#emotional manipulation

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

chapter 5: a lament for all things lost

Find the master list here!

CW: Shadowheart being a bitch, overwhelming bad feelings and emotional manipulation

W/C: 3,173

A/N: I am on a ROLL people!

After an unsuccessful hunt, Astarion had given in to the pleas of his distracted mind for rest, though he was hard pressed to find any. He laid awake the rest of the night and into the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning with the blaze of his desire and weight of his guilt. After so many long years of numb, performative intimacy, he was unaware he still possessed the ability to feel arousal. It caught him completely off guard, feeding the roiling cacophony of his emotions.

The feeling had been pleasant, wanted even, when he disassociated it from his body’s natural reaction to the many forced liaisons of his past, but - therein lay the issue. Lust, pleasure, physical intimacy: it was all steeped in profound disgust and loathing learned over two centuries of abuse. He felt ashamed for watching you unknowingly, guilty for taking pleasure in it and, worst yet, revolted by his own body’s response. It had not truly been his body since Cazador turned him, and he found himself woefully unprepared to take accountability for his actions and their consequences.

Lost in the morass of his increasingly loud distress, he hardly noticed when the darkness gave way to dawn. It was not until he heard groggy voices and the telltale clanging of cookware being handled without care that he realized just how much time had passed. He groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face, hunger pains making themselves known at the mixed scents of his companions wafting along the gentle breeze.

Before long, he caught your sweet fragrance in the mix and focused in on it, ears pricked for the soft sound of your voice. You declared today to be a day of rest, claiming that everyone needed to gather their strength for the coming fight with the goblins.

He heard Shadowheart’s derisive snort.

“You just need a day to recover from volunteering yourself as the leech’s dinner.”

You did not deign to respond to her, but she must have seen something wounded in your expression, and it only fueled her line of teasing.

“Lover’s quarrel? Already?” He could hear the mocking smile in her voice and was grateful for his absence from the conversation, lest he slit her throat then and there for her cruel jest.

“We’re not lovers,” you snapped gratingly, “and I was not his dinner. No doubt he found another, more filling meal.”

He recognized his own words from his first feeding as Shadowheart continued to bait you with her snide comments.

“Sounds as though you’re green with envy, friend.”

He heard a dish clatter to the ground and her indignant shout alongside the placating words of the rest of the group, gently coaxing you to ease your grip on her throat.

“Lay off the wine, friend,” he heard you snarl. He smirked with undignified pride.

You presumably stood, addressing the rest of the group.

“We are all exhausted and spread thin by the never ending bloodshed and horror we have been burdened with. By all means, if you wish to join the slain tomorrow, be my guest and ignore my wisdom. But, if you wish to live, to fight another day, you will heed my words and rest. Does anyone else dare question my orders?”

He could almost see the seething expression contorting your delicate features in his mind’s eye.

“Good,” he heard you growl into the answering silence. “Now that’s settled, I’m off to find some peace away from you lot of squabbling children.”

He listened to the grumbled complaints and scandalized murmurs of the rest of the group as the sound of your bare feet across the packed earth receded until it was out of earshot. 

“How unlike our vampire trollop to leave his favorite lady companion wanting,” Shadowheart sniffed before she, too, left his hearing radius.

He repressed a pained whimper, the vacuous cavity of his chest constricting with grief and renewed self-loathing at her words. 

I will never be anything more than Cazador’s painted whore.

He could no longer smell your comforting aroma on the breeze. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion wandered along the riverbank in the dappled light of late afternoon, thoughts consumed by the ever growing storm of his hatred, fury and terror. He chose to embrace his vampiric nature for the time being and neglected his habit of breathing, the lack of your sweet, floral scent causing a cavernous emptiness to yawn within him.

He passed the oak tree from which he spied on your bathing the previous night and winced. He really should find you and apologize for his deplorable behavior, let alone confess his sin, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet. The swirling vortex of his mind disallowed his focus to reach anything beyond self-deprecation.

As he meandered aimlessly, he registered the melodious sound of a string instrument somewhere in the distance and chose to follow it. Some ways away, he found you sitting in the shade of a massive elm, plucking the haunting melody he’d heard you humming last night. Your voice accompanied the music, rich and sad, singing in a language he did not recognize. It evoked a wistfulness in him for a life he never had, and he stood back to listen to your song.

The final verse came to a close, and he was struck with a vague sense of unease at repeating his actions from the night prior, so he cleared his throat and made his presence known. You startled, looking warily in his direction until you realized who it was, then rolled your eyes in exasperation.

“Sorry to bother you, my dear. I heard the music whilst I was out for a stroll, and found myself captivated. That was stunning,” he murmured, “and terribly sad.”

You shot a cold glare at him before heaving a heavy sigh and relenting.

“It was a lament for all things lost to the passage of time.”

“Such as…” he prompted.

“Life, love… innocence,” you finished in a small whisper.

He felt a pang of deep sorrow reverberate in his chest.

“And the language?” he asked, unwilling to broach the clearly sore subject. You had not pressed him until it had become absolutely necessary, so he thought it only fair to afford you the same respect.

“Olde Elvish,” you answered plaintively.

“I wasn’t aware bardic schools taught Olde Elvish,” he responded, surprised. “I thought it extinct.”

“My mother used to sing it when I was a babe. It always moved me to tears, and one night, after my father’s untimely passing, I picked up her lyre and began to pluck the tune from memory. She taught me all she knew from that night onward,” you sniffled. “I never studied formally as a bard. Everything I know was handed down from generations of musically inclined Weave wielders.”

“I…” he floundered, at a loss for words. A feat not easily accomplished when it came to him, you continued to prove an exception to the masses.

“Why are you here, Astarion?” you groused, looking at him shrewdly as you swiped a thumb beneath your eyes.

“May I?” he gestured at the space next to you, asking for invitation to sit.

“Answer me first,” you bit out.

“I… I wish to apologize for my ghastly behavior yesterday evening.” He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the wave of cowardly discomfort at his honesty. “You must understand, I have been conditioned to fear closeness, vulnerability. All it’s ever gotten me is a knife in the back.”

He opened his eyes at your watery sigh to see you patting the space beside yourself. He joined you graciously, extending his legs and leaning back against the trunk of the sprawling elm.

“And you must understand that I do not mean to repeat the mistakes of all those before me. None of us do. We are in this fight together, whether we like it or not, so we must learn to trust one another.”

Ever the pragmatist, he could see the toll being a leader had taken in your eyes, along with the weary burden of words left unspoken. He had a feeling you knew just what it felt like to be fundamentally deceived, and his chest constricted with empathy. Another foreign feeling only you had thus far been able to rouse in him. He felt compelled to continue his track of truthfulness, and decided to tell you about his hunt gone awry.

“There is something more I must tell you…” he began uncertainly.

You gave him an expectant stare.

“I… happened upon you washing. Last night. When I went to hunt.” The words came out stilted, feeling weighty and wrong in his mouth.

A charming flush bloomed across your delicate face, scarlet tipping your ears and working its way down your bosom. Your eyes and mouth were round with embarrassment, and for a moment he feared that he had made a terrible error in judgment.

And then you cackled, wild and full, and he found himself helpless to do anything other than chuckle along with you. You flashed a blinding smile at him and raised an inquisitive brow.

“Oh? And did you enjoy the show?”

At the reminder of his arousal, the scalding sensation of shame erupted over him in a vicious surge.

“What does it matter?” he snapped, a remorseful sigh escaping him at your affronted expression.

“This is what I mean, Astarion!” you shouted, gesticulating furiously, “You flirt, you tease, you share your burdens with me, and then you brutally shut me out! Every time! What is it that you want from me, because I’m quite tired of the neverending headache of your mood swings!”

“It’s not as if you’re any better!” he yelled in answer, temporarily losing his grip on the brewing storm of vitriol in his mind. 

You reeled back as though struck.

“Bloody unbelievable,” you muttered, tucking your lyre under an arm and abruptly standing to leave. “I’ll never get any fucking peace.”

His hand shot out to grab yours, fear of losing the sanctuary you provided making his movements instinctive. You whipped around, expression murderous and preparing to scream.

“Wait,” he exhaled shakily, “Just…wait. Give me a moment to compose myself.”

You shook his hand loose, but remained in place, glaring at him.

“Forgive me,” he whimpered, staring at his knees. The proverbial floodgates burst in spectacular fashion, and he was quickly overwhelmed by the torrent of negative emotions that bled from them. He shook with the might of the onslaught, startled by the salty tang of his own tears. It only made him tremble more hysterically, a surely pitiful sight.

To his utmost surprise, you set your lyre down and knelt next to him, taking his face in your hands. He squeezed his eyes shut in discomfort, another whimper escaping him. 

“Please don’t touch me,” he whispered, voice scratchy and quivering.

You withdrew your hands instantly, instead quietly asking, “What would you like me to do?”

“Will you play that song for me?” he asked in a pathetic warble.

“The Lament for That Which Is Lost?”

He nodded imperceptibly, and was immediately rewarded by the soft, sad strum of the lyre. As your voice joined in, he allowed the deluge of feeling to swallow him. He was lost in a sea of emotion, finding his many old acquaintances: shame, dread, rage, envy, hatred, terror, bitterness, apathy. Worst of all was the grief that wracked his body with violent sobs, guilt and regret for the countless wrongs he’d committed, anguish for all the wrongs committed against him.

However, he also encountered many of the new feelings you inspired within him: delight, sorrow, compassion, jealousy, warmth, guilt, desire. While not altogether positive, the feelings you’d introduced him to were a welcome reprieve from the centuries’ worth of misery he’d become accustomed to, and he grabbed onto them like a life raft as he waited out the crux of the storm. ______________________________________________________________

Slowly, ever so slowly, he came back to the present moment and focused on the hypnotic sound of your voice. He knew not what the words meant, but he didn’t need to in order to feel the devastating sense of loss that they carried. Your soft lilt reverberated in his chest, and he took a deep breath in, filling himself with the sweet, musky aroma of your skin. It helped to ease the tide of his agony back into submission, and he opened his eyes to watch the last of your performance.

He found himself enraptured by the beauty of you, eyes closed and immersed in the music much as he had been, the tracks of your own tears carrying smudges of kohl in spidery lines down your face. You were the kind of beautiful that he would have brought back to Cazador were the circumstances different, and it caused his chest to twinge with resentment. You sung the last line and plucked the closing chord, voice wavering slightly as a final tear began its slow descent over the planes of your face.

When you opened your puffy eyes, you gazed directly into his. It felt as if you were looking into the darkest parts of his soul, and he fought the urge to shy away from you. In an act of uncharacteristic bravado, he swung his legs around to sit on his knees facing you. He gently removed the lyre from your grasp and leaned it against the trunk of the great tree. 

He reached out tentatively with both hands, holding your face the way you’d held his the night before. Your cheeks blazed in his palms, and an involuntary shiver ran up your spine at his cool touch. You blinked slowly as his thumbs swept the remainder of your tears away, smudging the wispy tracks of kohl in the process. A throaty chuckle escaped him as he took in the smeared stains of oily blackness on your skin, and you leaned forward to be closer to the sound.

“Your laugh is music to my ears,” you whispered, eyes full of tender promise.

He inhaled sharply and gravitated toward you, running a delicate thumb over the swell of your bottom lip, delighted when they parted in a breathy gasp. He could feel the damp warmth of your soft, panting breaths against his face as he leaned closer still, the saccharine scent of jasmine blossoms and orange peel and you so heavy in the air around him that he could taste it.

Just as the space between his body and yours shrunk to an infinitesimal degree, the sharp pain of his hunger returned with a vengeance, and he could not hide his grimace, nor the wince of discomfort that escaped his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, concern laced in the tilt of your brows, small hands coming to encircle his wrists.

The moment broken, you leaned back, removing his hands from your face. It was all he could do not to follow your scent and bury his fangs in your throat.

“The hunger,” he groaned, “it’s inescapable.”

“When did you last eat?” you whispered, eyes round with worry.

“The night I drank from you,” he gasped, the pain wracking him with a shudder that forced his eyes shut.

“Feed from me,” you murmured, his eyes snapping open in exalted bewilderment, sure he’d misheard you.

“What was that?” 

“Feed from me,” you said again, louder this time.

He salivated at the memory of your blood across his tongue, wanting nothing more than to be filled with your life’s essence, to be emboldened by it. Then, he remembered the coming battle.

“I can’t,” he bemoaned, “You need your strength for tomorrow.”

“As do you,” you responded, gaze resolute.

“Are you sure? Here… now?” he asked once more, voice wavering equivocally with the fog of hunger hanging over his mind.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you nodded in assent.

No sooner had the words left your lips than Astarion’s mouth was at your throat. He hadn’t even given you time to brush your hair aside and bare your neck to him, so starved as he was. With a harsh cry, his fangs pierced the tender skin over your jugular, tongue immediately darting out to lap at the blood spilling from the wound.

He paced himself this time around, both for want to savor his meal as well as that of your safety. He could tell when the initial daze from the bite wore off, your blood taking on a richer, more full-bodied flavor. It almost had a fattiness to it, and it quenched his thirst in a way nothing else had ever been capable of.

Before long, he could feel your body trembling like a leaf in the wind. He hadn’t drunk enough for bloodlessness to be the cause, though he worried nonetheless. It would be so like him to push past the discomfort and hurt you, taking from you the way he had been taken from…but there was work yet to be done in the way of gaining your trust. He was about to pull away when he tasted it - the syrupy flavor of your desire. A low sigh pushed its way past your lips, a sound inaudible to all but his keen ears.

Now, this I can work with. This I can exploit.

He continued to drink, the honeyed taste of you heavy on his tongue. He paid close attention to the way your body responded, quiet whimpers and little shivers steadily giving you away. Your hands clawed at the earth beneath you, pulling up clumps of grass and clods of dirt with their ferocity.

Inevitably, your shivers of delight became shivers of cold, shock setting in and ruining the atmosphere. Hunger mitigated, Astarion begrudgingly pulled back, replacing his mouth with the pressure of his hand to staunch the bleeding. You retrieved the amulet from your pocket with a shaky grasp, whispering the incantation into your cupped palms. Its magic washed over you in an instant, heat and color returning to your cheeks.

“Thank you, my sweet,” he murmured, making a show of licking the last of you from his lips.

You averted your eyes bashfully, lively flush deepening.

“Don’t mention it, dear Star,” you mumbled, eyes widening at your slip.

After a moment of shocked disbelief, a devious grin split his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, darling. Could you repeat yourself for me?”

“I said ‘don’t mention it’,” you spoke up.

“Not that, the last bit,” he replied, expression smug when he caught the sheepish look on your face.

“Dear Star,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes.

“That is indeed what I thought I’d heard. Rather sentimental of you for a ‘headache’, is it not?” he purred, referencing your earlier words.

“I’m plenty sentimental, Rogue, and you know it well.”

“Of course, my dear. I only kid,” he intoned, softening his smile as you lifted your face.

He watched as your embarrassment faded and you returned his smile, something hopeful hidden in the depths of your eyes.

I’ve got you right where I want you, darling.

#bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion #tav #shadowheart #astarion pov #vampire spawn astarion #unnamed tav #no use of y/n #afab tav #bard tav #soft astarion #astarion is bad at feelings #astarion needs a hug #but so does tav #angst #emotional hurt/comfort #emotional manipulation #blood drinking #fluff #slow burn #au canon divergence

[demonhuntingcaterpillar]

Can I touch lightly on this topic? Have you ever loved someone that is emotionally manipulative? Someone who can mentally play you like an instrument? Have you ever had someone step into your life and slowly remove others from it? This person could have truly loved you, but loved you in a way that was so silently violent it changed you. Then, by the time you realized it and tried to pull away, you found pieces of them stitched into every part of you.

Now imagine after painstakingly cutting them out, stitch by stitch, they are thrust back into your life. Even worse, you realize you love them. No matter how much grief this relationship has caused you, you crave their love. Their fucked up love. You push away healthy love for this weird battle of wills.

I would throw us both off the cliff too. It makes perfect sense.

#nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannigram #hugh dancy #hannibalposting #mads mikkelsen #hannibal textpost #the wrath of the lamb #trauma bond #trauma bonding #emotional manipulation #there will be a reckoning

[here-but-forgotten]

you lost me. / valeria/wife!reader.

content notes — ex-wife!valeria. sweet alejandro. little shit rodolfo. mean valeria. plot heavy. el sin nombre foreshadowing. rudy weirdo rizz.

part one \ part two

A confident knock echos from the door through the walls, dancing around your ears as the noise registered, for you to finally walk to the door that had never been knocked before,

With a slender foggy window lending you a quick glimpse of the figure, you open the door, your eyes landing on a chest where you expected the eyes to be.

“Hello,” he starts, confident but still speaking volume, “Could I ask you some questions?”

You look up at him, blinking; not fully in a uniform but not in casual clothing. Lines around his eyes. Facial hair turning grey. Dark eyes. Intense eyes.

“Um,” You start, adverting your eyes from his, “Could I ask why first?”

He adjusts, halfway awkward, shifting his weight.

“That’s an understandable ask,” He answers, relaxing a little, “I’m Colonel Alejandro Vargas, I wanted to ask you some questions related to Valeria Garza.”

You pause, blinking.

“Your last name is what?”

“Vargas.”

You stifle an insecure giggle,

“I thought you said ‘Vergas’—“

“No—“ Alejandro cuts you off, letting a small smile escape from him, holding in a laugh, “no, God didn’t curse me with that.”

You let yourself giggle, covering your mouth and turning a bit away as he lets out the chuckle he held in, laughing with you.

“Sorry,” You laugh a little, finally taking a breath, “What are you asking about?”

He pulls his demeanor together, a bit more serious,

“If I have been told correctly, you are who she claimed to be her wife, yes?”

“At one time I was, yes,” You shift, “Not anymore.”

“Did she leave any sort of technology here?”

You tilt your head a bit, looking up at him.

“She did. Is that a problem?”

Alejandro sighs at your inquisition.

“I have some reason to believe she took something that could track her location with her when she has done work for me. If she did, there is a lot someone could gain from that if they did track it.”

You look aside, thinking about that damned dinged up phone.

“Would it be a threat to me?”

“I would say, without much other info, that yes it could be a threat to you.”

You don’t respond.

“I don’t know you, but I do know what has recently happened,” He starts, “If someone could track it, she could track it, and could track you.”

“Do you want me to give it to you?”

“If you are able, yes.”

You turn, leaving the door open,

“You.. You can come in, if you’d like.”

You move, his footsteps following you briefly and stopping as you walked further into the home, finding the half-held together phone that she left that you had kept in what used to be her bedside table. You stop, looking at the bed; the new sheets on it looked nice, it finally looked comfy, like somewhere safe. And theres a small pang in your chest, that the person who used to make it warm was gone, the person who was why the bed wasn’t just a humble full size, but,

it was for the best, and you told your chest that everyday.

You deserve someone who gives you the time of day, who makes time for you, even if they’re busy.

And you turn on your toes, walking back to the entrance way that the Colonel sat at—

Colonel Alejandro Vargas.

Col. A. Vargas

CAV.

“Do you think, by any chance, that you were contacting her with this phone?”

You look to him— his hip leaned against the counter with his arms casually crossed, his eyes gentle but alert, his expression once relaxed turned into his eyebrow raised.

“It is a possibility,” He murmurs, “It seems like the two of us learned a lot recently.”

“Valeria?”

“No, you and I.”

His stare is unwavering, not so assertive but ever confident, making you shift on your feet as he watched you.

“Yeah. It would seem like the two of us have.”

He lets out a small hum in response, eyeing the phone being held together by tape and faith.

“I’ve seen that one before,” He says, lowly, to himself more than you.

“She has a lot of phones.”

“Is that so?” he asks, watching you.

“Yeah, she probably had 5, at my guess now,” You shift, “But I know that you guys sometimes have a lot of phones—“

“2. We normally have 2.”

His gaze is a bit intense, not directed at you, yet it still sent a small shake through your body; there was a certain charm, yet that didn’t stop the intensity of his thoughts.

Silently, you offer the phone to him, looking up to him, soft blinks trying to pull him from his thoughts.

“Thank you,” Alejandro says after a moment in his thoughts, delicately taking the phone from your outstretched hand, fingers brushing yours softly; his touch is hot, like he was running on coals—

“Did she ever introduce you to any military personnel?”

“No.”

He raises his eyebrow at that.

“None?”

“No. I only found out about you from her accidentally saying something.”

Theres a type of pity in his gaze, maybe even guilt.

“Does she have any sort of surveillance on this property?”

“No. I don’t think she would come back for it anyway. Frankly, she hasn’t been back since she left.”

“When was that?”

“A week or so now.”

“Did she introduce you to.. anyone?”

“Not really.”

“Did that not concern you at all?”

His tone is gentle, lacking any judgement.

“It should have. But love makes you dumb sometimes.”

He tilts his head in an agreement, glancing down at the phone.

“Have you entered this phone or deleted anything off of it?”

“I’ve looked around it, but I haven’t deleted anything. It’s all as I found it.”

Alejandro nods, glancing off to the side for a moment, letting you watch his face; his hair isn’t really “done”, only combed back with fingers, some curls breaking free from pomade, curling around his ear.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that,” he says after a moment.

“I’m sure you’ve gone through worse.”

“I chose to go through worse. But you didn’t.”

You watch him, his words full of soft mercy.

“I suppose I didn’t, but I made it.”

He nods again, looking back to you.

“I’m going to leave you a number. You call it if you ever need something. Especially if she comes back to give you a hard time,” He explains, back to his colonel voice— you assume— not leaving much room for discussion.

You watch him, his movements are confident, leaving a small writing pad with the top sheet scribbled on, a phone number, a title— “los vaqueros”

“The cowboys?” You ask tentatively, looking up at him.

God he’s big.

Shush.

“I don’t have time to explain all of that,” He says, a bit affectionately, a little smile, “But if you need something, you call this without hesitation, okay?”

“What if it’s stupid?”

His eyes are a bit soft.

“It won’t be.”

His eyes leave you, looking at the counter, noticing the little shine on the countertop— still where Valeria left it.

“Did she really walk out and just leave her ring?”

You don’t look at it.

“Yeah.”

He rolls his eyes.

“She’s a walking headache.”

“She’s a charming walking headache.”

“I’m aware,” he grumbles shortly, not irritated at you.

“I,” you start, grabbing his attention immediately, “I don’t know what happened with you, really, but I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“She’s not your problem to apologize for anymore.”

“I know, but it still sucks to go through something like that, no matter who did it.”

His gaze is soft.

“You’re a very sweet woman.”

His eyes glance away from you, a bit awkwardly,

“I have one… thing to tell you, but it’s not fun.”

You pull a deep breath through your chest, crossing your arms over your chest,

“Rip the bandage off.”

Alejandro shifts, leaning against the counter, mimicking your crossed arms,

“She had that marriage license nullified, somehow, a while ago now. Maybe half a year.”

The news should rock you, pull through your bones, crush your soul a bit— but it’s hard to be disappointed by something you have no faith in.

You stand for a moment, letting the words set in, waiting for your stomach to fall, to crumble your very being up into a useless little paper ball, but it doesn’t come. Your head isn’t light. Your feet are grounded. Nothing sways your balance.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” You finally say, not looking at him.

Alejandro is quiet for a moment, tense.

“You’ve already told me to not apologize, but,” He pauses, shifting his weight to one of his feet, “That’s why I didn’t fight back, when she approached me. She told me it was long done.”

“You can’t control her bullshit.”

That pulls a laugh out of him, from deep in his chest, releasing the tension he held.

“Yeah, I guess I can’t.”

He shifts again.

“What’s more frustrating is there is other— falsified— paperwork that now says you’re dead.”

You shift, uncomfortably.

“So now there are documents that don’t line up. On one, you two have divorced— in the United States— and on another you’ve been dead.”

“What would she gain from lying about all of that?”

He sighs.

“I have no clue. I cannot, within my position, just assume things based out of interpersonal actions; however, I don’t think anything innocent would come out of that.”

“She didn’t falsify a death certificate, did she?”

“No. That’s what tipped all of this off.”

You finally move a bit, letting your body relax.

“Something is up with her. I have no idea what.”

Alejandro is lost in thought for a moment, staring at the opposite wall; you watch him, the gears turning in his head with a focused but somewhat serene expression, eyes slightly moving as the follows his thoughts—

“I should be going now. Please, use that number. There are dangers she could have exposed you to without you knowing,” Alejandro murmurs, walking to the door, you silently following him. You grasp the door knob as he enters the door way, your hand gently touching his back— the touch making him jump a little.

“Thank you,” You murmur, your touch leaving him resting your hand on the door, meeting your eyes over his shoulder.

“Of course.”

You close the door, watching his figure walk to a jeep— confident stride, nice body hidden under military clothes, gentle eyes—

Don’t you dare.

You breathe deep, moving back into the home, the sunlight twinkling in through the curtains, warm sunset light dancing like little figures, warming up the light in the room. His voice— his words— rattle around your head, her antics annoying you more than they were able to hurt you—

This has been long dead. It has been dead, since she seems to have officially killed it, but now the dead weight had been removed, like matted hair that couldn’t be saved. It’s been shaved off; it wasn’t fun, but now it’s better. You are better. You are growing back. You are lighter. You are able to breathe.

You turn on your toes, walking back to the counter to look at the pad with the number written on it; his handwriting, or whoever wrote this, isn’t bad but it’s not pretty. A bit slanted. Legible. You take the pad in your hand, feeling over the writing— written with a ballpoint pen— before pulling out your own phone, entering it under a quick little new contact, marking it LV.

If she gets to have cryptic contacts, I do too.

You place it back down, looking into the greater house, warmth flooding in the sunlight.

You think it should hurt more— something so momentous ending— yet it also makes sense. It died slowly. There is no cruel, fast pain in a slow death. There is slow pain, the type that slowly makes your joints go still, where your chests twists and breaks, piece by piece, like peeling off old paint. It wasn’t a quick death. There was no quick cut, no guillotine, no bullet, no knife. It was a slow poison. It was terminal. When you realize it’s dying, it hurts. You wonder what you did wrong. You blame every piece that you didn’t do on yourself, just to try to rationalize it. To try to make it make sense. But sometimes, death comes, and sometimes it is slow, and sometimes it is quick, but death has to happen. It has to. Death allows for rot. Rot allows for growth. Growth is new life. There is no new life without the rot that death provides. But there is still no less hopeless ending than death, if you are not looking for the new buds of flowers.

You breathe, escaping your thoughts for a moment, looking out the windows, sun pungent and powerful.

And it should hurt more, that instead of even growing up and coming to you to say she wanted it to end, that she decided to do it on her own, to cheat with two people, to just use you as a housekeeper until she came back, just to be a bedwarmer. But at this point, it wasn’t anything new. It was the first infidelity— that you knew of— and it was two cases of it, yet it wasn’t surprising. Disappointing, but not surprising. Disappointing as a situation, not disappointing for her. Theres a few sentences, a few conversations that haunt you, between you and her, still; when her attention was on you, she still spilled her rotten blood onto you, almost to temper you into it—

Things about her impatience with partner, things about how she really didn’t like talking about her feelings, how she found relationships as a distraction. How she never admitted her feelings, she just let them die. How she knew that work would always mean more to her than a relationship. And how she tried to shroud it in telling you how you were the exception— you were the one she would put work behind for, the one she’d admit her feelings for, the one she’d stay loyal for. Exceptions to a rule are delicate. And sometimes, they’re just a lie. And how she had no hand in picking out the house, she let you pick it out, like a dog picking their favorite kennel.

Your eyes leave the sun light, blinking the haze away as you notice movement outside, grabbing the notepad quickly— throwing it in a drawer quickly— and striding to the door, an all too familiar figure standing, not moving.

Moving away from the door, you tap the newly formed contact, moving to the bedroom as the phone rang against your ear.

“¿Hola?”

It wasn’t Alejandro.

“Um, hello,” You awkwardly start, the other person breathing a sharp breath, “Colonel Ve-Vargas gave me this number in case I needed something.”

There is a pause.

“Oh. You.”

Pause.

“Is something wrong?”

“Valeria Garza is back, and she has a man with her.”

Pause.

“Do not answer the door, and keep away from it. Hang tight. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you say in a softer voice, the other’s breath hitching at that.

“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“Then you’ll see me soon.”

Click.

Ominous.

His voice wasn’t Alejandro’s, something a bit more smooth about his delivery, ever slightly colder.

And so you moved to the bedroom door, silently closing and locking it, watching the covered windows for any movement. You sit on the floor beside the bed, as to not have your silhouette in the window, watching. Waiting. There is a soft distant noise of talking, Spanish, a bit rushed and irritated. Her Spanish. Romance languages can be many things, but she fully embraced the Roman cruelty in her words. Footsteps. Around the windows, tracing the house. Only two pairs of footsteps.

Until.

A bit of irritated shouting, from the door, following the footsteps around the house. You move along the floor, against the wall closest to the window, trying to listen—

“— do you think you’re doing?”

“do not lecture me—“

“go back to the cars. now.”

The same slightly grumpy voice, and hers.

You follow the trail, standing in the kitchen, keeping an ear out.

“I own this property—“

“Valeria, I cannot tell you how little of a shit I give. You directly disobeyed an order.”

“It was an overreach!”

“Don’t care.”

“Rodolfo—“

“That’s Sergeant Major to you.”

“I am going to stab you.”

“You won’t.”

Pause.

“I just want to talk to her.”

“Leave your gun then.”

“But—“

“I’m impressed you got someone who wanted to spend the rest of their life dealing with you.”

Pause.

“Leave the gun and I’ll let you speak to her.”

“What are you, my father?”

“If I was your father, you wouldn’t act like a fucking brat.”

Pause.

“I really want to kill you sometimes.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Knock knock.

You move to the door, peering to see a male figure standing outside of the door. You slowly open the door.

“hello?”

“Neña—“

“Shut up. I’m the one who spoke to you on the phone,” He cuts her off, “Do you want to speak to her or do you want her gone?”

“I can speak to her. I would appreciate if you stayed though,” You respond calmly, sweetly, looking up at him, his gaze gentle on you.

“I wanted to speak to you alone,” Valeria starts, her voice scarily gentle, keeping her tone even.

“I don’t want that.” You say firmly, the man standing between you and her. Another man hangs behind, looking like a dog with his tail between his legs.

The man nods, staying where he was, but moving a bit to let you see Valeria.

“Do you not trust me anymore?” Valeria asks softly, her gaze soft. A trap.

“Do you think I’m that stupid?”

He snorts.

“I know I’ve messed up, but I miss you.”

“Okay.”

He cracks a small smirk, turning his gaze away from the two of you.

“I didn’t mean to leave you behind.”

“You can accidentally hit someone with your car and it’s still manslaughter.”

She rolls her eyes, her façade dropping for a moment, only to recompose herself.

“Can I come inside?”

You look at the man, his gaze both interested and bored, his eyes meeting yours for a moment. You move, pulling his forearm inside the house, his body moving stiffly at the movement, following you. Valeria shoots you a glare, following. The other man stands outside.

“Lovely, I really never noticed how bad we had gotten,” Valeria says, reaching for you as you move back, the man standing beside you, becoming a silent comforting presence, “But I don’t want it to be over.”

“I gave you as much as I could, and that wasn’t enough. So how would now be any different?”

“I can change.”

“Just between you and me,” He interjects, leaning towards you, inches from your ear, “She’s been a bitch since she was 8 and couldn’t find the tooth she had lost.”

You giggle.

“This has nothing to do with you,” She sneers, glaring up at him. He only shrugs with a slight smile.

“This is exhausting, you know,” you say, pulled together, calm, “you can’t start caring about something once it’s dead.”

“It’s not dead, it just needs to be restarted.”

You blink.

“Valeria, we’ve been dead for months.”

“We haven’t—“

“What about that marriage certificate mess?”

She pauses.

“It was for your own good, I don’t want someone finding you because of me.”

The mans head tilts a bit in your peripheral vision.

“Aside from us not legally being one anymore, you barely gave me the time of day. I could be right in front of you and you would ignore me. I was here the entire time, like a fucking little kid, waiting on you, only for you to never give me anything in return.”

“Relationships aren’t transactional,” She says, bitter. Thick with bitter. Patience running thin.

“No, they aren’t. But they do take work on both sides to work. And I can’t carry the weight of two.”

Valeria is quiet.

“I wish you had left me wandering about you, it would have saved me a lot of heartache,” you pause, “You made me feel like I was your world, then you ripped it away the minute I accepted that.”

“You like accusing me of a lot,” She snaps, the sweet glaze finally washed away, “I gave you everything I could.”

“‘Everything I could’ is disingenuous if you had to divide it three ways.”

Valeria sighs, deep, angry,

“If you would just fucking shut up for once and let me talk you would act right!” Her voice booms, flinch taking your gaze away, your head light as your thoughts block themselves out. You stand spinning, feet still but disoriented, and all of a sudden, you were small again. You were just polishing dishes to make her happy. You were throwing out that perfume you loved and she hated. You were waiting up until you fell asleep on the couch, only to wake up alone with dirty dishes to clean. You are small again.

“Garza.”

His voice cuts through the haze, confident, unwavering. His touch rests on your shoulder blade, weighing you back down on the uncomfortable reality.

“This doesn’t fucking include you.”

He sighs, his fingers gently rubbing your back, warmth seeping through your clothes.

“Could you act grown for once?”

Valeria is quiet.

“Your picket-fence has been sharp as knives. You never loved me. You wanted to collect the hearts you took.”

“I hate how you make me out to be the bad guy.”

“Valeria, I am tired of you. I am so very tired. You owe me so much sleep.”

“Why do you want to give up on us?”

You sigh. The two of you would just talk in circles until one of you died from exhaustion.

“Valeria, I could give you my heart and you would forget you had it. I could tell you time and time again the extent of my love and you would find no worth in it. I could drop everything to make a little piece of your life easier and it isn’t enough for you.”

“You were enough.”

“You say that like a faithless prayer. If I ever was enough you wouldn’t run to other people. If I was enough you wouldn’t have attacked me over a simple question. You wouldn’t assume that I was the thing that always hurt you. You wouldn’t only think of me first when something went wrong. And it doesn’t matter what I tell you, because I know you won’t believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“You haven’t believed me before,” You hesitate, the mans presence beside you evident, vulnerable, “I held out every night for you. I thought you’d notice me— not my body, not my wit, not my helpfulness— but me. And that never happened. I told you I felt bad, and I ripped my heart apart to try to get you to care, and the only thing you did with it was turn it against me. You told me I could lean on you then guilted me when I was too heavy.”

You shift, swallowing thick, trying to soothe your constraining throat,

“I remember when you acted like you loved me. You acted like I was your favorite toy, like I was the one you’d keep on your bed, the one you’d put in pretty dresses and kiss before bed. Then the minute— the fucking second— I thought you would be gentle with me, you ripped it all away. I sought after you day after day after day and I got nothing. And now I know, you had the chance to. I just wasn’t your priority.”

She stares. Your eyes tingle.

“I kept convincing myself the more attention and love I gave you, the more I’d receive. That when you didn’t reciprocate, you were just in a bad space. But it’s been years. There hasn’t been a day where I could just talk to you. And I’ve learned now you were spending them with other people. I’ve learned I’m the thing you keep in your back pocket when no one else will talk to you. I’ve learned that I’m the pretty toy you show off that you got just to throw me under your bed. I cannot imagine that you love me when I have never been what you wanted. Bad times come, but bad times don’t mean you run away from love. You go towards it. And you found it else where.”

You swollow again, choking on your own throat,

“I’ve been the stupid schoolgirl chasing someone who never looked me in the eye this entire time. And I feel stupid for it now, but I choose now to break out of it. You never claimed you love me so until we were dead and gone. You can’t dig up the corpse to hold it.”

There is silence. Your heartbeat. Your breathing. Valeria’s eyes burning into you.

“You kept me like a secret but I kept you like an oath.”

Valeria sighs.

Valeria is quiet.

Her eyes don’t meet yours.

“Go back to base, Garza. Before anymore actions are taken over this.”

“You don’t get to be in charge of me—“

“I am. Go back.”

He stands, she stands, finally moving from her place, shooting a glare over her shoulder as she slammed the door behind her, the same pots hitting the wall in her wake. A car door slamming in the same manner. Ignition. The sound leaving in the distance.

You stood, crossing your arms over yourself.

Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out.

The man beside you awkwardly shifts.

“I never got your name,” You say, a little croak in your voice.

“Rodolfo. Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra.”

You nod to yourself.

“Thank you.”

He hums a quiet response, relaxing his frame.

“I haven’t seen many to go toe to toe with her.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I would say so,” Rodolfo glances past you, “She’s always had an assertiveness to her, but it devolves into brattiness if pushed enough.”

Quiet.

“Did you two have fights like that before?”

“We’ve had a couple. I joked I would call them the Great Wars. But now I just feel maimed.”

“If I had known about you earlier, I would have warned you earlier,” his voice is soft.

“Have you known her for long?”

“Yeah, grew up in the same area. I vomited on her at her quinceañera.”

“That was you?” You ask with a soft giggle, the noise pulling a soft smile from him.

“Did she still complain about it?”

“Yeah, yeah she did. I thought it was a little silly to still be mad about.”

“I did her a favor. I got her to take off that god-awful dress without having to seduce her.”

“I take it she’s never been able to charm you?”

“No.”

You laugh at that dry response, a comfortable little smile resting on his face, looking down at you with a certain gentleness.

“I don’t handle brats very well.”

You shoot him a curious look.

“Not right now.”

You glance away.

Quiet.

“Thank you for.. all of that.”

He nods.

“I would suggest you try to leave this place. She knows the location too well.”

“I…” You start, his eyes heavy on you, “It’s embarrassing, I don’t really have a way to do that.”

“Did she emotionally trap you to believe that she would be your sole provider while using that to control you in the way she wanted so you were pushed out of any career or financial independence?”

You pause.

“Yeah I guess, sergeant therapist.”

He snickers.

He stops, thinking over your words.

“If you would like, I can set you up living accommodations. No obligation to pay me back in anyway. No obligation to stay. How does that sound?”

“If you weren’t a pretty sergeant I’d say you were trying to kidnap me.”

He shifts a bit at that, flushing a little—

Is that blush?

“Well, If I did that, I’d have Alejandro down my throat. And it’s Sergeant Major.”

“Oh, you two are like that?”

He shoots you a glare.

“You have a dirty mind.”

You giggle, his face having another little smile break out.

“no, we are not,” he says with a head shake like a disappointed father.

You think, not fully clear, but the thought of Valeria randomly popping back up evident. You wouldn’t have to hear the door slam again. The walls rattling because you didn’t win the word game, or because you did. You could do your own dishes. You could strip her from you finally, pulling out the turpentine and mineral spirits, wiping yourself clean with Ivory.

“I think we could work something out like that,” you say softly, sweetly, looking up at him properly. Two moles. Soft eyes. Longer nose than Alejandro.

“You can call me Rudy, if you’d like.”

#valeria garza #valeria call of duty #valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x you #angst #emotional manipulation #alejandro vargas #rodolfo rudy parra #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #tolerate it. #a kiss of weird rudy rizz

[furiousgoldfish]

abusers will go 'it makes me feel sooo upset when you live your life the way you want to and do the things you want to do, actually what you're doing is victimizing me by not existing only as a support and validation to me you are so abusive and selfish and you should think more about how your sense of freedom and boundaries is negatively effecting me'

#psychological abuse #emotional manipulation #reverse victim and offender #emotional abuse #victim shaming #trying to convince victims that they're at fault for not existing only how the abuser demands them to exist #emotional exploitation #you're not abusing anyone by wanting freedom and boundaries #nobody has the right to take that away from you #not your parents not your partner not anyone #you do not exist for them #and you never will #and if they cry abuse at that #they can simply find someone else to control and manipulate #gross behaviour

[navithescribe]

Ignorance is Bliss?

Summary:

You’ve been having the same nightmare for over a week now. At the same time, you feel as though you have been missing something from your memories for a while. A new employee at your workplace, whom you have no memory of, is missing. A bracelet has suddenly appeared around your wrist, a gift you don’t remember receiving.

Slowly, you also start suspecting your mutant boyfriend is hiding something from you…

Warnings: Yandere, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, implied murder

💜🐢💜

AO3

--------------------------------‐------------------

It was almost 1:00 in the morning. Donatello had spent all day working on a new circuit. He was close to finishing… but something was distracting him. A pair of eyes were on the back of his neck, they had been for several seconds now. 34,07 seconds to be exact.

He smiled to himself.

“How long are you planning on just standing there and just watch?” he spoke up.

He pushed up his goggles and turned around on his swivel chair to face the doorway.

There you stood, half hiding behind the door, looking at him.

You were in your pjs and held your pillow in your arms.

It was the third night in a row now, you came to him in the middle of the night.

While Donnie was working on something, which usually kept him up until the late hours of the night, you woke up and went to him because you knew he would still awake.

“Another nightmare?” he then asked right out.

You nodded.

“I’ll be right there.”

He put his tools away before getting up from his chair and walked with you to the living room area and plopped down on the couch.

You looked pale. You had dark circles under your eyes.

Donatello felt bad you had to suffer in through the nights, but it was the only way. It was for your own good…

“Tell me about it.” he commanded softly, as he reached a hand up to stroke your back your hair.

“It was the same as the others…” you muttered.

Your gaze was focused on your hands fidgeting, on your lap.

You were still wearing the beaded bracelet he had made you… Good.

“A dark figure… a man… or something else… at the end of a long hallway…” Your voice was so quiet, “it kept demanding I returned to him… that I could never escape…”

“It’s only a dream, darling.” Donnie kissed your head.

“I know but-“

“But what?”

“… It feels like more than just a dream.” You sighed.

Donnie felt a lump grow in his throat. Dear god, don’t let them realise…

“It feels like… like a memory.” You finally said it.

Donnie pulled you close, hugging you tightly.

“It was only a dream.” He murmured more slowly.

You went quiet.

There was no way you could remember.

You shouldn’t remember.

He made sure of that…

It had all started with an argument three weeks ago.

You had found out he had hacked your phone, spying on you through it.

He was only looking out for you.

There really had been no need for you to get so angry…

He thought you would get over it.

You did not get over it.

After three days of not answering his calls or texts, he decided to check on you… not through your phone, but for real.

He waited for you outside your apartment.

You were furious.

It was ridiculous! Why were you so upset? He had just tried to look out for you, it was no big deal really. He had just gone through your messages and listened in on your calls, maybe checked on you through your phone’s camera.

He did his best to explain this to you, but you just wouldn’t listen, even when he promised he wouldn’t do it again.

You threw him out of the building.

He tried again.

The next day, the turtle waited for you outside your workplace and approached you when you walked out of the building.

You wouldn’t talk to him and just walked away.

This was frustrating beyond belief!

If only you hadn’t found out about him hacking your phone…

Then an idea popped into the purple-clad genius’s head.

What if he could make you forget he had hacked your phone?

After a couple of days working tirelessly in his lab, he had done it. He had made you the perfect gift!

You had always loved his homemade gifts, so this was sure to work right?

He went straight for your apartment, knocking on your door.

You didn’t answer. Strange. You were usually home at this hour, it was past 5 pm.

He heard footsteps coming his way and he swiftly hid behind a corner to observe.

He saw you, and… someone else. Someone he didn’t know… and he knew of all your friends and family.

The stranger was male, tall, dark hair, wore a dark grey coat and blue jeans.

He was smiling at you.

You were holding hands.

The ninja felt his body tense. His hands curled into fists.

Just who did this stranger think he was, walking you home? Holding your hand? Were you planning on inviting him in?

“Thank you taking me out to lunch, I really needed a distraction.” You smiled to the stranger.

Donatello saw you reach down the pocket of your keys.

“It was the least I could do,” the stranger spoke with a chuckle, “you looked like you needed some cheering up. Besides, you’ve been kind enough to show me the ropes at work.”

“It’s always hard starting a new place, don’t think about it.” you now chuckled too.

Donatello’s face darkened.

Did this loser think he was good enough to get close to you? Did he think he could take advantage of your kindness?

No, he would not let this happen.

You were his!

He emerged from his hiding place, just as you were about to open the door to your apartment and pulled out his tech-bo.

You noticed him approach.

“Donnie?” Your voice sounded worried.

He would soon fix that.

He would fix all of it.

*********************************************

You woke up, finding yourself in your boyfriend’s arms just outside your apartment.

You felt dizzy and disoriented. Your head was pounding.

What had just happened?

Why were you outside your apartment and not inside?

“Hey, you okay darling?” the voice of your boyfriend sounded.

You looked up to meet the purple masked turtle’s eyes.

He looked worried. His hand reached your forehead, stroking a lock of your hair aside.

“What just happened?” you muttered, as you were helped to your feet.

You didn’t get an answer right away. Or maybe you did, but you didn’t hear it? You weren’t sure, everything felt muffled for some reason.

Donnie helped you back inside your apartment and placed you on your couch.

He went to your kitchen to make you tea.

You tried remembering what had just happened… You felt completely out of it, as if you had just woken up from a deep sleep.

You then noticed something on your wrist: A silver bracelet with a purple heart-shaped charm attached to it. Where had that come from?

“Do you like it?” You looked up to see Donatello come back with a cup of hot tea for you, “I made it just for you.”

“When did you give this to me?” you asked confused.

“Today.” He smirked.

You looked back at the bracelet. Why couldn’t you remember?

Or… maybe you did remember? You did feel like you could remember Donnie putting it on you.

Everything felt foggy and far away in your mind…

“You fainted,” the turtle spoke before you could even ask again what had happened, “in the hallway and you hit your head it seems. Do you feel dizzy? Nauseas maybe?”

“No, I- I’m fine.”

“You just need some rest.” He handed you the tea.

You took a sip and immediately felt better. The scent was soothing.

“You didn’t answer my question before,” Donnie sat down next to you, “Do you like the bracelet?” he held up your hand, looking at the bracelet around your wrist, as if he was inspecting it.

“Yes!” your quickly blurted and put down the mug of tea. “Sorry, I haven’t thanked you, right? Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

“Good.” He smiled softly and leaned in, kissing your forehead and holding you close against his chest. He was being very affectionate, more than usual that is, “I’m so glad we’re together again…”

What?

“Again?” you asked, confused.

“Uh- nothing.” He shook his head and gave you one last squeeze before letting you go.

Something felt off though…

You looked around your space in the living room, though you weren’t sure what exactly you were trying to find.

“We… we were alone just now, right?” you asked in an unsure voice.

“Of course we’re alone,” he chuckled, “why are you asking?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… wasn’t there someone else in the hallway with us a little while ago?”

Donatello didn’t answer.

Instead, he went on a ramble about some new project he was working on, something about a new charging station for Shelldon.

Why wouldn’t he answer your question?

That night, you woke up out of breath and drenched in sweat.

A nightmare.

You couldn’t remember much, but it had been bad enough to wake you. It was weird. You weren’t prone to nightmares usually. You were quite a heavy sleeper normally.

You remembered a shadowed figure, at the corner of a long hallway… but not much else…

You reached for your phone to check the time and noticed a text message from Donatello.

I love you <3

That was all it said.

You smiled softly and tried to go back to sleep, while stroking the charm of the bracelet around your wrist.

“Uh, Y/n, we already sent in these papers two weeks ago, why are you working on them again?” your colleague looked over your shoulder as you worked in your booth.

You looked back at her, confused.

“What do you mean? Didn’t we just start on it the other day?”

Your colleague gave you strange look.

It had been like this all day. It was like you had been away from work without even realising it. New projects were already being worked on, though you could’ve sworn you had yet to finish paperwork from the last project…

You had even gotten the date wrong. You were much further into the month than you thought. Had the days just gone by so fast and you just didn’t realise?

You also kept overhearing your colleagues talk about someone named Owen. Who was this Owen? You overheard conversations of others, who were wondering why he hadn’t shown up today and no one could get a hold of him.

Was this Owen a new client or something?

“You went out to lunch with Owen yesterday, right?” you then heard another colleague ask you, “Did he say something about not showing up today?”

What the hell was going on?

Once your day (your very weird day) was over, and you got back to your apartment building, you suddenly found yourself frozen in front of your door.

A sense of dread and panic came over you, as if someone had just dropped a bucket of cold water all over you.

Your heart was racing, your palms felt sweaty, and you felt nauseous out of nowhere.

You looked over your shoulder, as if you expected someone was behind you… or behind the corner?

You quickly unlocked your door and rushed inside to the safety of your small living space and immediately locked the door behind you.

“Y/n? Y/n!”

You were immediately snapped out of your thoughts, “What?”

“You weren’t listening to a word I said just now, were you?” Donatello frowned annoyed, crossing his arms.

It had been five days since you fainted in the hallway.

You were hanging out in the turtles’ lair with Donatello, in his lab.

“Sorry… I guess I was pretty far away just now.” You rubbed the back of your head and tried to smile.

But your boyfriend’s face shifted to a look of worry, seeing through your pathetic attempt of a smile.

“Are you feeling okay? You look tired.”

You glanced the other way, hesitating.

“I… haven’t been sleeping well lately,” You admitted, “I’ve been having nightmares this past week and… they’re only getting worse.”

Donnie put his hands on your shoulders, and you immediately looked back at him, and saw him stare closely at your face as if he were looking for something.

“… Why haven’t you said anything?” His voice was now serious.

“I don’t know, I –“ you caught yourself short. Why hadn’t you told him? You told Donnie everything. For some reason, the thought of telling him about your nightmares gave you the same feeling of dread, like when you stood in front of the door to your apartment whenever you got home from work now. Was it paranoia, maybe? You honestly couldn’t tell. It was as if something was missing… like the days you had apparently forgotten had already passed at work… like you had apparently forgotten Owen, your supposed new colleague.

“It’s alright, darling.” You felt the purple-clad turtle take your hand, which was fidgeting with your bracelet, and he gently forced it away from your wrist as if he was afraid, you might accidently break it. His voice was softer now.

“Why don’t you stay here a couple of nights? We’ll get this sorted out.” He offered you a smile.

Was it just you… or did he sound kind guilty when he spoke?

You took him up on his offer.

Donnie did everything he could to distract you. You watched your favourite movies together, played video games, info-dumped you about his latest projects, even going on small walks before bedtime.

But it didn’t stop the nightmares…

You kept seeing that shadowed figure charging towards you, yelling at you… demanding you.

“I’m sure you’ve just been working too hard.”

“You’re stressed, obviously.”

“You just need more rest.”

“You’re thinking too much about it.”

“They’re only dreams.”

Donnie kept telling you this.

And yet… there was an eerie feeling about your dreams you just couldn’t shake off.

It was as if they became clearer.

A shadow in the corner of a hallway came charging towards you. A distorted voice demanding you to return to them.

Someone screaming…

The name Owen suddenly popped into your mind. That was the name of the supposed new employee at your workplace, right? You didn’t know why you suddenly started thinking about that name when remembering your nightmares…

On the third night of you staying in the lair, after you had been woken from your nightmares again, like clockwork now, you had gone to find Donnie just like the other two nights.

He sat with you on the couch, comforting you and cuddling you like he always did when you didn’t feel well.

He stroked your wrist where your bracelet was, constantly, as if he kept making sure you were wearing it.

He repeated again and again your nightmares were only dreams, nothing more… but he didn’t sound so convincing anymore. In fact, he sounded kind of… nervous?

When you tried telling him you were starting to believe the nightmares were memories, he dismissed it.

He led you back to his bedroom and got into bed with you.

He fell asleep after a while, holding you close to him, being the big spoon. You could feel his chest rising and falling against your back.

You, however, couldn’t sleep…

You felt uneasy.

A somewhat unsettling thought had entered your mind:

Donnie wouldn’t lie if he thought something was actually wrong with me… right?

Surely, he wouldn’t hide anything from you…

You thought about his voice, how it sounded… uncertain, when you spoke about your nightmares.

You thought about how he had seemed to be extra affectionate as of late.

“I’m so glad we’re together again…”

You couldn’t seem to get that sentence out of your head. What had he meant by that?

You looked down at the bracelet around your wrist and ran your fingers against the purple heart-charm. It was nice and smooth to touch.

You hadn’t taken it off since Donnie gave it to you.

In fact… it had felt like he kept checking, to make sure you always wore it…

No, that was silly… you were being paranoid…

It was a lovely gift, and he had probably spent a lot of time and effort to make it just for you, of course he’d want you to wear it.

You weren’t sure why, but you suddenly felt the urge to take it off. It was as if something inside you told you the answer to all your questions of late would be answered, if you took it off. It was stupid… but still…

Ever so slowly, you started slipping it off your wrist.

But before you managed to take it off completely, your hand was suddenly stopped by Donnie’s, who grabbed your hand.

Startled, you felt your heart skip a beat. His grip was tight, it almost hurt. You hadn’t realised at all he had woken up.

“Don’t take it off, darling…” he murmured.

Your whole body tensed. The way he said that made your heart race. You palms started sweating and a sense of panic washed over you… but you weren’t sure why…

“Please…” you then heard his voice whisper, almost pleading as his other hand slipped your bracelet back in place on your wrist, “I need you to trust me… Everything will be okay… just don’t take it off…”

‐------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed the story. 😊

It has been a rough start to the new year for me, not only because I was sick, but because I'm still dealing with a lot of hard things in my life right now. For a while, I had a lot of good days, where I could write and be creative, but the last couple of months have been tough, and I find myself not really having the energy to do anything, so I'm really happy I managed to write this story.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt x you #rottmnt x y/n #rise donnie x y/n #rise donnie x reader #rise donatello x reader #rise donatello #rise donnie #yandere donnie x reader #yandere rottmnt #fanfiction #aged up turtles #emotional manipulation #gaslighting #erased memories #nightmares #navithescribe

[purplehalnw]

God the moment in TDW when Frigga asks Loki "Then am I not your mother?" is so fucking painful and sad.

Like Loki was hopeful that he still had Frigga as a mother, that he still had some family that actually loved him, that she was still the good person he always thought she was, but then she starts to manipulate him like Odin, defending Odin's actions, and basically saying "you can either have both of us or neither of us". And he decides that he's not taking it anymore, he already took enough from Odin, he's not taking it from her. So, he responds, realizing that he has no one left, "you're not".

And oh my god just seeing the realization on his face makes me cry

#loki laufeyson #thor dark world #frigga's b+ parenting #manipulation #emotional abuse #mcu frigga #mcu odin #odin's a+ parenting #loki mcu #loki marvel #loki laufeyjarson #loki laufeydottir #loki laufeychild #mcu loki #marvel loki #marvel mcu #marvel cinematic universe #emotional manipulation #marvel movies #mcu movies #thor movies

[trekahouse]

Do yourself a huge favor, and run as fast as you can from people who are running from their healing. Behaviors never lie. People who deny themselves in the mirror, will deny your reality and cause you your sanity.

Treka L. House

— when the mask slips, don’t talk yourself out of what you see. trust your intuition.

#trekahouse #inspirational quotes #motivational quotes #life quotes #love quotes #positive quotes #life lessons #encouraging quotes #words of wisdom #i love you #covert narcissism #covert npd #covert abuse #narcissistic trauma #gaslighters #emotional manipulation

[alwaysbewoke]

It's even scarier when they fake cry right in your face

#dating #manipulation #deception #relationship dynamics #emotional manipulation #toxic behavior #gender stereotypes #communication issues #trust issues

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her

A Baldur's Gate 3 Reader Insert Fic by scarredwithcruelintentions

(crossposted on AO3 here)

Rated: E

Pairing: Astarion/Tav, Astarion/Reader

Current W/C: 13,574

Summary:

The memory of clawing his way out of his own grave was among the worst he'd collected over his long life. He'd never imagined being turned would lead to nearly two hundred years of enslavement at the hands of a cruel master; but then again, he'd never even imagined being turned in the first place. All of his days as a spawn had blurred together, so much the same as they were in their infinite torment and shadow.

Until, one day, they weren't.

He knew one thing for certain, though.

If he had to do it all over again, crawl from his grave and live another two centuries of endless night, he would without question.

For after the darkness, he would come to find the light. He would come to find you.

A/N: Hey everyone! I went into Baldur's Gate 3 completely blind, knowing nothing about any of the characters, story, or gameplay. And, of course, I was immediately drawn to Astarion with his striking beauty, heavy flirting and aloof cockiness. Totally let the horny rule my brain (because GODS DAMN he's hot) and pursued a romance with him. And then I learned more about his story as I progressed in the game, and I was completely disgusted with myself. See, I did to Astarion exactly what so many people have done to me: I looked at him as an object, as a pretty piece of arm candy that was happy to cater to my *ahem* more lascivious whims. My heart broke a little (okay, a lot) because I feel much the same way as him about being treated like a piece of meat, something to be consumed and discarded in one fell swoop. I recently started Cognitive Processing Therapy for my trauma, and because I really connected with his character and storyline, I was compelled to write an apology to him in the form of this fic. Equally, in turn, it acts as the love letter to myself in accepting and moving forward from my own traumas. As I'm sure you can tell by now, there is a lot of heavy and uncomfortable subject matter to come in this, and I don't blame anyone for needing to click away. The story is meant to be an exploration of relearning the full spectrum of human(oid) emotions, so it will be a bit of a rollercoaster. Big shoutout to my Skwid Sis for cheerleading and my best friend and partner in crime, Big Daddy E, for reading it out loud with me in character and helping me (try to) edit my unnecessarily verbose run-on sentences. I cherish you two more than words will ever come close to expressing, and just want to say thank you for being patient and understanding with me during this very painful and difficult process. And lastly, I want to thank you, the reader, for taking the time to share in my healing journey by giving this silly lil brainchild of mine a chance. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I've been enjoying writing it. :) Likes, comments and reblogs much appreciated! Will be updated weekly (unless, yk, I am particularly inspired to share)!

chapter 1: this is a gift

chapter 2: the hunted

chapter 3: a desperate revelation

chapter 4: a reflection in another's eyes

chapter 5: a lament for all things lost

#bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion #tav #lae'zel #shadowheart #karlach #wyll ravengard #halsin #gale of waterdeep #astarion pov #vampire spawn astarion #astarion is bad at feelings #astarion needs a hug #soft astarion #reader insert #afab tav #no use of y/n #i tried to use as few descriptors as possible #so you can imagine your tav #unnamed tav #bard tav #au canon divergence #trauma #angst #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #emotional manipulation

[one-time-i-dreamt]

Someone in the Discord server I mod wouldn't provide image descriptions so I went to their house and cried in an attempt to emotionally manipulate them.

#dream #discord #mod #emotional manipulation #crying

[furiousgoldfish]

Living in an abusive family means constantly navigating an information warfare situation. These people will not share a shred of information unless it's beneficial to them, and will not communicate even the basic bits of information, to anyone.

Information is withheld and twisted at will. You can never know whether something you've been told has been embellished, changed, made up, or completely fake. You cannot tell whether two people behind your back have decided to give you this modified and manipulative info because they wanted something from you. You cannot tell whether someone is telling you something because it's the truth, or because they can benefit from it.

There is a mountain of information that is just withheld from you because people think it's 'better if you' don't know', or sometimes even just because it's 'bothersome to tell you' or they don't think you deserve the information. It can be as simple as, where a certain family member is, when is some event taking place, who is sick with what, who is working where, who is coming over, what has been gain or won or procured, what's for dinner, who is buying or giving something. It can even be withheld from you just to make you look stupid and embarrass you in front of others for not knowing. It can be withheld so you would be accused of 'not caring enough to ask'.

You end up playing the information war as well, because you have to conceal some of your interests, movement and actions just to protect yourself against further abuse, and to protect your privacy. You know what would be done with your private information in such environment. You sometimes have to keep completely normal things secret because your family is insane about normal things and don't think you should have any. Anything that can be used against you has to be withheld, and they know it, and will fight to pull it out from you, either by the pretense of care, or by withholding resources and threatening you to gain the information.

Living with people who use communication as a method of gaining power is stressful and the opposite of a safe and nurturing environment. If simple information about each of your family member is continuously concealed and hidden and only revealed when it can be used as an advantage, you're constantly in a situation where you know only 5% of what's going on, and the rest is waiting to be used against you. Or hidden so you would be easier to guilt and trap in lack of knowledge. Your family could be hiding resources, money, advantages and privileges they have, and making you feel guilty for being a burden on them. They could be hiding just how much money they make to make you live in poverty. They could be hiding any kind of illegal activity, affairs, crimes and secret life they have and guilt you for wanting the tiniest semblance of your own privacy. And you wouldn't even know who you're talking to because they have it easier if you don't know who you are.

The worst is they will act like you should have known the entire time, and it's you who is stupid for not having the information that is purposely withheld from you. They can make you feel stupid for their own concealment of the truth from you.

#abusive family #information warfare #withholding information to gain advantage #emotional manipulation #psychological abuse #information abuse #manipulation #abusive parents #child abuse

[family-trauma]

There's nothing really subtle about it, atleast what I'm facing.

#absurd #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #mental wellbeing #toxic #toxic family #toxicity #toxic people #dysfunctional family #emotional trauma #emotional abuse #emotional harassment #emotional blackmail #emotional manipulation #family-trauma

[actual-changeling]

TW // SA mention

What’s the difference between emotional manipulation and just being desperate? You said Aziraphale “speed-runs an emotional manipulation checklist” after he called Crowley back, but I didn’t get that sense at all…he just sounded confused and desperate to me? How is his “i need you” different from Crowley’s kiss, for instance? I think those are their respective most desperate moments. Can emotional manipulation be unintentional? I can maybe see it but it feels like the equivalent of calling Crowley’s kiss sexual assault. Like yes it was, but it feels like too extreme of language to use in this specific context with these specific characters, even if it does invoke an uncomfortable personal feeling (at least for me).

Hi anon!

Lots of difficult questions but I'll do my best to answer them—it won't be in chronological order, just going based on vibes and the easiest way to make it coherent. This will probably get very, very long, sorry in advance.

(side note: I will be discussing manipulation techniques in detail, so tread with caution if this is something that squicks you out or triggers you)

Can emotional manipulation be unintentional?

Short answer: Yes, absolutely!

The important thing here is that there is a gigantic difference between emotional manipulation as such and on-going emotional abuse; the latter is not something you can do on accident, it requires a certain amount of intent and power.

Emotional manipulation, on the other hand, can mean everything from the small actions we do pretty much daily to malicious attempts to influence someone else.

Appealing to someone's emotions is an average part of communication, you can see it in advertisements or when you talk your friend into doing something because "it'll be fun, trust me", and it's not necessarily bad! We're a social species, and that low-level emotional communication is a part of that.

This is commonly referred to as emotional influence or persuasion, it's generally harmless.

There is, however, a very big grey zone, and you reach that once the other person finds that they are uncomfortable or crossing their own boundaries without wanting to.

E.g. if you have a friend with a phobia of clowns and you talk them into going to the circus with you event though they do not want to, they will probably end up feeling like they have to go or you will be upset with them/it will impact your friendship.

At that point, it's no longer completely innocent, it's what most people would understand as mild (to severe depending on the situation) active manipulation.

You want someone to do something so you use what you know about them to get them to do it.

Manipulation is about control, it's about achieving your own goal without having to compromise while convincing the other person to cross whatever boundaries they need to placate you.

So, to summarize, the important questions to consider are:

what is the relationship of the people involved?

what situation is it about/what goal does one party want to achieve?

are there any relevant outside influences (e.g. a time limit)?

what is the emotional state of everyone?

are boundaries being crossed?

has this happened before/is there a pattern?

Now, I could use this checklist and comb through the entire conversation, but I will focus on that final part I mentioned.

The "status" of their argument is as follows:

Crowley has ended the conversation and wants to leave

neither of them changed their mind or has expressed any interest that they want to do so

Crowley is very hurt and no longer feels comfortable around Aziraphale (-> he put on his sunglasses)

This should have been the end of it, but Aziraphale follows him and stops him from leaving—this is not manipulation but it shows a lack of respect for Crowley's needs (and not for the first time either). Keeping an argument going when the other person actively wants to get out of it is not just unkind, it also harms the relationship you have with them; it's not like he storms off either, there is a proper ending to it.

Aziraphale's actions here made me uncomfortable too, and I can explain why!

While there are different vulnerabilities someone can exploit to manipulate someone, Aziraphale uses Crowley's biggest (and more or less only) vulnerability: his emotional connection to and dependency on Aziraphale. It is the reason Crowley has caved time and time again in the past, he loves him and does not want to lose him, and that makes him willing to hurt himself if it means keeping Aziraphale by his side and happy.

Let's go through it one by one.

Crowley! Crowley, come back, to Heaven!

He is using Crowley's name, which is the second time he does it after "nothing lasts forever". Using someone's name in a conversation is an attempt to make it more personal, to make it more 'urgent', so to speak. There is a big difference between, e.g. "I love you" and "I love you, Crowley".

Work with me! We can be together!

Here Aziraphale uses Crowley's own language against him. Earlier, Crowley said

I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can.

It's a phrase he uses a lot, be together, do something together, go off together—and Aziraphale knows that, so either consciously or subconsciously, he uses the same language Crowley used to appeal to him. Copying someone's wording can have a bunch of reasons and effects. In this situation, I think it's simply meant to rile him up again, to make him more emotional.

Aziraphale says 'together' to make it seem like they actually want the same thing and that Crowley is in the wrong for wanting to leave the bookshop & not coming with him to heaven. It definitely hits Crowley quite deeply because he looks like he got punched and then turns away.

Angels… doing good!

Not going to linger on this one long because that alone is worth a big post. It's a moral imperative. We can do good together, don't you want to do good? Be good? Good is the superior moral option to bad, so why would you not want to do good?

It works for Aziraphale because he has his own issues around the good/evil and angel/demon dichotomy, but it does not work on Crowley because his moral compass is far too complex; he knows that 'doing good' means absolutely nothing here.

I… I need you!

Pretty much the clearest example for the emotional manipulation taking place here.

I need you.

You love me, you want me to be safe, you have always protected me in the past, so do it again. I NEED you to do this.

Openly admitting to 'needing' Crowley puts more pressure onto him to act.

How dare you not give the person you love what he needs? Do you not love him enough? Are you that selfish? Would you leave him alone and weak on purpose and deny him the support he is asking for? Aziraphale loves you, he needs you, he wants to do good things with you, why are you being mean and disagreeing? You are the bad guy here, look at how sad you are making him. He needs you—give yourself to him.

This is also known as guilt-tripping.

In the past, threats along these lines have worked. He came back to help him with Gabriel, he did not leave earth, he returned no matter how mean Aziraphale was because Crowley wants to keep him safe.

This time, Aziraphale has pushed him too far and it doesn't work, so he resorts to the next item on the list.

I don't think you understand what I'm offering you.

You don't know what you are doing but I do, so you should listen to me and follow me in what I do.

Everyone always gets caught up on Crowley calling him an idiot (which imo is perfectly justified here) but no one ever talks about the fact that Aziraphale's line here is incredibly demeaning and condescending.

CROWLEY does not know what you are offering him? The angel who fell TRYING TO CHANGE HEAVEN? You are telling him that you know better than him what that is like?

It's insulting, it's a blatant attempt at manipulation, and it is the one thing Crowley responds to.

I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.

"I understand" is a fact. He does understand. Even after all of this, Crowley does not say "I know better than you". He says I think, giving Aziraphale an opening to disagree with him, to explain his position and why he thinks he knows better than Crowley—but Aziraphale ignores it because he knows he's in the wrong.

Which brings us to the grande finale.

Well… then there's nothing more to say.

Exact mirror to their argument about Gabriel.

You're at liberty to go. If you won't, you won't. Do what I want and if you don't I will kick you out.

We can go back even further than that because Aziraphale has used this threat with a very similar wording before and had success with it.

It is essentially an ultimatum: Agree with me or I won't talk to you again. Same contents with a slightly different package. I think Crowley saw it coming this time plus Aziraphale has emotionally wrung him out already, so it does not have the desired effect.

Aziraphale still tried to use it though.

Saying Aziraphale attempted to emotionally manipulate Crowley is simply calling it what it is. It does not make him a villain or a bad guy, it does not mean that their relationship is somehow abusive.

You are right, Aziraphale is desperate and confused, he's feeling out of control, and that unfortunately makes people more likely to try and manipulate others to regain said control. I think some parts are intentional, others are unintentional and a consequence of his complete lack of self awareness and reflection, but it's manipulation nonetheless—and it's not alright that he does it.

Crowley—who is arguably even more upset and shocked—doesn't fall back on emotional manipulation.

Being upset, traumatized, in distress, mentally ill, whatever you want to list, nothing gives someone else the right to emotionally manipulate someone and abuse their known vulnerabilities. I could go through many of their conversations and write down in detail how exactly Aziraphale is trying to manipulate Crowley because this is really just the tip of the iceberg, but this is already wayyyyyyy too long, so I will save that for if anyone else has more questions.

I hope this helped clarify things, anon!

#alex answers asks #alex talks good omens #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #alex's unhinged meta corner #good omens meta #good omens thoughts #emotional manipulation

[supernatural-jackles]

“I’m sorry you feel that way” is not an apology. 

#Personal post #TW gaslighting #emotional manipulation #Mental health #the moment you realize you love someone a little less #non apology #I don't need you to apologize for my feelings #i need you to apologize for your actions

[tangledinink]

Sorry if you’ve already answered something like this and I haven’t seen it, but in the Gemini AU, does Big Mama, on some level, hold any actual affection for the twins? Or does she see them exclusively as tools to be exploited?

Yes, she does hold actual affection for the twins. She views them as her children. They view her as her mother. She loves them, and they love her. That doesn't mean that their relationship isn't super fucked up and abusive, because it clearly is, but it's not fair to just write it off as "they're tools to her and nothing else." There's a lot more nuance than that. If the twins were to die or leave her, Big Mama would be devastated. Likewise, if anything bad happened to their Mama, the twins would be heartbroken.

She loves them, or at least she thinks that she does. She also uses them like tools and exploits them. She always feels like she can justify her actions and motivations to herself, and that the things she does are for the greater good of their family. Right now, The Gemini Twins fully believe that, as a whole, the things that Big Mama says or does she does out of love and she does with their best intentions in mind. Even the things that hurt. Even the things that they don't understand. Even the things that make them angry and upset.

I mean, that's their mom, right? She loves them. Of course she loves them, even if she's not perfect... Besides that. Aside from one another, she's all they really have.

#dont get me wrong #shes AWARE that she is manipulating them #but as far as shes concerned #this is for the good of their family in the long run #shes willing to do fucked up things if she thinks it will ensure she keeps her 'family' #this will be explored more in the comic as we go #but like #tldr #yes its abusive and bad #but she is still their mother #child abuse #emotional manipulation #gemini au #gemini au asks #anon