oh my God.”

“Y/N!” The concern in Steve’s voice couldn’t be missed as you attempt to keep yourself from passing out. The ceiling blurred above you as you tried to blink it back into focus. “Holy shit, are you okay?”

A loud groan replaced your words as you pushed yourself onto your knees as best as possible. The light burned as you flopped onto your ass before finally looking up at him. The blood on his face was bright against his usually clear skin and you could see bruising already forming on his cheek. Other than that, he didn’t look too torn up as he sat on the metal bench in front of you. 

“Stevie…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” He attempted to reassure you but it failed as you recognized a flitter of pain in his eyes. “It’ll be fine, it’s worse than it looks. Wh-What did they do to you?”

You let out a bitter laugh as you forced yourself to stand on shaky legs before sitting next to him. He didn’t hesitate to turn towards you and pull his feet up on the bench like you so both of you were sitting across from each other. The bare skin of his shin and calf muscle rested against yours, a small sense of comfort from the horrendous situation. 

“Your cheek is bruised,” He states abruptly as you continued to look at him. He was nervous, you could tell, but he wasn’t as tense as before you were thrown into the room. The exhaustion was clear on his face and you felt the same, you were just glad to be near him again. 

“Concussion and my shoulder’s gonna need to be popped back into the socket, no biggie.”

His eyes widened in shock before returning to their comforting gaze as he moved closer to you. The fear in his throat was suffocating and he hated knowing you had to see him like this, that you were even going through any of it. “We’re gonna get out of here.”

You laughed, letting your head rest against the wall behind you. “I wanna believe you, Stevie, but this one’s a bit harder than usual.” You were trying not to let the overwhelming sense of dread and hopelessness consume you but it was hard. Tears burned your eyes as you took a deep breath to calm yourself down. “I just wanted to watch Breakfast Club with you and eat chicken wings and sleep.”

“I know, I know, bubs. And we will, as soon as we find Robin and get out of here. I promise. Gonna make you the best damn popcorn you’ve ever had, m’kay?” You nodded to his soft statement even though you wanted to make a comment about making promises you couldn’t keep. 

Your peaceful silence was destroyed when the guards reentered the room. Steve’s body tensed next to you, both of you sitting up straighter. You wished they would just get whatever they wanted over with and leave you alone. At least then you and Steve could come up with some sort of plan in hopes of getting out. 

“I ask you one more time, who do you work for?” The commander was done playing around evidently and without giving Steve time to answer, a silver gleaming knife was being pressed against your arm.

“Whoa whoa whoa!”

“Scoops Ahoy!” Steve screamed the answer at the same time as you yelled in shock. “I’m not lying, it’s in Starcourt Mall!”

A harsh punch landed on his stomach as the blade began to cut through your skin. Gritting your teeth in pain, you refused to let out any noise of discomfort. Steve was already blaming himself, you didn’t doubt that, but you wouldn’t let him feel any worse. 

“How did you get in?”

Steve gasped for air to answer the question, “I already told you. I told you before. My delivery didn’t come, and my friends and I, we thought that it was left at the loading dock. We went in the room and then it turned into an elevator and then… and then we dropped and next thing I know I open my eyes and we’re in this… wonderful facility.”

The knife dragged through your skin slowly as you twitched in reaction, letting out a small groan that had Steve turning towards you so fast you swore he got whiplash. “No, no, no leave her alone! I’m telling the truth, I swear to God! Nobody knows about us, nobody saw us. You can just let us go alright, and-and we’re not gonna tell anybody about this, okay? Shit happens, life goes on-” 

He continued to ramble long enough before you kicked the Russian in front of you in the stomach so the knife clanged to the floor. Blood pooled on your skin before you looked away from the wound with a wince. “Fucking hell! We’re telling the truth! Just let us go!”

The soldiers laughed at your desperation for freedom as you and Steve shared a glance of confusion. There was no chance to figure it out before a guard hit Steve across the face, sending him unconscious as you yelled in protest before darkness spread across your vision and you let the welcoming sleep win.

--

“Y/N. Y/N, Steve, wake up!”

Robin’s voice echoed in your ears as you let your head fall back with a groan. Someone else was behind you as your skull connected with theirs lightly. 

“Y/N! Hi, hi. Are you okay?” Robin’s voice was clear now as you winced away from the light.

“Robs, shhh. Holy shit, I have a bad concussion,” You mumbled as you took a deep breath, ears ringing with her yelling. “Where’s Stevie?”

You tried to feel everything out: the ache in your shoulder and new cut on your arm, you were stuck with your wrists, chest, and thighs restrained against the chair behind you. Headache building each second, you turned to see Robin to your right and Steve to your left, the three of you in a triangle tied together. 

“Steve?” You whispered as you tried to nudge him awake. Him being unconscious was the last thing you needed right now, the heavy pit in your stomach finally bursting when he didn’t answer. “Steve, c’mon wake up.”

“He’s been out since they threw you both in here. They haven’t been back since. Said something about bringing a doctor,” Robin explained softly, understanding the light and sounds bothered you without you having to say it. 

You almost whined at her words, scared that maybe Steve wasn’t waking back up from the attack they landed on him. “Stevie, wake up. Wake up! You promised me we would get out of here. Wake up. You can’t leave me!” Vision tunneling and chest suddenly feeling like it couldn’t move, you feared the worst. A wave of dizziness washed over you as you tried to breathe through the tension in your throat that threatened to suffocate you. You shook your head to yourself. “No, no, no. C’mon. Not now.” 

“Y/N, are you having a panic attack?” Robin asked the obvious question as she tried to look at you. “Whoa, hey, you gotta breathe okay? He’s gonna be fine.”

“Robin, I can’t,” You sobbed as you choked for air in your lungs, feet kicking the ground harshly as you tried to wiggle out. “I can’t lose him. He’s all I have, okay? I can’t, I won’t-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” She tried to reassure you but without being able to move, she had to rely on her words to do the best she could. “He’s probably just unconscious and worn out. He’ll be fine. If they wanted to kill him, they would’ve already.”

You knew she was doing her best but it wasn’t helpful enough to calm the racing in your heart. There was a point to her statement; if they wanted to get rid of you guys, they would’ve. Regardless, neither you or Steve did well seeing the other in pain. 

“Hey, would you stop yelling?”

“Steve! Oh, my God!” Robin’s voice was full of worry as she leaned directly back against his left shoulder to try and see him better. “Are-Are you okay?”

He took a choppy deep breath, “My ears are ringing and I can’t really breathe, and my eye feels like it’s about to pop out of my skull, but you know, apart from that I’m doing pretty good.”

“Good, good, yeah, because Y/N over here is having a panic attack thinking you weren’t gonna wake up.”

“Robin!” You whined in embarrassment at her comment, letting your head drop to your chest. Small drops of blood smeared up and down from the deep slice on your left arm. You wanted nothing more than to just go home with the kids, shower, and cuddle up for movie night. A slight sense of relief came back when you heard Steve speak. 

“Bubs,” Steve’s voice cracked as he tried to get your attention, eyes moving to look at you as best as possible. “You okay?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks at his voice and you were grateful he couldn’t see you fully. “Mhmm fine. Good.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Well sorry I’m not feeling very positive,” You mumbled back. Your injuries were starting to get the best of you and the tired feeling was hard to hold back. “Just wanna go to sleep.”

Steve’s leg kicked yours as gently as possible, his hip at an odd angle to reach you. “Nonono, hey, you have a concussion. Stay awake. You better stay awake.” You softly groaned at his word, letting your head rest gently on his shoulder even though it pulled your muscles uncomfortably. 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna die in a secret Russian base with Steve “The Hair” Harrington and Y/N Y/L/N-Harrington.”

A beat of silence followed her statement before you spoke up. “Did you just hyphenate my last name with his?”

“Mhmm,” She hummed in agreement. “Because you two are rarely separated and you love each other so deal with it. It’s just too trippy, man.”

“We’re not gonna die,” Steve responded to the first part of her initial statement, ignoring the little nudge at your relationship. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? You gotta let me just think for a second.”

Robin ignored his request for silence and kept mumbling, “Do you remember, um, Mrs. Click’s sophomore history class? Mrs. Clickity-Clackity. That’s what us band dweebs called her.”

“God, that woman hated me,” You added. Your headache was getting stronger by the minute and you prayed Steve had some kind of pain relief in his car.

“It was the first period, Tuesdays and Thursdays and Steve was always late. Always had the same breakfast: bacon, egg, and cheese on a sesame bagel. I sat behind you two days a week for a year. Mister Funny. Mister Cool. The King of Hawkins High himself. Do you even remember me from that class?” Steve’s silence was enough of an answer for Robin before she scoffed. “Of course you don’t. You were a real asshole, you know that?”

Steve let out a small sigh before agreeing, “Yeah, I know.”

“But it didn’t even matter. It didn’t matter that you were an ass. I was still… obsessed with you. Even though all of us losers pretend to be above it all, we still just wanna be popular, accepted.”

“If it makes you feel any better, having those things isn’t all that great,” Steve admitted as he let his head drop to rest against yours gently. “Seriously. It just baffles me. Everything that people tell you is important, everything people say you should care about, it’s all just… bullshit. But I guess you gotta mess up to figure things out, right?”

“I hope so. I feel like my whole life has been… one big error.” Robin’s response pulled a chuckle from you and Steve both. Somehow in the midst of the worst moments, Robin always brought that feeling out in you. “At least it can’t get any more messed up than this.”

You let out a small noise of protest. “Don’t jinx us, please.”

“I wish I’d known you in Click’s class,” Steve continued their hushed conversation. “Really, I do. Maybe you could’ve helped me pass the class. Y/N can only help me so much before it’s impossible.”

“Hey!” You grumbled, “Listen Harrington, sometimes the student is unteachable for the teacher, okay?”

He laughed at your defense, twisting just enough to press a kiss to your temple. “I’m kidding, bubs. You did great. You always do.”

The buzzer of the door ruined the moment as the commander and his guards entered the room again. This time though, a bald man in a white shirt with dark pants came with them and you could only guess this was the doctor Robin was referring to. 

The commander leaned down in front of Steve. “Try telling the truth this time, yes? It will make your visit with Dr. Zharkov less painful.” His grimy hand ran down Steve’s neck in faux comfort as your best friend tried to lean away, wincing as the Russian’s thumb dug too hard into his bruises.

Your eyes followed the so-called “doctor” who held a large needle full of blue liquid. “Wait, whoa, what is that?” Your question was left unanswered for a moment as he continued to approach Steve. “Stop stop, leave him alone!”

“It will help you talk.”

“No, no, no!” Steve protested as the doctor pushed his head towards you before injecting the needle into his neck without a second of hesitation. 

You turned your head as best as possible as he groaned next to you. “Steve, Stevie. Are you okay?” For all you knew, it could’ve been poison and he was gonna drop dead any second. 

Shifting his jaw back and forth, he nodded to you. “Yeah, fine. For now.” 

Your attention was drawn back to the doctor who grabbed another needle from his tray, turning to you. “Oh, fucking hell.” You tried to kick at his legs to keep him away before someone’s fingers dug into the raw skin on your arm. A scream left your lips, feet dropping back to the floor as fresh blood poured from the wound the same second the needle entered your neck. 

“Let go! Get your hands off her!” Steve shouted from next to you as the doctor moved on to Robin before they left the three of you alone in the room again. 

“Holy shit,” You gasped in shock as you watched the drops of blood fall down your arm. Thankfully none of you had stopped breathing yet, so maybe whatever they gave you wouldn’t be so bad.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Robin asked since she couldn’t see what you and Steve could.

“Asshole stuck his finger in my arm.” A sharp hiss left your teeth. This day definitely was not turning out the way you thought it would. 

A few moments of silence passed between your trio. Nobody knew what to say. Emotions were tense and it had been over 24 hours since you had seen the normal sky and fresh air. You were exhausted, head leaning against Steve’s. You craved the peace and quiet of your room, his soft snores filling the air. Despite the coolness of your room, Steve’s skin was always warm and no matter how much you whined about being hot, he refused to not be holding you while you slept. 

“Honestly, I don’t really feel anything. Do you?” Steve broke the quiet with a light attempt at humor. 

“No,” You whispered quietly, voice threatening to give out from all the screaming.

“I mean, I… I feel fine,” Robin added, “I feel kinda good.”

Light laughter followed her statement from you and Steve. She wasn’t wrong, you kinda felt like you were floating on clouds. The pain faded slightly and everything just felt easy. 

“Morons,” You snorted in laughter, “They messed up the drug.”

“They messed it up,” Robin couldn’t stop her giggles.

“Morons,” Steve called out, “Hey, morons!”

“Oh man,” You sighed with a smile once the laughter died down. “There’s definitely something wrong with us.”

The door buzzer sent a ringing through your ears as you complained loudly in annoyance. You could see the familiar guards and even the doctor had come to greet you again. The clinging of his metal tools as he unpacked his bag caught your attention easily. The twinge of terror in your chest didn’t last very long, blown away by whatever they injected into your body.

“Would now be a good time to tell you that I don’t like doctors?” 

Robin’s joke was left without reaction this time as you stared at the shining tools. Now even more defenseless, you wondered if Dustin and Erica were somewhere safe. Maybe it was a good thing they never returned to help. At least you knew they wouldn’t have to see whatever happened next. 

“Let’s try this again. Who do you work for?”

“Scoops,” Steve answered bluntly causing you and Robin to giggle, “Scoops Ahoy.”

“How did you find us?”

“Totally by accident,” You answered this time, not hesitating to give them a response. It was like your brain just wanted to talk and it wanted to say anything and everything that came to it.

Some Russian was spoken, something you weren’t sure of. The doctor picked up a pair of pliers from his tool set and stepped towards your best friend. “What is that shiny little toy?” The target of the command was oblivious to the danger heading his way. 

“Stevie, maybe he’s gonna cut your hair,” You cackled at the idea of Steve losing his biggest trait. “Ha, you’re gonna be bald.”

Robin practically screamed with laughter seconds before Steve was screaming in terror as the doctor put the pliers beneath one of his nails. “Whoa, whoa, hey, hey. Wait! No! Wait! Wait!”

“There was a code!” Robin blurted, “We heard a code!

The commander seemed somewhat pleased with the information. “What code?” He pushed further. 

“The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. Blah, blah, blah. You broadcast that stupid spy shit all over town, and we picked it up on our Cerebro, and we cracked it in a day. A day!” Robin was particularly gleeful as she explained how you ended up here. “You think you’re so smart, but a couple of kids who scoop ice cream and watch kids for a living cracked your code in a day, and now, people know you’re here.”

“Who knows we are here, suka?”

“Uh, well, Dustin knows.”

In a flip of panic you turned towards him. “Hey, Steve.”

“Yeah, Dustin Henderson, he knows.”

“Stevie!” You yelled this time, hoping the force in your voice would make him shut up. No way, no way, was he going to sit here and rat out the little boy you considered your brother. 

You hated the way Dustin’s name rolled off the commander’s mouth. “Is this your small, curly-haired friend?”

“Ah, curly-haired. Gread hair. Small. Kind of like a ‘fro. Yeah.”

“Where is he?”

Steve couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “He’s long gone, you big asshole. He’s probably calling Hopper and Hopper’s calling the US calvary. They’re gonna come in here, commando-style, guns a-blazin and kick your sorry asses back to Russia. You’re gonna be two pieces of toast.”

Laughter burst through your lips as your head fell forward. The ups and downs of your emotions were making you dizzy but this was so fun and dangerous and sickening.

“Is that so?” The commander bent down in front of Steve’s face to mock him. You all burst into another fit of giggles that only escalated when an alarm began blaring through the base. The commander and his two guards rushed from the room to diagnose the issue.

The door slammed open as you recognized Dustin’s high pitched yell before there was a zapping noise. The doctor’s figure crumbled to the ground from whatever the younger boy did before his curly hair was popping up in your peripheral vision. 

“Hey, Henderson!” Steve was giddy at the boy’s presence in front of him. “That’s crazy, I was just talking about you.”

“Get ready to run!” Dustin’s command wasn’t left up for discussion as he yanked the belts holding the three of you together off. Erica quickly moved to untie Robin individually before Dustin’s hands were suddenly on your knees. “Y/N, holy shit. Are you okay?”

“Dusty!” Your voice was way too excited in his opinion as he tried to pull his eyes from the dried blood on your skin. His hands moved fast to free your ankles and wrists before he tucked an arm under your shoulder and helped you up. Unlucky for you, it was the one the Russians popped out of socket causing you to yelp and jump away from him. “Ow, that hurt!” Your pain was disguised in a fit of laughter as Dustin stared at you in concern. 

“We gotta go. Come on.” Grabbing your wrist gently, he pulled you out of the monotone room that had consumed your thoughts for the past few hours. Handling you carefully, he helped you climb into the back of whatever transport they had found, Steve and Robin clambering in after. The door slammed shut, the ringing in your ears making you press your hands harshly against your head. Curling into yourself, you laughed as the cart began to move making you roll around like a ball.

“Jesus, slow down,” Steve’s words were slurring together as he tumbled into your side. His hands were as careful as possible as he tried to get off of you.

“Yeah, what is this, the Indy 500?”

“It’s the Indy 300,” Steve attempted to correct Robin’s statement but failed. 

“No, dingus, it’s 500!”

“300!”

They two kept going before bursting into laughter again. Your senses were suddenly overwhelmed, the medicine they gave you blurring together as you dropped into a fit of panic. Head aching, chest tight, you clenched your fingers around your arms tightly as you tried to protect yourself as much as possible. Erica let out a shout before you were slammed against the metal walls of the cart, a cry leaving your lips as you hit your already bruised head. Dustin asked if you were alright but you were too busy trying to choke in air to answer. 

More yelling followed before hands were pulling on you, yanking you from your comforting position. Whining as you moved, you let Steve and Dustin practically carry you along slowly into the elevator you came here in. 

The chaotic elevator ride went in a blur, Steve and Robin giggling a little too loud for your enjoyment. Dustin was trying to check your best friend’s stability before his finger was poking into his neck where they had injected the drugs earlier. The ride back up to ground level didn't take too long and eventually, Dustin held your hand tightly as he led you from the elevator back out into the fresh air of the night. You thought you were in the clear and could finally go home, take a shower, and go to sleep. That idea slipped away quickly as Dustin started yelling and pulled you back through the side doors of the mall while Erica attempted to corral Steve and Robin. You caught a quick glimpse of the two Russians undercover that were running towards you.

“Whoa!” Steve shouted excitedly as your group turned a corner sharply in the back halls of the mall.

“Where are we going?” Erica asked Dustin, who didn’t give her a clear answer. Soon enough, he was pulling you through the door that led to the movie theater hallway and into an ongoing showing of Back to the Future. 

Your feet couldn’t keep up as he ran towards the bottom row, demanding you, Steve, and Robin take a seat. Steve broke out into complaints about the shitty view while shoving someone’s discarded popcorn into his mouth. 

“Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere,” The younger boy directed.

“Fine, Dad,” Steve scoffed, earning giggles from Robin. You watched Dustin and Erica shift down the aisle to two other open seats. Steve slumped down aggressively, throwing more popcorn than he could chew into his mouth, mumbling that he had no idea what was happening.

Three minutes went by of your trio staring dumbly at the movie screen before Robin spoke up, “Guys. I’m bored.”

“Me too,” Steve blurted a little too excitedly. You looked over at both of them to see their expectant eyes staring right at you. Dustin’s words be damned, you were bored and hungrier than shit.

Moving quickly to the left, you snuck back out the same hall you had walked through. Food forgotten, the water fountains you found looked much more appetizing as you crumbled against it and chugged down water like you’d never seen it before. 

Plopping on the floor, you let Robin take over the water fountain you previously occupied. Steve started conversing with her again but their words faded to whispers as you stared forward. Whatever they gave you down in the lab was causing panic after panic. Slumping forward, you wrapped your arms tightly around your legs as you tried to slow your breathing. You thought once you left that elevator you’d be free, but realizing that the guards lurked around every corner was enough to freak you out, especially when you figured out how vulnerable your group was.

“Steve!” 

Your cry had his attention instantly, laughter disappearing immediately as he turned to you. He felt bad, but whatever the guards gave him made him want to giggle again. He clumsily clattered to the floor next to you. “Y/N, hey, hey. What’s wrong?” Hands were on your arms, your bare skin touching his. “Okay, okay. That’s okay, just breathe for me.” He was trying to walk himself through the normal steps. Helping you through a panic attack wasn’t abnormal to him, and he was always willing to keep you from suffering alone. 

“I-I don’t know, it’s too much,” You admitted as you crawled into his lap, letting him hold you like a child. Tingling ran through your limbs, numb to the point where you could barely feel the warmth of Steve’s hold on you. “I can’t, it hurts, everywhere. We can’t get out of here, a-and and you, you weren’t waking up and-”

“Y/N, hey. Eyes on me, babe. I’ve got you.” His fingers were soft as they moved your chin to look up at him. He had never seen your body so tense, so rigid. He knew ever since the demogorgon attack that the nightmares were getting worse but you always, always insisted that you were fine.

You cried into his bloody uniform, hands refusing to let go of his wrists. “I was so scared, I didn't think you were gonna come back to me and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I never told you but I didn’t want anything to happen if I did and I’m just so so scared of losing you, Stevie. Can’t even imagine a world without you and I thought you left me alone and… and…”

So, here you were, a bloody mess in Starcourt Mall when the secret broke free that you had hidden from Steve Harrington for so long. Your biggest and greatest fear had always been so close under his nose and he had no idea. Maybe it was obliviousness or just denial but he had never realized how important he was to you.

You were scared, terrified, of losing him to the point where you didn’t want to risk speaking it into existence. Now, it all made sense though. The moments of hesitation when a plan involved him in the front lines, the over worry when he got into a fight, or the simple things like making him dinner and staying in his usually empty house so he didn’t feel alone. 

You couldn’t live in a world where Steve Harrington wasn’t yours.

He felt stupid that he didn’t see it sooner, but you were so good at hiding things when you wanted to. He had slowly been figuring your patterns out but this one was just right out of his reach.

“Shh, it’s okay. C’mere.” His arms held you close, chin resting on your head, tucking you into his neck as he tried to bring you any sense of comfort, to let you know he was here and he was okay. You curled closer into his body, trying not to disturb the wounds on his face. “M’not gonna go anywhere, bubs. Promise. Could never leave you.”

Robin couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized at the way the two of you fit together like missing puzzle pieces. She admired it, yet despised it because she never would get to experience it. You were like soulmates, destined to be entwined infinitely in the universe. She begged, hoped, dreamed that someone would show up and love her for her the way Steve loved you. There was a lot of room for her to grow, to open up to the two of you about who she really was and she would, soon. 

“Hey,” She cursed herself as she interrupted your small moment, her eyes drifting upwards as she let her head fall back. “Is the ceiling spinning for you guys too?”

You sniffled as you pulled your head away from Steve’s neck to look up at the indeed bright, moving lights. It was gorgeous, a blend of soft yet bright and elegant color. 

Your stomach shifted uncomfortably before all three of you were scrambling to the nearest bathroom to rid your bodies of the toxins that had been plaguing you. You tried not to be too grossed out on the bathroom floor and the cold porcelain toilet you were resting your head on. Letting out a small groan, you tucked yourself against the corner of the stall between the wall and the toilet, letting yourself slump in exhaustion. 

“The ceiling stopped spinning for me,” Robin said as she broke the silence. You could see the backs of her thighs as she let her legs rest upwards against the stall. “Is it still spinning for you?” Taking a second, you looked up and shook your head no, forgetting that she couldn’t see you. 

“Holy shit. No. You think we puked it all up?” Steve asked from the stall next to you. You could barely see his blue shoes and knee high socks against the multicolored floor. 

“Maybe, ask me something,” Robin suggested before changing to a Russian accent, “Interrogate me.”

Steve let out a small chuckle, “Okay, interrogate you. Sure. Um, when was the last time you peed your pants?”

“Today,” Robin answered without hesitation, “When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw.”

A short laugh left your mouth as Steve mumbled something about the drug still being in Robin’s system. You felt fine now - not back to normal but you didn’t feel as floaty and instead, your body was riddled with pain and exhaustion but you were just glad to be out. 

“Alright, my turn. Have you… ever been in love?”

“Yep. Nancy Wheeler, first semester, senior year,” He made a noise with his mouth to imitate a gunshot to his heart. 

Despite Steve being devastated over the situation, you were so grateful Nancy snapped him out of his King Steve persona that became so overwhelming. You had been watching your best friend disappear piece by piece, his new friends becoming your enemies with their snide rude comments that Steve didn’t really attempt to stop. So, despite Nancy Wheeler breaking Steve’s heart, you got him back and you were more than grateful for it. 

“Y/N, did you just OD in there?”

By the time you realized you were missing the conversation, Steve’s body was sliding under the metal door into your stall and shaking you back to reality. You gave him a small smile, chin resting on your crossed arms as you tucked your knees into your chest. Neither of you talked about what had happened not too long ago and you were suddenly ashamed of your reaction. 

“That floor’s disgusting,” You muttered as he settled closer to you. His hands were gentle as they grabbed your ankles and released your legs from their cramped position to rest over his lap, fingertips ghosting lightly over your shins. He needed to hold you, to comfort you the best way he knew how.

“Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so…” He waved his hand lazily towards his destroyed uniform. “Do you wanna talk about it? Robin went to get some more water for us.”

You shrugged lightly, leg twitching as you threatened to curl back into a ball. You felt exposed, more exposed than you ever did to him and usually you didn’t mind it but it just felt weird. Steve noticed, just like he always did, and shifted to sit facing you with his legs slotted beneath yours, his feet resting on the sides of your hips. Tugging you forward gently until your thighs rested on top of his and his hands sat on your waist, Steve Harrington finally looked at you the way he had wanted to for so long.

“I love you.”

Your response was automatic, “I love you, too.”

Steve smiled but shook his head slightly as he messed with you. “Nah, c’mon, babes. You know that’s not what I mean.”

You gave him a half smile, your skin bubbling with excitement. “Stevie, I think we both know exactly what we mean.” You could feel the dynamic shift, both of you could. It was obvious enough but it didn’t feel heavy or overbearing - it just felt right.

“Oh, do we now?” The smirk on his face was smug but it disappeared into the tiniest smile when you rolled your eyes at him and finally leaned forward to close the distance, your lips settling perfectly onto his. Steve Harrington was in heaven, and he was in love. He didn’t know why it had taken this long for either of you to react and make the emotions between you known after so long but he was so glad.

His hands slipped to your lower back to pull you closer into his lap as your fingers sorted through his slightly matted hair. Taking a second to breathe, you leaned back with one hand still lingering around his neck, the other gently brushing the bruises on his face. He was just so real, so close, and somehow still always yours. 

The bathroom door slamming open had you shifting your gaze to see Dustin, Erica, and Robin crowding the doorway, the biggest smile on the latter's face as she held water bottles in her hands. Steve moved slightly to see them, his hand never leaving your waist as he turned to see your friends had returned. “Oh, hey guys.”

“Okay. What the hell!”

--

masterlist

ask me anything

[likealittleheartbeat]

Why in the first season do we have the motif of Zuko stealing Katara’s mother’s betrothal necklace? Some point to a romantic subtext being read into this that, they argue, later gets ignored in order to prop up a problematic relationship for Katara with Aang, the protagonist. But if there’s subtext to be read in the theft of a betrothal token from a subjugated female by a male imperial representative, it’s the subtext of rape.

Why is it that it’s the women in the southern water tribe are gone? Ostensibly because they were the benders—but there’s a darker undertone, especially when we consider the clearly made analogy to indigenous peoples in North America, where even to this day native women are 2 times more likely to experience rape than those from other races. The fact that the necklace was her mother’s illustrates this legacy and connection, pointing us back to the original invasion of the tribe by the Fire nation, the attack on Katara’s mother by a single soldier inside their home (allowed in in order to protect Katara) and how Zuko’s actions at the beginning of the series echo it. This is not an auspicious place to begin a relationship if that’s what the writers were planning. Traditional enemies-to-lovers arcs usually involve prejudice but usually tied to pride, less so that kind of sexual violence. Despite Romeo and Juliet coming from warring families, it’s never implied that Romeo committed war crimes in the first act, especially not against the girl who falls for him, so we should perhaps be clued in that something different is going on in Katara and Zuko’s dynamic.

The intense rage, fear, and defense Katara puts up against Zuko in the finale of the first season (right after she has had to face the misogyny among her own people) is evocative of her response to his assaults throughout the first season. If this was not enough, we then have the rape of the moon spirit and the sacrifice of Yue for her people happening in the background, all pointing us back to the gendered violence of the empire Katara’s living under and fighting against. Her battle is not passionate because she secretly loves Zuko. She is doing everything within her power to protect herself and the spirit (literally the Avatar and figuratively within herself) that she has kept kindled despite the violent attempts to wipe it out—Zuko eventually prevails and steals a precious thing from her again…

When Katara and Zuko are imprisoned together during “The Crossroads of Destiny,” often seen as the peak of their romantic tension, they discuss their mothers, and Katara learns about the loss of Zuko’s mother (which we’re encouraged by the symbolism in the first season to read through the symbolic lens of gendered abuse and sexual violence, only now it’s domestic and internal rather than imperial). Zuko’s shift to a pitiable victim of abuse has softened his monstrous face for us, and the same happens to Katara in the catacombs, to the point where she’s willing to share a spiritual token with him.

It’s remarkable in the scene that, after being interrupted, there’s an effort made to remind the audience of Aang and Zuko’s continued antagonism—they glare at each other despite being in the embrace of the person who cares most about them in the world. And in the next scene, it’s revealed that Katara and Zuko’s reconciliation is actually not enough to transform Zuko’s loyalties. His desires for Aang and the redemption he can offer are too great.

In fact, throughout this couple of scenes, Zuko shows no interest in possessing or learning about Katara. She spouts off her grievances without his request, and then he shares his own loss only in defense to Katara's accusations and self-recognition in her stories, not as consolations for her pain. And Katara is moved by his vulnerability because she is so eager to see more evil within imperial power. She wants to hear the truth about how even those within it are injured. With all the feminine fantasy of being able to fix the behavior that toxic masculinity has induced, she suggests her spirit water might alleviate the scar Zuko bears--no forethought about preserving it for her own needs. Zuko doesn’t even request or accept the spirit water she offers him. It's all Katara. You'll be hard pressed to find a moment where Zuko expresses desire for Katara in this scene, a definite difference from his sexual aggression towards her in the first season. We as an audience are actually moved by his lack of desire her and what she has to offer because Katara is finally free from his predation (though it was only his initial violence that makes this neutral kind of freedom feel heartening).

The eventual gesture of Katara healing Zuko in “Sozin’s Comet” is free of his desire as well, unless you count the desire to protect a non-combatant, which has been Zuko’s reoccurring theme throughout the series, Katara or no (when he chooses the safety of his crew in "the storm," his advocacy for the lives of the fire nation soldiers that led him to banishment, etc.). The suggestion of rape arises here again with the penetrative nature of lightning, but the show has really complicated it’s gender dynamics by having Azula direct it, pointing to imperialism as the core concern rather than a simplified feminist reading. When Katara heals him, it's after she's cared for herself and defeated Azula now, and the words exchanged are "thank you," words of cordiality and comradery. They touch, but they are touches of equal counterparts rather than romance.

Reading romance into the simple refusal to commit colonial rape seems like a fairly low bar. This is neither what Katara nor Zuko are seeking out over the expanse of the series. They are looking for the transformative hope, action, and balance that the Avatar embodies, which, if anything allows them to stop fixating on each other and the dynamic of feminine colonized victim and masculine imperial patriarch that their world would have them locked into forever.

Aang does not go back in time to fix it all, but he brings an acceptance of reality that still allows for change. And this applies to the emotional states for the characters. Finding balance. Their griefs are not gone but not totalizing, either. They don't have to obsess or ruminate on it, or on the person who embodies the "problem" for them. The balance that the Avatar brings (and the fantasy that the show concludes with) is not a world in which the violence of colonialism never occurred but a world in which emotional release is possible from the intensifying dynamics colonialism forces its subjects into to sustain itself.

[licorice-lips]

Okay, so what's happening in Palestine and The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes/The Hunger Games have been on my mind lately (it's really all I think about, but okay), and I was thinking about the State of Nature of human beings and society as a whole and I got to some points to take out of my heart:

I've always been told that the world is a bad place, that the world is dark and bleak, the whole circus, and the first actual conversation I remember having about this was with my dad:

We had just left the theaters after watching Joker and I remember being really shocked and taken aback by the raw violence in it - not only the physical violence, but the underlying violence as well, the cruelty of it all - and my father saw this. I remember him saying in a kind of patronizing way that "that's the world" and that was the first time I remember being reluctant to accept that as a fact.

The second time I was put in contact with that point of view about the world was actually with my therapist: I was leaving an abusive relationship and I'm not sure whether she was referencing the abusive person's way of thinking or making a point to me about it, but she said that the world was cruel and egotistical. And once again I felt this really strong reluctance to accept that.

And it was only now, with TBOSAS and Palestine, that I finally pieced it together: I was reluctant because even if the world - the social and economic system we were raised in, the very system that depends on inequality and unfairness to prevail - is a bleak and cruel and unforgiving world, the same is not true at all for people because every time I look at people, there is always - amidst greed and cruelty and ignorance - someone, a lot of someones really, who stand up and do the right thing, like Katniss, or who is kind and protest in their own way, like Peeta.

I've read somewhere as well that anthropology has one main and silent principle: that people have always been people, in the sense that there were always people who loved each other so very much they were willing to die for them (it doesn't matter how different our concept of love is) but there were also people who drew dicks in walls because they were bored. And I know that has nothing to do with TBOSAS and the whole thing I was talking about in the beginning but bear with me for a second, I'll lead this back to where we started, okay?

When the Titanic was sinking (and I learned that from ashling on TikTok, okay) there was an ongoing stream of messages being sent everywhere in the seas that can be translated into messages of help, of worry, of discussions on how to help the Titanic and the people there, but not only that, the ship that rescued the people from Titanic, the Carpathia, actually almost burnt their engines trying to speed to the last coordinates of the Titanic so they could help out without thinking twice.

And that really struck me, not only because it's obviously a take on human kindness but because it resonates with what I was told before: the world is bleak - the very tale of the Titanic is the greed that created the catastrophe. But in the middle of that, around all of it, there are so many tales of compassion, humanity, and kindness that it's overwhelming, not only for the ships around the Titanic but in the very ship as well, like the musicians that stayed and played to the end to comfort the people.

And again, that reminds me of Palestine, how it's being destroyed by greed for oil and gas, how it's being destroyed by a belief system that dehumanizes Palestinian people. And still, in the middle of all of that, we see every day the Palestinian people fighting any way they can in the kindest of ways, by giving food to people even if they have little of it because they know their neighbors are starving, by going to bombarded places where there's shrapnel and rubble everywhere in flipflops and with no gear on because people need saving, by staying in occupied hospitals because their patients need them.

The courage of it all, the kindness, the fairness, and faith - it's all so Good it's almost suffocating. But more than that: the humanity with which we saw H'mmas' hostages being treated by them, the millions of people protesting everywhere in the entire world, the people crying all over TikTok, the people who are making themselves sick of preoccupation over those millions of people in Gaza and the West Bank. I look at this and it made me realize that the world might be dark, it might be cruel and unforgiving, but people are not.

And I stand for this: when it comes down to the people, we are good.

And it's really maddening to think about Snow and his own view of the world and how he thinks people at their very core are evil and therefore refuses to be influenced by every evidence of the contrary, by every tribute which shows kindness and compassion in the Arena, by every act of love and selflessness throughout not only his own book but The Hunger Games trilogy as well because it's how some people really view the world and project this to humans.

He refuses to see the humanity in Lucy Gray coming back to save him after the bombing of the Arena, or the humanity of Lamina killing Marcus out of mercy, or Reaper's insistence on remaining kind to Dill as well as the other fallen tributes. He refuses to see the kindness in Sejanus' insistence on honoring Marcus with their district traditions, the deep empathy and regret in Dean Highbottom for his own foolishness, or even Tigris's selfless acts to support her family in every way she could.

He refuses to see the kindness, the goodness, the selflessness in the middle of the dark and cruel environment - world - the Capitol had created for all of them.

But people have always been people, we've always been the Kindness, the goodness that makes us protest and boycott, the empathy that makes us sick at having to bear witness to such horrors that are being done to our own. And that's because - as I referenced in my other essay about this - we humans thrive on community.

When we talk about our State of Nature, I genuinely believe that, if we were in fact evil in our cores, we'd be unable to form communities because they can only be formed through connection. And the more I see people, the more I see attempt, after attempt, after attempt to connect with people any way we can: could be through our phones, watching and bearing witness to the pain of others; through our protests and marches, screaming for our own to be saved because we know they're hurting; we are, everywhere at every time, connecting with people, even people when shouldn't be connecting with - like villains such as Snow.

And I think the first weapon of brainwashing beliefs such as fascism, nazism, and Zionism, is the suffocation of our children's ability to connect - with a targeted group, at first, but then everyone else that protects or "sides" with the targeted groups. As I typed that, I remembered a video I saw of Israeli kids being taught a song about destroying Gaza and its people by their mother.

And that's so sad for so many reasons, but especially because the suffocation of our children's ability to connect is the very doom of their existence - not only because it's isolating but also because we only thrive when we cooperate, since the beginning of our History. To suffocate our ability to empathize is to doom them to a very isolated and fearing-based life, it's why great empires based on dictatorships have always fallen - because connected people do not betray, connected people do not falter in their loyalty, but people who are only together out of collaboration - like the careers, or the US and Israel? To gain something from it?

They cheat and betray, and that's no basis for a thriving society..

It's ironic, really.

[cerise-on-top]

Graves and Makarov with a taller!reader hcs tyy

Hey! Sorry, I don't write for Makarov, but I did write some HCs for Graves! Hope that suffices!

Graves with a Taller!Reader

I’m gonna be honest with you, Graves is kind of butthurt about you being taller than him. It’s his job to be the big and strong man, therefore he needs to be taller than you! Granted, he’s not the tallest himself, so it actually really isn’t that hard to be taller than him, but it still hurts his ego and, even more so, his pride. He always wanted to have a partner who’s shorter than him, but he couldn’t exactly choose who he fell in love with, so he makes do with what he has.

Although you’re taller than him, he still offers to grab things that are up high for you. He knows that, realistically speaking, you have an easier time grabbing whatever it is, but he subconsciously needs to convince himself that he’s useful still. Yes, he may be the CEO of Shadow Company, and thus quite feared and strong, but still. It’s important to him that you rely on him, that you think of him as a fearsome but kind leader who will prevail, no matter what. That he is a trustworthy southern gentleman who would bend his back for you to make sure you’re safe and sound. He has a reputation to uphold, and by god will he do such.

As mentioned in a previous post, while he is quite touchy, he doesn’t particularly like being the little spoon while cuddling. This holds true even more so when you’re taller than him. While, if you’re shorter than him, he might let you hold him every once in a while, it will absolutely never happen. He hates feeling like the shorter person. Although plenty of his Shadows are taller than him as well, you’re more special to him in a different way. Graves might often joke about shorter people being ankle biters, and he will continue to do so, but he could never suck up his pride and joke about you being a skyscraper. It doesn’t sit right with him, it never will. However, if you crack a joke about him being short, then you can get ready for verbal violence, this guy will absolutely let you know that he can take you in a fight. In all fairness, he could. Despite being average height, at most, he’s still a menace to be dealt with. Even if you’re 2m tall, he’ll suplex you into the concrete if you make too much fun of him. Gives you a stern talking to about how he’s still very capable, but won’t mention your height even once during it all. In fact, he won’t outright mention he’s shorter either, it gives him a bad taste in his mouth.

If you feel like a funnyperson, you can try to pick him up. He’ll wiggle around like a tortoise in absolute distress, cussing you out as he does so. While he will scold you yet again, thinking this to be highly unnecessary, his Shadows will adore you even more if you do. They love seeing their adorable little boss be taken care of, especially by a loved one of his. Eventually, if you don’t put him down, he’ll give up. But that’s if he didn’t just outright take you down in the first place. Everything is fair in love and war, and you making fun of him screams for a battalion. Graves, while he would never be violent towards you, would definitely try to push you away. Laugh a bit at his reaction and he’ll start sulking, leaving the room to spar a bit with his Shadows. He does not feel loved and cherished in this household, therefore he needs to let out his frustration by having his Shadows think of him as the coolest BAMF of them all.

The only time he might come to terms with the fact you’re taller than him is if you’re a complete and utter sweetheart. Using your height to your advantage for easier placement of forehead kisses, letting him rest his head against your shoulder, wrapping him in a blanket and letting him sleep in your bigger bed are what will make his heart flutter a bit. He will feel betrayed if you ever make fun of his height and makes it absolutely everyone else’s problem that day. But as long as you keep being the sweetest little thing for him, he won’t mind as much. He will always, always pull you down when giving you a hug. Your head will be resting on his shoulder, and nothing else. Will always cradle your head to his chest if he can, just so you have to look up at him. Even when you’re a sweetheart extraordinaire, you are not exempt from that. He is the bigger, stronger person out of the two of you, you will feel protected and cherished.

He also used to be the tallest kid in his class in middle school. Until everyone hit a growth spurt and he barely grew again, which is why he’s so sensitive about his height. It’s that leftover pride from middle school he has that keeps him from admitting people can be taller than him and not be malicious.

[lemonhemlock]

Hi,I've recently discovered your blog and I Iove it.

I would like to know if you have any predictions regarding the second season of HotD. Do you think that the pessimistic attitude of many show watchers,especially TG fans, is warranted? Imho, if anything could irreversibly harm the greens is Rha*nicent. Not the ship itself, but the way the showrunners seem incapable of letting that ship sink after the time skip and are pushing it even after everything that has happened in season 1. Idk, the mere possibility of Alicent betraying her family and forsaking her children in any way to ingratiate herself to Rhaenyra is so illogical and outrageous, especially after B&C. The thing is, I'm almost certain that we are going to see a lot of Rha*nicent in the following season in some form and it could really irreparably ruin not only Alicent's character, but the greens in general. And, ofc, the show. What's your opinion about this and do you have any other predictions regarding the future seasons?

Thanks in advance :)

First of all, thank you, anon! 🌞🙏🌻

Preferences aside, I just think that white feminism sells in media. It manifests in tropes such as girlboss narratives (I know everyone is tired of this word by now), women warriors, female sexuality relayed through a male gaze-ish lens, overcoming adversity in an easily digestible way, scoring against some obviously misogynistic obstacle, framed in a way that appeals to a basic sense of justice etc. Lots of female characters that became popular in the last 15 years embody some of those markers, from Natasha Romanov to Katniss Everdeen to Arya Stark to Lagertha. And they're not even necessarily ~bad things~ or elements we shouldn't ever have in our fiction, it's just that this kind of tried-and-tested formula is what film executives think will bring them easy popularity and quick money.

Daenerys was such a hugely popular character that that it's to be expected (in this capitalistic hellscape we live in) that it would make monetary sense for HBO to try and recreate a straightforward empowerment narrative with the character of Rhaenyra. On paper, she has all the superficial storyline elements that could be converted into a blockbuster: powerful in some badass way (she is a competent dragon-rider), is A Rebel, owns her sexuality by sleeping with whomever she wants, which translates into 21st century mentality as empowerment, and has to overcome an obstacle posed by The Man.™ All wrapped up in a nostalgic package that reminds viewers of their beloved Daenerys.

So, unfortunately, I expect them to continue to build on these marketable points instead of focusing too much on finesse details, such as how Rhaenyra's already immense privilege and power as a princess of the Realm and a dragon-rider negatively impact those around her, how she can be both victim and perpetrator, how she perpetuates the cycles of violence and abuse + her less than palatable traits. Certainly, I'm not going to stand here and declare that they WON'T touch on those aspects either, before even watching the new season, because that would be silly. I DO expect them to address at least some of those issues and I'm sure there will be many moments which I will enjoy and even scenes that will be well-crafted explorations into certain questions. I do like this show a lot, at the end of the day, and will probably love S2, as well.

But, overall, I can't say hand-on-heart that the marketable concerns won't prevail in the end either, and I expect the framing to fall in the direction of "yeah, she did some bad stuff, too, but ultimately Rhaenyra had the right of it and was Betrayed by power-hungry woman-hating misogynists". Which does get frustrating in this media climate, because it is essentially the same message being delivered without much nuance or refinement: women* can't ever be wrong, anything a woman does is automatically great and should be supported, all delusions are valid if they're produced by a woman etc. I hope to be proven wrong, but only time will tell. Which is not to say that we should go back to making pro-patriarchy and pro-gender roles stories, which is kind of the vibe I'm sometimes getting from some "anti-woke" HotD critical pieces. An intersectional HotD - is that possible? At least a little class commentary on these people.

(*Of course, this only applies if the character fits into, what essentially is, another type of Ideal Woman: the acceptable amount of progressivism deemed appropriate at the current time, with the acceptable attitudes and interests. But that's a discussion for another day.)

So this is where rhaenicent falls for me. I've always thought it was an interesting addition and the change never bothered me, but there is a certain point at which it becomes unbalanced and, as you say, illogical. When is love ever "logical", though, you might question? Well, I think the prospect of losing your children + grandchildren + father + brother vs holding on to an unrequited lifelong crush might knock some sense into someone. Realistically speaking, the vast majority of people would nope out of that equation and the choice would be clear. How much can you truly love a person at the expense of literally your entire family? (including your extended family, because the Hightowers in Oldtown risked their lives for King Aegon). The reward is also so small, what exactly would Alicent be trading for? Yearning gazes and holding hands? Rhaenyra has not exactly been shown to reciprocate these feelings post Alicent's marriage to Viserys.

I think that the showrunners are holding onto this aspect because they're trying to make Alicent sympathetic to the general public, who are mostly on Rhaenyra's side, as a result of the show's framing. So their logic is that the viewers won't hate Alicent as much if she displays how sorry she is for everything, how reluctant, how much she loves Rhaenyra. And they think that her contradictory actions are a fair trade-off. So I do expect us to get more rhaenicent in the coming seasons.

All in all, this wouldn't be so bad, because indeed it could be framed as very romantic, a lot of pathos, star-crossed lovers etc and human emotions are messy and complicated. Our desires can often be contradictory in nature. Literature and mythology are filled with passionate love stories that defy all rhyme or reason. Doesn't Jaime tell Cersei he would kill every single person in the world for her? I just hope it'll get the presentation it deserves, delving into the complicated nature of love and difficult choices, and not turn into "Alicent would sell out her kids to save Rhaenyra from her self-inflicted predicament, all the while Rhaenyra is not sparing her a single thought or concern".

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Chapter one: The something that is

Part i : Of mortals and men

First *ੈ✩‧₊˚ Next

Saviour of Souls masterlist

tw: Blood, Violence, implied death

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“At the beginning of every story there is nothing- at least, nothing noticeable. To have this nothing… It is something of a necessity. For with it, it gives everything meaning. You appreciate that you have so much more when you had nothing to begin with.

Much the same to our own universe, at the beginning, there was nothing of particular note. A vast sea of this nothingness —potential— with no one to observe it. Such things may not be inherently nothing themselves, existence gives meaning. But observation makes meaning. An existence of something means nothing if there is no one to appreciate it. And so was the fate of our universe, to lay dormant. That is, aside from three sisters. Their minds grew restless with the potentiality of their lives. To sit, and to wait until something changed at last. And within their vast expanse of nothingness, they combined together the best of their attributes to make something. To make a change.

Din, the eldest of the three, with her fiery persistence and rage moulded earth. She made rock and mountains, a raging volcano left as the mark of her magic. With all her power, she created land. The middle sister, Nayru, known for her wit and intellect, doused the stiff earth with water. She softened the grounds and made rivers, oceans, clay and soil. And with the water she brought upon the world, she placed her magic within the highest, coldest peak. With her knowledge, she nourished the earth so that it may persist. And the youngest sister, Farore, known for her strong will and bravery, used her magic to inhabit the land. She made trees for Din’s earth and fish for Nayru’s rivers. She populated every plane and mountain with a small piece of her magic. With all her courage, she made gifts to the world, rather than a gift to herself.

For a while this world was content, and the goddesses watched adoringly as the earth would shift, eras coming and going, tides pushing and pulling. But with their gift of creation, they brought destruction. With somethingness, there was nothingness. With light, there was dark. With life, there was death. This absence pulled at them, punishing them in some odd way for their creations. The void gave birth to the sisters, its power split between the three and equal to that of itself. But in making their world, they’d tipped the even scales of fare past what the gods could control.

Watching their beloved creation fall apart, the goddesses agreed to use their power to keep their creation whole. They scattered what was left of themselves, leaving parts of their divinity marked upon the world. And though their power was thinned and death clawed at their fading forms, they left two final gifts to us. They left the triforce, their very presence focused down into nothing more than a relic, capable of granting any wish. It’s said to hold a shard of each goddess’s heart and is bound together by their love in one another and for the world they managed to make. But such power could not coexist with the destruction seeping across the world. They created a protector, Hylia. A goddess so kind that she embodies the best attributes of each goddess. She holds Din’s burning determination, Nayru’s sense of keen judgement and Farore’s daring kindness. Through the seams of reality, that evilness that festered in the cracks of the world had not settled, and too, gave two faults. Ganondorf, a being of Demise, hungering for the power of the triforce that he’d stop at no mortal law to possess. For every kind gift the goddesses gave, Demise sought to destroy. And the grace of Hylia bore Nir. A goddess of fickle wishes and born without a heart. Where our goddess brings us light and life, Nir brings darkness and death. But so with the world, light prevails. Ganon struck down by a hero wielding a blade of divine light and Nir chained down by Hylia’s spirit. Now, Hyrule as we know it lives in content balance. And while the night still falls, we can revel knowing that the sun will soon rise.”

Link smiled down at the group of kids all crowded around his feet. Their scrawny, underfed frames contrasted by beaming wide grins with missing teeth. The sight was uncomfortable. The children of Castle town were far different. Their clothes had no holes and he couldn’t see their bones through their skin. He’d never have stopped here if it weren’t for the spirit sightings. Sure, the kids were cute, but he’d have to watch his rupee bag.

“Oh! Is that how you got your sword?!”

“What about Zelda?!”

“I wanna know more!”

Soon, each little child chirped up, hungering for another story atop the many he had already told. The children at his feet bickered with one another as he tried to pick a story out that would satisfy them. The stories of his predecessors? Perhaps. But the Heroes of Legend were well known throughout even the smallest secluded hamlet. It made no difference this one was wartorne. He hardly even made it past that thought before the door to the small hut was slammed open, the rotting wood splintering.

“Th-There’s-“ The old man at the door sputtered and held his abdomen as one of the children ran at him.

“Opa? Opa!” The old man slumped over, sinking to his knees and rasping out bloody breaths. Link moved before he could’ve thought to stop himself. Such a skill had afforded him his life when he killed ganon. Sometimes, bravery leaves no room for forethought. Such is the way of courage.

“Sir, what happened” The man hacked and hacked, his hands trembling as they clutched his ribs. Removing the cold bony joints was probably not wise to the room full of children, the skin greying and peeling from his wound in a fashion Link had come to know well.

The dusty streets weren’t bustling with idle chatter and the poor folk running their errands as he’d grown accustomed to during his stay. There was a stark silence like that of nightfall, when the world is supposed to be still. His blade was familiar in his hand, ready to cut down what opposed him. There was an ear-splitting screech and his gut sank. Skin stealers. He felt the chipped teeth gnawing at his skin, sawing past his clothes. It skittered to the ground with a fleshy smack, its hollow eye sockets flexing around nothing. It chittered its teeth, waiting for a sound to hunt down. It’s bones popped and cracked as it circled, a warbled coo coming out of its undulating throat. Link didn’t let the waste of a soul live. The grey patchwork of its skin wouldn’t likely let it anyway. Its death would bring it back to Nir. Where she’d find some way to send her wicked beasts upon him again— he’s sure. Looking at the bony corpse, Link felt curiosity above the disgust. Such vile things waited until night until they could not be watched by Hylia. They preferred the silvery glow of Nir and her cover of darkness. But this one was out among broad daylight. The cloudy sky cleared and the voice of his goddess was warm in his mind, drowning out the panic of his thoughts.

“Hero…”

“Link…”

“Hear my call upon you…”

“… Or the sun may set on Hyrule again”

[mybookdiaries]

The girl in the tower - Katherine Arden

Book review!!

Stars: ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯/5

Do I recommend: YES!!!

Will I reread: probably!

Release date - 2017

Author - Katherine Arden

Page count- 347

Chapters - 27

Prologue/epilogue - prologue (+ glossary)

Setting - Russia, Moscow

What to expect:

❄️Russian mythology

❄️magical story

❄️Russian winter setting

❄️Kind of forbidden romance

❄️Lots of secrets 🤫

❄️ atmospheric fantasy!

❄️ castles, prince, towers, kingdoms

Look out for: violence, pedophilia

Synopsis:

The Bear and the Nightingale, Katherine Arden's enchanting first novel, introduced readers to an irresistible heroine. Vasilisa has grown up at the edge of a Russian wilderness, where snowdrifts reach the eaves of her family's wooden house and there is truth in the fairy tales told around the fire. Vasilisa's gift for seeing what others do not won her the attention of Morozko

-Frost, the winter demon from the stories-and together they saved her people from destruction. But Frost's aid comes at a cost, and her people have condemned her as a witch. In The Girl in the Tower, Vasilisa faces an impossible choice. Driven from her home by frightened villagers, she has only two options left: marriage or the convent. She cannot bring herself to accept either fate and instead chooses adventure, dressing herself as a boy and setting off astride her magnificent stallion Solovey. But after she prevails in a skirmish with bandits, everything changes. The Grand Prince of Moscow anoints her a hero for her exploits, and she is reunited with her beloved sister and brother, who are now part of the Grand Prince's inner circle. She dares not reveal to the court that she is a girl, for if her deception were discovered it would have terrible consequences for herself and her family. Before she can untangle herself from Moscow's intrigues-and as Frost provides counsel that may or may not be trustworthy-she will also confront an even graver threat lying in wait for all of Moscow itself.

Review:

I really enjoyed reading this!! Loved how atmospheric the book is, and how easy it is to imagine not only characters, but also the background. The only con is that the chapters are too long for me, and that made it difficult to find motivation for reading.

Quotes:

Every time you take one path, you must live with the memory of the other: of a life left unchosen. Decide as seems best, one course or the other; each way will have its bitter with its sweet.

[tangerinecherrygal]

My reading of ‘the Unkiss’:

cw: brief Sexual assault discussion

When I found out that people ship sandor and sansa I was really confused because she’s an actual child. so when i read the scene that people usually reference as a basis for their ‘romance’ out of context (I thought Sansa was around 19 before i started reading) i could see how people may think that, especially dark romance readers. i do also think sandor has some questionable feelings towards sansa.

but in context, knowing about his past and how he had his innocence strippped away from him at such a young age, i believe he was both jealous and protective of sansa’s innocence, not in love with her.

“Lady,” she whimpered softly, wondering if she would meet her wolf again when she was dead.

The direwolves have been shown to consistantly be protectors to the stark kids, so obviously and understandably, sansa is calling out for the one thing that would protect and comfort her without question. Sandor's answer is almost like the answer of a potential guardian.

the ‘sexual’ aspect does seem like it’s there, but not in a romantic way because it would be an assault:

“Little bird. I knew you’d come.” The voice was a drunken rasp.

He is drunker than I’ve ever seen him. He was sleeping in my bed. What does he want here?

He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her.

“Why did you come here?” “You promised me a song, little bird. Have you forgotten?”

him being in her room on her bed does give the impression that he’s going to do something sexual, which is usually associated with loss of innocence. sansa’s innocence is presented in her optimistic view of human nature. sandor is still surprised that she can have faith in others despite what happened to her father, so to me it seems like he wants to show sansa how cruel people can be.

previously it was established that even though he scared her, she still knew that he was a guardian and she would be safe with him around:

“I would be gladder if it were the Hound, Sansa thought. Harsh as he was, she did not believe Sandor Clegane would let any harm come to her.”

if sandor were to betray her trust in him by harming her, he would further reiterate that people aren’t worth trusting.

“Still can’t bear to look, can you?”

She still doesn’t want to see the ugliness and unpleasantness of what humanity is capable of. besides being ugly to look at, sandor’s burns are a reminder of the capabilities of others to harm another person. especially family.

teach us all a kinder way.

the final line of the song reminds us that sansa was taught that there are ways to be good and she still somewhat believes in people, at least for now. sandor is reminded of the importance of believing that good and kindness can prevail. i think this reminds him of his childhood innocence before his brother harmed him and how important it is for children to keep that innocence into adulthood. perhaps he wonders what he would be like if that hadn’t happened to him. the part of him that wants to protect sansa’s innocence seems to kick in and he seems ashamed that he considered harming sansa like gregor did to him.

one could argue that he threatens her life, but if he really wanted to kill her then he wouldn’t offer to take her with him.

She found his cloak […] twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire.

the white on the cloak is ruined by products of humanity’s violence and destruction. this is like when sandor’s innocence in childhood was destroyed by the abuse he suffered. there is still innocence there, hence the original white still being visible. leaving the cloak with sansa shows that he’s letting what’s left of his ‘goodness’ protect sansa. his cloak has protected her before, and now acts as a reminder of his mercy. This can also be a lesson that sansa must protect herself now that he is no longer there.

I’ve only read the first two books and this is my interpretation so far. but all i know is that this man better stay far away from that little girl or i will be forced to intervene.

It is GRRM so i may be wrong, but I really hope that i’m not.

[matan4il]

Hi I hope you are doing well. I know it may seem as though the west abandoned you however a lot of us do support you. A lot of older Americans remember what it’s like after 9/11, the outrage and the sadness as we say people jump off a building and the collapse of the twin towers. And with oct 7, we can’t even begin to comprehend what you are feeling but somehow we understand. We understand that you need to take care of your own people during war. I may not completely understand wartimes as a younger generation and I hope we may not need to but I hope and pray genuinely you guys prevail so both Israelis and the Palestinians can heal together 💙🤍

Hi, lovely Nonnie! Thank you SO MUCH for this incredibly kind and encouraging message.

For what it's worth, I've always understood the American experience on Sep 11, probably because we're no stranger to terrorist attacks. We might not have had an attack on the same scale until Oct 7, but I always got the emotional impact of seeing innocent civilians being targeted, and their daily lives imploding due to this violence. The scale def makes it worse, that feeling like the whole nation was attacked, not just specific individuals, and that everyone was affected by this even if they weren't personally there, but I think the foundations of how terrorism is meant to hurt people, that's something that all of its victims can understand. *hugs*

I'm so thankful for your understanding. And I can say that what you're hoping for is exactly what I am hoping for as well. Today, I saw interviews conducted as the IDF was allowing Gazans the safe passage from the north to the south. These people were processing that Hamas had shot people trying to evacuate from a war zone, while Israeli soldiers didn't. It was one of those moments when it was again clear to me that taking down Hamas will benefit EVERYONE trapped in this conflict. That would be a really good step. It will not be enough, and I just hope we do find the way to heal together.

Thank you again for the kindness, and for caring about people on both sides! Sending you tons of hugs and love! xoxox

Also... I adore the little blue and white heart emojis! ^u^

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)