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#ptsd symptoms in women

sundrop-writes · 4 months

Text

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.

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.

#sundrop writes #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction

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disniq · 8 months

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[Original post here, but I felt this deserved it's own @bloodyentrails]

IT DOES!!

Batman #138 preview

I was talking to @thekangarou last night about how Bruce's insistence here that Jason move away and find a "normal" life and fall in love and it's not a punishment, Jason, even if I'm not actually giving you a choice in any of it feels almost like forced heteronormativity too, like.

This is the asylum for hysterical women; this is the convertion therapy for the queer kid you can't accept; this is lobotomising your mentally ill son because you can't learn to handle his PTSD symptoms.

#gotham war #gotham war spoilers #jason todd #bruce wayne #bruce wayne critical #jason is female coded and queer coded and mentally ill coded and i am LIVING

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leftistfeminista · 8 months

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Israel's sexual torture of Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine women prisoners

In her affidavit to the court, Fabri describes with excruciating detail what Odeh recounted in their sessions.

When Odeh, aged 19 at the time, was first arrested by Israeli soldiers in 1969, she was taken to an interrogation center in Jerusalem where she was beaten with wooden sticks, metal bars, open hands and fists, and kicked with booted feet. Odeh described the sensation she had after the prolonged beating, saying it was “like there was a fire in my head, like high electricity voltage, like my head was going to explode.”

For the first week of her detention, Odeh was menstruating and the Israeli guards did not give her any sanitary protection or allow her access to the bathroom. She reported that for the first 25 days of her 45 days in detention in Jerusalem, Odeh was denied regular sleep and was continually beaten and humiliated.

One guard, known as “Abulhani,” punched her repeatedly on her ears, resulting in impaired hearing for two years.

Odeh was left naked for most of the time, in front of male guards as well as other detained men.

At one point, Odeh was forced to watch the torture of a detained man, during which the guards connected the man’s genitals to electrical wires and subjected him to electric shocks. Odeh reported that she watched him die during this torture.

Shortly after witnessing the electrocution, Odeh was herself tortured with electric shocks; the wires were attached to her genitals, breasts, abdomen, arms and legs.

In yet another incident, Odeh’s father was brought into a room where she was lying naked on the floor, and ordered to have sex with her. It was this threat that Odeh says finally coerced her to signing a confession.

But, according to Fabri’s affidavit, even after Odeh signed the confession, the torture did not stop.

The guard, “Abulhani,” threatened to rape her but then told her that “she did not deserve to have a man take her virginity.” Soldiers then held her down and “Abulhani” shoved a “rough, thick, wooden stick” into her vagina. Odeh later learned that her father was forced to watch her rape.

Observing “no evidence of feigning or malingering,” Fabri concluded that Odeh’s symptoms and descriptions of her symptoms were consistent with PTSD, and that any call to remember the torture would have reactivated the symptoms of PTSD, and thus she, like others suffering from extreme trauma, would likely avoid thinking or talking about the experience.

Court motion details Palestinian American Rasmea Odeh’s torture by Israeli jailers

#political prisoners #palestine

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cowgurrrl · 11 days

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Strangers

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader (cowgirl!reader???)

Author’s note: goddammit is this gonna be a thing

Summary: Javi struggles to assimilate back into civilian life in Texas until an old friend returns [1.5k]

Warnings: Texas Javi my beloved, language, addictive tendencies, PTSD symptoms, Javi + Steve 4eva, reader has a brother, southernisms, pining, yeah there’s probably gonna be a part two 🙄

Javi really did try his best to leave Colombia and the ghosts that pricked at his memory every time he turned a familiar corner. He wanted to do better. He felt he had to. Too many people died for him to just throw away his chance at life, but the days were long and hot, and he was so fucking tired. The nicotine patches stopped working, and the bottle suddenly wasn't enough to convince himself he was doing what he was sent to do. That he was doing the right thing. That he was a good person.

He expected the feeling to leave him once he left the imaginary borders of Colombia and returned to the northern valley. He thought working with his dad and getting his feet back under him after years of being pushed and pulled at Reagan's whim would feel better than shaking down teenagers for narco information. Of course, it didn't disappear in the cacti and hazy horizons of Loredo or the arms of his father. It's only been a couple of hours, Peña, he thought. Give it some time. Who knows? Blistering Texas sunsets might be good for burning the blood off his hands.

Except everybody in his small town knew of his exploits in Latin America. They knew his name was plastered to boxes full of evidence against the cartel and then some. They knew Chucho's boy was some kind of fucked up veteran or hero or whatever they wanted to call him. He avoided going into town more than necessary when he first got home because of how often he got stopped. It didn't matter if he was going to the hardware store, HEB, or the mechanic. Somebody ended up talking to him about Escobar or Cali. He couldn't escape his past even thousands of miles away from it. The only good thing about his newfound fame was the free drinks people pushed his way in the shit hole bar just on the outskirts of town.

He tells himself to slow down, what with the early mornings and long days he's working, but it'd be a dick move to turn down free drinks, right? Sometimes, Javi loses hours in the bar, betting money on pool, flirting with women passing through town, and telling war stories of the jungle and sicarios and whatever else comes spilling out of his loose lips. He tells himself he's coping the best way he knows how when he comes down for breakfast looking and feeling like shit, his hair practically wet from lingering cigarette smoke, but he knows better.

His dad deals with Javi's vices the same way they dealt with his mother's death: inefficiently and without making a sound. The most Chucho does is shake his head and sigh when Javi comes stumbling in at some ungodly hour. What more could he do? Javi barely told his dad where he was in the world. How was he supposed to tell him what he'd done? What he saw? What he allowed? No, his dad can never know. It'll kill him. It'll kill Javi to retell.

Sometimes, Javi will call Steve and ask about Connie and the kids, and they'll act like they're old school buddies and not tethered together through tragedy and white powder. Steve will ask him about his sleep, and Javi will give some bullshit answer which makes Steve laugh. "Yeah, me too," he says one time. "Woke the baby up the other night 'cause I was talkin' again. Don't even know what about. Isn't that fun?" Javi doesn't give much away. He never does, but sometimes, it's just nice to know he's not alone in his struggle to get back to normal.

Javi is back in town for a full forty days before he finally stumbles across you. At first, he doesn't remember you or your first name. Your last name, however, rattles around his skull until he finally gets the courage to ask if he knows you as he stands in line at the store. "You look familiar." He says, making you laugh.

"I'd hope so. You were practically livin' in my house in high school." You say, throwing him back to his high school baseball days, spending time either in the field or on the ranch with your older brother. You were a little bit younger than him— the daughter of a weathered cattle rancher— and only caught his attention when you were in the way or being an obnoxious teenager. Man, did you grow up pretty, he thinks. Suddenly, he's hyperaware of his sweaty hair, rumpled shirt, and god-awful farmer's tan.

"Last I heard, you'd moved out of town," Javi says, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing you carefully. The freckles dotting your face from all your time in the sun should be considered lethal, especially when you smile.

"Last I heard, you were engaged." Just as you did then, you don't hold your punches. The jab doesn't hurt, but it does make him laugh, an embarrassed blush crawling up his neck.

"Alright, you got me there," he says. "How's your brother?"

"Good. Married Suzanna a few years ago, and now they've got some babies running around."

"They live around here?"

"Dallas," you say. "Dillon thinks he's too good for us and decided to be a real estate agent out there instead."

"Sounds riveting," Javi says and you laugh. The line gets shorter and shorter as you talk, but he can't focus on anything but you. "And you? What's a pretty girl like you still doing in this shit hole?" Something behind your eyes flickers at the comment and you take a deep breath, suddenly all too aware of how hot it is today.

"Somebody's gotta get Daddy off the horse every once in a while."

"And what? Your mama can't do that for you?"

"She knows better than to keep tryin'. I'm just as stubborn as he is, so one of us'll win or give up before the other."

"Well, my money's on you." He says easily. You stare at each other for a little bit longer than necessary before the clerk calls you by name to get your attention. Your items are scanned, bagged, and paid for all in the span of a few seconds. You have no reason to linger in the checkout aisle, but you do, rocking on your boots' heels just a little.

"Don't be a stranger, Peña." You say, looking him over as if you're seeing him for the first time.

"I don't think this town's big enough for that." He says, and you chuckle.

"No, I don't think so either," you say. "Tell your dad I said hi." With all your Southern hospitality, you turn and leave. Javi watches you go until the clerk calls his name and breaks him out of it. Well, that and the sound of something crashing to the floor makes him reach for a gun he doesn't carry anymore. His shoulders brace for an explosion, and he can't catch his breath. He stares at the box and the broken jars in it as a pissed-off employee storms off to find a broom. He scoffs.

Javi has dealt with some of the most dangerous people in the world, and jams are what spike his adrenaline.

He tries to shrug it off and pay the cashier, but his ears are still ringing, and his heart is still racing when he climbs back into his truck. Fucking jam. He tries to forget about it as he drives home. He wants to forget about it. He wants to think of anything else.

If that happens to be your smile, the way your laugh fills the air, or the inconspicuous way you looked at him when he complimented you, it's just a coincidence.

When he gets home, he's craving a drink or a cigarette or something more physical to get his mind off of what happened. His shoulders slump with the weight of memory and Chucho sees. He always sees. He just doesn't know the right way to fix it.

"Y'know, uh… your friend you used to play baseball with?" He asks, seemingly out of nowhere, as Javi puts away the groceries. He furrows his brows and gives his dad a confused look.

"I had lots of friends I played baseball with."

"He was datin' that girl you went to Homecoming with when you were a freshman?" Of all the things his dad remembers, of course, it's that. Javi resists the urge to roll his eyes and grinds his teeth instead.

"Suzanna?" He asks and Chucho snaps his fingers in a way that tells him that was the right answer. "His name was Dillion. What about him?"

"Well, his dad heard you're back in town and invited us over for a barbecue," he says nonchalantly and Javi scoffs. "I'm not sure how he didn't know, but you know that old fucker's always out doin' something. Somebody probably told him something or the other. Anyway, you can say no. I told him you were still adjustin'."

"I'll go," Javi agrees too fast. "Might be good to… get outta the house. Wouldn't wanna be a stranger." Chucho is surprised but not displeased with Javi's answer, and they leave it as is.

It's just reintegrating into civilian life. It's just socializing. It's just a barbecue. It's not an interrogation or a raid. It's coping.

Apparently, coping could be really fun if he plays his cards right.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @space-zaddy-din-djarin @rainy-darling @its-me-mila @mnn11ankamaaka

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homunculus-argument · 2 years

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Back when WW1 came along, and first soldiers came home with the trauma of warfare the like of which had never been seen before, the term "shell-shocked" was coined to explain what had happened to them. At the time, the diagnosis of hysteria was still in living memory - if not still actively being diagnosed - as an all-encompassing blanket term for any thoughts, feelings, personality traits and behaviours that women had which men in their lives found inconvenient.

While the 'symptoms' of hysteria could cover anything and everything from excessive crying, too high sex drive, too low sex drive, to having physical chronic pain that doctors didn't believe was real, some of the more well-known symptoms were distinct enough that people drew an association between the two. There needed to be a diagnosis to explain why so many of these brave young soldier boys were coming home with the symptoms of an ailment only known to exist in the feeble and fragile female sex.

A question apparently nobody thought to ask was why the fuck was it so common for ordinary women to have PTSD.

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skatingbi · 6 months

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Yo we out here with some more Ace lives AU but i'll make them little bullet points so I dont have to write a whole essay. Enjoy my little headcanons!

Warning: Theres. So many. Im not sorry tho lmao

Ace joins the strawhats after the time skip, nobody really minds and theyre happy to spend time with luffy's older brother. He quickly becomes best friends with Nami. I just feel it in my soul that they would gossip together.

Both Ace and Luffy suffer from awful PTSD symptoms after Marineford. With Luffy, his crew eventually learn how to help him. With Ace, though, he only has Luffy to lean on for support until the crew get aquanted with him.

Actually, to add onto that bc im a sucker for acesan, Sanji is the first after Luffy to reach out during one of his bad days when even really small triggers can make Ace spiral into a panic attack.

More acesan sorry lmao. Ace is usually either out on the figure head of the sunny looking at the ocean when Luffy isnt occupying that spot, in the gallery when Sanji is working, or just out on the deck laying on the grass. He especially likes being around sanji in the gallery.

Pre timeskip Ace is extremely different than this AU's Ace because yes he's silly and carries an air of confidence with him still, but he's never shirtless around others anymore. For a long while, Ace doesnt leave the ship or pick fights. His confidence is a facade for a long time.

Depression hits ace like a truck in this AU and its only eased with the help of Luffy and Sanji. Chopper also helps the best he can with what he's got. Ace is grateful for this, and eventually his old self starts to emerge more and more. Luffy is there with him the entire time.

Ace has insomnia, but so does Sanji and Zoro. He'll hang out with them during late night hours either on watch with zoro sharing stories or with Sanji talking to him while he's doing prep work or inventory. He'll probably also fend off luffy when his little brother tries to break into the locked fridge lmao

But more funny headcanons!! Im getting depressing here sorry!! Ace will mess around with Luffy and entertain him before meal times by play fighting. Their asses will be duking it out on the deck and Chopper will be all concerned and Zoro and Nami will be like "Siblings." Like thats the most obvious answer in the world.

Tbh, the crew members with any type of sibling or sibling bond will get it. Luffy will deadass try to steal Ace's food and Ace will smack his hand lightly with haki and Luffy will dramatically exclaim how mean his big brother is.

"Ace is so mean! I'll starve to death!" "Yeah, sure, you little menace"

Ace regaining strength over his devil fruit powers by making little shapes out of fire for chopper, luffy, and usopp. Franky and brook join the group to give ace prompts. It becomes a nightly occurance at this point.

The first time he decides to go shirtless in front of the crew, they realize his old tattoo is replaced by scar tissue that covers nearly his entire back. Nobody says anything, but I think Franky and Nami would be really understanding. Also luffy. Luffy would be like "We match! Ace has a cool scar like I do!" and it reassures him but also breaks his heart simultaneously.

Ace eating nearly as much as luffy and Sanji being like "Are you sure youre not blood related? Because youre both gonna run my kitchen dry"

Ace not really having a defined role in the crew and them not really minding it. Ace floats around basically. It kind of fits him more that way since he knows a bit of everything. He'll look at maps with nami to chart a course to the next island, He'll fight alongside zoro and sanji, he'll tell usopp about different ways to use combustion and heat in weapons or ammo, etc.

Ace and nami using the power of their good looks to scam people lmao and ace being able to swindle men and women. Nami is impressed and also jealous.

Luffy growing his hair out so him and Ace match, but luffy apparently has curlier hair than Ace so its just a fluffy mess until usopp caves and teaches them how to actually take care of their hair (luffy does not absorb a single thing and ace now has to help luffy with his hair when it gets as long as his)

Ace noticing one day how zoro looks at luffy and being like "yikes...you got it bad, man" and zoro just being like "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP-" but ace is fucking cackling and now zoro cant be too mad about that. He's still embaressed as fuck about it though.

Expanding on that actually: Ace actually being supportive because he knows how loyal zoro is. He isnt worried. Plus, Luffy is extremely strong and it takes a lot to actually hurt him. So he's like "dude you gotta just tell him straight up he is dense as hell"

Ace the ultimate wingman for zoro. Not luffy, though. That's what Nami is there for. Him an nami are definitely working together and placing bets on when and who asks who out with robin, usopp, sanji, and franky. I wont say what they chose for their bet but robin definitely wins.

BUT luffy, nami, zoro, robin, usopp and franky place bets on Ace and Sanji. Ace is never subtle. He flirts openly and is proud of it. Sanji is very subtle with ace, though. The crew immediately see past his bullshit of trying to be straight. Its painful to watch. Poor sanji is trying so hard to remain closeted but the closet is literally glass. I wont say who betted what as per my last bullet point, but surprisingly zoro won. Everyone (nami) is outraged by this incident. Luffy is here for a good time.

The crew playing card games except they learn sometimes ace cannot handle flammable objects because he will burn them accidentally. Competitive card games are now banned if ace is playing.

Ace is also banned from using his devil fruit powers while sparring on the deck. The poor grass on there has been burned so many times. Nami has kicked his ass over it.

Ace and zoro get really competitive. Not like zoro and sanji, but they'll spar without weapons and at least one of them will leave with a busted lip or eyebrow and a lecture from chopper. Theyre chill though they just forget to hold back on their punches. Ace one time used haki and had to help franky fix the deck afterwards.

#Bro...let ace heal and be happy #i have the power to write and i will use it to make ace heal and be happy #acesan #zolu #theyre mentioned but its still important to tag imo #one piece #portgas d ace #luffy d monkey #op spolier warning #ig lmao #my entire account is a spoiler warning on its own lets be honest #ace lives au #blackleg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #roronoa zoro #cat burglar nami

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tightjeansjavi · 9 months

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Slow Hands | Chapter 4

“I used to float, now I just fall down”

A/N: so I already forewarned that this was going to be a particularly heavy chapter. I also just want to say that I don’t claim to be a medical expert on the effects trauma can have on a person. I also do not self diagnose, but I did a lot of research on the reasoning behind why Beanie doesn’t have any recollection of what happened to her. I specifically researched‘dissociative amnesia’ caused by trauma. Some of the symptoms may include a person forgetting part or all of the traumatic event, and having a ‘foggy’ memory of trauma, or feeling like ‘it didn’t happen to you.’ However, even if you are unable to recall specific details, your body still does which would explain Beanie’s flight or fight response to specific sounds. Depending on the person, your body may associate certain sounds, sights, and smells to a specific traumatic event. Thank you for reading 🤎

~word count: 4.1k~

Pairing | Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: while on patrol, Tommy and Joel make a gruesome discovery.

Warnings: disturbing/distressing themes that may be harmful to some viewers. Please do not read if this kind of content upsets you. Violence, dead bodies, talk of the past, mention of murder, mentions of guns, mentions of chains, implied S/A by raiders, women held captive, trauma, trauma triggers, PTSD, possible diagnosis of dissociative amnesia (I do not claim to be an expert and just did some heavy research to make it accurately depicted in the story), protective! Joel, Beanie dissociates on her rooftop, implied suicidal thoughts, implied depression, isolation, some fluff towards the end, Joel is incredibly gentle with beanie, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is beanie (coffee beans) +18, minors dni! Please heed the warnings!

main masterlist series masterlist playlist

“What the hell do ya mean she doesn’t know what fuckin’ happened to herself? What does that even mean,Tommy?!” Joel was visibly frustrated, confused, and bewildered. His mind was already running circles as he tried to piece together what he knew about you. He was desperate to grasp some context clues that would ultimately lead to a conclusion as to what had happened to you. He gently pulled back on his horse's reins between a cluster of snow dusted evergreens.

Tommy, however, kept his horse moving and this frustrated Joel even further.

“Don’t you fuckin’ walk away from me like you’re deaf or somethin’ ,Tommy!”

The younger Miller brother cursed under his breath as he halted his horse a few strides ahead of Joel. Both brothers were deathly silent. Tommy rolled his shoulders, appearing to try and relieve some stress and tension that was building up. He gently pulled the inside rein towards his torso as he turned his horse around. “Would you fuckin’ keep your goddamn voice down? This is exactly why I don’t want to discuss this with you, Joel.”

“You think I give a damn? What, you just expect me to go ‘bout my business when she crumbled into my arms this morning?’ Tommy, you know me, you know I ain’t gonna let this go.” Joel’s tone was far softer now. His frustrations were still simmering below the surface like that of a once dormant volcano that was gradually becoming active once more.

“Look, Maria and I have our own assumptions about what happened to her. When we found her..she was in pretty fuckin’ rough shape. She was most likely traveling for days without food or water Joel. She was barely breathin’, and for a moment we thought she was long gone.”

“Well, that ain’t all surprising..considerin’ we’re livin’ in an apocalypse Tommy.” Joel fought the urge to scoff under his breath. Tommy wasn’t giving him a straight answer and he wasn’t having any of it.

“That ain’t the fuckin’ point, Joel. Maria..she found somethin’ on her.” Tommy trailed off as he focused anywhere but his brother’s face.

“Tommy, what the hell did she find? Spit it out, or so help me god–” He nearly growled out as his jaw clenched harshly under the pale white moonlight.

“Someone tried to fuckin’ carve her up. That’s what.” Tommy deadpanned.

“what?” Joel could feel the bile rise in his throat at this newfound utterly disturbing information. His pupils were blown wide and an unsettling chill rolled down his spine.

“You fuckin’ heard me. Some sick fucks tried to carve her up. Maria and I both think it was raiders.”

“..like us?” Joel’s question hung heavy in the air as both Miller brothers slowly looked over at one another. There was nothing for them to hide. They had both done unspeakable things to countless people. Some people deserved it..others? Not so much. Joel knew it would be impossible for him to wipe all of his sins and carnage completely clean. His moral compass had been skewed after Sarah died. His actions were fueled by rage and indescribable pain. But even though he was a murderer, and he,Tommy, and Tess committed heinous crimes together, even they had their limits.

“No, Joel. Not like us. We didn’t fuckin’ carve people up.” Tommy shook his head with a heavy sigh. Maria didn’t know half of the shit he had done to survive, and he hoped to god she would never find out.

“No, you’re right. We didn’t carve people up, but we did some terrible fuckin’ things, Tommy.” There was a heaviness in Joel’s voice that lingered in the frosty air.

“Yeah, we did. Endure and survive, right?” Tommy responded with a bitter laugh that slowly crept up his throat.

“So, when you say that they tried to carve her up..”

“Maria found a knife wound that pretty much wraps all the way up her torso and back. It was, and is gruesome.”

“Fuck.” Joel breathed out a puff of air as his heart began to hang heavy in his chest. “She doesn’t remember any of it?”

“No. We actually had Doc check her out after we brought her in, and he thinks she might have dissociative amnesia. He said it’s commonly found in patients that have dealt with an excessive form of trauma. Essentially, her brain is blocking out certain events to protect itself. He of course doesn’t know for sure, but that’s the best explanation he could give as to why she has a foggy memory of what happened to her. He also..thinks there’s a chance that she was heavily drugged for an extended period of time, which could have also led to her memory essentially being botched. That wasn’t..all that Doc found. He also said that after doing a full body exam–”

Joel cut him off immediately like a sharp knife slicing through a hunk of meat. “Stop. Not another word, Tommy. Not another fuckin’ word.” Joel whispered harshly under his breath. He could only imagine the hell you went through. God help those motherfuckers if he ever got his hands on them.

“All this is to say that she may never fully recover those memories. Frankly? It’s probably for the best. I’m entrustin’ you with this information, Joel. And I need you to promise me that you’re not going to go and ask her questions. I need you to bite your fuckin’ tongue on this one. Alright? Jus’ be her friend. Jus’ be there for her.”

Joel wanted to laugh. He wanted to bitterly laugh and shake his fists to the heavens above because how in the hell was he supposed to just deal with the guilt of having some form of knowledge on what happened to you. How was he supposed to look you in the eyes without imagining the horrors that you faced? How was he supposed to pretend?

“Tommy, you know I can’t–”

“I don’t give a damn on what you think you can’t do, Joel. I’m not about to let you or anyone for that matter go and traumatize that poor woman even more. Maria started treatin’ her different than everyone else at one point, and Beanie came to me one day and wanted to know why. I had to sit down with Maria and practically beg her to just treat her like a normal person. Folks ‘round here either think she’s the nutty coffee woman, or some fragile piece of china that is gonna shatter at any minute. She ain’t either of those things, but hey, I guess even an apocalypse can’t stop people from havin’ their judgements.”

“For the record, Tommy, I don’t think she’s either of those things either. Quirky? Sure. She’s better than half the folks in town. That is for damn certain.”

“Exactly. So just treat her like a normal person. Don’t go and try to be her savior either. She ain’t need savin. She just needs a friendly face that understands her.”

“I have a friendly face?” Joel murmured with a soft chuckle to alleviate the tension.

“Hardly, big brother.” Tommy softly joked back.

“So, just so I got this all straight, Doc said that he thinks she might have..dissociative amnesia..but then what about her triggers? Does he know about her episodes? Cus’ she looked at me like I was gonna fuckin’ hurt her. If her brain is tryin’ to block out the trauma..her body is still actively experiencing it?” Joel asked as he gently nudged his horse’s side to walk forward.

“Y’know how you have your own triggers? I’m thinkin’ that she does as well. However, hers are most likely associated with noise. When we first brought her in we had her stay at our place for awhile..and there was one mornin’ I was up early putzin’ around the kitchen and I guess the sound of a pan clatterin’ in the sink freaked her out. She kept tellin’ Maria someone was out to get her, but when Maria asked who, she couldn’t answer.”

“Well..that explains what happened this mornin.’ I jus’ uh—wanted to do somethin’ nice for her so I was shovelin’ her walkway. Maybe the sound of the shovel scrapin’ on the concrete triggered her?”

“Well, chivalry ain’t dead. That’s for damn sure. Yeah, I’m sure it triggered her flight or fight response. She wasn’t logically able to decipher what the noise actually was. Y’know, I'm pretty sure Doc has some books on this stuff if you wanna read up on it.”

Joel was just about to respond when his horse let out a nervous snort and pawed at the ground with his hoof. Horses were incredibly intuitive creatures. They could sense danger from a mile away.

Both Tommy and Joel were already grasping their rifles in a fight response. There was a drifting odor of smoke from a fire..at first Joel thought it was just a typical wood burning fire, until the putrid stench of rotting flesh hit his olfactory senses and it brought him right back to living in the QZ. His eyes watered, and his lungs burned. No doubt in his mind that there was a raider camp nearby.

“We should turn back right fuckin’ now Joel. We should go find the others—” Tommy hissed under his breath.

“No. We’re gonna go investigate. Lucas and Cody probably already detected the smoke as well. This ain’t the first time you and I have gone into somethin’ together. You cover me, and I’ll cover you. Deal?” It was incredible how fast Joel was able to switch back into survival mode. It was embedded deep within his bones, and it didn’t take much for it to be clawing right through his skin. He had been the hunter, more times than he had been the prey.

“If we’re outnumbered, then we split. Got it?” Tommy wasn’t about to go and risk his life tonight.

“Got it.” Joel agreed.

The raiders camp was only a few miles to the east from Jackson. The smoke was billowing high in the air as Joel and Tommy used the snowy evergreens as cover. They had since dismounted from their horses and continued on foot. The camp they stumbled upon was freshly abandoned..but why keep the fire going? Was the first thought that crossed both Joel and Tommy’s minds. They had the barrel of their rifles aimed at the ready as they cautiously crept through the camp. The smell of rotting flesh only began to intensify as they neared the source of the fire.

What they stumbled upon was nothing short of gruesome. Five bodies in total stacked upon chopped down logs. It was difficult to make out facial features, as the deceased bodies were charred to a crisp. One thing was for certain, these people were not infected.

“Were they killed for sport?” Tommy questioned as Joel slowly crouched down next to a body that wasn’t as scorched completely. He could make out feminine features and long follicles of hair. He could feel the bile churn deep in the pit of his stomach as he looked away and pressed his face into the collar of his jacket to try and block out the smell. “These are women, Tommy. Five of ‘em. All dead.”

“Jesus fuck. What the hell happened here?” Lucas and Cody had smelled the fire as well. They were in utter disbelief as they approached the slow burning fire.

“Raiders.” Joel muttered under his breath as he slowly stood back up. His knees cracked from the movement as he grinded his teeth together to block out the uncomfortable tightness in his back.

“Were they infected?” Lucas had asked.

“No. They were just..people.” Tommy somberly confirmed.

Silence washed over the four men as they retreated from the fire. Joel kicked at a pair of heavy chains that laid upon the ground with his boot. “These women were prisoners.”

“We need to put this fire out, and then report back to Maria immediately. She’s goin’ to want to hear about this, and I already know she ain’t gonna be happy.” Tommy muttered as he slung his rifle strap along his shoulder.

“Tommy, we can’t just leave them here. They deserve a proper burial. They deserve to be laid to rest..” Joel couldn’t help but wonder how long these five women were enslaved. Could they have been saved if the patrol group had left earlier? Five lives could have been saved if only he had just—

“Joel, I hear you brother, but the ground is too hard. We can’t bury them. I’m sorry.” Tommy was sorry. These five women deserved better. He wanted to be able to bring them peace as well, but some things were just not possible.

“Fine. I’ll fuckin’ do it myself.” Joel snapped as he slung his rifle strap over his shoulder in one swift movement. He started the trek back to his horse while Lucas and Cody kicked a bit of snow over the dying embers.

Joel returned with a blanket from his saddle bag. He was going to attempt to move the bodies, but he was afraid that their charred bones would shatter. Instead he gently laid the blanket over their remains. He stood there for a good solid five minutes just staring down at the snow covered earth with a clenched jaw, before he finally walked away.

For the entirety of the somber ride back to Jackson, Joel was dead silent.

It had felt like months had passed since you had last seen Joel Miller. In all actuality, it had only been one month. Your brain was just going all doomsday mode on you and convincing you it had been longer. At first you had tricked yourself in believing that maybe Joel didn’t actually want to be your friend. Maybe he was just lying. Maybe he too thought of you as just the nutty coffee woman. It wasn’t till Maria had given you a surprise visit to your little coffee shop. While she was quietly sipping on her latte, you couldn’t help but ask if she had seen Joel lately. You felt slightly pathetic with a sprinkle of naivety. Were you really that desperate for human connection?

“I assigned him, Tommy and a few other men to patrol the late night shift. They stumbled upon something in the woods, and brought it to my attention. Now, before you start freaking out, we are safe here. What they found was just concerning, and they’re making sure that there is no active threat that we need to pay any concern to.”

You paused the movements of the towel below your palm as you were wiping down the countertop. “Oh. I thought maybe he just..nevermind. What exactly did they find in the woods that was concerning, Maria?”

“Beanie, you know I can’t disclose that to you. All I need you to remember is that you're safe. That’s why we have patrol parties. They keep everyone in the commune safe. I just figured you were deserving to know that Joel hasn’t been blowin’ you off for the past month. Him and Tommy are resting in the morning after patrolling all night. It shouldn’t be an issue now that the weather is starting to shift. Usually means that people are movin’ on as resources will be plentiful again.”

You let out a sigh as you crossed your arms over your chest. It did feel silly in some way that you let your brain convince you that Joel was in fact blowing you off. “Yeah.” You mumbled under your breath. “I know why you can’t disclose that information to me.”

“You’ll see him in a few weeks, Beanie. Don’t worry.” Maria reassured you.

By the time that you did see Joel again, winter wasn’t quite ready to release her icy grip around the earth. She was going to cling on just a bit longer. It was late at night and to put it simply? You were having a rough time. Spending the majority of your day alone was beginning to close in around you. The thoughts were growing louder and louder, and the nightmares you had begun to experience were the same sequence over and over like a vicious cycle that you were sucked down into, unable to escape its painful clutches. That's how you found yourself sitting alone on your roof. Your bedroom window was opened just enough that you were able to climb out onto the roof tiles. You were shivering at first, trembling as your teeth rattled against your jaw. Soon enough, the nipping chill didn’t feel as painful. A peaceful numbness washed over you as if you were in a trance.

Joel had just gotten back from being on patrol. He stopped at the stables to untack his horse, Tex and then he was heading home. He passed by your house every night, and he would stop at your front gate, debate seeing if you were awake, before he would ultimately decide going straight home was easier. On this particular night he was torn from his path home. All because he swore he saw a shadowy figure sitting on your rooftop. He thought maybe his own mind was playing tricks on him until he stepped closer to your house. He was then able to make out a human shape sitting upon the roof tiles. He didn’t even have to guess hard if it was you sitting up there. He just knew.

He called your name, and you didn’t budge a smidge.

“For fuck sakes.” He muttered under his breath as he cupped his hands on either side of his face and yelled your name once more. “BEANIE!” This time his baritone voice broke through the figurative icy shell that was wrapped around you like a cloak. You finally looked down, squinting through the vast darkness.

“Woman is gonna fuckin’ freeze to death out here. Fuck. What the hell is she doin’ up there anyway?!?” He muttered to himself as he pushed open your gate. “I’m comin’ up!” He yelled from the top step of your front porch.

Joel?

The sounds of his heavy boot steps descending up your staircase sounded muffle to your ears as you slowly dropped your chin to rest along your kneecap.

“Jesus fuck, Beanie. What the hell are you doin’ out here?” Joel harshly whispered as he pushed open your bedroom door. He had genuine concern stricken through his hardened features.

“Sitting outside on the roof.” You murmured.

“Yeah, ya don’t say? I can see that you’re sittin’ on the roof, but its fuckin’ freezin’ out here. Why don’t ya have a jacket? A blanket? Beanie, you’re gonna fuckin’ freeze to death out here.” He was already slipping his own jacket off of his shoulders and gently placing it along your shoulders as he carefully climbed through the window and onto the roof beside you.

“I don’t really feel the cold anymore, Joel.” There was a lack of emotion in your tone as your eyes slowly flitted over to him.

“Fuck. Well, that ain’t good either, darlin.’”

“I just..needed to breathe. I felt like I was suffocating in there.”

“Somethin’ happen? How long..have you been feelin’ this way Beanie?” Joel asked you softly as he met your soft gaze.

“I don’t know. A while?”

Joel sighed as he rested his weight back on his palms. “Well, I've felt that way before too. Numerous times actually. I’ll have these moments where the fear comes up outta nowhere, and…my heart feels like it’s stopped.” He softly admitted.

“Like…you can’t breathe?”

“Yeah, like there’s water in my lungs instead of oxygen. Like i’m drownin’ and no matter how hard I swim, I can’t make it to the surface.” He murmured.

“Like..the darkness is closing in? Swallowing you whole?”

“Yeah, but that’s why you gotta look for the light. When you're lost in the darkness, look for the light.”

Joel’s words hung heavy in the air as you both sat in silence, looking up at the vast array of stars that were outshone by the brilliant pale white moon. Shining like a beacon in the inky black sky.

“Joel?” You asked through the growing silence.

“Hm darlin?’”

“Joel, what keeps you moving forward?”

Joel didn’t even have to give a single thought to your question. He already knew the answer. It was family. Family was the one thing that kept moving him forward in this new life.

“Family. You keep goin’ for family.” He confirmed as he watched the way you absentmindedly scratched at your arm, wiggled your nose as you let out a puff of icy air. “I don’t have any family.”

“That ain’t true at all. We’re friends, you and I. Friends can be family. What about Maria and Tommy? Wouldn’t you consider them to be your family as well?” Joel was looking straight into your eyes now as he softly spoke.

“You..consider me to be your family?”

“Darlin’, absolutely I do. You are my family. Why do you think I'm up here with ya right now?”

“To keep me from freezing to death?”

“Well, yes. But also because..I like spendin’ time with you. You think I'd come up here if I didn’t care about ya? I got a bad back and knees, darlin.’ One fatal slip off here and I'm toast.” He stifled a chuckle as his hand was now resting close to your own along the roof tiles

“Please, don’t fall.” Your pinky slowly looped around his.

“I ain’t gonna fall, dontcha worry.”

“Well, for the record, I'm glad you came up here.” There was a ghost of a smile on your lips as you looked over at him once more.

“Me too.” He gave your pinky a gentle squeeze. “Hey, if ya want..maybe you can go spend some time with Dina and Ellie? Help out around the stables? I know they can always use an extra set of hands.” He softly suggested.

“I guess I could do that, huh? I could use some more fresh air and I do like to see the horses.”

“Well, there ya go darlin.’ Sounds like you got it all figured out. I just know they’ll also appreciate seein’ another friendly face. Ellie ain’t got many friends either beside Dina and Jesse. I uh—think you’ll get along really well.”

“Joel?..” you asked as your cheek came to rest along his covered shoulder.

His heart skipped a beat as he did his best to not move and disturb you.

“Yeah Beanie?” He gently asked.

“Thank you.”

“What are ya thankin’ me for?” He asked as he cleared his throat under his breath.

“For being my friend.”

His heart had nearly just gone and burst right out of his chest as the frigid air turned the tips of his cheeks and nose bright red. He was secretly thankful that it was far too dark for you to detect the blush rising on his skin.

“You’re welcome darlin.’”

The sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon when Joel had finally convinced you to go back inside. He was genuinely concerned that parts of your body were frozen. Despite his aching back, and tired joints, he stayed with you until he felt like you were safe. His eyelids were beginning to droop as he rested his palm along his chin. His head bobbed as he struggled to stay awake. You were busy making a fresh pot of coffee and homemade cinnamon rolls, and you didn’t see his slumped form until you had turned around.

“Fiddlesticks,” you softly murmured as you set your bowl down and attended to his side. You gently shook his shoulder a few times before he was startled awake.

“Hey, how about you go and lay down on the couch? Rest up before you head home?”

You didn’t have to ask him twice as he slowly pulled himself up from the kitchen chair and trudged into the family room. You followed him shortly after and grabbed the thick quilt from alongside the couch and draped it over his sleeping frame. His arms were crossed over his chest as he snored softly through his much deserved slumber.

When he awoke hours later, there was a mug of coffee on the coffee table next to the couch along with a freshly baked cinnamon roll. Under the plate there was a scribbled note that read, Went to go see Dina and Ellie at the stables. Make yourself at home. -Beanie

He carefully tucked the note into his flannel pocket as he sat up. He took a hefty swig from the mug of coffee before he picked up the cinnamon roll. It smelled heavenly. With just the right amount of cinnamon and vanilla as the icing slowly oozed down the sides of his fingers. His first bite nearly had him moaning from the sugary taste. He devoured the entire thing, before drifting right back off to sleep with his arms wrapped tightly around the quilt that you had laid on him.

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punkeropercyjackson · 3 months

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Man i just.Why do DC fans prioritize trans Jason over the actual representation in his story.Yes yes yes he has tons of transmasc swag so there's this he/they weird goth tboy so true but in CANON,almost all his important people are poc or women and every one of his love interests is BOTH and they're......completely erased in trans Jason headcanons,as if they can't perfectly co-exist

I've seen literally ZERO posts of Duke included in 'All Batboys are trans' in all my years as a Batman fan when he's Jason's favorite brother.No Talia helping out with adjusting to his Lazarus Pit testosterone and surgeries combo when HER FAMILY OWNS IT and when SHE WAS THERE WHEN HE GOT THROWN IN.T4T Jaytemis/Jayrose?Nonexistent and nobody even aknowledges they're a part of his lore while also complaining about lack of female characters because they refuse to seek them out so they can focus on their female coded binary white boy.Him and Stephanie being transmasc/transfem solidarity as found trans siblings?I may as well be dreaming if i ever see get to see it.I can't even enjoy the ones of him with Dick and Damian unless it's just them because it's genuinely so upsetting to see Tim too but no Duke.And i'm not gonna touch on the all loads of smut that claim to be representation but are actually fetishizing with ZERO respect or care for his transmasculinity other than i hope y'all get over that internalized trans*phobia soon and that fuckass transmisogyny with your minus zero inclusion of transfems,be it canon girls or egg headcanons

It literally dosen't matter if you make Jason trans if you erase everything THAT'S ALREADY THERE.As a black trans femme,i don't want your whitewashed bullshit.Jason is already rep-He's poor and mentally ill with ptsd and implied cluster b disorder(s)and with the add on of the afrolatino side of the DC fandom claiming him i'm good with those but y'all erase THAT too by making him rich by Bruce given nepotism baby status and a million other things you've made up because you just can't stomach the thought of some peasent being your fave,you woobify him by downplaying his symptoms so he can be your lil bad boy bf you can fix with your coquettish wiles or whatever the fuck and you don't see him as afrolatino because of a connection and relatability like we do but because you think it adds 'spice' to him or are a snowbunny or both.He's still him if he's cis but he's not himself if dosen't have those traits i said because they're actually fucking canon and believe it or not,canon IS better sometimes and you'd know that if you bothered to read and watch it

Jason's story is NOT a trans metaphor.Jason's story is about grief and poverty and trauma and the poc and women and woc he loves and cherishes and this is why so many of us irl love him.It's not Jason's story if there's no Talia or Dick or Damian or Rose or Artemis or Stephanie or DUKE,who IS a Batboy,who IS a Robin,who IS Jason's FAVORITE,NONE of who are options for him but the people he actively CHOOSES to have as parts of his life.Jason's story is NOT about YOU.Not everything is

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sapph1cyearning · 4 months

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Wilhelm's Mental Health; Autism or Borderline Personality Disorder?

Wilhelm’s mental health status is a complex issue that has been heavily commentated on by the fandom, from what I've observed within the YR fandom, a large number of fans headcanon Wilhelm as having autism but I hope to explore autism and it's symptomology outside of the white male perspective that is defaulted upon in autistic representation by overviewing symptoms that contribute to the interpretations of Wilhelm having either Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) or Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). These two disorders can show up in similar forms, and often get misdiagnosed (especially women and non-white people are immediately pointed toward the BPD diagnosis rather than ASD due to assessor’s prejudice and society's higher expectations for minority groups to mask autistic traits while in public but that’s another story). A key difference between the two is that ASD is a genetic disorder while BPD is a disorder that develops due to childhood trauma. Both disorders have a high likelihood for comorbidity with other mental disorders such as depression, anxiety, and PTSD.

Content Warning: Frank commentary of symptoms associated with Borderline Personality Disorder and Autism Spectrum Disorder, including: self-harm, substance abuse, and emotional dysregulation.

Disclaimer: I am not a mental health professional but I am autistic, and I’ve known quite a number of people with either BPD or autism [Years ago, I stayed at a long-term DBT-based treatment center, a therapeutic specialty for created to address BPD that has been expanded to treat other mental health struggles and disorders that go hand-in-hand with BPD symptoms (Substance abuse, self-harm, OCD, etc.)]. This is also solely based on what is seen in the show, not actors' interpretations that are expressed through interviews.

Throughout the series Wilhelm (W) is seen engaging in a multitude of behaviors and experiences feelings that he expresses verbally that could be interpreted as fitting as symptoms of both.

Notably the scene where W is seen smacking his temple with his palm (1x05) can be interpreted as either: purposeful self-harm (a common self-destructive coping mechanism for overwhelming emotions in BPD; his alcohol and drug use could be described similarly) or a self-stimulatory behavior (stimming), a characteristic of ASD to aid in regulating or expressing intense emotions (while W is only seen engaging in this with a “negative” emotion, stimming can be used with all emotions), other example include his chest-rubbing, and frequent caressing of different textures.

Intense mood-swings, anger, and difficulties with emotion processing, this is quite evident in W's actions, emotional responses, and feelings he expresses verbally. Both disorders have been observed to have intense changes of emotions at a “drop of a hat.” ASD mood-swings are typically related to exposure to sensory input that is quite uncomfortable, overstimulation, and/or meltdowns (breakdowns due to a culmination of intense feelings, sensory input and/or overwhelming experiences). BPD mood-swings and impulsive actions are more related to triggers of trauma responses, and a lack of regulatory measures

Symptoms Specific to Each Disorder:

BPD:

Attachment to Favorite Person (FP), a symptom of BPD where one idolizes one person in their life to an extreme degree, wanting to spend all their time with their FP, and intense anger and despair with perceived betrayals/slights against them/mistakes. W goes through 2 FPs (Erik and Simon). He adores Erik, and feels betrayal when Erik leaves him at Hillerska. Simon quickly becomes a FP, seeing him as perfect and feeling betrayal when Simon messes up (drug dealing) and the utter despair and hopelessness when Simon needs space and starts dating Marcus; “It feels like I’m going to die” (2x04) (Could be a consequence of being utterly isolated due to being Royal and latching onto anyone who shows care to him)

Unstable / Ineffective Relationships (Simon, Kristina, Minou, and other hierarchy figures): BPD is often associated with people with the disorder lashing out against "completely innocent" people for "no reason", while this can be accurate, it does not account for the triggering of such episodes (See above)

Substance Abuse: People with BPD may utilize alcohol and/or other substances to "numb themselves" from BPD symptoms or distance themselves from harmful memories (autistic people also experience substance abuse and addiction at higher rates than the general allistic population but it is often seen as a crutch to cope with the constant stress of existing in an allistic world which is not implied in what draws W to substance use throughout the show)

ASD:

Expansion on Sensory Issues: W seemingly wears the same sweater-button up combo often, just with different sweater colors — Grey, teal, and that god-awful bright orange — ensures safe textures when buying new items but he might just have a clothing stylist with horrid taste. W's struggles with the suffocating feel of the suit (2x05). He rarely utilized the overhead lights in his room, instead relied on his string lights, lamps or natural lighting (Florescent and LED lights can trigger light sensitivity and contribute to sensory processing difficulties in autistic people)

Preoccupation with the concept of normalcy (1x01), as a kid being autistic often ostracizes you from your peers, being deemed the “weird kid” is very damaging thus W may have been enticed by the prospect attending a regular high school to like "normal people" (this concept is intrinsically tied to social class throughout the show, W wants normalcy of a lower class while Sara wants conform to a higher class but that's a different spiel). This can lead to masking; the act of forcing oneself to hide their autistic traits in order to fit into Allistic norms. (My one dispute to this interpretation is he's seemingly more disgruntled by the pomp and circumstance of being Royal that "others" him rather than peers judging him)

Lack of social cues (Not even going to waste my time explaining this one, the man had no game, absolutely none, it’s a wonder that he pulled Simon)

This far from a full list of symptoms seen in W's characterization but it's a broad overview of the signs I saw from an autistic lens. I lean towards Wille having Borderline Personality Disorder based on the fact that significant aspects of Autism Spectrum Disorder can be correlated to his unfortunate circumstance of being royalty.

#young royals #young royals analysis #prince wilhelm #wilmon #Was this entire thing inspired by a Wille / BoJack Horseman edit I saw on tiktok? Yes yes it was

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kouyou-arc-when · 3 days

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Hey, this is a great ask and I am so sorry for not replying earlier. I am responding like this because I actually broke the character limit since I'm dumb -_- I've written a lot of posts about this on reddit, and many people came up to me and asked me something similar. Your line of thinking is good. Regarding Dazai:

So, the thing is - to properly diagnose any personality disorder, you need to talk to that very person to understand their inner mechanisms. There are certain behavioral traits we can observe from the outside and make some guesses based on that: for example, Dazai's broadly dented empathy and why that's often found in people with ASPD.

However, for many other personality disorders it is very difficult to conclude much without the person saying ~I feel x because of y. I do c because of b.

Why? Personality disorders are internal structures that cause a person's behavior to be challenging to either them or others. To understand these mental processes is much more demanding than seeing a person just feels sad or anxious, to explain it simplistic terms.

The key behind many disorders is to know WHY a person is doing what they're doing. This one thing changes whether a person has x,z,y,t,n or whatever condition.

An example: BPD and CPTSD are often mistaken for one another. Same as with BPD, CPTSD, Autism and ADD in women, but BPD and CPTSD tend to have the largest "overgap", you can even have both at the same time. That's because many of the outside observable symptoms are the same.

An example: unstable relationships are a symptom of ALL of the above, but BPD is sort of...an outdated PD according to many specialists due to the fact that it was used as an "everything" disorder, where people with socially unconventional emotions were dumped. That's why you'll find two people with BPD that are almost nothing alike.

However, even if we hold to classic diagnostic criteria, let me show how the same symptom can be a product of entirely different circumstances.

For example: Someone with BPD will have unstable relationships due to an extreme fear of abandonment. Someone with Autism may have unstable relationships due to differences in communication styles Someone with ADHD will have unstable relationships due to various circumstances: emotional regulation, executive functioning etc.

So really, the outward result may be the same, but the cause is different.

However, now, typically the main reason someone could have BPD is either due to extreme splitting, favorite person behavior, numbness and/or abandonment issues.

Dazai 100% has "favorite person" syndrome going on with Oda - the way he idealized Odasaku and then devalues everyone around him in comparison is pretty clinical - doesn't mean their relationship isn't lovely, but it's certainly something a therapist would take note of.

It's no shocker Dazai has unstable relationships, but we don't 100% know why he does what he does.

That's the whole thing Asagiri said - the character is meant to be like a donnut, where you don't really know what's in the middle - so it's extremely difficult to say which PD fits him for sure, probably even more difficult than the average neurodivergent character. In my opinion, several interpretations of Dazai are simultaneously valid due to the fact that you could assume multiple personal struggles within him, and come to a reasonable conclusion.

Does Dazai have abandonment issues? He says he always loses everything he wants, is EXTREMELY bitter over Ango, and definitely shows some levels of "splitting", especially in how he treats Oda vs Ango, Akutagawa vs Atsushi etc etc.

I'm pretty confident he has PTSD, and everything that comes with that. He certainly has a personality disorder too, due to the fact that a lot of his difficulties stem from his personality, and not just brain chemistry.

Kunikida says that most of his emotions "seem" like an act, which raises a lot of questions to what is even happening on the inside. Asagiri said Dazai is really only himself in front of people like Oda and Fyodor. That version of Dazai is...much less cheerful than with everyone else.

I don't personally think Dazai is autistic since he has a good hang on social cues and overall communication. Mamoru Miyano said PM Dazai was still learning to communicate with others back in his Dark Era days, but it wasn't that he couldn't do it - he was just not interested in learning it.

I feel like Asagiri gave Dazai this "unrealistic" trait of being primarily isolated because he's extraordinarily intelligent (which is not how geniuses tend to feel irl, most of the time) but I always feel like there is something more to it.

There is definitely some /disconnect/ between Dazai and "normal" people, where he doesn't fully seem to understand certain things, he falls short there. As someone who has CPTSD diagnosed, I get the impression he maybe has a similar thing going on as many of us: A extremely traumatic experience disrupted a lot of normal emotional and cognitive processes, and now he's both extremely hypervigilant and unable to snap out of that "shellshocked" state. He needs to "perform" conventionality, and being a normal person.

In one wan chapter, he "made a joke" that you start doing one bad thing after another, and suddenly you feel nothing at all. That's the trademark numbness in both CPTSD and BPD.

There was this TDIPUD moment where he talks about how a personality is just a bunch of unstable premises that survive to uphold the basic instincts of the human mind - but how it's easily destroyed for that reason. This is a scene where he tortures the guy, and I was like "wow, I really get it". Severe trauma can just destroy the very structure of your personality, because extreme pain just numbs everything within you. "You" as a person can't survive.

BPD is also related to an unstable sense of self - which could be connected to the former paragraph. Sometimes lowered empathy is also a byproduct of BPD, in fact, the thing is that both BPD and CPTSD come from trauma 99% of the time. They're shockingly similar disorders.

So, does Dazai have BPD? No idea. He could also be schizoid to some extent, which is funny, because Franz Kafka had this disorder, the author that inspired Asagiri's nickname.

For now, I'd just leave at he has CPTSD for sure

Most of these disorders are very broad descriptors, and it's difficult to label most humans in a way that will genuinely encompass what their experiences are. Most of the time, these diagnostics are used to match a person with the best treatment available, or to explain what they're going through - so I don't think there is a perfect diagnosis for Dazai aside from PTSD, but he's definitely extremely neurodivergent. Thanks for reading <3

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #dazai #ask

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sprout-fics · 2 days

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Quick question! Are there things that can set Fix’s anxiety/ptsd off? Does Simon lets say have to do certain things, similar to how Fix knows what can set Simon off?

Yes absolutely for both!

Fix and Ghost both have complex PTSD in that they were both children of abuse growing up, and both of them chose a fairly violent work environment as their career field. They both know how to compartmentalize- Simon often moreso than Fix, but there's certain things that trigger each of them both together and differently.

Discussions of CPTSD and abusive environments below the cut

For Fix, the sound of silence followed by shattering glass immediately kicks in her fight or flight mode. She can't place exactly what childhood memory it was that prompted that, but it's likely she blocked it off for her own psychic safety. Slamming doors, arguing from other sides of the house, and sometimes the simple act of Simon brooding will make her incredibly, sometimes devastatingly anxious.

Her childhood meant she had to navigate a house where people did not communicate their anger, so she tends to be hyper aware of other's body language and silent cues- of which Simon has a lot. She had to explain this to him, and at the time she didn't really have the words to because she didn't truly understand the vocabulary used to explain the symptoms of her abuse. Once Simon understood that he can still brood, but just the 'I still love you, I need space' message is needed for her, things between them improved drastically.

On a similar note, Simon cannot stand crying women. It immediately triggers memories of his mother being beaten and abused and sobbing in another room while he and Tommy tried and failed to sleep. This was a huge issues in his and Fix's relationship because Fix is a bit of a crybaby when it comes to arguments (something she's ashamed of but can't control much) so them arguing and him saying something to prompt Fix crying makes him immediately think about asking Price for a solo assignments and vanishing off the grid for a week and a half.

(Of course when Price saw that request he immediately picked up on what was going on, stuck Ghost and Fix in an interrogation room to work it out, and accidentally came back to them rawdogging it on the interrogation table half an hour later. Never again.)

Of course both of them are able to understand each other's trauma through the shared stress of their work. When Fix compares the sound of breaking glass to artillery fire, Ghost understands. When Ghost fumbles and explains that her crying makes him feel like he's holding a live grenade, she gets it.

There's nights where one of them wakes up dry heaving, shaking in a cold sweat and shivering, and the other has to remind them they are no longer where they once were. They are safe. They are together, and no one will ever, ever hurt the other without having to go through them first.

#ghost x ofc #simon ghost riley x ofc #simon ghost riley x oc #call of duty oc #cod oc #oc: fix #fic: snowblind

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identitty-dickruption · 6 months

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How does antipsych see personality disorders?

I don’t think there’s really one way to answer this question, but I can tell you my qualms about personality disorders as a category, with the acknowledgment that I am not the only person in the antpsych camp and many other opinions exist

now. I am not dismissing the reality of the symptoms people who are diagnosed with personality disorders might experience. dissociation is real, trouble connecting with others is real, emotional dysregulation is real, etc etc. these are all real experiences that people can have. many of them are rational responses to trauma. if you grew up around untrustworthy and manipulative people, of course you’re going to become an adult with some kind of trust issues. if you grew up being told that nobody would ever love you, of course you’re going to have some kind of self esteem issue. it all makes sense

but personality disorders are:

labelled in a very stigmatising way even in the DSM. imagine having suicidal thoughts your whole life because you were convinced you’d never be good enough, and then being told “oh you have Selfish Cunt Disorder”. like. that’s bullshit

diagnoses that allow psychiatric professionals to get away with basically anything. “you’ve now been diagnosed with having a defective personality, and what’s worse is that you don’t see anything wrong with that” … yeah this is permission to fuck you up

diagnosed in a very biassed fashion. no, it’s not more women have BPD, it’s “BPD is a post-hysteria diagnosis and we just think women are dramatic for having feelings”. it’s not people raised in the working class are more likely to have ASPD, it’s “you have the diagnosis that makes you a criminal. this has nothing to do with your background at all”

the entire framework of “personality disorders” is messed up. and again, I’m not shaming people who have been diagnosed with personality disorders. the frameworks we have now are the frameworks we have to operate within. but I think, on the mostpart, a personality disorder diagnosis is a cruel way of dismissing someone who CLEARLY has had a traumatic background of some description (in particular, see: the parallels between diagnostic criteria for BPD and c-PTSD)

#asks #antipsych

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wishcamper · 8 hours

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On Nesta and Alcoholism

I’ve seen a couple takes recently saying essentially “Nesta is not an alcoholic bc xyz”. The spirit it’s said in is usually supportive of her and based in countering the way the IC dehumanizes and stigmatizes her, which is great AND there are some common stereotypes about alcoholism that can deter people from seeking treatment or realizing their alcohol use is hurting them. Alcohol is the 4th leading cause of preventable death in the United States, and ~11% of people over 18 qualify for an alcohol use disorder every year.

Creds: am a currently practicing counselor with specialization in addiction treatment

So a few basic points on problematic alcohol use:

Risk exists on a spectrum from no risk to imminent fatality. Most users fall in the middle. We have a very narrow portrait of what alcoholism looks like in popular media, especially in women, and it’s almost always the most severe end of the spectrum.

Use does not have to be 24/7 to be risky. Binge drinking, as defined by 4+ drinks for afab people and 5+ drinks for amab people in one drinking episode, has just as much potential for chemical dependency and damage.

A person does not have to be chemically dependent (“addicted”) or have cravings to have an alcohol use disorder, nor does everyone with an AUD go through withdrawal.

Using alcohol as a tool for emotional regulation, sleep, social anxiety, etc outside of rare occasions qualifies as problematic use. This kind of drinking is, unfortunately, very socially acceptable.

Problem drinking is progressive, and tends to get worse without conscious choice or effort to change

You can have a dysfunctional relationship with alcohol without having an AUD. You can have an AUD while still being a fully functioning person on the outside.

Risky or problematic use is often a symptom of a deeper emotional wound, which should be treated with care and seriousness even if someone doesn’t meet the criteria for an AUD.

They don’t have the DSM in Prythian obviously, but for us mere mortals here are the criteria. A person only needs TWO to qualify for a diagnosis:

As a clinician, I usually look for a few hallmarks.

Alcohol is one of or is the primary strategy a person uses to regulate emotion and stress, or is a common way someone rewards or incentivizes themselves

Alcohol is an important “character” in at least one sphere of someone’s life and they feel the absence when it’s not there, eg. social activities all center around drinking, essential part of dinner/sleep routine etc

The client has feelings of shame or guilt around drinking, choices they make while drinking, or the consequences it’s had in their life. oR they feel a defensiveness about their drinking and distress at the idea of stopping.

Anyway, that’s my PSA. I would diagnose Nesta with an AUD, but I would also diagnose her with PTSD, and also diagnosis is a horribly flawed system that allows people to access their insurance benefits. I guess I just want to say that you don’t have to look like the media version of alcoholism to be concerned about your drinking or to deserve quality treatment. If you’re concerned, help is available.

#nesta archeron deserves better #pro nesta archeron #prythian university #alcoholism

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this-smile-is-real · 1 year

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4 months ago I was diagnosed with Functional Neurological Disorder after 18 months of symptoms.

I have been unable to work for a year and apart from a couple of months, since 2019 I have been unable to work.

Almost every weekday holds appointments for me between rehabilitation physiotherapist, women’s health physiotherapist, neurologist, my GP, psychologist, neurofeedback, kinesiologist.

I’m unable to drive and rely on others or Ubers for transport. I need mobility aids for any distance and/or to stand still. I take medication for complex PTSD, depression, anxiety. Im in recovery from an eating disorder that I’ve had for 20 years.

I would love suggestions on ways to bring in some income but I will also attach PayPal.

Im needing help more than ever before and would love thoughts and suggestions on what to do.

#fnd awareness #functional neurological disorder #anorexia recovery #Ed recovery #medication #cptsd #cptsd recovery #complex trauma #recovery #fundraising #PayPal #Christian #faith #prayer request

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