#:: main storyline :: ( threads )

[krimiqueer]

My humble contribution to the trending of Spatort with, as usual, some Google Translate shenanigans.

[biancabelairs]

i genuinely think the biggest reason aew has felt cold for months is bc pretty much every major feud has been just some chronically online bullshit since like late last summer

[cadmusfly]

I keep

fucking up

the spelling of sabre

and I blame Fate and Star Wars for that

at least the joke ask blog’s characterisation is known for misspellings both because the “character” can’t spell and he’s too passionate/enthusiastic to spell properly

[acoldsovereign]

SUBJECT MATTER: Old (Unprompted) Meme-Move From Old Blog // sender: @peoplcshope.

SHE ALERTED HER SLAVES ABOUT AN EXTENDED ABSENCE. She wasn't sure how long the trip would take, but she estimated the timeframe to be within a couple of hours or days. Regardless, they were to run themselves as if she was still present--in other words, they had to pretend to be self-governing. She left instructions for them written in Ancient Saiya and a translation besides it (using the Modern variant), since most of the enslaved Races lacked the throat power and necessary internal makeup to make the same guttural sounds as she. Maiz made it abundantly clear that they were to report anything unsavory to her immediately.

She could (theoretically) replace Trunks, but not her kingdom.

----

WHEN SHE FIRST SHOWED VULNERABILITY, IT WAS AGAINST HER WILL. The nightmare of the Genocide haunted her dreams; screams and shrill alarms mixed together and deafened her child-like ears, thick tears, and the raging fire within tight, narrow hallways bathed in a dangerous red light effectively made her blinder than she already was. It usually ended the same way; Karne scooped her up with her tail and blitzed through the haze of death and carnage, then bumped Maiz up in her arms when the coast was clear enough. Maiz was shoved into an escape pod with hushed promises of being brought back when everything blew over, but she didn't care about that. She banged on the alien glass (of which was red too)--crying, screaming, pleading to fight with her, to know what was going on, why everyone was suddenly dying.

Sometimes the night terrors were crueler, and she perished along with them, her corpse reduced to ash in the hallways alongside the colleagues she used to know. She would perish on Planet Vegeta instead of in the atmosphere of Planet Kokytus.

Trunks had the displeasure of witnessing her cry during the first scenario, in her sleep.

----

SOMETIMES, SHE REGRETTED TELLING HIM ANYTHING. He was determined to show her 'she wasn't alone' in regards to tragedy and loss. It truthfully annoyed her that he committed her tear-streaked face and closely guarded hardships to memory; talking about her feelings didn't come natural to her. She had no equals--no peers. Merely associates she kept close to her chest (not everything was something to be shared with the time-traveler). None of them knew half of what she willfully divulged to him--not the aliens who did her hair and nails, not the tailor who customized her armors, nor any of the owners of the shopping strips she frequented who knew her by name and supplied her with the fabrics she used to design her bodysuits. Many of her slaves didn't even know why they were subjugated, either.

Outside of him, she wasn't known to be a person. She was an oppressive force of nature. She existed for a reason--otherwise, why would she still be alive? Why would she, out of everyone else, survive? She chose her purpose: to kill and destroy and enjoy it. She was a predator. A ruthless opportunist. A mass murderer and slave-owner. A ravager of worlds and crusher of dreams and hopes. Hells, at one point, she wanted to crush Trunks' own. She still carried those sadistic desires, but in a different manner with the passing days.

The device he made specifically for her--the holorogorus-disruptor, which hid her presence from other demons and Time Patrollers--on her left wrist itched, but she ignored it. Instead, Maiz listened to him go on and on about his world and what it meant to him. Talking about herself still felt foreign and out of place, so she made sure to ask pointed and highly detailed questions to keep the topic on him and off of her. Traveling to a different Earth wasn't what she expected either. The climate was the same but different--this sun felt a little hotter, the gravity somewhat weaker. Perhaps that's why her ruddy-complexion darkened progressively as he was kind enough to give her a tour of the places most precious to him . . . ?

The texture of her hair changed as the tour went on--her spikes fell towards her face and the waves seemingly shrunk. It wasn't exactly fair to say her iconic crown of bright red became straight, but it was close. She noticed the changes too late; one third of her energy was spent keeping stock of what Trunks told her, the second third was focused on memorizing the route they took just in case anything happened. Not that they'd be lost (because he knew the way), but because depending on another person outside of herself was a steep learning curve and she was abysmally failing at it. The final third of her energy was spent watching his reactions, studying his social cues (many of her relationships up until this point were either impersonal or strictly professional), and waiting for more appropriate opportunities to ask questions to keep him talking. It was when they reached the underground lab that he was seized by memories.

Silence fell when his gaze caught upon a pictured frame sitting upon a desk next to a dimly lit computer; a blue-haired, bright-eyed Bulma wrapped in what could only be called a warm embrace by two older people with vastly different hair colors, textures and clothes. She assumed this was Bulma's origin--Trunks' human grandparents. Suddenly, his purple hair made sense. (She's seen Saiyans with his shade of blue eyes before but haven't found a way to tell him yet; mostly because she didn't want to sound like she'd been staring at him too hard . . .). Maiz heard him mention the roof but she was much too taken with the genetic diversity displayed with the Brief Family genes. It all reminded her of home, eerily so. Contrary to belief, the Saiyans weren't all black haired and dark eyed. It was a misconception, a rumor started by Frieza to make them sound like an incestuous lot. Unappealing. To lower their market value overall, to make the Saiyans easier to control and eventually dispose of.

SHE TOOK A COUPLE OF STEPS BACK, UNNERVED BY A QUEASY FEELING IN HER STOMACH.

Her dead face briefly took on an expression of pain (furrowed brows, a frown, scrunched up features) before it went away. It was quick--a blink-and-you'll-miss-it event. Finally, she was able to look away and focus on other things. She looked at Trunks first, around, then up (there was exposed wiring on the walls, the plaster was chipped, the dome was indeed un-roofed, scorch marks trailed from where the roof would've began pointed at what the cause was, etc). She did this until her heart rate slowed, until her thoughts were no longer disarrayed, until her instincts no longer screamed to destroy the remnants of whatever he could call a home. She had to remind himself he wasn't mocking her, nor was he rubbing his life experiences in her face; he was showing her shared pain.

With a small sigh and slow sway of her tail, she asked, ". . .what else is here?" The quality of tone was detached, distant. Neutral, safe and boring. Not monotone--but as if she was disinterested with it all. Alas, this was simply how she sounded for the moment. Socialization in this manner was not her strong suit.

Neither was showing genuine concern.

[luna-azzurra]

Shit to edit OUT of the Novel

When editing a novel, it's essential to be ruthless in cutting out anything that doesn't serve the story or enhance the reader's experience.

Excessive Exposition, Cut lengthy explanations or info dumps that slow down the pacing or feel unnatural in the narrative flow. Show, don't tell whenever possible.

Redundant Scenes, Remove scenes that repeat information or don't advance the plot, characters, or themes in a meaningful way.

Unnecessary Characters, Streamline your cast by removing minor characters who don't contribute significantly to the story's development or conflict resolution.

Overused Clichés, Eliminate clichéd phrases, descriptions, or plot devices that feel tired or predictable. Aim for fresh and original storytelling.

Weak Dialogue, Trim dialogue that doesn't reveal character insights, move the plot forward, or contribute to the story's atmosphere or tension.

Verbose Descriptions, Pare down lengthy descriptions of settings, characters, or actions that don't add depth or relevance to the scene.

Unfocused Subplots. Cut subplots that distract from the main storyline or fail to connect thematically or emotionally with the central narrative.

Unresolved Threads, Tie up loose ends and resolve unanswered questions to provide a satisfying conclusion for readers.

Telling Instead of Showing, Replace telling passages with scenes that allow readers to experience the story through action, dialogue, and sensory details.

Inconsistent Tone or Voice, Ensure consistency in the narrative voice and tone throughout the novel, removing any passages that feel out of place or jarring.

Irrelevant Backstory, Limit backstory to what's essential for understanding character motivations or plot developments, cutting unnecessary details or flashbacks.

Extraneous Details, Trim unnecessary details or digressions that don't contribute to the story's emotional resonance or thematic depth.

Unrealistic Dialogue Tags, Replace overly embellished dialogue tags (e.g., "he exclaimed," "she pontificated") with simple, clear attributions (e.g., "he said," "she asked") to maintain clarity and flow.

Overly Padded Scenes, Condense scenes that drag on without adding significant value to the narrative, maintaining a tight focus on key story beats.

Inconsistent Characterization, Ensure characters' actions, dialogue, and motivations remain consistent throughout the novel, removing any instances of behavior that feel out of character or forced.

[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.

[epiphainie]

honestly every time i remember buck is canonically bi and is dating a man now i get so 😳😳😳 about it. like in our fandom sphere it's easy to say he's been bi-coded for years and joke with all the "wbk"s but i genuinely think people are missing what a gamble it was for ABC to pick up a show from another network and go this route with a main character that the majority of the audiences wasn't as percipient about.

buck's case is so singular imo because there are still certain - silent - rules to queer rep in mainstream media. the audiences are almost always clued-in on a character being queer early, for example. it's either shown immediately or mentioned in conversation in those first few scenes/eps the characters are established. if a character is not out, then they are not out to the rest of the characters, not the audience. if a character doesn't know they're queer yet - or ready to accept it - again, the audience knows, the story/foreshadowing is clear about it.

i can't think of a single other example where a main character - who's been nominally straight for multiple seasons - realizes they're queer later in life like this. where it wasn't planned beforehand, wasn't an explicitly or intentionally threaded storyline, wasn't just a one-liner saying "oh yeah ofc he kissed men before" ofc i didn't watch all television ever created in the history of television but i genuinely think this was such a pioneering writing choice mainstream tv hasn't done before. i wish we could all have been more happy with it instead of *gestures* all this.

[nobodyfamousposts]

Do you really think all of ML's problems would be fixed if Adrien never existed?

Good heavens, no.

Adrien isn't the problem. He's just a symptom of a much larger issue. That issue being laziness and poor writing that comes in the form of "tell, don't show", plot threads that go nowhere, and lack of character development or plot progression that leads to a setup of "Status Quo Is God". Removing Adrien wouldn't fix all of that. Heck, it wouldn't fix any of that.

I can't fault the writers for replacing Felix with Adrien. Even if I and others could write out a plot with Felix, that's not to say everyone could or that the writers could. It could very well be that Felix as he was in the PV simply didn't work for the setup they had in mind.

...the issue here is that the setup they had in mind seems to require stagnancy. Where Hawk Moth attacks without winning and the heroes fight off the akumas without really trying to track him as the source and the two leads chase each other around in circles without anyone making any headway in either of these battles. Marinette wants to date Adrien. Chat wants to date Ladybug. It's why all her plans to ask him out fail while his attempts to express his feelings aren't taken seriously. And there is no forward movement, whether in their arc or in the fight against Hawk Moth. There wasn't even build or lead up to the two falling in love. They just started out episode one with crushes on each other and remained having crushes on each other until arguably season 5.

But no good story is stagnant. In this setup, characters need to do things and there needs to be a feeling of forward momentum.

Break it down this way: What is Adrien's problem? What is his goal? What is the obstacle to his goal?

Yes, we could say Adrien's dad being a supervillain and a neglectful jerk is Adrien's main problem, but it's not the problem Adrien is actually focused on in the show. Instead, if we could say Adrien has a problem, it would be that he wants to date Ladybug. And his goal is to date Ladybug. And the source of the problem and obstacle to his goal is...Ladybug.

So his problem, his goal, and the obstacle are all the same thing. This ultimately seems to make his problems Ladybug’s fault then because the problem would be solved if she gives in to his wants rather than by any real effort on his part.

Adrien as he is in the show doesn't do anything. And he doesn't need to do anything because he is at his base a character that things are done for. He doesn't have a goal or direction or drive. He just comes out to deal with akumas as needed, flirt with Ladybug when he can, and then be sad because his life is so hard when he doesn't get what he wants. We don't see him doing anything else. We don't see him making friends. We don't see him engaging in school. We don't even really see how he interacts with the classmates he only recently met. Things happen around him, but he is not a driving force in anything in the show.

But Felix in the PV is a very driving character. He had a problem: he's cursed. What does he need to break the curse? A kiss from Ladybug. What are the obstacles to his goal: Ladybug refusing to kiss him and Hawk Moth trying to kill her. How does he get that kiss? By flirting with her and trying to earn her affections while protecting her and making sure she doesn't DIE against an akuma before he gets that special curse-breaking kiss.

It's the start of Felix's journey. His goal and the various obstacles to that goal that make his story interesting and his growth possible. As such, I see him as a character who would progress in his attempts to obtain his goal as well as one who would progress the storyline...which is also accurate of 3D Felix since that's kind of what he's done more in his relatively few appearances than the series has in 5 seasons.

Adrien didn't have to have Felix's personality. He didn't have to have the same goals or level of drive. But he could still have had things where he grows and helps to push the plot forward.

Adrien...

...just started school. He has no friends, knows no one, and is trying to learn the ins and outs of public education. How is he doing in the different setting with teachers instead of tutors? How is he trying to get along with his classmates? Does he experience bullying? Does anyone NOT like him? What is he going through as a new student who had been homeschooled all his life?

...is friends with Chloe. What's it like learning his "only friend" is a bully? How do people respond to this? Does anyone (besides Marinette) fear him or avoid him because if he's friends with Chloe, he must be just like her?

...is a superhero. He could have been spending time learning the history of the ring and trying to develop his powers. Trying to get stronger? Trying to get to know Plagg? What is he experiencing as a highly known model who is also a superhero and having to juggle those dual identities?

...has a dead mom who died of a "mysterious illness". Given that this loss supposedly occurred about a year prior, he could still be mourning her. Maybe trying to learn what happened to her.

...has a neglectful father. How is he trying to interact with his dad? How does he feel about his dad not being around? What is he doing to try to resolve this?

...has a supervillain father. Like, I cannot stress this enough! His dad is a SUPERVILLAIN! His dad is THE SUPERVILLAIN THEY ARE FIGHTING! People were predicting him finding out and joining Gabriel to try and revive his mom! People were living for the eventual heartbreak of when Adrien finds out the truth! Entire AUs, fan arts, and fanfics were born of this very idea! Going into the drama and struggle Adrien would be experiencing being caught between the "right thing" and the girl he loves and his duty vs his father and his mother and his family. HOW CAN THEY JUST IGNORE THIS?!

But we don't get any of that. Instead, we get Adrien...

...just acclimated with no issues in school and automatically friends with everyone. Good for him, I guess. Wish it was that easy for the rest of us.

...doing little besides occasional comments to Chloe as she is completely horrible for five seasons including Chloe stealing from classmates, getting the entire school punished for something she did, stealing a Miraculous, trying to crash a train, and betraying the city to Hawk Moth. But it takes him learning about something she did to Marinette a year ago for him to finally decide enough is enough and drop her as a friend.

...only goes out to deal with akumas as they come but does nothing to try and figure out his powers and history, get stronger, or try to track Hawk Moth.

...just moves on from dead mom. No relevance here aside from wanting to see a movie she was in or making a passing comment about how she got sick. No attempt to find out what happened to her. No questioning what she may have wanted for him.

...is just sad about his neglectful father neglecting him but seems to get over it rather quickly.

...never learns his father is a supervillain. Okay, I take it back. He learns twice and those timelines are erased with no real repercussions other than trauma for Marinette, so it really doesn't feel like they count. The pieces are all there, though! He knows his dad has the grimoire but never questions him about it! Never asks his dad what the deal was with Tibet! No question about how mom died or what is going on with Nathalie or what he's doing with a hidden mechanism in mom's portrait.

Adrien has potential. He has plot threads and aspects that could be used and goals he could have. But the writing does nothing with him, so while he has a number of things he COULD do to move forward and progress as a character or for the plot, nothing comes of it.

And that all boils down to a problem with the writing.

Adrien was chosen over Felix as an "easier" option to keep the story at a standstill so they could drag it out for as long as needed. That doesn't mean it should have been. There were so many paths that could have been taken, but Adrien was given the personality of a wet noodle, so he acts on none of them because that was what the writers wanted out of his character.

[susansontag]

my guide to lesbian anime both canonic and subtextual

(won’t include every lesbian anime ever, this is a personal list)

the canonic-gay section:

revolutionary girl utena

nothing before or since has ever done it like this. trigger warnings for everything imaginable. loads of homosexuals in this one. gender commentary, fairytale allusions, a lot of kids who are having a hard time growing up and moving beyond their pasts. sword lesbians.

flip flappers

the problematic favourite, in that there’s at least one uncomfortable sexualised shot each episode (roughly speaking; some have none and one has even more, unfortunately), so be warned. but at its heart flipflap is about repressed cocona going on adventures with outgoing and expressive papika, and their exploration of various fantastical lands/inner worlds of people they meet. hugely inventive and pretty, and a core thread is cocona discovering she’s gay.

aoi hana (‘sweet blue flowers’)

the comfort lesbian show, with not a romantic relationship at its heart, but a friendship between two childhood friends who meet again, both of whom are gay (though only one realises this during the show’s run, as it’s based on a manga). one of them dates an upperclassman at her school, and there’s various gay and bi side characters. it’s just very wholesome, lovingly animated, sweet and sometimes painful stuff.

bloom into you

I controversially do not care that much for bloom into you, but as the best, high-production, non-skeevy yuri show in years - that is based on a manga by a woman - it’s worth mentioning. late-bloomer girl dreams of romance, though has never felt it, and finds affinity with a girl who similarly is disinclined to date. that is, until said girl says she fancies her. genuinely moving exploration of developing gay identity at times, only downside is my personal disinterest in the black haired girl. some weird ‘heightened’ moments that feel inauthentic and titillating do arise, but it’s very few - to the point where some would disagree with me on my reading of it, I’d imagine.

sailor moon

the bits which the lesbians are in, etc. it’s a classic. I haven’t watched all of it myself because I don’t care much nor do I have nostalgia for sailor moon, but it’s one of the most notable examples of a butch/masc lesbian in anime, so that’s nice.

o maidens in your savage season

nerdy teenage girls who are part of a literature club make it their quest to discover sex and dating, in various ways (unfortunately, not all of them dealt with well… teacher/student foolery that is fortunately abandoned before it gets worse but is nonetheless handled with mixed results, imo). mostly though it’s hilarious, sweet, silly, and there’s a gay girl in it, but I won’t spoil which one. adults predating on children is also handled much, much better in another of the show’s storylines, and I do appreciate it for trying to tackle that difficult subject matter.

oniisama e (‘dear brother’)

an oldie, based off a shoujo manga by one of the greatest (riyoko ikeda). there’s a central relationship to root for (better articulated in the manga), but it’s mostly just what if we were messy depressed lesbians at an all-girls school and we were also melodramatic and mean as hell.

revue starlight

what if we were at an all-girls dramatic arts school and engaged in utena-like duels to become the top performer? main implicitly gay couple with canonic side gay couples. it’s quite cute. also worth watching if you like takarazuka in any way (prestigious all-female japanese theatre troupe), because the main conceit of the school is very much based on that idea.

the gay-themes section:

sound! euphonium (season one)

in which director naoko yamada’s awesome legacy of writing lesbians and then saying “who’s to say though, ha ha” continued (she did it already with a side character in tamako market). this one is known as the gaybait to end all gaybait, but hear me out: the first, and best, season, is not only a fantastic self-contained story with many great characters and plot points, but it’s main character is undoubtedly lesbian-coded and even has a love interest you can argue about. frankly I think she’s gay-coded throughout the whole show (even when she dates a guy for two minutes), but this feels very “I wanted to focus on this compelling relationship between two female characters but the adaptation’s success meant we had to revert back to the source material in later seasons”. what we got from this is perhaps my favourite lesbian anime of all-time, following utena.

a place further than the universe

this show is about four girls who join an expedition to antarctica, and what if I told you they’re all great, believable dorky teenage characters, and they exist in a well-written and thematically satisfying show… and there’s nice lesbian implication between one of our adult female protagonists and her old (deceased; not a spoiler) friend who was the main teen girl’s mother. there’s some sad here, obviously.

puella magi madoka magica

the well-known, much beloved deconstruction of the magical girl genre is also pretty gay, as it happens (so gay in fact it started a trend of gay-coded pink+black magical girls). it’s not a particular favourite of mine, but it’s visually one of the most notable anime productions ever, so it’s well worth seeing just for that.

NANA

the 2000s manga+show about the two twenty-year-olds who meet on a train and discover they’re both called nana is also pretty gay! to the point where there are heated fandom debates about nana komatsu’s (pink one) possibly being a lesbian. they both have many relationships with guys, but it’s their bond that forms the heart of the show, and the bisexuality (or, who knows, homosexuality) of the leads is pretty undeniable. to the point where you’ll get blasted on the nana subreddit if you try and suggest otherwise.

the wild-card section:

keep your hands off eizouken!

this is a show about three oddball girls who start a club to create anime, but have to pose as the film club instead for various reasons. it’s not even subtextually gay, I just personally think that all three of the leads are gay and the whole thing feels like a very female-centred creative endeavour. hugely fun watch, and very high production values. you wouldn’t regret seeing it.

skip & loafer

these two you see here are side characters. this show is actually about mitsumi, the greatest female protagonist of this kind of shoujo-esque slice of life show, who moves from the countryside to tokyo for high school. here she meets many a misfit, including the pretty blonde and the nerd girl who have undeniable chemistry and form one of the most popular pairings in the show. it’s just a good time.

chihayafuru

I’d get in trouble for this, because the primary romance factor in the show is a famed heterosexual love triangle with chihaya at its centre and her two male childhood friends at the side. but go with me on this. chihaya is oblivious to romance and feminine socialisation, she is obsessed with a card game and with her equally dorky dark-haired rival… she’s anime’s greatest autistic lesbian lead. and you get more than what you pay for, because the two boys I mentioned? a lot of gay stuff going on there too.

the big-screen-cinematic section:

the adolescence of utena

revolutionary girl returns in the sequel of a lifetime, slightly older (sixteen, say) and gayer than ever, to escape this place with the love of her life. cue the impromptu dance sequence (with stars and rose petals)!

liz and the blue bird

the naoko yamada directed gay cinematic universe continues with a gorgeous film starring two of the side characters from sound! euphonium’s second season (not necessary to watch beforehand). that means it has plausible deniability whilst being so crazily gay it’s almost some kind of joke. this is a highly detailed, laser-focused character study of two girls in their high school band club and their ever more strained relationship. yamada never misses.

the summer

this is korean! it’s about two girls who meet at school and start dating in secret, what happens as they grow up and move to seoul, and how their relationship changes and strains when met with the conservatism of contemporary korean society. it was sweet and like aoi hana above for japanese girls, felt pretty frank to the experiences I’d imagine young korean lesbians might have.

puella magi madoka magica: rebellion

if you’re a fan of the show, you probably don’t talk about this movie. sure, it’s a visual feat, sure, it’s insanely entertaining, but it’s also frustrating and upsetting and potentially undermines the neatness of the original as a perfectly-crafted story. BUT. kyouko/sayaka becomes all but canon in it, and everything else aside, that’s all that really matters. but you should definitely watch the show beforehand.

[carlyraejepsans]

UTY!Flowey, "lore" and how to criticize a fan prequel without being an insufferable pedantic, a guide by Biscia.

(for my muskless fellows, here's a transcript of my thread on Undertale Yellow that I posted on Twitter. enjoy!)

There's this really frustrating attitude in fan spaces i like to call "lorepilling" where people are substantially more concerned with encyclopedic knowledge of details & minutiae (so called "lore") in place of full-text thematic/narrative analysis as if the two are mutually interchangeable.

It's especially common in large franchises and story heavy videogames, and it's like... Are You Treating This Piece Of Art Like A Trivia Battle Or Are You Treating It Like A Story

This is coming from a person who is also deeply autistic about UTDR trivia btw, I'm just saying that when it comes to transformative *stories*, depending on the impact it has on character, themes, and narrative structure... lore is expendable.

Ultimately this is why most of the UTY criticism i see (on twitter specifically) falls flat. What does it matter if "lore" means Flowey couldn't chronologically be there when the justice human fell, as long as the game narratively justified his presence in the story in a compelling way?

The real criticism, in the end, is that it didn't.

He's a plot central, main cast character from the canon returning in a cast of mostly OCs and what does he have to show for it? An admittedly sick boss battle in 1/3 endings, sure but... not much else. He has no significant "presence" in the story, no tie, interaction, or even just... an opinion on the rest of the cast. Which is a huge miss when Flowey's meta role is to be Thee completionist player mirror. He's the OG lorepilled UT fan! He's an opinionated little shit!

This isn't to say that UTY *didn't* engage w/ his metanarrative. When me and @a-town-called-hometown first started playing the game (we were both skeptical of Flowey's inclusion), he immediately said "It would be really cool if they made it so this has been going on for a while and Clover has no idea". Which is precisely what the game did in the neutral ending, and what I will openly say was the most well written & well executed part of this game's story...

...a part we almost didn't see, because the pacifist ending disappointed us so much we lost all will to replay.

To put it in the words of my friend Mel @clowwwnbytes, there's a deafening hollowness to UTY Flowey's motivations & core principles where his guilt towards Chara—and resulting black and white thinking—should be. You're telling me Mr Kill-or-be-killed, "sacrificing yourself to do the right thing is stupid", would stand there after 1000s of failed attempts to make Clover survive, look on as they make the same mistake Asriel he did, and fondly call them friend? Cue the guitar, roll the credits?

He would lose it. Oh my god he would lose his goddamn mind, he would throw the nastiest temper tantrum in the world. Are you serious? How dare you. How DARE you. All this effort, all my patience, and you just let yourself DIE for a few worthless idiots? I should've let you ROT!

*clears throat* sorry got a bit too into character. as i was saying.

I can understand a UT prequel wanting to distance itself from the canon Chara storyline in order to form its own identity, but then turning around and choosing Insane About Chara The Character™ for a sidekick is... far from optimal. In the end, Flowey comes across as underutilized and inconsistent, with a whole lot of wasted potential.

This is an issue I have with UTY's character writing (original AND returning) and story structure as a whole. Lots of inconsistent character arcs, tonal dissonance, overuse of situational sadness... it's an amateurish work, after all, and you can feel it. There's no shame in that.

(Though, there ARE some issues that i take more seriously with its writing, especially when it comes to its two main female characters—Ceroba's lack of narrative agency and depth borders on misogynistic writing imo. But that's a topic for another day)

Over all, UTY was an incredible piece of collaborative transformative work, with gorgeous art and a genuinely incredible OST, which... would have benefited from more experienced writers. But hey, you can only ever learn by trying!

For all it could've been a better story, it certainly did not fail to entertain: both when my friend was playing it, and after in our many discussions of its writing, its faults and how it could've been improved (royal scientist!ceroba character fix you will always be famous. to ME!)

I'm sure this project served as an incredible source of experience for the developers: as individual creators AND as a team. I look forward to their future projects!

but also if i have to see another person say UTY is better than Undertale i might turn into The Jonker.

end of the essay! really couldn't stand any of the pedantic ""criticism"" I'd seen of this fangame so far, so i had to say my piece as someone more versed in analysis. happy to elaborate on anything in the replies or in my inbox!

[doctorofmagic]

Doctor Strange's disability: a (much needed) chronological review

In view of recent ableism and drama on the other social hellsite involving Doctor Strange's disability, here's my response, based on *CANON* material. (link to the thread on said hellsite here)

Stephen disability is established since 1963, back in Strange Tales #115. The story is focused on a flashback which portrays his journey from the decay of his medical career because of a car accident to his path towards the mystic arts.

Note that, in this very same issue, the Ancient One never says he would heal Stephen's *hands*, but perhaps Stephen would find the cure within. In other words, Stephen was supposed to heal his heart and soul from arrogance and egoism through magic, not a physical cure.

Also note that there are limitations within every aspect of comic books' universes. In this case, we're talking about magic. Magic is not a miracle thing. It demands training and, most recently as established by v4, a cost (Doctor Strange v4 #4).

Another clue that "magic can heal anything because it's fantasy" is not a valid argument within Marvel's magic world, as seen in The Oath. Stephen had access to the Otkid's Elixir, which could heal any disease, but the formula was lost in order to save Wong's life.

One last example comes from Spider-Man Family #5 (2007), featuring Morbius and Spidey. It establishes that healing demands the exact same price when it comes to magic.

Long story short, it's clear that the magic side of Marvel does not offer a solution to diseases through magical miracles. So this argument is totally invalid ~within~ this established universe.

Now back to Doctor Strange... No, he isn't using magic to heal his hands unlike some misleading accounts are claiming. In fact, there are several panels which show that he's actually in constant pain. Here's some examples:

- Doctor Strange - Sorcerer Supreme #48 (1992).

- Captain Marvel v10 #6 (2019)

- Doctor Strange v4 #1 (2015)

He also struggles to hold a pen and write, relying on magic to do so, as seen in the Book of the Vishanti.

Then comes the stupid argument I saw.

"Oh, but Google says his hands are healed!" is not a gotcha moment you think it is. We had FOUR MAIN BOOKS after that (Surgeon Supreme, DODS, Strange v3 and current v6). Allow me to clarify the details in chronological order.

Stephen indeed made a "magic" gamble and healed his hands. That much is correct. But it's not all (panels from Doctor Strange v5 #19 - 2019).

Waid continued this storyline in a new book called Dr. Strange (Surgeon Supreme), which would portray Stephen's duality as the Sorcerer Supreme and a brilliant surgeon. Except the book was cancelled at issue #6 (2020), leaving the character in a kind of limbo. Now enter MacKay.

MacKay kept a little bit of the former storyline as seen in Death of the Doctor Strange #1 (2021). On top of that, his hands appeared healed. However, that lasted only until Kaecilius murdered Stephen and stole his hands.

Stephen's temporal duplicate used a regenerative spell to bring original Stephen back through Kaecilius' body and the stolen hands. In here, we can see that his hands are scarred just like after the car accident (DODS #5 - 2022). OG Stephen died a second time with scars as well.

Stephen is indeed seen writing in v6 but it's not clear if he's using magic or not. Besides, he's not working as a surgeon anymore. Moreover, MacKay considers Stephen disabled as seen in this recent issue of v6 (#7 - 2023): "My own connection to the aether, the magic of the world, the power of the Vishanti, the power of the Sorcerer Supreme... Gone. Without all of that? I am just an old man with useless hands and a blade in his stomach."

In conclusion,

As of CURRENT DOCTOR STRANGE RUN by Jed MacKay and Pasqual Ferry, in the year of our lord Vishanti, 2024, Stephen Strange is a disabled character and no magic or ableism will erase that. Thank you very much.

[jq37]

So, that lady FH episode was amazing and all, but...

Hoo boy, I already see the discourse around the Ratgrinders' fates forming and it is going to be painful. Be careful around the fandom space.

(I mean, resurrection is still on the table for them, but that's based on if the players feel like it and right now, we're looking at 50/50 odds at bests)

Yeah, don't worry about me. This isn't my first rodeo and also I post a lot about D20 and respond to asks I get but I don't actually personally engage with any of The Discourse (tm).

And I'm not really surprised at the reaction. I know people have been opinionated all season in two main camps (that have a lot of overlap): people dissatisfied with the narrative direction and people deeply sympathetic to the Rat Grinders to the point of being mad at the Bad Kids.

The first camp I mostly understand. I get wishing the cast would explore a certain storyline more. For example, I've been on the Aelwyn redemption arc train since literally the first episode of Fantasy High so I was a little disappointed that when that finally came to a head in Freshman Year, it was a big fight and then very little aftermath/unpacking because Aelwyn was sent to jail right after. And Sophomore Year hadn't been announced so I had no idea that she was gonna get another shot. But I wasn't upset or anything. Adaine at that point still hated her sister. She had no reason to want to reach out. And at the end of the day this is other people playing a game. Brennan presented them all the possible plot threads and they were most interested in self discovery, hanging out with each other, doing Shenanigans, and playing Tomb Raider re: Ankarna. Those are all options they were presented and it's not like they were doing crazy off-roading. It's well within the parameters of what D&D is. If you're gonna watch a show like this (or honestly any show), you have to accept that what's most interesting to you isn't always going to be the most interesting thing to the people in the driver's seat.

So yeah, I feel like this side of things I get (even though I'm fine with how things turned out).

The other camp--people being legit mad at the Bad Kids (and in some cases the actual cast) for treating the Rat Grinders like antagonists instead of victims that they were responsible for empathizing with and redeeming--I find kind of wild.

Like…you're mad at the kids who go to Child Murder School for killing kids who want to end the world and kill them specifically? Literally the first day of school the principal of the school says that adventurers are violent wanderers who engage in shenanigans and enact violence. This is the exact assignment they were given and that's what they're doing.

I think it's wild to at the same time believe that the Rat Grinders (who have killed people) are not responsible for their actions and deserve to be talked down while in the process of causing an apocalypse because they're just kids who were manipulated while at the same time calling the Bad Kids evil lunatics for trying to stop them by killing them (in a world where Revivify and Resurrection exist) even though they are ALSO kids who are doing what they've learned at Child Murder School. The Bad Kids have to be mature enough to thoroughly investigate the situation and have nuance about it but the Rat Grinders don't have any responsibility to not join a shady evil murder plan*? And do the Bad Kids really hate the Rat Grinders to the point where they're doing some overkill in this fight? Absolutely. But it's not like they're killing them because they hate them. They're killing them because they're trying to end the world--and they also happen to hate them. Are we forgetting that Kipperlilly killed Buddy--her own teammate--with a gleeful smile on her face? That was so out of pocket.

They're adventurers! Not guidance counselors! If Jawbone was like, "We need to kill these kids," yeah that would be weird but why would the Bad Kids extend an olive branch to the kids who (1) famously hate them, (2) killed at least one maybe 2 of their own party members, (3) endangered the entire student body population an hour ago, (4) are currently trying to end the world. Hell, Adaine was ready to be mean to her own sister in elf jail literally up until the point Brennan described how rough she looked from the torture and that's when she changed her mind. The Power of Love and Empathy is on the menu but it's a special item you only can get if you know the chef. Everyone else is getting a serving of These Hands. Just because you can find a vegan solution to a problem it doesn't mean you're obligated to.

This all comes down to, "Maybe teenagers shouldn't have godlike powers and the ability to play judge, jury, and executioner" but that's literally the premise of the entire show so you can't get around it without rejecting the show's entire premise. If they were like, "Hmm the systems that underpin our world are questionable and we should change the power structures" instead of, "Let's kill some bad guys!" then that's a totally different thing we're doing here!

And, idk man, this show has always had a Who Framed Roger Rabbit style morality where the normal rules of ethics stop applying when it's funny. They beat the crud out of Ragh and then lied to him that he shit his pants just for the bit. A pirate was rude/kinda racist to Riz so they scared him into killing himself. Riz ate the remains of the sentient (albiet evil) dragon he killed. That's all unhinged behavior but none of that is meant to be serious. Getting upset about Fig sending Ruben to hell to me feels like getting mad that Jerry hit Tom with a cartoonishly large mallet.

None of this is new so I have to assume that people are having a big reaction because they relate to the Rat Grinders or just really like them so it feels bad that the Bad Kids are treating them like fodder rather than beloved NPCs.

But again, this is a world where you can bring people back from the dead and the Rat Grinders have showed intent that is grievously neglectful at best and insanely murderous at worst so I can't muster a lot of sympathy for the fact that the Bad Kids are just taking them down without remorse. I don't think you have to try to empathize with the people who are trying to harm you if you don't want to especially while they are in the process of harming you.

(*And we still don't know how voluntarily they joined this plan. We don't know if they were killed and basically forced into resurrecting with rage or if they just leapt at the chance to join a plan that would let them get one over on their rivals. It literally could be either. We've had kid villains on this show strong armed into being party to evil plans by threat of harm (Aelwyn) as well was kid villains who just had their own selfish motivations and weren't tricked at all (Penelope and Biz). We actually don't have any clear answer on how culpable they are. We don't know if they all have rage crystals (except for Buddy). And we don't know how much having a Rage Crystal effects your actions. The best indicator we got is in this latest ep when Brennan said that there was a mechanic where Porter was going to call anyone with a rage crystal to fight for him but that says to me that he's only directly puppeting them when he uses that action and otherwise they have free will and are just angrier. The Bad Kids don't have a reason to believe definitively that the Rat Grinders are just unwilling puppets even if that is the case so of course they're treating them like enemies. Anyway, this is a whole lot of "I don't knows" but that's only because I've seen a lot of people talking like the Rat Grinders literally aren't in control of their actions but that's not info that we have. It could be true but we don't actually know that so it's not a good argument.)

[scyllaya]

My constant problem, I replayed New Vegas (only have the battle of Hoover Dam left), and then I wanted to play more fallout.

So, I started replaying Fallout 4.... and good god, it bores me. The storyline is just not interesting (roleplaying as a mom looking for a kid is not my jam, I still wish they did not give us a backstory), and none of the other main quests around the synths is super interesting to me (also the story is not very nuanced and gives you very little option to really change the world around you, like in NV).

Like, also, even in civilised areas, like Diamond City, why is everything full of trash? I get it's post-apocalypse, but do you really want me to believe that people are just fine having garbage right next to where they sleep?

In New Vegas, it was in ruins, sure. All the furniture, floors, windows were crap, clothes were worn and old, but when people actively lived somewhere, it looked like the lived there. It was cleaned up, like people actually took the trash out and maybe even swept the floors, to make it liveable.

Why does Fallout 4 insist that just because people are used to living in a post-apocalyptic world, they would make no effort at all to keep their living space and their clothes clean and pleasant? People who have very little still try to be happy with their home, make their space nice. You might not have much, but you can always get a broom. It's what you do, especially if the world is miserable.

There is actually non-radiated water a lot of places around Diamond City, there is soap, cleaning products, why does almost everyone look dirty and homeless. You can mend your coat and trousers with some thread and a needle, why are so many people walking around with giant rips and tears in their clothes. Even if the fabric is old, you would try to patch it up. You are telling me nobody in Diamond City cares enough about their appearance to sew the sleeve of their shirt back on fully? In New Vegas, Benny Gecko and his chairmen all had full suits and they looked old and weathered, but still quite nice.

It comes back to this difference between Obsidian and Bethesda fallout logic. In the Obsidian version it really looks like people made an effort to live again, but in F3 and F4, everything still looks like the bombs fell only a few decades ago. People just keep surviving in squalor from the way they look, even in the middle of a bigger settlement. Why don't people look like they are actually living? Ruins the original fallout aesthetic? Please, let's bloody move on.

[raayllum]

Rayllum's S7 Arc through the Lens of S6

By surprisingly popular demand (aka I thought the poll would get maybe 30-70 votes max, not 151 holy shit thank you) I thought it was time to look at S6's plotline for Rayla and Callum and how, in my personal belief, basically every single scene they have sets up their main ongoing storyline in S7. What storyline you ask? Well, I think there are basically there are 3-4 main threads that S6 either sets up or continually evolves for them

The possession plot line

Love > Mystery (Callum? + the cube and Aaravos)

The Greater Good

Love > Duty (Rayla) / the importance of breaking promises (Claudia, Runaan)

Most of these are pretty set in stone — only the 2nd one is what I would call speculative in regards to Callum's interiority next season leading up to the possession — so let's get through the most obvious one first, and start with

The Possession Plot Line

But wait, you say, Callum can't be possessed again. He fixed the hole in his spirit caused by dark magic which means Aaravos can't control him again.

Yes, and there is Ample evidence throughout the season (and prior seasons) that he will 1) do dark magic and 2) that they've kept on setting up the possession plotline throughout the majority of the season (6x01-6x05), which I'll start with in one of their first scenes in 6x01:

CALLUM: [Chuckles] It would've been a comfy and cozy death.

In a similar way that Callum's first scene in 4x01 involves the mirror (Aaravos) and has him stumble over his various titles establishes that his main arc will be about his search for control over his identity/self, 6x01 highlights this again: he's not a threat because he's Callum, himself ("It's just me") so Rayla can stand down. This of course ties back into the loss of identity that the possession brings ("I felt so weak and out of control. I was his puppet") and the promise Callum asked for in S4 that Rayla rejected (and we'll get to the reiteration of it in 6x03 later).

We also see that in how Callum's language has changed from season four both in his conversation with Rayla:

CALLUM: I'm not afraid that he'll hurt me. I'm afraid that he'll use me to do awful things, or hurt people I care about. (4x07) CALLUM: I don't know how, but I'm afraid... He's gonna use me. (6x01)

and with Soren:

SOREN: I know that mirror too well. My father was obsessed with it. [...] Callum, I-I know you love magic, but I hope you're careful. Because it can change people. (4x04)

to

CALLUM: As long as it's here or anywhere, it poses a threat, because Aaravos can manipulate people on the outside. Like he did with Lord Viren. And me. (6x01)

And, quite frankly, if Aaravos had already used Callum for his intended ultimate purpose, we would've seen the Callum pawn intro in S6 (the pawn intro that features the cube, I might add), neither of which have fully come to fruition. So. (But again, more on that later.)

We also have 6x03 directly renew the promise with Rayla's conversation in Runaan — who in many ways was the embodiment of "upholding your duty to the immense detriment of yourself and everyone else around you" — that Rayla's promise is going to come back around, and that literally can't happen unless 1) Callum does dark magic so 2) Aaravos can corrupt/possess him.

There is very, exceedingly little point to not only repeat a plot beat we've already seen in 4x07 just to have Rayla change her answer to the more dramatic, stakes-driven one, reaffirm it in the season finale, and then completely drop it.

This plot thread of the eventual possession fight is also set up through Rayla's encounters with Esmeray, Runaan, and the idea of monsters/corruption: "[After corruption] what life remains has been twisted into monstrosities" / "I'm a monster!" "You're not a monster!" "I remember I fought you. I tried to kill you! How could I?" / "You keep calling it a monster."

After all, if Rayla can restore their identities to Esmeray and her father... then why not Callum? ("I own you. I control you! Deadwood!" "That's not my name. My name is Elmer.") As 6x06 makes sure to tell us, the light-star ritual rids the body of dark magic, but with an added caveat: "But beware: if you ever do dark magic again, the darkness and corruption will overwhelm you."

There's also a lot of other reasons this kind of framing for it makes sense for Callum's arc and the show (which is all about making choices) in particular — but yeah, there's not a doubt in my mind that Callum is getting possessed in S7 and is doing dark magic again. Even their first scene together in 6x01 with "I heard you were up here losing your mind" which is what literally happens during possession and is a direct parallel to Zubeia's dark magic corruption ("Infected. Corrupted. I fear I'm losing everything. Losing my mind").

So let's talk about something a little less set in stone, which is Callum's journey to getting there. Specifically:

Love > Mystery

What is the mystery of Aaravos?

Well, there's a few. There's his initial motivations, which are now answered thanks to season six. There's his involvement with dark magic, which will likely be answered in season 7. Callum had the initial mystery of the mirror. Aaravos taunts Sol Regem over "the mystery that has haunted you for a thousand years" in the death/disappearance of his mate. Seasons four and five were dedicated to figuring out the mystery of his prison, though we still likely have more to learn about the imprisonment itself.

However, the mystery we've been steadily waiting one since season one is simple:

For years now, I'd speculated that the Key wasn't a literal key to Aaravos' prison (though I hadn't ruled it out), but something that would be a power up and help restore him to his full abilities. The fact that we now know why and indeed that Aaravos wants it back at all is a beautiful fun bonus in the predictions chart.

The fact that it's linked to primal magic also makes sense even beyond its design, as the language used to talk about primals is similar to the kind used to describe the cube:

LUJANNE: They have a piece of it inside them. We call that piece an arcanum. It's like the secret of the primal, or its meaning. That secret becomes a spark. The tiniest flicker of a primal source inside you, but enough to ignite the world with its magic. (2x01)

CALLUM: You don't control anything. But you already knew that, didn't you? Because it's the secret of the Ocean itself. The arcanum. (5x08)

In season 7, Callum is going to inevitably learn (hi Astrid?) that Aaravos is out of his prison and, presumably, the Archmage will be looking for his primal book of destiny. What may happen, then, is a race to get the book first, with the Cube pointing the way seemingly to Elarion, if Callum's little map in 6x02 is to be believed... or in that general direction, at least.

If Callum can get the book and use the Key with it, he'd solve a big mystery, get a lot of cool primal stuff, and be all geared up to defeat Aaravos while also de-powering the Startouch elf. He doesn't have to worry about being controlled anymore, but I could see this being the alternative avenue Callum gets obsessed over since it combines 1) his deep desire to learn more primal magic, 2) his love of books, 3) his Key, which he's wanted to figure out since s2 and is actively working on it (6x02), and 4) his desire to defeat Aaravos and keep the world and everyone else safe.

The Cube's secrets, the location of the book, the mystery of Primal magic. The mystery of Aaravos.

I don't think it's going to be that simple though, seeing as S6 also introduces a small but interesting caveat when it comes to chasing mysteries:

Anyone who knows me knows that I love Aaravos and Rayla's foil dynamic and it is persistently one of my favourites, so I was pleasantly surprised when S6 gave it so much direct focus. Rayla being a literal metaphorical star in direct opposition to Aaravos as the Literal Light to Aaravos' darkness in their dynamics with Callum; 6x09 being about their journeys in processing the loss of family; and of course, the above, with wondrous mysteries paling in comparison to their loved ones (Callum, Rayla; Leola).

Another thing I always thought was interesting was the candle parallel between Aaravos, Rayla, and Callum.

Upon their (re)entry into Callum's life, he holds a candle up to both of them. For Aaravos, this remains 'lit' and upheld, as Callum spends the two years after his TDP short story, "Inheritance" investigating the secrets of mirror. A mystery that is interrupted and delayed by Rayla's return, in which Callum holds up another candle (despite having primal magic at his beck and call)... and then lowers it and puts the candle down when he sees that it's her.

Almost like the mystery of the mirror — of the cube — doesn't hold a candle to her.

That the mystery he may become obsessed with in S7 is one he's ultimately willing to relinquish if it means saving her life.

Do the right thing. Make the sacrifice.

This doesn't rule out Callum delivering the cube under possession (hi pawn intro featuring him pondering it and turning to stone), mind you, nor does it mean Callum can't reclaim the Cube and use it / the book for good by the end of the season (him reclaiming the cube has always been one of my favourite ideas, mirroring the way he'll reclaim his identity and agency from Aaravos).

But I do think S6 in this specific vein added interesting precedent to the idea of Love being more important than mysteries, and with Rayla being Callum's one path, well...

It'd make a lot of sense, wouldn't it?

The Greater Good

The "greater good" has always been a loaded concept in TDP, whether it was the singular Magma Titan vs thousands of human lives, or hundreds of people teaming up to defend Zym at the Storm Spire, though rarely spelled out as directly as it was in S6. I want to do a proper meta update on S5 and S6's continued trolley problems, ideally sooner rather than later, so I'm not going to go as Ham here as I could. That's said, there's still plenty to talk about, so let's get into it.

Season six sees three kind of distinct trolley problems. The first is in discussion only between Callum and Rayla in 6x03 on either end; the second is over Viren and Kpp'Ar regarding the staff (and arguably Lissa as well); and the third with Viren and Soren in Katolis during Sol Regem's attack.

Obviously the one that is most relevant to this meta is 6x03, but I'd argue it starts a little earlier in the season in both 6x01 and later in 6x05 for our lovebirds, respectively:

RAYLA: You knew. You knew this was the reward. [Callum nods] Why didn't you tell me? CALLUM: Because I know you, Rayla. If I'd told you, you would've refused to go, because you never do anything for yourself. So I wanted to do something for yourself for you.

When it comes to the greater good, Rayla routinely puts it above all else. This is one of her strongest similarities to Viren in Arc 1, who cared about "a bright future for all of humanity" even at the detriment of his own children and all moral standing. Callum, however, in a steady surefire contrast to both of them, puts her and Ezran above anything and everything else, which is exactly why Rayla immediately understands "the issue" after learning about his dark magic use:

RAYLA: Am I supposed to thank you? CALLUM: No, that's not what I'm saying. I... RAYLA: Listen to me. If you ever have to choose between me or the greater good, do the thing thing. Make the sacrifice.

Callum then uses this as leverage, as previously discussed, to get Rayla to agree to his own request to kill him if Aaravos ever takes control of him again. She does, this time, as Callum cites:

CALLUM: You told me to never sacrifice the greater good for one person, no matter who it is, well... You have to promise me something, too.

When a character says something in dialogue ("If you must make a choice [between Soren and egg / 'the world'], choose the egg"), particularly when it comes to making a choice, that inevitably means they are going to be presented with that situation and have to make a choice. If a character is told not to do something, or says they will never do something ("I don't do dark magic. I will never help you"), they will almost inevitably always end up eventually doing so. This isn't always true, of course, in TDP or otherwise, but it is still a general setup rule of thumb.

So Callum is going to be pushed into an avenue where he has to pick between the greater good or Rayla, likely in the vein of helping Aaravos or losing her, and he's going to pick helping Aaravos to save her. This may mean handing over that damn cube (meta on that specifically to follow) or, at bare minimum, doing dark magic knowing it'll mean corrupting himself (self sacrifice) and subsequently turning himself over into Aaravos' will of chaos (sacrificing the greater good) knowing the consequences will be disastrous.

Because he would do anything for her, and that includes sacrificing his life, his agency ("That's the dark magic you want. Just let her go" / "Finnegrin was going to kill you. I didn't have a choice"), the world ("Tell me she wasn't your world"), and becoming a 'monster'.

He'll be saved, of course. I think S7 will actually end quite well for Callum — freed from Aaravos' possession forever, reconciled with his brother, happy with Rayla, reclaiming his cube and possibly learning from Aaravos' book of primal magic, etc. The road to get there is just going to be hell, first.

This conflict of greater good vs personal attachments though, while present in Callum's arc (choosing Ez over Harrow in 1x03; Rayla over his morals in 2x07; Rayla over his safety in 5x08, etc), is likewise at its most prevalent in Rayla's arc, so let's talk about it.

Love > Duty

Ehasz: Lain and Tiadrin, and Runaan and Ethari, as the parents of Rayla, represent the forces that are at war within her between duty and love. Her biological parents left her out of duty and Runaan and Ethari raised her out of love. Think about how she left Callum; she chose duty over love. Now she’s choosing love over duty, and we'll see this conflict within her manifest again.

So. Rayla "never [does] anything for herself," by Callum's own admission. She's agreed to murder her boyfriend if he's ever possessed again. She refused to purposefully help her family until everything with Aaravos was resolved (6x01, 6x05: "Just wait a little longer, okay?"). Her core conflict has routinely been Love vs Duty ("My heart for Xadia), often to her detriment when she chooses duty over love.

While in some ways her heart has been hardened more than it was in arc 1 ("We can't save everyone, Soren"), in others, she's never been softer and more hopeful ("I'm your daughter and I need you"). After all, while I see Rayla herself as Callum's one truth, if we read it as Love (in general), than that makes her the physical/visual embodiment of Love in his life, and well...

As the most Moonshadow elf to ever Moonshadow, Runaan was, in a lot of ways, the embodiment of duty in S1. He fought his daughter and "tried to kill" her in an effort to maintain his oath as a Moonshadow elf and honour his position as troupe leader. He was prepared to possibly take her life, as "we take it, but we do not take it lightly." He refused to listen.

I think the fact that he's remorseful as all hell in S6, then, bodes very well for the future. Not only does his fight with Rayla foreshadow multiple elements of her fight with Callum—identity, corruption, "I know you're still in there! I'm not letting you go!"—but if he embodies the remorse of duty, and Rayla embodies the persistence and forgiveness of love, well...

Love wins over duty.

This is symbolized, too, as the parallels between Rayla's assassin binding—a solemn vow and threat of punishment if she failed in her duty, which Callum's act of love (smashing the primal stone to save Zym) allowed her to be free of—and the bracelet/binding that Callum gifts her explicitly out of his love and care for her. The first binding a reminder that as an assassin, she was "already dead" vs one that will help her come back to him.

This follows through on what season hammers home, which is that Rayla (and the world around her) is at its best when acting in accordance with her big heart. The prophecy and reason dictated that to kill the icy monster was the best route forward, but her heart saw otherwise ("I know in my heart. You have to trust me") and allowed her to connect and literally help repair/illuminate Esmeray's broken heart by gifting the moon opal. Her love, not her fierce devotion to duty, is Callum's guiding star ("Rayla is kind and good" / "You have true courage, and a big heart" / "Rayla is selfless, strong, and caring. That's what makes her a hero. That's what makes her Rayla." / "I understand now. Your kindness pierced her heart and melted the threat" / "Yours is a wondrous heart").

Runaan taught her to never break her promises (6x09) as part of being a Moonshadow elf and a good assassin, but breaking her promise ("Before I met you, I swore an oath, to end Prince Ezran's life") and indeed sparing Marcos was one of the best, most crucial things she's ever done. Since we know Callum won't sacrifice her, we can also be sure — especially after her victories with Runaan and Esmeray — that she won't sacrifice him. Runaan broke his promise to Ethari, inadvertently abandoning his lover for two years over something that was ultimately harmful and unnecessary (sound familiar), and it makes me wonder if Runaan will support Rayla choosing love over duty, and mutually learning from their own mistakes in doing the opposite.

There's also the fact that sometimes, breaking a promise would be a good thing, as showcased in prior seasons:

SOREN: Of course we can [capture the boys]. We promised Dad. (2x07)

CLAUDIA: Aaravos followed through on everything he said he was going to do to save my dad. And I promised to help free him. (6x04)

Conclusion: Sacrifice

Where a lot of these points meet, though, especially for the intersection of love and duty, is at the point of Sacrifice. We see this smattered throughout the season, both directly in dialogue

CALLUM: You told me to never sacrifice the greater good for one person, no matter who it is. Well, you have to promise me something too. (6x03)

VIREN: And even if I could, oh, the sacrifice is unthinkable. The spell requires a human heart. (6x08)

and more indirectly but still very prominently through action: Claudia killing/suffering through the physical and emotional ordeal of killing Sir Sparklepuff ("It... It's love!" "It's too much to ask. It hurts to see you like this); Viren regretting how he handled things with Lissa and then afterwards with Soren because "the cost was devastating. Your mother left us"; and of course in Callum and Rayla's argument in 6x03 over Callum's willingness to destroy and hurt himself in order to protect Rayla, who's done the same thing many times over, just in leaving or using herself as a shield.

"We must be ready to sacrifice, even the things we love" (3x03) when it comes to duty. We must likewise be willing to sacrifice things, such as duty, safety, ego/pride, morality, or your life, in the name of love. Sacrifice — dark magic, of what are you willing to trade or kill or sacrifice in exchange for your aims or protective desires — is then accordingly, the theme of Book Seven: Dark, and one that both Callum and Rayla will have to confront.

Luckily, Callum is consistent and enduring — and Rayla is true hearted and growing — enough to do the Right Thing, and make the choice they've ultimately, routinely, always made: each other.

So long as she's Rayla — brave, selfless, loving — he can be Callum, and so long as he's Callum — resourceful, persistent, loving — she can be Rayla. Not a dark mage forcing her to be an assassin, but two people who bring out the best in one another.

And in doing so, in choosing to save rather than sacrifice each other, they get to likewise save, love, and preserve themselves.

[fantaxzia]

You know what works in favour of the main/endgame couples (Feysand, Rowelin, Nessian, Quinlar, etc) in SJM's series? What's the common thread that binds them in a relationship?

NEWS FLASH

It's not the mating bond.

It's 🌟free will🌟.

They chose to be with each other; the bond was always secondary to their free will and consent.

Therefore, simply saying that the mating bond is what keeps these couples together won't make it the truth.

Free will and consent are above mating bonds, and that's how Elain and Azriel will be together, they'll choose each other over the mating bond. Because they want each other, they like each other.

Not just them, that's what Lucien will do as well. He's already pretty reluctant and unsure about Elain, wondering whether she's worth the effort. He's compelled to try and court her by tradition and reverence for mating bonds, but he's not feeling it at all.

It's pretty obvious, through narrative analysis and logic, where the storyline is going.

People think that SJM is a fated mates author, but she's actually a chosen mates author.

[percheduphere]

LET'S TALK ABOUT THE LOKI SERIES' ROMANTIC TROPES AND JANE AUSTEN

I am going to compare the relationships and romantic undertones of Loki, Sylvie, and Mobius with my all-time favorite Jane Austen adaptation because the character archetypes and plot-points are strikingly similar with Ang Lee and Emma Thompson's 1995 Sense and Sensibility.

This sounds cracked, but stay with me. Tropes are tropes for a reason. They are often repeated in writing subconsciously because they are very old and near-universal story arcs regardless of the literary genre we are discussing.

Please note that this is not a 1-to-1 comparison. This is an analysis of basic archetypes, tropes, and plot-points: the barebones skeleton of story structure. With that said, let's dig in:

Loki = Kate Winslet's Marianne Dashwood

Sylvie = Greg Wise's John Willoughby

Mobius = Alan Rickman's Colonel Brandon

For those of you who have not seen (or read) Sense & Sensibility, the story is about a family of women who are rendered near-destitute when the patriarch passes away and, due to English law at the time, all the family finances fall to the only son. The only hope for the women to escape the edges of poverty is to marry into wealth.  

The Loki series’ main storyline is a far cry from that of Sense & Sensibility. It is first and foremost a sci-fi action-adventure, but don’t let that genre fool you. Well-written stories are always character-driven. The setting serves to establish the rules of the world and the tangible challenges the characters must confront to achieve their goal. The end goal for Loki is his ascension to the God of Stories (and time). Therefore, his character arc must follow a trajectory that prepares him for that ascension.  

Love, above all else, is essential for Loki’s journey. In order to understand and be capable of love, Loki must experience love in all its forms including but not limited to romantic. I've seen a lot of social media posters mocking shippers with comments saying, "the story is not about romance." I wholeheartedly disagree. While romance is not the main concern of the series, romance does serve Loki's character development.

It is critical that we remember romance does not require physical contact or even blatant declarations of love. If that were true, unrequited love would not be thought of as romantic, which we know is not the case. Further, it is possible for physical intimacy to exist without any romance at all. One does not require the other.

While dismantling HWR’s old regime is the Loki series’ “Plot A” thread, Loki’s emotional experience serves as the series’ “Plot B” thread. Love and romance exist in Plot B.

THE CHARACTERS & THEIR ARCHETYPES 

LOKI & MARIANNE 

Within Sense & Sensibility’s plot, one of the main heroines, Marianne, has the archetype of the mercurial, passionate, and freewheeling spirit. She is rebellious at heart, chaffing at society’s rigid expectations of emotional repression and polite rather than fiery courtship. Much like Loki with Sylvie, Marianne is drawn to John Willoughby because his temperament, values, interests, and talents very closely mirror her own.  

Like Loki, Marianne is emotional. Her emotions drive many of her decisions, some of which are rash and socially unacceptable for her era. 

Like Loki, Marianne detests social norms. Refusing to contain her nature for anyone, she is unafraid of the stares and judgment of others. 

Like Loki, Marianne is poetic, a lover of words and metaphor. 

Like Loki, Marianne is a hedonist. She will follow where her heart takes her regardless of the consequences. Just as Loki runs after Sylvie through the portal door, Marianne chases after Willoughby.

SYLVIE & WILLOUGHBY 

Willoughby fulfills the archetype of the ideal lover at first sight. He is young, handsome, strong, deeply romantic, and a lover of poetry, pleasure, and unfettered emotion. I will not go into the deeper details of his character and plot here as I don't find them relevant for the purposes of this analysis. The key point to remember is that Willoughby is meant to be Marianne's perfect match by virtue of similarity.

Like Sylvie, Willoughby is emotional and consequently chaotic in nature. At his worst, Willoughby is unafraid of hurting others in the pursuit of his desires. 

Like Sylvie, Willoughby chooses absolute freedom over the genuine love and care he has for Marianne (Loki).  

Like Sylvie, Willoughby views institutions with social authority with contempt.  

Like Sylvie, Willoughby judges character based on association with institutions rather than the individuals themselves. He holds repugnance for Brandon’s (Mobius’s) association with the military (the TVA). Fair enough, both the TVA and the military (especially the British military) are institutions that have committed horrific global atrocities.  

Like Sylvie, Willoughby is unable to separate the institution from the individual people living and working within it, who are capable of goodness.  

MOBIUS & COLONEL BRANDON 

Colonel Brandon, a decorated military officer, fulfills the trope of the “dark horse” in love. He is Willoughby’s opposite: older, "less physically attractive", reserved, practical, and orderly. The main character (Loki/Marianne) appreciates his friendship yet does not feel any romantic affection for him (Mobius/Brandon) until the primary love interest (Sylvie/Willoughby) abandons the relationship for absolute freedom.  

Like Mobius, Brandon is drawn to intelligent, artistic, footloose nonconformists. 

Like Mobius, Brandon accepts and loves Marianne exactly as she is, including her faults. He does not want her to change against her will and gently reprimands her older sister, Elinor, at such a suggestion.

Like Mobius, Brandon serves an institution with significant influence on the lives of others. 

Like Mobius, Brandon accepts that his love is not returned yet continues to express his love through his support of Marianne’s (Loki's) wishes, including his romantic rival Willoughby (Sylvie). 

Like Mobius, Brandon is seen as a dear friend rather than a potential romantic partner in the first 2/3rds of the story. 

Like Mobius, Brandon’s personal desires are secondary to Marianne’s (Loki’s) happiness. 

THE ROMANTIC PLOT 

It is understood by the audience that love is not only a feeling; it is also an action that requires incredible responsibility. In that responsibility, both lovers must choose to take into consideration the feelings, wants, and needs of the other.

The trope of a main character meeting their perfect match and falling quickly in love informs the audience that conflict must lie ahead, and that the third party of the love triangle will be tested for their worthiness as a romantic partner.

Loki & Sylvie and Marianne & Willoughby possess a fast, passionate, and explosive love.

Loki & Mobius and Marianne & Brandon posses a slow, steady, and gently burning love.

These two relationships, which are BOTH valid AND romantic, are set against one another to contrast each suitor's strengths and weaknesses, as well as to shed light on which suitor best meets the feelings, needs, and wants of the main character.

The main character's (Loki/Marianne) love interests inevitably collide in a tense confrontation. Being the Georgian Era, Brandon and Willoughby do not discuss their dislike for one another directly but with Marianne's older sister, Elinor.

Sylvie, on other hand, is not afraid to tear into Mobius, saying exactly what she thinks of him. Both directors of photography frame their shots in a near-identical fashion, demonstrating who are at odds and the individual (present or not) who is between them.

Whether in the realm of fiction or reality, the act of love inherently requires some degree of self-sacrifice.

While Sylvie performs self-sacrifice by pruning herself in hopes of finding and rescuing Loki from the Void, that self-sacrifice does not extend to her personal values and beliefs with respect to free will.  She therefore fights Loki, ultimately kissing him farewell before kicking him through a time door to get what she wants.

Likewise, Willoughby, cut-off from his family's estate due to indiscretions he refuses own, prioritizes wealth over his relationship with Marianne in order to continue his lifestyle of luxury and absolute freedom. Willoughby therefore marries the exceptionally wealthy Miss Grey to achieve this end, abandoning Marianne and breaking her heart in the process.

At the midpoint of each storyline (where the narrative turns), both Loki and Marianne have lost the person they felt most strongly about because they were not that's person's priority.

Marianne's quote in the above gif is significant. It is a poem she and Willoughby recited together when they first met. She recites it again, alone, as she looks upon the estate Willoughby has married into in the rain. The poem is as follows:

"Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. Oh, no. It is an ever-fixed mark that looks upon tempests and is never shaken."

This poem defines love as not fickle but persistent in the face of challenges and "never shaken".

THE DARK HORSE IN LOVE

Brandon, who falls for Marianne first, establishes himself as not only a friend of Marianne's but her whole family's. All of his actions throughout the film are performed out of love for Marianne, but these actions are not read as romantic by Marianne because there is no fast-burning fire and (seemingly) little commonality between them.

Marianne's mother cautions her, pointing out that the romances she cites all meet pitiful ends. In return, Marianne describes such love as not pitiful but "glorious."

Brandon and Mobius express their love for Marianne and Loki through practical means. Their actions are predominantly viewed as marks of friendship rather than marks of romantic love. It should be noted that in both cases, no verbal declaration of love, nor any physical declaration of love, such as a kiss, is ever made by either Mobius or Brandon on screen. Brandon's unrequited love, however, is readily apparent to everyone (the characters and the audience) due his presentation of the opposite gender.

Brandon, upon seeing Marianne struggle cutting reeds for weaving, offers her his pocketknife. Mobius, knowing that confrontation with Sylvie at Roxxcart will be dangerous, offers Loki his daggers for protection. 

Brandon, recognizing Marianne’s need for artistic pursuits, gifts her a piano. Mobius, recognizing Loki’s need for validation, provides him with words of affirmation, encouraging Loki’s talents in magic and cunning.

Brandon, acknowledging Marianne’s love for Willoughby, invites Willoughby to a picnic at his estate despite his distaste for him.  Mobius, acknowledging Loki’s love for Sylvie, frees Loki and is pruned despite his jealousy of her. 

Marianne, out in the rain and in distress over her loss of Willoughby, succumbs to a deadly fever. Loki, kicked through a time door and in distress over his loss of Sylvie, succumbs to time-slipping.

Brandon and Mobius actively make themselves available in response to their loved one's individual break-ups with ZERO expectation of having their love returned.

Brandon, concerned that Marianne's illness may kill her, rides nonstop for hours to retrieve her mother during a storm. Mobius, concerned for Loki's wellbeing, risks his life on the loom's gangway, risking exposure to temporal radiation and death.

In the end, both Brandon and Mobius are the triumphant winners of Marianne's and Loki's hearts.

Indeed, Brandon reads poetry to Marianne, and when he announces he must "away", Marianne worriedly asks "where?", demonstrating her desire for him to stay. Brandon teases her, fulfilling Marianne's need for romance and excitement by saying, "it is a secret."

Mobius, meanwhile, begins to open himself up to worldly pleasures, allowing himself to drop the strict, no-nonsense behavior he exhibited in S1. Loki, in turn, begins to provide him with the type of emotional support Mobius has consistently given him since the beginning (yes, he has a jealous meltdown, but he recovers relatively quickly).

The outcome of their successes, however, diverge due to their gender presentation.

Whereas Brandon happily marries Marianne ...

... Loki returns Mobius's selfless love with a sacrifice of his own, and they are separated.