#enough about gooey let's talk trauma | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sebsxphia · 5 months

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Hey sebby angel,

I realized after I sent you the very rushed ask (more like statement, my apologies) about Jake being Lavender Haze coded, that I didn't explain anything. I dropped that thought and split like the devil(I was walking into work, but still).

So my thought: Jake Seresin is Lavender Haze coded (idk if anyone has thrown this thought around but I listened to Lavender Haze bc of a tik tok and that blonde himbo popped up into my head)

My reasoning:

I feel like Jake is from a well off Texas socialite family (oil money or something). He's always had these huge expectations on his shoulders. Go to college, get married, take over the business, and pop out an heir or two. Love doesn't matter, it's all business in the end.

That isn't Jake. While he feels like he's too young (he's just about a HS graduate here in this time line) for marriage and kids, he knows what he doesn't want. He doesn't want the stiff politeness his parents have. He doesn't want his potential children to fear seeking him out for anything. He doesn't go to his parents for anything. Instead of going to college he goes to the flight academy which causes a rift between him and his family. I think during this time Hangman is created as a mask. He plays the mister "love them and leave em," too cool to settle down. He does this rinse and repeat until after the mission. (Actually I feel like he's starting to slow down and re-think a lot of stuff regarding his life when the mission is announced but that's another thesis in itself).

He meets you. (Maybe at the Hard Deck or on base, idk) You sneak in under his defences until it's too late and you're all over his heart and I think he panics when he realizes he loves you. He's never loved anyone like this before and I think he tries to rapidly destroy everything around y'all so you know how bad of an idea it actually is to love him. (It's not but generational trauma sucks). The fear of settling catches up to him again bc "no deal, the 1950s shit the want from me." He just wants to stay in the "lavender haze" y'all have created. Drown in all the endorphins you're flooding his senses with. This space where he felt like he could start letting Jake through and let you see through the shell he wore but it wasn't so serious he felt "trapped."

He doesn't expect you to stay. To be persistent about your love and how you want to meet him in the middle. You don't care for societal expectations. You just want him to be happy and healthy in your life. Even if that means going back to friends. I don't think you'd tolerate him playing with your emotions bc he's insecure but I think you know enough about Jake to know why he's like this. I think you and Javy sit down and talk to him. (He has had issues accepting the unconditional love Javy gives him too).

(I know I'm missing plot points, I apologize)

Idk in the end I think he realizes he can stay in the lavender haze, doesn't have to get married, do the kids thing if he doesn't want to. But he can put down roots, find a home in you. He doesn't want to love and leave you.

(thank you for listening to my Ted talk)

Xo,

Beck 💚

BECK!!!!!!!!!!! i’m so in awe of this masterpiece that you’ve created and i’m absolutely hanging off every word! 🥹🥰

I think during this time Hangman is created as a mask. He plays the mister "love them and leave em," too cool to settle down. He does this rinse and repeat until after the mission. (Actually I feel like he's starting to slow down and re-think a lot of stuff regarding his life when the mission is announced but that's another thesis in itself).

so firstly, this! yes! the mask of hangman being created is absolutely something jake would do to protect himself from harm and i’ve always believed this is how jake is. he’s tough hangman on the outside, but gooey, soft and vulnerable jake on the inside. but the mission thesis is something i’m SO into! he gets incredibly close to his squad and let’s down his guard ever so slightly in the lead up to the mission, that he thinks, “maybe i can let myself love. at least for these guys. because i think i love them.”

He just wants to stay in the "lavender haze" y'all have created. Drown in all the endorphins you're flooding his senses with. This space where he felt like he could start letting Jake through and let you see through the shell he wore but it wasn't so serious he felt "trapped."

THIS RIGHT HERE IS POETRY BECK! 🥺 he found this lavender haze, this sweet spot, this daze, and he felt safe for the first time in his entire life.

I think you and Javy sit down and talk to him. (He has had issues accepting the unconditional love Javy gives him too).

REAL! going back to my first point, i couldn’t agree more with this!

yes, yes, yes! and i’ve always believed that you and jake would never have a traditional relationship, and it would be whatever you find works for you both.

goddddd beck! i’m so incredibly in love with this idea! thank you so, so much for blessing me with your beautiful and wonderful mind and thought! mwah mwah mwah! ilysm! 🥹🥰💗🫶🏼

#💌you’ve got mail #beck-things <33 #💐 these are for you!!#jake hangman seresin #sebs masterlist

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high-warlock-of-brooklyn · 2 years

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It's been a long time since I've started thinking my parents are aromantic. Both of them never had a romantic relationship in their life aside from the arranged marriage. Neither wanted particularly to get married but it was the 90s in conservative families, who thought the rest of the siblings can't get married till the eldest are so decided to marry them off to a family friend's eldest child in the same situation. They've never expressed any romantic attachment to each other or any such past in my presence or any other family member. They've explicitly said how they 'don't get all the love shit on tv', especially how two separate aunt and uncle of mine eloped.

But they love each other. You know how I know?

My mother loves this vegetable that both me and my dad hate. But every winter, like clockwork, he'll bring it so she can cook the dish, and eat it without a single complaint because she loves it. My father is often forgetful, so my mother makes sure all his things are in place, puts the wallet and car keys on a hook right next to the door so he never misplaces them.

My mother has a temper, my father is one of the most patient people I know. I love my mother, but not enough to bear her often unjustified rage. But my father is. Calm, patient, gentle. My father does not always understand me, my emotions, my hurt, and often says things that upset me in the moment. Never intentionally, just, offering me solutions when I really need advice and vice versa and other such things.

My mother, my hotheaded bad-tempered strike-fear-with-three-words mother, explains patiently what he did wrong, how he should have reacted. Pulls me aside and tells me to forgive him, to understand, to let it slide. I've seen my mother break down when my father got sick few years ago. I've seen my father lose his mind when my mother started getting sick with thyroid.

My parents love each other, and I have long suspected not in a romantic way. There have been too many hints to miss, and they're too personal to mention here. But I think they're soulmates, because there is noone else who would fit.

I have never dated. There have been various reasons, most notably would be my reluctance to settle for mediocrity. I'm not easy to love. I have baggage. I have trauma. I'm a neurodivergent who needs a lot of allowances when it comes to a relationship. I'll forget important dates, I'll react impulsively. But I will not accept someone's tolerance just because. I will put in the work and try my bestest, and in return I will have love and acceptance, and love and acceptance only. If not, I have myself. And I am enough.

I think a lot of it generated from the fact that my parents are not romantic soulmates. It's a hard truth to accept for some people, I personally don't relate. You see for me, love is not the gooey stuff you see people talking about. Love is belonging. Love is turning off the ac in the middle of summer heat because the other one is fresh out of a shower and catches cold easily. Love is keeping their bookshelves stocked up because they love to read. Love is doing their share of chores before they wake up because their knee pain got bad but they'd never say it out loud.

My parents caused me a lot of bad days, to be frank. And I'm still learning to forgive them for that. But I'll forever be grateful to them for giving me this clarity about love, so if I ever choose to pursue it, I'll know who to let in and who to keep away.

#jace.txt #it's been a weird day #just ignore this

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neptune-midheaven · 3 years

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💓 Astro Notes PT 3 ! 💓

+I’m definitelyy gonna do sign posts soon, like houses, planets, asteroids, and all, it’s all gonna have a theme to each topic yada yada yadaa, so look outtt+

>A bit of a long post here so have fun scrolling through it hehe :))

*All aries risings have sign/house synchronization because the house order doesn’t move or if it does move at all it hardly does, only shifting by a sign or two depending on how late the ascendant degree is, this is notorious of aries’ independence streak by wanting each sign to be in their native houses, to feel its house’s full power, aries rules 1st the house of identity so there’s the more symbolic way for this occurring. It’s pure energy here.

*Venus-saturn, especially conjunction, definitely carry a big daddy vibe. It’s more prominent if the two are placed in the angular houses.

*Taurus and libra are both rules by venus, but these energies are distributed between the two signs in different ways. A basic way to differ the two energy wise is taurus is the “masculine” side of venus, libra is far more “feminine”. Both are delicate but in different ways taurus is “heavier”, for it being an earth sign, contrasted with the airy and flighty libra.

*Libra sun is in fall in astrology, the fall meaning the behavior of the sign contradicts the traditional role of the planet, the role of the sun is to stand out from everyone else, its your radiance, what makes you special, it’s your ego and what you take pride in. But libra wants to be relatable to everyone, to NOT stand out, merge and meet and balance !! This is the opposite of aries, aries is independent, “what makes ME independent, me me me !!”, explaining its exaltation when the sun enters this sign, it’s not absolutely the same as leo sun or the suns energy overall but it’s a close fit, almost... perfect, that’s what the exaltation means represents here. Libra is focused on everyone else around them, everyone other than themselves, the people around them and how they can compromise to fit everyone’s needs. I mentioned before they don’t like to stand out, this is excluding fire placements in a libras chart which will create a person who relates well to others but still demands to stand out in whatever planet is in a fire sign.

*Whatever house leo is ruling is wherever your rising sign’s ego is being expressed in, ex: leo in 11th expresses their ego, creativity with friends, causes. This area of life is where you’ll likely take most pride in, excluding the suns placement in the chart.

*Neptune in 7th can attract a lot of partners in need of healing or help. This person is very healing and guiding in relationships, maybe they could even make a good guidance counselor, but I’m not so sure astrologically because I haven’t looked into it entirely, let me know if this is true.

*Neptune in 2nd is the type of person to browse a shop, find whatever they like but never end up buying it, they change their minds about it by putting it back right before they leave. They could’ve been talking about hooow much they want to get whatever they’re holding onto over and over again but never buy the thinggg.

*Aries mercury were always told to lower their voice or be quiet as kids I swear.

*Uranus in 12th feels they should hide their brilliance, these are veryy creative people they just keep it a secret.

*12th house feels like a never ending game of hide and seek, you find the planet sometimes but you’re always in a never ending loop, always searching for it.

*The moon in astrology, when looking into the mother, who’s ruled by the moon in astrology, describes your relationship with her, what she’s like, how she raised you etc...

*Ex: taurus moons, your mother gave you many gifts, she adored youu as taurus is ruled venus which rules gifts and appreciation, she was also very relaxed in your childhood, she still is now. This relationship is a very calm, steady one, moon is exalted in taurus meaning the role of the moon is comfortable in relaxed and comfy taurus.

*Ex: a moon in 8th, the house of intense and psychic scorpio, could have a psychic or even telepathic bond to the mother, this is a very strong connection overall and depending on its sign and aspects is where you’ll find the specifics of the relationship from, the details, how the relationship is flavored.

*Sun in 12th indicates an absent father figure. This placement is difficult, i’m so sorry if you have it because you can never feel like you can be yourself, it’s hidden from you. With any other placement in astrology, there’s a gorgeous, forgiving upside to it, you’re very healing and understanding of others, an empath or at least someone who sucks in the negative vibes out the environment, it can get quite exhausting !! so always need to seclude yourself now and then, you’re very loyal and caring of your loved ones, people love you for your sensitivity and empathy as this placement also makes you an old soul, someone overflowing with wisdom others rely on.

*5th house shows you what your child will be like, what traits they embody, what they will do and even how they act.

*Capricorn risings look elvish, they have high cheekbones a lot like a LOTR character and elvish, chiseled ears. It’s not OUT there but it’s subtle.

*Chiron in 9th has experienced religious trauma.

*A lot of 12th or 8th house placements carry a lot of karma.

*Mercury-pluto (especially negative) can become inconsiderate in arguments, they bring up a ton of shit to use against you, only as long as they can win.

*Scorpio suns are far more optimistic and light hearted than the moon sign.

*Mercury-ascendant aspects can make even an introverted rising sign more out-going, open, talkative (not that introverted risings can’t be talkative this is just what comes with this placement).

*You may be good at something without realizing it, take a peak at your 12th house or quintiles !! For quintiles, look up the trine form of whatever two planets are aspected for the general description since there’s not too much to find online sadly. 12th house is something you don’t really know or realize you’re good at, especially early in life, the secret talent pertaining to whichever sign or planet are ruling/in this house.

*Leo venus take pride in their loverss like damnnnn they literally treat their partners as royalty, king and queen, kissing the ground they walk on and everything, they’re so devoted in love, it’s adorable !! <33

*Pisces and leo moons, THE dreamiest, most romantic moon sign pairr, it’s well known pisces is the hopeless romantic of the zodiac, however to bring up the flamboyant, dramatic leo moon when describing a dreamy romantic you wonder, really ?? Yes this is extremely true ! Both signs, pisces and leo, are fairly alike, almost alike in fact, considering they both create a inconjunction in the natal chart, two signs who share some similarities while still contradicting one another in ways they express these similarities, both pisces and leo are creative, talented, have a love for the arts, film, music, loyal as friends and love to care for others, both are insanely idealistic. Leo rules the child remember !! so they’re a childlike sign with young idealism, an idealistic moon sign here. Both leo and pisces moons are children at heart, they’re so gooey and sweet.

*Sun in 10th can get any job they apply for, they could even be terrible at that job they want, the one they want to try out for, they would even have a breakdown over how terrible they were in an interview but still get the job like HOWW- WITCHCRAFTT.

*Aquarius mercuries were known as the smartest kid in class, the einstein’s of the class, everyone asked for their answers for the homework, they just carry this flair of intellectual superiority just like the sun sign haha.

*Your 12th house is what you unconsciously give off the vibe of, your ascendant and midheaven are noticeable layers, different types of layers of you !!but the subtle layers of the 12th house, sign or planet, can always be sensed unconsciously, 12th house energies are at a higher octave, a higher vibration than the other houses, even 11th, you can notice a person’s subtle 12th house energy but they’re still completely unaware of it as it’s ! hidden ! from them.

*Aquarius venus, and really all air venuses in general, are soo stereotyped UGHH, what I mean by stereotyped is the descriptions of each of these venus signs is literally like the same shit over and overrr again, they all get terrible reps in the astro community it seems almost close minded because it’s also such a hugee generalization. It’s only about how the air venus energy is used, manifested in the person, if its underdeveloped or not. If it’s underdeveloped it’s going to be chaotically afloat from material love affairs, which earth venuses don’ttt like, water too, fire can handle the floaty-ness but if the passion’s not there- BYE !! If you develop an air venus well enough, you can balance the material and intellectual realms in your relationships, this is kinda natural for earth heavy charts with one the air signs here, however fire or even more air could become a little tricky to ground yourself in relationships. Just let your partners know you deserve your space because you guys can really run out of mental power after a while, so it’s necessary for you to recharge !! just don’t ghost people completely when you do, it’s where this immortal stereotype comes from.

*Saturn dominant people are flawless beings.

*Saturn in 3rd, YOU GUYS ARE SOOOSOO SOOO SMART AHH. Their minds are always running at a fast pace like literal lightning, or they become too overwhelming (not in a bad sense ofcc, it’s just how it is) that the person’s speech rhythm is kinda forgotten about in a way, it feels like that their mouths aren’t always running in sync. The thought they’re going to express into words should come out but it’s so quick or even “heavy” it jumbles up a sentence or it causes the person to mix up a word or two. Their minds are fast fast fastt but they feel like their mouths are running in literal slow motion. There’s nothing wrong with this, this placement makes amazingly smart peoplee. Just relax, try letting yourself go in conversation, let all that big, brain energy freee !!

*Alsoo, as singers they would and definitely ALWAYSS get their notes right, they have actual PERFECT voices, they really should become writers or, like I said, singing would be perfect for them because they would never mess up lmaoo.

*Libra, computerized concern and sympathy...

*Pluto in 8th feel unbeatable, indestructible almost, they have above average regenerative abilities, they have the best survival tactics but they keep it a secret, it’s 8th house we’re talking about.

*Whatever saturn is in is the area where you’ll become flawless in, you’ll master that area throughout your life with time.

*There is a guiding planet in astrology, the planet that is closest behind the sun, it’s considered your “second” chart ruler, or basically has the energy of it because you can probably relate to it being one of the most prominent energies in your chart.

*Sagittarius//9th house mercury is soooo blunt, so blunt. Wait did I mention they’re SOOO SO BLUNT.

*Moon in 5th need to perform, they love to get out on stage and perform with their entire hearts, they’ll do amazing in the performing arts, theatre, and honestly they probably already aree. These people are so playful and generally so fun to be around, they’re natural hypemen as well !!

*Taurus venus love to be appreciated by their partners, the gifts, the kisses, the food and allll.

*Neptune in 3rd feel everything in their environment, they can sift through the energies and vibes, it’s second nature, no not second nature, FIRST nature, they’re one with everything around them. Their minds are like a hazy, cloudy ocean containing every drop, every thought of a place, a person.

*Moon in 11th, and 10th too, have a special ability to understand and sympathize with the public, they always know what the public wants and even how to give it to them. This can easily get them famous since they’re extremely understanding people, especially if moon is healthy in the chart.

*Someone with a lot of capricorn/10th house or aquarius/11th house energy is very extroverted, they enjoy socializing with others but suffer from social burn outs often, they often need to recharge.

*Scorpio risings have intense voices, like their tone radiates throughout your head and it can feel intense overall, even when they’re speaking casually. The specific flavor or tone doesn’t matter but how it sounds overall is piercing.

*In astrology, libra rising starts the house cusps with each houses sister signs ruling each cusps ex: pisces rules 6th house, the house of virgo in astrology. Symbolically, libra wants to balance out the houses by blending the energies with the sister signs together, by with what is (house number) and how it’s done (sign on each house cusp), for balanceee !!

*Moon conjunction uranus TRANSITSS can cause literal earthquakes on earth, shocking news or something shocking or groundbreaking will happen that day either around the world and in personal, daily life. Ex: this transit happened on halloween during the blue moon, so basically no one ever trick or treats in my neighborhood, like barely anyone comes out i mean, it’s always 5 houses apart where people typically hand out candy, some people are just hanging out, we always run out of houses to go to since it’s not very active, but this year EVERYONE was out trick or treating it was so crazy to see so many people out, it was quite literally shocking because that actually never happens also there’s a whole pandemic going on too lmaooo.

#astrologyobservations #astro notes #astrology

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shadowspice119 · 3 years

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How about one with the guys and a reader who’s normally very talkative but one day stops talking because of the trauma of being told she talks too much growing up?

Dante

Dante is also very talkative -you are both two peas in a pod- so he becomes confused when you suddenly go silent. Did he do something to upset you? Did he say something that you didn't like?

At first he'll try to ease you back into talking again with jokes or talking about something you like. And if that fails he will become serious and ask you to tell him what's wrong so he can help make you feel better.

When you eventually do tell him the reason for the sudden silence he'll just pull you to him and plant kisses on you're face between praises of how much he likes hearing your voice.

He loves your voice -just hearing it makes him feel gooey inside.

Vergil

You going more silent than him immediately lets him know that something is wrong.

Will not hesitate to confront you about it. He wants to know what upset you so he can fix it and see that happy smile on your face again.

When you tell him why you've gone silent so suddenly he is boiling on the inside -not at you, but at anyone who has hurt you with such foolish words.

He'll easily make you feel better by comparing your voice to the most amazingly-beautiful literature ever created.

Vergil knows that he's not very talkative himself, so you talking enough for the both of you makes him very content.

Nero

Instantly worried about you and drops anything he is doing at that moment to ask you what's wrong.

This sweetheart of a man will grasp your hand in his and purr softly to ease you into telling him what has got you so quiet.

Will be pissed off at whoever made you think that you talk too much -his inner devil practically roaring on the inside.

He'll be quick to reassure you that he loves to hear you talk -it makes him happy when you're happy. 'Forget those damn idiots. Talk as much as you want, I fucking love it.'

#dmc headcanons #vergil x reader #dante x reader #nero x reader

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flightfoot · 3 years

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Forgetting Enemies, Rediscovering Friends - Ch. 1

AO3

Thanks to @khanofallorcs for betaing! Set in @buggachat Bakery Enemies AU, before the wine arc.

The morning had started off fine. Marinette had been working on a new design to showcase her talents. A black dress with green trim—great for any occasion.

(Only the most keen-eyed observers would find the small paw print embroidered on the inside of one of the sleeves)

Adrien was hard at work in the kitchen, as usual. Probably plotting how best to steal the Miracle Box, or make her meet the same fate as his mother or—or some other nefarious end. Yes. He must be. No one could be THAT nice, not after everything he went through. It had to be fake.

*beep beep*

Marinette blinked. Her stomach twisted. “The Akuma Alert app? But it can’t be- unless-”

A video popped up, showing the new threat.

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news! Past Pirate has made the trip from the U.S. all the way to our fair city of Paris. With Ladybug and Chat Noir still missing, we can only hope that other superheroes arrive soon, before everyone in the city forgets who they are.”

Ah.

Not an akuma or sentimonster, then. Just a random supervillain that thought the absence of Miraculous wielders made Paris an easy target.

Somehow that didn’t make her feel better. At least if it was a sentimonster, she might’ve been able to catch Adrien in the act, prove that he was evil, and recover the lost Miraculous. This- this she could do nothing about.

She was useless.

*beep beep*

A text warning popped up, issuing an evacuation order. A giant orb had been spotted near Collège Françoise Dupont, one that looked very, very similar to the one Oblivio had threatened the city with, all those years ago.

Marinette suspected it served the same function.

She needed to get out of there, NOW.

Her parents were out at dinner on the other side of the city, so hopefully they’d be safe?

The only ones here were her and-

Oooooh crap.

Her and ADRIEN.

...He’d be fine on his own. Right? He got to work every morning after all. He could evacuate on his own.

But his apartment had to be close by, close enough that it’d be in the evacuation order, too. He’d have to go to some public place for cover.

During a supervillain attack.

With a lot of people scared and worried and having flashbacks to what his father did.

...and with him having one of the most recognizable faces in Paris.

Crap.

She was gonna have to take him with her, wasn’t she?

She hurried downstairs. Adrien was already putting on his coat, getting ready to run out the door.

“Wait!”

He froze. An instant later, he turned around. “Marinette? You’ve gotta get out of here, the supervillain-”

She nodded. “I know, come with me.”

He blinked. “Are— are you sure? You don’t need to put up with me just because we’re both heading out, I can go a different direction if it’s more comfortable for you.” His voice dropped. “I know you probably have some trauma associated with what my father did and this situation isn’t helping.”

Why did Adrien have to be so unfailingly nice?!

Marinette shook her head. “My parents would be devastated if something happened to you and I- I don’t want you hurt, either,” she got out in a rush. “I don’t want you out there alone.”

Adrien stared at her, startled. His eyes softened. “Thank you, Marinette.”

Her face heated up. “Po Noblem!” She shook her head. “I—I mean, no problem! Anyone would do it.”

He shook his head. She didn’t have time to think about that before she grabbed his hand, running out the door.

And into a purple beam blast.

-------

Blinking rapidly, he looked around.

He appeared to be on a street… somewhere and—

A purple blast hit a few feet away from his head.

Right. Get out of here first, figure out what was going on second. Maybe he’d find someone else someplace AWAY from the scary light blasts.

He attempted to run down the street and away from whatever the purple blast thing was.

“WAAAAH!”

Attempt at running: failed. Attempt at finding someone else: success!

He winced. “Sorry I dragged you down. Didn’t realize I was holding your hand.”

The girl nodded, eyes wide, still on top of him where she landed. “What’s going on? Who are you?” Her breath caught. “Who am I?”

“I… have no idea.” He admitted. “I don’t remember anything before a minute ago.”

Another purple blast fired. He flinched. “I don’t think sticking around here is a good idea. Let’s get somewhere a little safer first, THEN try to figure out who we are.”

She nodded, getting up and pulling him to his feet. She didn’t let go of his hand. “This way?” she asked, pointing away from where the blast had fired from, down the street the direction he’d tried to run.

He nodded.

They booked it, running in unison, automatically adjusting their gait to exactly match their companion’s.

After they’d gotten some distance away, they slowed down, huffing and puffing from the exertion.

“You think that’s far enough?” the girl asked.

He shrugged.

She started digging through her purse. He blinked, tilting his head. “What’re you looking for?”

She didn’t look up, sticking her tongue out the side of her teeth, appearing to concentrate even harder.

It was adorable.

Huh?

Well, he HAD been holding her hand when he woke up…

“This!” she said triumphantly, holding up her ID card.

He shelved his previous line of thought. For now, at least.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Nice to run into you, Marinette!”

She giggled. “I enjoyed falling for you too, uh…”

His face heated up. “Let me check.”

After looking through a few of his coat pockets (one of which held some cheese. Did he normally like the gooey food that much? It didn’t look that appetizing to him right now) he at last located his own ID. “Adrien Agreste.”

“You have anything else that’s useful?” Marinette asked.

“Let’s see…”

After emptying out his pockets, he concluded he had his phone, ID, that piece of Camembert, a debit and credit card, and 70 Euros.

“Well, at least we’re not memoryless AND broke,” Marinette commented.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Well…”

She proceeded to pull out several cookies, a sewing kit, a first aid kit, duct tape, an umbrella, a few items that he felt he should recognize that Marinette hastily stuck back in her purse, saying they weren’t relevant to this situation, and a small black box with an intricate red design on the top, as well as her phone and wallet.

Adrien looked critically at the mass of items. “I don’t think all that should be able to fit in that tiny purse.”

Marinette looked at the objects she had pulled out. Then looked at her purse. Her brow furrowed. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Especially that umbrella. Doesn’t matter how I put that in, it shouldn’t fit. Plus that box- that wasn’t there when I first started rooting through my purse, I’m sure of it!”

He tilted his head. “It wasn’t?”

“I’d shoved everything around a few times,” she explained, “trying to see to the bottom of it. The first few times I didn’t see it, though there WAS some black fabric in the way - that was the umbrella - and once I pulled the umbrella up, well, there it was, lying beneath it.”

“Anything inside it?”

Marinette opened it.

“Nothing,” she said, disappointed. “Just two indentations where something used to be.”

Adrien peered at Marinette. “Maybe it’s the casing for your earrings?”

She startled. “My earrings?”

Reaching up a hand, she felt her ears. “Maybe? Let me see.”

Taking them off, she set them in the box. They fit perfectly.

They also looked different.

“Spotted earrings?” he wondered. “They didn’t look like that before.”

Marinette blinked. “They didn’t?”

He shook his head. “They were black before, not red with black spots.”

“Maybe the lighting just made them look weird?”

“Maybe…”

He looked more critically at Marinette’s ears. “Wait. Something’s weird here, too.”

“Here?”

“With your ears.”

“What’s wrong with my ears?!” she said, sounding on the edge of panic.

“Feel where the earrings were, where you took them out of.”

She shot him a puzzled look, but complied, feeling her lobe, then her entire ear. “Where were they?” she wondered. “I can’t find the holes.”

“Exactly. I can’t see them either.”

“Hold on, let me try something,” she said.

Picking up the earrings, she put them back. “Oh that is WEIRD.”

“How’d you do that?” Adrien asked. He still hadn’t seen the holes she was using, not until the earrings were in again.

“I just let my muscle memory do the talking. I wasn’t threading them through a hole or anything, I just stuck them where I felt like they should go and then— then they were there.”

“They’re back to looking black, too,” Adrien said, squinting.

“Wonder whether your earrings are the same?” Marinette said, looking at him - or rather, at his ears.

Adrien felt his ears, his fingers hitting metal. “Huh. Didn’t know I was wearing them, too. Let’s give it a try.”

He wasn’t quite as fast at removing them as she was, needing a moment to unhook and align them so they’d slide out smoothly. He held them out to her. “Did their look change?”

She shook her head. “No, they still look the same.” Looking closer at his ears, she noted, “I can see the holes left behind, too. I don’t think your earrings have the same weird properties as mine.”

“A purse that can hold more than it should, earrings that change color and leave no mark— maybe it’s magic?” Adrien wondered.

Marinette opened her mouth, looking somewhat indignant - then closed it. “I… can’t come up with a better explanation. Don’t know why I’d have some magical objects, though.”

“Maybe you’re a witch?”

“Do those even exist?”

“No idea.”

“It doesn’t feel like the right term. These are just magical objects, right?” she said. “I might not have any magical powers myself.”

“You think anything else has magical properties?” he asked.

“Let’s see…”

After messing about with the duct tape, wallet, and umbrella for awhile, they concluded that, if they had magic, they were keeping it well-concealed. Unless “closing unexpectedly” was the umbrella’s magical power.

“Any of your things secretly magic?” she asked him. “We checked your earrings, but what about everything else?”

He tried stuffing things into his coat pockets, but they only held as much as one would expect them to. The wallets didn’t have anything special, and the only thing ‘magical’ about the cheese was how much it stank outside of its plastic baggie.

As he was putting it back in the bag (trying not to gag), he glanced at his hand, noticing a silver ring.

Figuring he might as well, he slid it off.

Light ran over it, turning it from silver to black, with a green pawprint on its face.

“You have one, too!” Marinette cried happily.

He nodded, feeling a warmth in his core. Whatever was going on, he was the same as her. “Guess I’ve got magic, too.”

“Think they do anything except change color?” Marinette asked.

Adrien shook the ring for a minute. “If it does, I have no idea how to activate it,” he concluded.

“Let’s move onto our phones, then,” Marinette said, turning hers on. A lockscreen popped up.

She hesitated for a moment as Adrien winced. “That suc-”

Marinette smiled deviously. “Not so fast.” She breathed on it, showing the most common pathways her finger traveled. Swiftly she followed the path, unlocking her phone.

Adrien’s heart went pitter-patter. “Brilliant!” he told her, copying her idea and unlocking his own phone.

“I don’t have a lot of contacts,” he told her, turning it to face her. “Only four people.”

G, Chloé Bourgeois, Sabine Cheng, and Tom Dupain. That was it. “You’re not even in here,” he told Marinette. “Though I’m guessing Sabine and Tom are your parents, at least?”

She scrolled through her own contact list. It was far more extensive than his, easily over a hundred contacts. “Yeah, they are,” she said, comparing the picture for ‘Maman’ with the one Adrien used for Sabine, and the one she used for ‘Papa’ to the one he used for Tom.

“Maybe we should call them?” he suggested. “Especially since they know both of us. Maybe they can help!”

She nodded, clicking on the Call button for Maman.

“Hello?” she asked, sounding nervous.

“Marinette? Are you okay? Is Adrien with you? I hadn’t checked my phone until just now, I had it on silent. You’ve evacuated from the bakery, right? Without Ladybug around to fix everything, who knows when everyone hit by Past Pirate will recover their memories!”

“I’m— well I’m mostly fine, Maman, I got away from the purple blasts. I’m guessing those were from Past Pirate? Adrien and I lost our memories, though. What should we do?”

“Oh. Oh NO.” Sabine sounded horrified. “That’s very, very dangerous, especially for Adrien.”

“Why is it dangerous for me?” he asked.

“Oh, Adrien! Glad to hear from you,” Sabine said, relieved. She hesitated, appearing to choose her words carefully. “Your father—he did some very bad things. Things that people blame you for, despite having no part in them. You’re very recognizable, too. If people see you, they could react badly.”

“People blame Adrien for what his father did? That’s terrible! Why would they do that?” Marinette said, flabbergasted.

Sabine suddenly sounded very awkward. “Well, dear, sometimes people have trauma and it just latches onto innocent people, even when it’s undeserved. They’re wrong, but I wouldn’t judge them too harshly.”

Marinette still looked indignant. “That doesn’t excuse treating him badly!”

Sabine coughed. “Yes. Well. Just be careful. Maybe try to find a disguise for Adrien if you can, before wandering into public areas? Until you’re back home and this crisis is abated.”

Marinette muttered quietly, “He shouldn’t HAVE to.” More loudly, she told Sabine. “Yes, Maman. I have everything I need for that.”

Adrien could practically feel Sabine beaming through the phone. “You’re always prepared, aren’t you?”

Marinette smiled. “Hopefully I’ll see you soon, with my memory intact.”

Stowing her phone, she reached for her sewing kit. “One disguise, coming right up!”

#forgetting enemies rediscovering friends #bakery enemies au #ml fanfic #Miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette

61 notes · View notes

imonthinice · 3 years

Text

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 13/?

Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: Part 13? The unlucky part??? I’m evil

Y/N - Your name, A/N - Any name ( your best friend’s name).

I don’t know when this will be posted because time is dumb! But I do think I’ll have something prepared for Jason’s birthday<3

Hope you’re all well!

Warnings: Swearing, Eludes to sex, Mentions of injuries, Mentions of underage drug use (Do Not Condone), Mentions of sexual assault, Eludes to trauma, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

The next morning, Jason and Y/N would wake up in the same bed. Y/N would get up and stumble her way into his ensuite, trying not to wake him as he was still injured. It had been 4 days since his injury, and he was hoping that the next day he’d get his stitches removed. She would grab the clothes she wore the day before and walk into the ensuite.

She would fumble with her makeup a bit, realizing it had run slightly from the night before. Before just realizing it would be a lot easier if she took it all off. She wasn’t wearing heavy makeup, but it was just enough to hide what she thought were imperfections.

She wasn’t wearing anything, so she just threw on all of her other clothes and threw her hair up.

When she exited the ensuite, he was still sleeping in the bed, but his clothes were strewn across the room. She paused her thoughts to clean up his clothes and put them in his laundry basket.

She touched her nose to test if it was still warm and painful, which brought all the pain to the forefront, and it was still warm to the touch, she knew it was inflamed from the head-butting incident and looking in the mirror.

She didn’t think it would hurt this much, and she winced at the pain.

Jason would start groaning in his sleep, she assumed it was because they didn’t close the blackout curtains before they had their fun the night before. So she went to go close them when he went and grabbed her thigh, she laughed quietly.

“Good morning, Jason,” she said as she closed the curtains before leaning down to see his face, and what was obvious bedhead.

“Hi,” he whispered before pulling her back into his bed.

She laughed, “Sorry, baby. I had to get up and get dressed.”

“Lame,” he whispered and curled into her.

“Jay, you’re naked,” she said.

“Thank you Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh shut it, you should get dressed,” she suggested.

“Yeah, I should,” he said as he left the bed, crawling over her and going to his dresser, thank God he didn’t have any IVs and blood bags anymore, so he could walk without having to drag those around anymore.

She didn’t stare at him, because he nose started pounding and she whimpered.

“You alright, Y/N?” Jason asked her.

“Yeah sorry, my nose is killing me.”

“Well that’s what happens when you head-butt someone.”

She laughed, “I’m sorry okay, I panicked.”

“That part’s obvious.”

“You could pretend to care that I’m hurt, Jay,” she joked.

He laughed as he put on his boxers and his pants, “I could, but I also think you were being reckless, I worry,” he searched for a shirt, “I worry that us being together is putting you in danger,” he said as he found a shirt.

“Well, I like the danger, if there is any.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a danger,” he put on his shirt and fumbled with his hair, “It’s obviously because you’re attached to Bruce, you heard that man ‘I wonder what Bruce will give me for you’ he knew we had money. You need your car back.”

“I can’t afford the fees,” she sighed.

“Bruce can pay them, you know.”

“God no, I would feel so bad, I’ll just take the subway or something.”

He sighed and went back to her, cupping her face, “Please let my dad pay the fees, it’s dangerous out there,” he leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, “I can’t stand that you got hurt linked to your shenanigans with me,” he kissed her.

“I guess it’s me being protective,” he said, “But I think it’s a reasonable thing to be concerned about, Y/N.”

“I’ll figure it out, I swear.”

“You figuring this out involved you head-butting your attacker, I get it was quick thinking, but my god woman, that was dangerous,” he said.

“You literally got stabbed protecting your best friend,” she argued.

“Okay, good point, but I’m prettier than you so I win,” he joked.

“What kind of fucking logic is that you bastard!” she joked.

“The kind of star-crossed lovers or something, I don’t know, I don’t write, you do.”

“I’ll sell our story to Warner Brothers, we’ll make millions off of us.”

“Two lovers, harassed by the press in the media, spend most of their time hiding and protecting themselves from the disgusting eyes of the media and the man who attacked one of them,” he said in a news broadcaster voice, “Amazing, isn’t it?” he joked.

“The kind of story Artemis said Dick would eat up.”

“Oh, he would. Man’s a sucker for a romantic story.”

“Well, maybe he can sell his and Barbara’s romantic story to the Warner Brothers, he’d probably make millions too, if it’s worth anything.”

“Well, they’ve known each other for years, and when they finally started dating, myself, Steph, Cass, Tim and Damien all celebrated to an extent, we all saw it coming from all those years of them knowing each other,” he paused, “They actually fought a lot when they were younger before they dated, it would be normal to hear Dick and Barbs going at it about how they hated each other.”

“That’s such a meet-cute stone-cold-woman meets goofy guy story that I hate it.”

He laughed, “They’re so gooey, it’s so cute that I want to vomit.”

“That’s valid. We should be cuter so that they want to vomit.”

“I like your thinking, Y/N.”

“You always do, I have good ideas, Jason.”

“Only sometimes.”

She laughed. It was true, someone with always good ideas wouldn’t have head-butted her attacker, but it’s not like she carried knives or guns around to defend herself. She was considering getting a conceal-carry permit, just because she truly was shaken up by the event.

But a little trauma makes for good stories, and her story with Jason was just starting.

--------------------------------------

Dick decided he’d drive her to her class that day, she didn’t think it mattered that much, her attack, but she realized that a lot of them didn’t want to see her hurt, even if they barely knew her.

She figured it was a kindness that they all possessed. She heard stories of the Waynes paying off waitress’/waiters’ student debts. She heard stories of the Waynes being polite to their ‘lower’ counterparts of the world. She knew they wer kind people, so she wasn’t shocked when Dick insisted he drive her to her class.

“So, Y/N, what are your intentions with my brother?” Dick joked.

“Oh no, not this, I haven’t prepared my answerers for this exam,” she retorted.

“No, its a pop quiz, you have no chance to prepare.”

“Fuck. Can I drop out of this class?”

“How would you even accomplish that?”

“Tuck and roll out of the car, probably,” she joked.

“You ever done that before?”

“Nope, you?”

“Did it on a dare, Jase dared me.”

“And he calls me reckless,” she laughed.

“Well, we were still in high school at the time, we’re supposed to be reckless,” Dick said.

“You ever met a college kid? We’re supposed to be reckless too.”

“He’ll get over it in time, Y/N. I promise. He just needs time to accept that you’re going to be as reckless and opinionated as he is, no one really refuses each other like you two do, and I’m sure you don’t mean it to be like that.”

“I think you’re reading too far into it, Dick, we make compromises.”

“Then why is your car still an issue? Bruce can cover the cost no questions asked.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Maybe it’s something to think about.”

“Are you always this brotherly? I need to know what I’m getting into here.”

He laughed, “You really do keep out of the press, don’t you?”

She took that as a yes, he is that brotherly and would continue to be. She didn’t mind, she never had a brother growing up so this would take some time to get used to, but she did not mind at all. She just figured she’d have to keep her partying ways even further down in the depths of her secrets.

They didn’t need to know what she did and what was done to her, she even ignored those problems herself. If they came out, then so be it, but if she could keep them hidden, she would.

“What were you like back in high school?” Dick asked, trying to fill the silence.

“Probably not the type of person that your dad would want Jason to be with,” she admitted.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Honestly? I don’t want to talk about it. You’d probably have to get me hammered to talk to you about it.”

“Well, maybe one day you’ll go to a gala. And after you’re wasted, I’ll ask you about it.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“I’m sure you will, Dick. I’m sure you will.”

“Well, we’re here,” he said, “You have my number right?”

“I do, I do.”

“Good, call me if you need me to come get you and take you home, or to the Manor. Either or, no questions asked,” he laughed, “I expect the same when you have your car back, to be fair.”

“Consider it a deal, thanks Dick.”

“Anytime, really.”

She closed the door and waved him off, but when he pulled out of the lot, the press was at Y/N’s ass. She ran though, she ran far to get out of there.

Class was the usual. She wrote her normal psychology notes, sitting in her class, concentrating as she scribbled down the notes that she struggled to read.

When she was done and getting read to call Dick to come get her, her old friends from Metropolis showed up at her school.

“Hey! Y/N!” Christopher yelled when he saw her leave her class.

“Oh my god?” she said before running to hug him, “What the fuck are you doing here, dude?” she questioned, before looking at the rest of the car and seeing Justine, Kaitlin and Thomas, “What the fuck are all of you doing here?”

“C’mon party girl, we’re taking you to your pale, you get dressed, and we’re going out,” Justine urged Y/N to join them, “Just like old times, man.”

“Yeah! We haven’t partied in weeks since you got your scholarship! We know you’re busy and trying to discipline yourself, but we can go party every once in a while, girl!” Kaitlin added.

“You know we miss you too,” Thomas finished.

“Alright, I need no more convincing, let’s get going,” she said as she hopped into the car and they went going to her house. She thought on the drive there, What if I fall back into old habits, and I’m doing so well, what if I fall off?

She couldn’t have more thoughts because before she knew it, she was in her house sending Jason a quick text,

Hey baby, I can’t come over tonight. Old friends came by.

Oh. I hope you have fun, I’ll probably be with my brothers. how did you even get home?

They drove me. I promise I’ll be over tomorrow and you’ll have me all day and night long, though.

That. That is exciting.

It should be.

She got dressed.

And she sent Jason a photo of what she was wearing (like the picture above) just to get him going. Before running out of her place and hopping back into the car.

“You always dress to impress, don’t you?” Thomas asked.

“I dress like I know what I’m doing,” Y/N joked.

“Never change, Y/N, never change,” Justine joked back.

------------------------

She walked into the club she frequented back when she was in high school, but the Gotham one. She had a fake ID, and she used it well and was in the club before the rest of her group knew it.

Justine would grab her hand and take her to the bar, Fuck, she thought, Here we go. And they ordered drinks.

The rest of the night was a blur of people, drinks and her friends.

She knew she overdid it from the minute she woke up, in her bed, feeling around for her phone in her messed up and torn up sheets. Het body was covered in bruises, she noticed between harsh blinks from the pouding headache she was nursing. She remembered why she didn’t party as hard anymore. She didn’t even know how she got home that night. She found her phone and turned it on, 8:00am it read. She checked her messages, adn there was Jason, at 7:00am he said;

Are you awake yet?

To which, she replied: I am, why?

How drunk were you last night?

I think blackout. I don’t remember much.

I can tell.

Tell me I didn’t do anything stupid.

You did something stupid.

What did I do?

You called me at 3am and told me you loved me, followed by saying you threw up at one of your friends. I don’t even know how you got home.

Well that’s not that bad.

You told me about your past.

Oh.

When were you going to tell me you’re a recovering alcoholic?

I don’t know.

Come here. Come over. We need to discuss this.

Alright, alright. I’ll be there soon.

Dick will come get you in an hour, actually. Don’t leave the house without him.

I won’t.

She got up and looked at the mirror at herself. She was covered in bruises, her makeup was smudged, her eyes looked sunken in and her hair was a mess. She sighed, knowing she fucked up, and wiped off her makeup and got in the shower. She quickly showered and put on a turtleneck and a pair of jeans.

It was to hide the bruises from Jason. She assumed someone had physically assaulted her, possibly sexually. She only had that thought once before she pushed it very far down and swallowed it. She went to go make coffee, but her head was racing at the ideas of last night and what she said.

She was fucked up and she did fuck up. She knew she shouldn’t have drank. but she did. And she knew Jason was either really pissed or really sympathetic. She was scared at how much she might have discussed when Dick honked his horn and she left the house.

In the car, Dick tried to break the silence, “You should have told someone, anyone. We’re all really good at listening, Y/N.”

She wiped away a few tears that were pooling.

“You didn’t need to hide from us, Y/N.”

“I do.”

“No, Y/N, you don’t. Jason’s probably more mad that you didn’t tell him over you actually being a recovering alcoholic. You called him last night and let it all spill out. Everyone knows, you don't need to hide anymore.”

“Of course I did,” she said, swallowing more tears and her voice breaking.

She wanted her past as an alcoholic to die when she moved out of the city, because she didn’t want everyone to know how broken she was, fighting with addiction. A lot of her anxieties and treatments of people make sense with her past addictions, but that doesn’t mean she liked them.

She hated that girl, the wild party child who almost drank herself to death, her body was just recovering fully from her escapades when she went out clubbing. She knew this was going to be an issue, but she didn’t know how to fix it.

He looked over at her and caught eye at one of her bruises that was peaking over her turtleneck. He tried to not stare, but she noticed.

“Don’t ask about it, Dick. I don’t know what happened.”

“I think you two will get through this.”

“I hope we do, but realistically,” she paused.

“Don’t think like that.”

They pulled into the driveway and the minute Dick unlocked her door, she was out of there, speed walking to the door and then to Jason’s room.

She opened the door to find him reading a book, she would have smiled at this, had she not been certain that they were about to fight.

“Jason?”

“Oh. You’re here.”

“Yeah, I just-”

He cut her off and got up from his bed, looking ever-so disappointed in her as he walked to the door of his room. She expected the fight to take place in the hall, so she tried to step back when he grabbed her forearm with one of his hands and yanked her into his room. She assumed maybe, just maybe his room was soundproof so his family wouldn't have to hear the yelling. He closed the door once she was in and stared at her.

She gulped, expecting him to let loose on the argument now about her drinking and her confessing she was a recovering alcoholic, but instead, he pulled her into a hug, which she yelped at.

“Jason?” she said, shocked.

“Shh,” he broke from the hug and cupped her face, “It’s okay, really.”

“But I hid it from you...”

“You know, we’ve only known each other two weeks or something, right? I get you hiding it, I just wish it didn’t come out like that,” he laughed and kissed her quickly, “Besides-” he noticed the bruise on her neck, “What’s that?” he asked, grabbing her hand and clutching it.

“There’s...”

“There’s more?” he asked.

“What, I mean, uh... uh... no?” she stuttered.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Jason...”

“Or tell me the truth.”

“Baby-”

“So there’s more, who hurt you? Did you fall?” he asked, getting a little bit heated, really squeezing her hand.

“I don’t know.”

He cupped her face, “That’s okay,” he leant his forehead against hers, “It’s okay, I promise, I do. I just really don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t try to,” she said.

“Seems like trouble likes to follow you,” he said.

“Well, you found your way to me so I’d have to agree,” she joked.

“Ha ha. How’s your nose?” he said as he broke contact with her to go sit on his bed, she followed.

“It still hurts, but I can’t tell if that’s from last night or from my shenanigans with the attacker.”

“It could honestly be a combination of both, depending on what happened to you, have you asked your friends for the full story yet?”

“No. I’ve been scared to.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I’m going to. Right now.”

“I support your decision on that,” he said as he turned on the TV in his room, but then Y/N paused.

“Y/N?”

“Reports are in of a group of friends, who all got arrested last night, for bodily harm of a man who attempted to rape their friend, Police say., the suspects in the attack are Christopher Green, Justine Wong, Kaitlin Benoit and Thomas Harthrew. More to be coming soon.”

“Thank god that girl had those friends.”

She turned to Jason, “So,” she paused, “I’m glad you think that, because, those are my friends.”

41 notes · View notes

witchyfrankincense · 3 years

Text

La Méprise (part two)

Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: You start history with Spencer Reid in your university auditorium.

Warnings: angst, gross men, panic attacks, mentions of sexual harassment, reminding of trauma, Criminal Minds season 8 spoilers, anxiety, thoughts about gore/violence; comfort from Spencer<33

❁❁❁❁❁❁

Friday.

The next morning, you woke up feeling enthusiastic. Yesterday's talk with Spencer left you warm-hearted, and the thought of hopefully meeting him again today made you uncontrollably smile first thing in the morning. As usual, you got ready by eating breakfast and washing up, later strolling up to your closet. Again, the thought of meeting Spencer made you want to be even prettier and well-dressed – which is why you decided to go with a patterned black and white dress with sewed on lace lines highlighting your chest. To pair with that, you threw on an oversized black leather jacket and platform boots. You even did a little bit more makeup than usual, casually looking over at the time so you wouldn't end up late.

What was this? Were you trying to impress him?

Why not? And what if you were?

You happily walked out of your rented apartment, humming a song as you felt unusually cheerful. About twenty minutes later, you were already walking through the corridors of the university. However, unsurprisingly to you, anxiety was already simmering in your chest, making you quietly cough it out, smiling to yourself. Someone in front of you widened the gap of the opened door and you squeezed by, your eyes flying up to the seats again.

And, yet, there he was, again.

He didn't look up at you, but as you squinted you noticed his lip corners turn upwards in a smile, and go back down, as if trying to not give himself away. The cover of his held book indicated that he was indulging in a different book than yesterday. 187 IQ, how many books does he read per day?

You began stepping up the stairs, looking down at your shoes as you walked. This time you turned to the aisles earlier than usual, mentally saying sorry for your previous seat. "Hi," you mumbled, dropping your bag on the floor and sitting down. Spencer lifted his head up at you and smiled, putting his book aside and leaning down his bag. "Hi. And, by the way, I found the other two notebooks from this class, so, yeah, you can have them if you want," he softly spoke. His gentle voice and action struck you by surprise and your smile widened. "I cannot thank you enough!" you exclaimed, later leaning against the backrest.

"The Fisher King by Leonore Fleischer," you heard him quietly mutter, making you chuckle and turn your head to him. "Oh, nice. One of my favorites, too," you muttered back, keeping the same tone as him. He smiled wider, nodding.

"So," you continued, pulling away from him and leaning one arm on the back of the seat. "So," Spencer repeated, looking up at you in slight interest. "How many times are you planning on coming to this lecture?" you spoke, pondering. He looked back at the professor. "I, don't know. The atmosphere, it's just so...comforting."

"They just let you come here?"

"Yeah. They know me, so, they do, I guess," he trailed off, mumbling.

Out of nowhere, the ambiance turned tense. As if all the molecules and atoms began flying just a bit slower, making the air viscous. Barely breathable. You subconsciously straightened your back, still not being sure of what this feeling was and where it came from. However, a few moments later, you possibly found out. The seat to your left filled up with human warmth. Not only that, but the smell of cologne, too. Perhaps that was what made the air so stiff.

"Is this seat taken?"

A harsher sounding voice reached your thoughts – uncomfortably sultry. "No," you replied, shifting to your right side. Stealing a look to your left, however, you made somewhat of eye contact with another black-haired man. You realized it was your intuition that made you so weirded out and tense. Instantly leaning on the back of the chair and spreading his legs further, this man let out a chuckle. One that you, as a, so to say, person with a uterus, had heard tons of times before and knew what came with. "My name's Mike," he spoke out, gesturing to you. You nodded with a tight-lipped smile. After a few moments of silence, he reached out again. "What about you?"

"Y/N," you answered. Spencer slightly turned his head to look at your interaction and you caught his eyes meeting Mike's. No words came out either's mouths. Mike's uncomfortable aura spread even more, reaching your chair – as if standing in a gooey puddle. "It's my last year here," the man exclaimed. You nodded again. "Me too." Mike grinned. "Where do you plan on working? I'm sure you have a great plan."

"The FBI," you bounced off, crossing your legs. He smiled again. "Wow. Honorable. You know, you're so pretty. Why choose a career like this?" "It was either this or being a veterinarian," you answered. "Cool, cool. Well, I think you'd be a great vet. Lots of loving pet dads, taking care of their animals and having the pleasure to look at that," he gestured to you, pointing down your dress. You scoffed, feeling something sour bubble at the back of your throat. "I'd surely not choose to be a vet just because there are men who'd like how I look. Thank you," you quietly laughed, coughing.

The air simmered again – this time coming from Mike's side. "It was a compliment." He pointed out, crossing his arms and chuckling. "I know."

A barely audible cough came from Spencer, making you smile to yourself. "Something wrong, dude?" Mike leaned on his forearms against his knees, taking a look at Spencer. Spencer just smiled. "No, I mean, no." "Oh no, yeah, you're just laughing at me 'cause I'm so pathetic, right? Trying to pick a girl up, right? At least I can strike up a conversation with a woman," the man began talking, shifting closer to your chair. You leaned to your right, somewhat seeking comfort from the newly found friend, Spencer.

"I mean, at least I don't approach women in learning or work environments knowing that they are more likely to give me their phone number or agree to meet again as a ruse to get back to their intended mindset," Spencer slowly mumbled, lifting his head from his book to steal a look at Mike. You could barely contain the laughter that bubbled from your stomach, placing your chin on your palm to hide your growing grin. Man, he was good.

Mike seemed to get irritated, however shot Spencer a sly smile and leaned towards you. "Women like me. I never lie about that." As soon as the words left his mouth you felt a weirdly warm object on your knee – looking down you realized that it was Mike's hand, now for some reason calmly sitting on your bare skin. "Take your hands off of me. I will not repeat that." You bit down on your own teeth as hard as you could, viciously turning to the aforementioned man.

"There she is. Y/N. I like this version way better than that shy little angel," Mike laughed out, slightly sliding his palm off your knee.

You breathed in, staring down at the ground, your eyes blinking rapidly a few times. You felt Spencer tense beside you, and before hearing the sound of his shoes on the floor as he grounded himself to stand up, you roughly shoved Mike's hand off your knee, standing up before Spencer could. "Leave. I am fucking telling you, to leave." Not seeing any signs of agreement on the bastard's face, your muscles acted on their own when you lifted your hand up to slap him in the face. Your heart sank as you once again saw aggressive pleasure on his face.

You took a step back, swiftly walking around Mike and turning right towards the exit. As you quickly ran down the stairs, you heard Spencer's voice exclaim something along the lines of him being an FBI agent. As you turned around, for a split second you noticed Spencer holding his FBI badge in Mike's face. However, you just turned back around to face the auditorium door and left the room.

Your cheeks burnt with anger – you raised your cold hands to press them on your cheeks. Racing time, you power-walked through the long corridor, fighting the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

Fuck men. Fuck men. Fuck this.

"Y/N!" you shook, hearing someone shout behind you. You didn't stop walking. "Hey, hey, it's me, Spencer," you heard again, finally recognizing his voice. You slowed your pace, biting your lip angrily.

Great, now you're going to cry in front of a man you met a day ago?

"I'm so sorry," you choked out, stopping next to a wall to try and collect yourself. "No, no, hey. Don't be sorry. Forget him. It's okay," Spencer's voice softened, making you want to cry even more. "Please, please do not say that everything is okay. I'll start crying," you forcibly spoke, wiping your eyes with your palms. You saw Spencer quickly nod. Panic began rising in your chest, restricting your breathing. "Oh, no," you whispered weakly, shoving your face in your hands. "No, no, no. Fuck, sorry, I might have a panic attack, okay. Fuck."

You inhaled, whispering nothings to yourself to calm down, and later exhaling in ragged sighs. Your body was still producing loud, piercing alarms throughout, well, you. "Why am I even panicking if nothing, oh my god, nothing happened," you laughed painfully, continuing to try and breathe.

"Y/N, breathe." Spencer shushed, breathing in and out along with you, trying to slightly calm you down.

You closed your eyes, lightly biting down on your lower lip and hanging your head down. After taking your time with your breathing, you suddenly lifted your head up and struggled to stand. "I'm fine," you exclaimed in a not so convincing tone. Spencer began protesting only for you to turn to him and weakly smile. "I'm really okay. Thank you."

You saw a moment of hesitation on his face before he opened his mouth. "Can I walk you home?" he quietly asked, softly turning to face you. Your heart filled with warmth again and you nodded, looking down at Spencer's hands, seeing him holding your belongings. "Oh, right, I forgot my bag," you whispered, shooting him a warm smile. "Thank you." He smiled back.

Suddenly, a phone call broke the silence. Spencer immediately fished his phone out of his pocket and shot you a guilty look as he dived in the nearest bathroom. The air around you got cold after his leave, so you wrapped your arms around yourself. After merely a few moments of you getting lost in your mind alone, you began to hear footsteps. Seconds later, you felt it again. The scent. It reached your nose, once again burning into your mind with worry. "Spencer," you spoke quietly to yourself, feeling anxiety wash over you. Just as you started turning around, the same harsh voice as before shouted your name. It was Mike.

"Hey there, pretty lady," he shouted. You could tell he was rapidly speeding his walking pace. "Go away," you replied, backing up against the wall as you felt your voice waver. "Where are you going, cutie? Leaving so soon?" Mike responded, ignoring your words. You worryingly looked at the bathroom door, mentally hurrying Spencer and whoever was calling him.

You shouldn't have worn that dress today.

"Leave us alone. Please, leave," you spoke out, staring at the man walking closer and closer towards you. "Us?" Mike exclaimed, slowing his pace down. "You're still with that boyfriend of yours? Come on," he muttered, finishing the small distance between you two. You pressed yourself even more against the cold and lifeless wall, hoping to travel through, hoping that the atoms of it would separate, giving you the perfect space to move away. "You know I'd treat you right. Don't be scared of me. I don't hurt women. Never," he confirmed confidently, but somehow you weren't convinced.

"If you respected women," you began talking, grounding yourself on the floor. "You'd walk away."

No vocal answer was heard from Mike except a small grin, slowly spreading on his lips. "You're a strong woman. And I respect you. I just know what's best for girls like you," he muttered, his eyes sliding down your face. "You don't fucking know the last thing about me," you spat, forcing his uncomfortable gaze to shoot back to your narrowed eyes. You saw him furrow his eyebrows.

"Let me go, or I swear to God, I'll fucking murder you," you mumbled in a rough, barely audible tone, keeping your eyes trained on the man in front of you. At the exact same moment, the bathroom door opened, and you used your opportunity to hit Mike in the chest with your elbow, pushing him away. Anger was boiling up your insides and you felt your hands ball into fists. A few words more and you'd turn into red, steaming and gurgling mush.

Spencer walked out with a straight and unreadable face, which seconds later transformed into confusion and even later, anger. "What are you doing?" he quickly asked, power-walking towards both of you. Mike chuckled and raised his hands, taking slow steps backwards. "Woah. Okay. Calm down, Spence. We were just talking." "First of all, don't call me that, and second of all, get the fuck out of here," Spencer replied, stealing a quick look at your distraught face.

You, however, hadn't moved, still staring at Mike's confident grin. God, what would you do? If you had a knife? Slice him up? Or his throat? What about a gun? Or, best of all, baseball bat?

"Let's go, Y/N," you felt a gentle tug on your shoulder. Looking up you made eye contact with Spencer. You nodded, but still went back to gazing at Mike. He was still chuckling. Spencer must've noticed your expression, because in your peripheral vision you saw him softly shake his head. "Y/N," he mumbled, his hand sliding down your forearm. "Please. It's not worth it." That's what it took for you to nod again and this time, turn around to face the exit. Both you and Spencer began walking towards the door. This was so unnecessarily long.

"No, no. I deserve to get to talk to you, Y/N. Come back."

You ignored Mike's remarks, instead continuing to make your way towards the exit door. But, as Spencer reached out for the door handle, extending his hand to grab it, you heard Mike scoff behind you. "Fine. Don't talk to me. I guess you already have your nerd boyfriend, huh?" He just didn't stop talking. "Well, if you ever want a real man, call me, Y/N," Mike yelled and began slowly reciting his phone number. Your lips twisted into a grin and you let out a chuckle of complete apathy. "Get lost, Mikey," you answered, feeling yourself steadily regaining your sarcastic and confident self.

"Okay, fuck you guys. You're no fun. Know what, man, I hope your whore of a little girlfriend gets fucking murdered!" he spat; voice full of venom.

And that's when it all hit. To both of you. He stopped, too, training his brown eyes on the floor. You heard his breathing stop for a while – quiet down. You wondered what you would find in his mind if you could read it. If you could read it like an open book. Lifelong worry? Helplessness? Pain? All of them, at once, hitting you like a train on rusty railroad, not looking back nor looking to find and soothe the despair it made you feel?

And, no explanation or care whether it was coincidence or a lucky guess, lucky thrown out word formed purposely to hit, kill, devastate every bit of one's being. No matter if he had thought out and carefully constructed his hit, his arrow, his bullet or just reached the farthest pain-filled corner of his empty skull for wicked ideas, he did hit.

He did hit. He killed. Devastated. Conquered Spencer's mind.

Spencer settled on his own only thought. It was a lucky guess.

He couldn't let himself walk away or forget this. He could not forget this. Ignoring his advice given mere moments before, Spencer turned back around to face his hurt. To make amends with it.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #smut #fluff #criminal minds #derek morgan #david rossi #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #love story #bau team #fanfiction #professor #angst

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candieshound · 3 years

Text

My Oleander

Writing this here, since BtD content is more known. You can read the work here too, on my Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/32319673

18+ Only.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

~Mc and Lawrence follow through with a plan they've had~

I take you to a river. We sit where the water touches land. This is where I'll finally allow myself to give into my urges. Allow myself to go from stroking your hair gently under the moonlight, to forcefully pressing your head under the water. Holding you firmly even as you squirm and fight against me. Your fighting's to no avail.. You can't overpower me. You're small, weigh too little, stand even littler. I think to myself as bubbles surface, what it's like for you to take your first breath of river water.

I remember my first time. I was scared, traumatized even. But you... You get over things so quickly. Does it scare you? Does it overpower your thoughts when your lungs burn from lack of oxygen? Do you hate me when I don't let go? And when I leave you there, breathing in a murky liquid, weak to the point you no longer fight back? No, you don't. You don't and I know you don't. This is a bonding experience for you. This is love for you.. and, I can't deny. It is for me too.

You've had enough.. I'll pull you from the river and watch you miserably cough the water out of your lungs. Trying to catch your breath through the immense amount of pain. You tremble and choke out a scream when I touch you. Lightly brushing your wet hair through my fingers. But you don't hate me. You're just shocked, terrorized by the thought of your oh so 'lovely' boyfriend almost murdering you. But you're equally aroused. Like the slut you are. That's one of the things that attracts me to you. The fact that you'll let me kill you, by drowning or not. You wouldn't fight back. You only fight for show, and that... I secretly adore.

Your panting is enough to make me hard. The soft pained breaths run a shiver down my spine, they heat up my body in this cool night air. I touch you again, on your thigh this time. Intently watching your face, and the way you contort into a deeper look of trauma, but yet... Your face is a light pink. Your eyes show confusion, terror, lust. I run my hand over your tender and soft leg, It's warm. Not something I'm used to, yet something I'm not against. My other hand trails to your neck. I squeeze it tightly before pushing you against the ground. The strained whimper you let out is almost enough to push me over the edge. I pin your wrists above your head, still keeping my other hand on your throat. My cock's tented in my pants, gently pressing against that scarred up thigh of yours.

See how aroused you can make me, even when you're not trying? You don't need to try, the thought of you succumbing to me, to agony.. and eventually your sweet death, is enough to get me off. I ask, in a low voice, if the thought of dying arouses you. If the thought of me violating you afterwards makes you wet. You nod, but tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Your face turning pale, your lips purple. I tighten my grip around your neck. My fingernails poking through your soft flesh, drawing blood. They'll leave light purple marks tomorrow morning. I know how much you love the scars, scrapes, cuts, bruises.

You told me it makes you feel owned, loved even. Normally, I'd stray away from society, but for you. I'd go out. I need to show you off. When you check out at the store, I know the clerk see's the marks. On your neck, your wrists... Trailing down your chest. I know you like wearing shorts, skirts. Anything that show's off the most scarred place on your body. The dark violet bruises that trail up all the way to that special place. I know people probably talk about it, worry about it. That gets you even more aroused though, doesn't it? Ah... whatever. Too bad I can't show you off anymore.

Tonight, we came here to end our.. little 'relationship'.

I stare into your eyes, they're red and teary. I'll watch as they eventually roll back, and you choke out your last breath, a small smile on your face. I let go of you, staring in excitement. We had this planned out for awhile now. I just can't believe it's finally going to happen. All the pretending, all the stories we read, things we watched. It was worth the wait. I finally get to claim that sweet cadaver of yours. And claim it I will. Already pulling your clothes off along with mine.

I pull the knife you keep in your pocket out. Flicking it open, the sparkly blue handle glistens under the moonlight. I press the weapon to that stomach of yours. Panting in overstimulation as I sink the blade inside you. I've wished to do this for so long, so, so long. So long in fact, that the feeling of your blood gushing from the open wound around my hand almost makes me cum.

I toss the knife in the grass, using both of my hands to grab your flesh, opening the incision further and with force. I'm impatient. The sight is wonderful though. The smell, exhilarating too. All your insides, perfectly placed as they should be. Lightly coated in a thin veil of crimson. Glistening under the pale moonlight. Only if you could be alive for this. You've always wanted to be opened up. Always teasing about disembowelment and the likes of it. You were a nasty slut. A disgusting gore whore. Maybe it's best I deprive you of what you truly want. I reach inside your gooey core. Going straight to your heart. It's not beating so, I firmly grasp it. Yanking it out with a harsh pull.

Blood splatters against my face and chest, most of it coating my arm. I look at your organ, it's just as beautiful as I thought it'd be. I sigh softly, gently squeezing it as if it were some kind of fucked up stress ball. Well, a stress ball to me at least. It takes my worries away. I finally got your core, your essence right in the palm of my hand. I grip it, reaching my other hand into you, coating my flushed skin in dull blood. I reach down, gently stroking myself with your fluid. I can't help but moan, I'm needy. I tremble slightly as I jerk myself quicker, before pressing your legs apart, and then pressing myself against you. I slip in easily, your blood makes for a great lubricant after all.

You're already cooling off.. How long have I been lost in thought? I drop your heart, taking your hips in a bloody and harsh hold. I waste no time, eager to pound myself into you. You feel so fucking good, I knew you would~ You're still wet from earlier, I kind of figured. I could smell your arousal. Letting out a whiny moan, I fuck into you quickly. More violently than I ever would have thought of going when you were alive. I lean over you, putting my hands on both sides of your head. Looking straight into your glassy, lifeless eyes. Nearly crying out your name as I see that smile again. I've waited my whole life for this. I've waited our whole relationship for this... I know you like this. I know you want this.. I can feel it. This was your truth, wasn't it? My rotting oleander

#boyfriend to death #BtD #lawrence oleander #Necrophilia//#nsfl

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sohin-ace · 3 years

Text

Diavolo - Empty

Pro tip: go on youtube. Search "creepy ambiance music". Click on "NECROMANCY" by Horror Music World.

You are now in anxiety mode. Survive.

TW: Mentions of suicide, self harm and you know... Toxic relationships. It's Yandere, you know what to expect.

"I have to go get some food and water, okay? I'll be gone for about an hour." He leaned down and pressed his lips against your forehead in a gentle kiss. "I'll hurry, so behave."

You didn't say anything and watched him as he hesitated to move his gaze away from you. He slowly turned around and opened the door, taking his sweet time.

'Just leave already.'

You weren't at peace even when he closed the door, locking every single one of the seven locks he installed on the door. A tight security system to prevent you from fleeing.

The apartment was so dead silent you could hear his footsteps from outside hitting the stairs as he walked down.

So silent. Deafening. So lonely. Even the sheer sounds of your breathing and heartbeat were loud and infuriating to you.

God, so damn infuriating.

You clenched your fists, barely feeling anything from it, rage and anxiety building inside you.

'No detail escaped him, huh?', You thought to yourself. He even cut your nails so short, you couldn't inflict the slightest damage from trying to dig them into your skin.

What a smart man.

What a smart bastard.

Everything was so miserable. You stood in the middle of the living room, staring daggers, not even sharp ones, into the void. You rathered not look at anything, for the sake of your own sanity.

Anything in this place could trigger a mental breakdown from you. Who knew what you could do if your eyes fell on those picture frames of you and him? Or those unwithering flowers on the table? Or even just the books he loved so much resting on the shelves?

Everything here reminded you of him. Of what he did to you. How he had stripped you of your freedom, your dignity...

Your will to live.

Yes. Today you would take your freedom back. Today, you would spread your wings and fly. Away from him. Away from this.

The thought itself brought a smile to yourself. Oh you couldn't wait. You chuckled a, what in other circumstances, would be a cute bubbly laugh, but here, seemed more crazed and unnerved than anything.

Oh you couldn't wait to end this.

Your head twitched towards the kitchen, hope sparkling weakly again inside you. Gone for an hour? That should be enough.

You walked towards the kitchen and looked around. Knives, knives... Where did he keep the knives? It's not like you knew the kitchen all that much, he barely let you roam the house much.

The counter and cupboards were all empty. Everything was empty. Even the fridge contained so little, you even wondered how the hell did he even manage to cook meals for the two of you. Did he even cook for the two of you? Where did the food come from? Did he send one of his numerous pawns or that weird Doppio guy do that dirty work as well?

You dug up frantically through every drawer, and cabinet, hell you even checked inside the oven!

Empty.

There was nothing. No forks, no cups, no nothing. It was like the kitchen had barely just been furnished. Your breathing became labored and your chest tightened painfully.

What was the meaning of this? It didn't make any sense. He made you eat together, you were positive you had used silverware and dishes before.

Did he hide them too? Did he really mistrust you so much he hid any bit of potential danger? Did he think you'd try that hard and would not take the risk?

That damn fucker.

The only thing preventing you from screaming bloody murder currently were your wheezy breaths.

It was scary. So scary. That he would think like that. That he would know how much he killed your sanity. That he would know how far you were willing to go. He knew he knew he knew he knew he knew-

"He thought..." You wheezed and held yourself over the counter, your other hand clutching your painful chest. Your voice was leaving you and you were drenched in sweat, panick and anxiety arising from within. "He thought I would cut myself with the shards..."

You didn't know if you were laughing or sobbing at that point. Not that he was wrong about it at all, in fact, he had guessed perfectly right. But the fact that the idea even crossed his mind and that he acted upon it just added to your dive into madness.

He just knew he destroyed you so bad he couldn't trust you with even a single blunt object, because he knew you'd find a way to harm yourself on it. That's how low he thought of you and he was right.

What else were there to do? He always kept a careful watch over you, even when he worked, his back turned to you, he'd whip his head towards you at the meerest noise you made. If he wasn't home, he'd have someone to keep an eye on you.

He would sleep with you, shower with you, dress you up. Every occasion he had to take control over you, he took.

It was a miracle that he ended up unshackling you from his bed, trusting you enough to let you roam pointlessly around the house, but visibly not trusting you enough to let you be around even a porcelain plate.

You wanted to give up. The windows could be opened but the metallic blinds were steel shut. Just like prison bars. He could sacrifice a little sunlight if it meant you wouldn't try to jump.

You dragged your feet towards your couch and sobbed. Loud. Desperate. Letting warm tears stream down your face. It was over. You couldn't do anything.

You plopped yourself on the couch and buried your face in your arms to muffle your wails. That was it. That was the only liberty you had. You could only cry, cry, and cry, until the tears ran out.

You couldn't cut, you couldn't jump, you couldn't poison yourself with cleaning chemicals, hell, he made sure there wasn't even enough water to give you water poisoning. Even tap water was limited. He calculated everything.

It was over. There was nothing you could do. He won again. Diavolo wins again...

You let yourself break down, almost comforted by your own cries, the only thing that made you feel alive. The only emotion remaining. The last healthy bit within you.

You knew you had to stop, though. Because one hour flies by fast, and Diavolo could cut his time short whenever he felt, and if he came home to you crying, he'd shower you with questions and try to console you. And that was the last thing you wanted. In fact, he didn't even deserve to see or hear you crying.

You hated to be confronted by him, and to be held by those bloody hands of his, and to be talked with that fake, manipulative concern in his voice, deepening softly just for you.

Oh he could have been such a good man if he wasn't such a disgusting fucking monster.

You couldn't bear closing your eyes that were stinging and burning as you kept them open, drying them out. Every time you closed your eyes, you were haunted by the visions.

The visions of blood, from your loved ones. The picture of his brain splattering out of his skull. The sight of her guts spilled out, still pulsing out of her stomach. How they crawled vainly on the floor with their limbs torn off messily barely kept connected to their bodies by gooey strings of flesh, bones scraped against the ground. The ones dearest to you.

"Why... Even my poor animal..." Your voice cracked painfully through labored sobs, your heart skipping with every scene you recalled.

Everything about the memories was so wrong. Everything about Diavolo was so wrong. Killing every one you deemed dear to you was one thing, but why did he have to make it so gruesome? Why did they have to die in such agony? Why? Just why?!

If he truly loved you he would have at least let them go fast and painless. He would have at least spared you the trauma. He couldn't even let you have the bliss of knowing they passed on quick and peacefully. You were stuck with the knowledge of their suffering, the screams, the gurgles, the pleads for mercy, the gore.

The pain was to much, the burden so heavy. Why did he not let you kill yourself? It's be so easier if you could just die. He claimed he loved you, but he made you suffer every minute.

Without realizing it, and very slowly, you calmed down. Not because you were finally at peace, or because you were unwinded, but because you were at your limit.

You were so tired, your eyes were swollen and begging to rest, your voice was gone, your throat dry and your mind so shattered, you couldn't even think about all that made you so unhappy anymore, or the painful memories. Your thoughts were empty. Your soul was empty. Everything was empty.

Slowly but surely, your drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

Diavolo walked back home earlier than anticipated. He did hurry, and he somewhat knew he wouldn't actually take a full hour to do his errands. He hated to go outside and he especially hated to leave you to yourself.

He unlocked all his locks on the door with great patience. He was proud of this work, very secure, so that nobody, not even yourself, could ever take you away from him.

He walked in slowly to the scent and warmth of home. He wasn't sure what he was expecting you'd be doing, but he didn't expect you being passed out on the couch.

Oh Diavolo wasn't scared. He was confident he skipped any danger from the house. He was sure you never even discovered that this place was actually not an appartment, like you believed, but a villa. He had locked the other floors so carefully.

But he also knew you were one clever little cat and maybe, just maybe, you may have found an issue to hurt yourself, even a little bruise.

He did not appreciate that thought.

He clenched his teeth, grinding them out of stress. The reason you were passed out on the couch better not be his worst case scenario. Or else...

Like a bipolar disordered man, his tone switched under a second. There was nothing to worry about. Surely his little gattina was just taking a nap, he thought to himself. Of course, you didn't get much sleep last night, that would make sense.

There was nothing to worry about because Diavolo was absolute, and he planned everything and he was confident. Nothing escaped him.

Like the lover that he pretended and believed to be, he quickly put his bags away and approached you on the couch, not wanting to be away from you any longer.

He stared longingly at you. You looked so pretty, so adorable, all vulnerable like this. Unaware of his looming form shadowing you, so innocent.

He noticed how wet your arms and cheeks were and how blemished your face was. Certainly, you had cried. It was fine by him, though. He'd allow you to cry to yourself when he wasn't there. Because it was harmless.

He leaned over, getting closer very carefully. Gosh you were so lovely to his crazy green eyes. He could hardly contain himself around you. No one has ever had that effect on him. Your skin, your hair, your scent, your lips, everything about you was soft and gentle and sweet. It was even cute when you thrashed around and kicked and insulted him.

He looked over your small form, studying you. Your wrists were so thin, scarred, often shaky. He noted you dropped a lot of weight since he took you here, but it didn't matter. You were beautiful regardless, and he would protect you, because you were so fragile, and it was his duty as a husband.

As if to confirm his thoughts, he grabbed one of your wrists, wrists that he had grabbed so many times before. It was so light, like a little twig, his entire fist closed on it. It was a crime to be so deliciously weak. It was like asking to be taken, held, snatched, manhandled.

Good thing Diavolo was the one to have you and not anyone else. Who knows what kind of crazy fuckers had bad intentions out there? Especially in these dangerous parts of Italy.

He moved you with no effort whatsoever and the lack of response or reaction from your poor body just made his twisted heart clench even more. It was so desperately easy to just use you to his will, it was almost scary.

He let himself plop down comfortably on the couch and laid you back down to rest your head upon his thighs, so that he could watch your angelic face and touch your hair as you rested, nested close to him.

Like two empty lovers.

I mean... I did say I'd never write yandere again, but I've been back to playing Mystic Messenger and Saeran inspired me. (Don't worry, there are no spoilers here!)

Also, the fic was so long, I decided to cut in in half and make the other half into another character. Recycling is always good for the planet. So expect another domestic Yandere story some day.

#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo #jjba #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #Vento Aureo #Golden Wind #part 5 #Jojo Part 5 #x reader #reader insert #diavolo #diavolo x reader #yandere #yandere diavolo #writing #suicide tw #self-harm tw

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number63liveblogs · 2 years

Text

Iron Widow: Chapter Fourteen

“When you’re sent into battle, they get you into your Chrysalis at gunpoint, right?”

“What are you—?”

“So, the big question is, why didn’t you just let them shoot you?”

Because it’s not easy to choose to die, even if it’s at the cost of the life of someone else. Because he believes the war is a good enough reason to let one person die so that the Hunduns don’t take over. Because the soldiers made it clear that they would kill the girl anyway. Any of these would work.

Ha, I was absolutely correct about Li Shimin’s gooey core! And his trauma is also related to gendered violence, it’s going to really easy for Zetian to talk him into fighting the patriarchy with her, I can already tell. Unfortunately Zetian doesn’t know she’s in a young adult book, so she’s very understandably vary of Li Shimin.

After all, we already saw that every time she’s been in the presence of someone drunk it has meant that she’s had to be on the lookout for violence. On top of that, she’s been taught the standard gender essentialist lies conservative societies tell girls to excuse sexual assault.

Fortunately they have managed to start bonding over random things, which is important because building a relationship based on shared trauma… would actually be my cup of tea, but this is still a young adult book so yeah, let’s do this instead.

#iron widow #liveblog #number 63

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years

Note

11 Secret relationship

Also written for the nonnie who requested “an exploration of Derek’s trauma” and a bit of Sterek bingo: touch starved.

- -

Derek didn’t know what he could call them.

He was much too scared to say that out loud. Them. He and Stiles. Bodies tangling in the night and separating in the morning. Derek would like to say he didn’t know who’d started it first, but that would be a lie.

He was the first one to show up in Stiles’s bedroom. Climbing through the window while the boy startled so hard in his desk chair, he’d nearly gone tumbling to the floor. Tousled hair, pale skin, and amber eyes were all Derek wanted to see that night.

At first, that’s all it had been.

A visit, a glance, a retreat. Then it was more. A feeling, a movement, a taste. Soon, Derek was lost in the way Stiles traced gentle fingers across his chest, whispered soft things in the night, and then curled up in his arms come morning.

They kept it quiet.

So Derek wasn’t sure what it could be called. He’d go to Stiles or Stiles would come to him. The boy would have a nightmare and Derek would spend the entire night holding him. Derek would wake up to flashes of Boyd’s tear-streaked face, or flames curling into the air, and Stiles would wrap around his shoulders and trace the tattoo on his back until Derek was lulled back into a trembling sleep.

Sometimes, he’d look at Stiles, surrounded by the rest of the pack, and be overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him. To trace his fingers across Stiles’s neck, to bite marks into the pale skin of his neck, to show the others that this boy— this wonder— was his.

Derek never did that. But sometimes he wished he could.

Sometimes though, when Stiles was wrapped up in his arms, Derek felt like he could be satisfied with this. If he had Stiles at night, Derek could go about the rest of his day with the boy ten feet away. He could look at Stiles, laughing with the rest of the pack, and just quietly want.

Other times, Derek would bury his face in the boy’s neck and tried to smother the crushing feeling of not right, not enough, not mine that overwhelmed him.

He didn’t know if Stiles felt the same. Derek didn’t think he had the right to ask.

Because sometimes, he hated himself for this.

Everyone around Derek got hurt. Everyone he dared touch, dared love, dared call his own, ended up facing the punishment for that. Derek used to think he was cursed. Until Stiles had pulled him into his arms at least, gentle fingers putting him back together as Derek broke.

Derek didn’t know what he could call them.

But he wished more than anything he could call Stiles ‘his’.

“Der?”

Derek came back to the real world, blinking a few times. Amber eyes watched him quietly, a small smile dancing across Stiles’s lips as he studied Derek’s in the night. Derek felt his face grow warm and instead of saying anything, he leaned forward and brushed a kiss across the boy’s lips.

Stiles laughed softly. “What was that for?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, eyes sparkling. “You’re just being extra gooey in bed because I was that great, huh? Lemme guess, I fuc—”

“Okay,” Derek said, cutting him off. “Don’t get a big head.”

“That’s coming from you,” Stiles said with a snort. “Mr. Derek ‘I Preen for Days When I Make Stiles Scream My Name’ Hale.”

“That’s quite the title.”

“It’s your title.”

“And shortened?”

Stiles scrunched up his face for a second, before grinning. “Smugwolf. No! Sexwolf.”

“I don’t understand your brain sometimes.”

“But you love it.”

Derek went quiet. Because despite Stiles’s teasing tone, despite the glimmer in his eyes, Derek did. His heart ached for Stiles and those words to be said aloud with actual meaning. But instead, he just huffed and pulled Stiles into his chest so the boy’s face was pressed into his neck.

Stiles spluttered a few times before shifting around and going still. Derek focused on the dark wall across the room and just tried to breathe. Tried to listen to Stiles’s heartbeats, inhale his scent, and tell himself that this was enough.

Stiles with him here, now, was enough.

Mostly, he was terrified he’d say it, he’d spill his guts out, and Stiles would draw away. Because what even was this? Derek didn’t know what to call them. Comfort when the days turned dark. Stiles seeking him out when he smelled like want and arousal. Derek coming in through his window when he wanted was something— touch— anything.

It was enough. Stiles was enough.

Derek hated himself for wanting more.

There were times he could get out of his own head. Beacon Hills was always attracting a new threat; like flies to honey. When Derek wasn’t seeking Stiles out, they were working side by side to deal with the new Monster of the Week. Derek could throw himself into that. Forget about nearly everything else.

Other times, Derek would go into town. Find a corner in the small coffee shop, the nearly empty bar, or the quiet library. Even though the whispers always seemed to follow. The ‘That’s Derek Hale’, ‘that’s the one from the fire’, ‘that’s the one they almost convicted for murder’.

‘His own sister.’

Derek didn’t go out as often after that.

The first time Stiles pinned him down to the mattress, licking a stripe up his stomach, Derek had nearly tossed the boy out of bed. When Stiles had pulled him close one night and whispered the soft word ‘sweetheart’ Derek had stayed wide awake until the sun peeked over the horizon. Fast forward to the next night and Stiles had held him tight as Derek cried.

Derek had kept Stiles out of a fight once, working the plan around him, and the boy hadn’t talked to him for two weeks. Derek was pretty sure they were the longest of his life.

Stiles’s touch was like phantoms that followed him into waking hours and out of them.

It was this whole fake relationship, secret relationship, no relationship, that messed with Derek’s head. He felt like he was drowning. Or suffocating. Or maybe he was just addicted. If he let go of the source though, Derek didn’t think he would survive.

He didn’t think he could survive losing Stiles.

Which might have been why Derek started pushing him away. Because it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad, but Derek could know he was safe. Everyone around Derek got hurt. Everyone that got close to him, got underneath his skin, snaked their way into his heart, ended up punished for it.

Derek refused to lose Stiles.

But he still lost against himself sometimes.

There was a figure standing in the doorway of the loft that night. Derek knew the rest of the betas were out and honestly, he didn’t expect them back until at least the next morning. So when Stiles stood there, amber eyes pleading, a faint stutter to his heartbeats, Derek didn’t even have the strength to turn away.

“Sexwolf,” was whispered against his skin as Stiles laughed. Derek picked him up, long legs wrapping around his waist, and carried the boy toward the bedroom.

Sharp teeth skated down his neck and Stiles sucked a mark there, always so frustrated when he couldn’t leave a lasting mark. There was one time he’d completely forgotten they were both naked, dropping out of the scene midway as he glared at Derek’s neck like he was trying to silently will dark red claiming bites there of his own.

Derek had loved him even more for that.

“You,” Stiles said, as Derek dropped him down onto the mattress. “You’re pulling away from me again, Sourwolf.”

Derek looked at him for a long moment. Then he forced a chuckle and stripped off his shirt. Stiles’s eyes dilated and Derek could always tell when all of his thoughts turned to abs.

“What do you want, Stiles?”

A crooked smile tugged at the boy’s lips. He leaned up, wrapping a hand around the back of Derek’s neck and pulled him in close.

“You.”

Derek always thought it would get easier. But he still closed his eyes, swallowing words, and stripped off Stiles’s shirt too. The boy let loose a litany of soft curses as Derek moved to his jeans, pulling down the zipper and stripping those off too.

By the time Derek had come twice, Stiles three times, and the boy was panting underneath him with Derek’s face buried in his neck, he felt nothing except a little woozy. There was a fog in his mind, a daze behind his eyes, and as Stiles combed careful fingers through his hair, Derek let himself go for the first time.

“I love you.”

Stiles froze. The touches paused and it took Derek a moment for his own words to catch up with him. Then he felt horror, nausea, and terror crash over him. In a second, Derek was shoving himself up and stumbling out of bed, feeling like someone had grabbed him by the neck and ripped out his throat.

Stiles sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around him. And his eyes were wide. His scent loud. Derek thought he could be sick.

A sob threatened to tear from his chest.

“Derek—”

“Don’t,” Derek said, moving a step back. “I’m sorry, Stiles, I’m sorry. I didn’t mea— I’m sorry. I won’t say it again.”

The boy’s eyes cracked.

Slowly, he pushed himself out of bed and Derek froze as Stiles stepped closer. The boy reached out, then stopped, and one brow slowly raising. “Derek, can I touch you?”

Derek barely breathed for a second. Then he nodded and Stiles splayed a hand across his chest. It moved over his shoulders as Stiles stepped closer, cupping the back of his neck. Stiles brought their foreheads together, breaths warm against Derek’s skin.

“Your heart is beating crazy fast, dude.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, sounding broken. “Please stop apologizing to me.”

Derek felt like he could fall apart. He closed his eyes and nodded, and Stiles drew back a little, searching his face. He never removed his hand, though.

“Can I ask what happened?”

Derek looked at him, shocked. Stiles wet his lips before speaking again.

“You’re terrified.”

“I— I didn’t mean to.”

For a moment, Stiles didn’t answer. Then he nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “You said you loved me. You didn’t mean it?”

“No, I didn’t mean to.”

Something the boy’s scent changed. It went soft, vanished altogether, and then came back in an overwhelming wave. Derek thought there was the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of Stiles’s lips but he didn’t know why.

“I won’t say it again.”

“Derek?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you too.”

Derek didn’t think that was right. He hadn’t heard right. Or maybe something else was wrong. He’d fallen asleep, he was having a nightmare. Stiles had never come over in the first place. This was all a dream.

Derek didn’t realize Stiles was leading him down to the floor until he realized his chest was too tight. The boy guided his head into his chest, whispering calm, soothing things, and wrapped careful arms around Derek’s shoulders, tracing fingers over the outline of his tattoo.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m awake.”

“Yeah, big guy.”

Derek turned his face up, nose tracing along Stiles’s collarbone. The boy made a surprised noise before chuckling and a going lax.

“Yeah, big guy, I’m here. You alright?”

Derek just inhaled, eyes closed. Stiles’s entire body vibrated as he chuckled again.

“Okay, Softiewolf, you’re okay. Big whiff now, yeah? Smell that? That’s this human. This Stiles. Your human, alright? Your Stiles. You’re okay, Derek.”

Derek didn’t say a word. They sat like that for a long moment, the silence overwhelming.

Stiles covered him like a shield, pale neck tilted a little in submission. One hand stayed on Derek’s back, fingers outlining his tattoo. The other petted down the back of his neck. Derek stayed stock-still through it all.

“You said you didn’t mean to.”

Derek didn’t answer. Stiles swallowed.

“I did.”

Derek pulled back and Stiles studied his face.

“I meant what I said, big guy. I just… I didn’t want to scare you away. And I know there are some things that are better off not said, but…”

“What is this?”

Stiles blinked. His scent turned nervous. “What is it to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh man,” Stiles said, laughing. “So it’s not just me. Listen, Sourwolf, I don’t know if you’re scared of my dad, or the betas, or whatever, but I’m totally fine with keeping it under the wraps until you’re good to go—”

Derek stared. Stiles trailed off.

“Derek?”

“I’m not scared.”

That was a lie. Derek was completely and totally terrified. But not of what the pack would think, or how the Sheriff might threaten to shoot him. Derek was terrified that the moment he said it out loud, the world would use that as a reason to take Stiles from him. To tear him away just like all of the others.

“Derek,” Stiles said softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Derek, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Stiles said, eyes flashing in the night. “Derek, I swear to god, I will never leave you. I’m Stiles Stilinski, remember? I’m stuck to you like glue now. And I’m never letting go.”

Derek’s chest tightened again. Stiles’s face softened.

“Derek, I love you.”

Derek moved forward and kissed him. Stiles tasted like cinnamon and apple spice and the boy smiled around his lips, hand tangling through his hair. Derek closed his eyes and just let himself want, curled against the boy like Stiles had all the control here.

Because maybe he did. Derek could be taken apart by a simple touch if it came from Stiles.

“I love you,” Derek said, the word whispered around Stiles’s lips. The boy’s scent flooded with happiness and he laughed against Derek’s lips, pulling him closer and kissing him hard.

“I’m yours, big guy.”

“Mine.”

Stiles guided his head down to his neck, fingers softened in his hair. “And I want everyone to know it.”

His.

Derek didn’t think the terror would end tonight. He’d always be afraid of losing Stiles. But there was something about wanting him, about wanting more, and Derek knew he would go to the ends of the earth for Stiles. Feelings of right, of enough, of his.

“I love you.”

Stiles held him closer. And he didn’t need to say a word because Derek knew it was okay. Stiles here. Stiles was his.

And Stiles was always enough.

- -

Apparently, I write sad and happy things now? I promise to offer you guys a bit of both as often as I can <3 Thanks for the prompt, Matt! Sorry, it’s kinda lot of prompts pushed into one XD

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your struggling student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fluff and angst #non-explicit smut #ptsd!derek #comforting stiles #prompts #ice-mage #ficlet

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wwwafflewrites · 4 years

Text

Never Fear (The Winchesters Are Here)

Stars in Your Eyes

"Sam, I don't have a good feeling about this."

Sam waved his flashlight around the porch of the house. "Neither do I. But this is our only chance to gank this shapeshifter before it moves to the next town."

"I just have a gut feeling." You met eyes. In the shadows, they were a deep, compassionate brown.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to."

Well, that wasn’t happening. "Forget it," you huffed, nervously stepping into the front yard.

"I mean it. If you aren’t comfortable, then I can do this myself. I'll understand."

"Don’t be stupid. I’m coming with."

Sam's eyes lingered on you before nodding slowly and turning away, keeping the flashlight pointed at the door as he approached it. When the door handle didn't turn, he fished his pockets for his lock pick.

Meanwhile, you stayed on guard, anxiously looking into the dark street like you expected a jump scare. You hugged yourself as the icy breeze bit through your jacket, saying, "I hate this."

"My offer still stands."

"Your offer still sucks."

He shut up, leaving you some time to ponder about the case.

One who was oblivious to the supernatural might believe the MacDonalds—and, yes, Dean had a blast poking fun at their surname—were just an unfortunate family. It was a small home—or were small homes now, you supposed—containing two divorced parents and their only child.

Knowing that the shapeshifter would strike tonight, you had to split between the two households. Dean took to the father, meanwhile, you and Sam took the mother, knowing that the entire family went for a therapy session.

Dean's little parody, 'Old McDonald had a therapist' played into your head. At most annoying, if a little pitchy.

The break-in, you suspected, was exactly where the shapeshifter was getting all his DNA to shift.

Most people didn't realize the trauma that came with a theft, and you had the misfortune of experiencing it. You once lost trust in the lock of door—lost trust that it would hold or that you could sleep in peace knowing that you were alone. All because a werewolf-witch hybrid decided he wanted your heart, and not in a sexy way. But that was another story.

Thankfully, now, you felt more at ease with the Winchesters—though that didn't mean you couldn't relate with the poor family. Break-ins were terrifying.

And not only had there been one break-in, but two. The shifter had been in both homes, which put an even larger strain on the family's relationship. They quickly turned against each other, throwing accusations and lawsuits to feel more powerful. When really, they were both victims.

It was really an unfortunate situation for everyone involved.

You shook your head. "I can't even imagine what that kid went through. I wouldn't doubt they were trying to get him to take sides. Just imagine your parents doing that to you. I could never."

Sam gave you a funny look. "Can't really imagine. Both of my parents are dead."

Oh, damn. You should have known. "I'm so sorry—"

Sam shrugged. "It's fine—you didn't know. Anyway, it was… years ago." He looked uncomfortable. "Can we focus?"

"Yeah."

Sam jiggled the thing in the lock, and when it clicked, he straightened, slowly pushing the door open, slightly wincing as it creaked. He crept forward, entering the home and shining his flashlight on possible hiding spots in the shadows, wary of anyone that could be inside.

You followed close behind, unwilling to split up like people do in horror movies. Thankfully, Sam didn't mention it. Perhaps he felt the same.

"This is so creepy." The house was giving you the heebie-jeebies. There was a narrow staircase which slowly disappeared into the darkness of the upstairs, and none of the lights would turn on with the flipped switch.

"Huh," Sam said, bouncing the flashlight in his hand. "Guess this will have to do."

"You got a second one? Not a big fan of the dark."

You could nearly see the gears turning in his head. It was no secret you were afraid of the dark. Ever since, well, multiple unpleasant experiences.

You probably needed a therapist more than the MacDonalds—but Dean had rubbed off on you, always talking negatively about those 'shrinks'.

Anyway, what was the point of a therapist when you always had to lie to them? It wasn't like you could ever tell them the whole truth—you'd be sent to an insane asylum.

Even PTSD wasn't worth that.

Sam hummed, patting his pockets. "Nah, Dean took it. We'll have to share." Then, to your surprise, he handed you the flashlight.

You blinked. "Thanks."

He took a lighter from his breast pocket and shrugged. "No problem."

You stepped further into the house, feeling bolder with the flashlight in your hands. The light fell over a cabinet, and with it, two framed photos alongside a small lamp.

Sam was your shadow, peering over your shoulder at the cabinet. He reached a hand, tracing over the dust of the family photo. The eyes of the child were flashing gold.

You stared. And stared some more. "Well, that’s…" you trailed off.

"...yeah," Sam agreed.

"His eyes are..."

"...yeah."

You both briefly took in that information. "So the kid was…"

Sam's mind was on the same track. "I'll call Dean," he said, walking to the kitchen and using his lighter to see the buttons on his flip phone.

You scanned the room, waving the flashlight until it illuminated a thin gooey membrane on the bathroom floor, which trailed out into the hallway. "Oh, god, no," you said. You inched closer, shining the light down on the mound of slimy shapeshifter skin on the tile.

"Sam!" you called, running back to the main of the house where you nearly crashed into him.

"We need to go," you both said simultaneously.

Sam pointed to the foggy window where red and blue lights had replaced the black abyss of the night. "Save your I-told-you-so's. We need to get out of here. Now," Sam said.

As you made it for the backdoor, he grabbed your arm. "No," he pointed to the kitchen. "Window."

The kitchen window was a decent sized opening. He climbed through easily, and you tumbled out after him, terrified to your core.

The lights were almost blinding.

An officer shouted, his silhouette darting out from the shadows. You hauled yourself over the tall wooden fence, just a hair behind Sam, right as the officer caught up.

A gloved hand grabbed your arm.

Like a deer in a bear trap, you fought as they tried to secure your wrist. "Help me, help, help, help," was all you could cry as Sam ran back. You struggled to wrench your hand out of the tight grip; punching at it, but it was like iron. You could see more officers were nearing.

Sam set fire to the officer's hand with his lighter, but it still didn't let go. Smoke rose and you finally stabbed the hand with your silver knife.

The officer shouted and released you.

You and Sam sprinted down the grass to the sidewalk, feet rapid, aiming for the line of trees on the horizon. The forest would provide enough cover for the police to lose sight of you.

It had turned into a footrace.

You tried to match your steps with Sam, but his legs were longer and stronger than yours. You weren't a poor runner by any means, but he surpassed your endurance by a long shot.

So did the officers, apparently, as they were gaining ground on you.

You were just a step behind Sam (who was hardly breaking a sweat), struggling to keep your distance between you and the advancing officers.

Your breath was hot, your lungs already burned, and you lost your pace. Sam noticed and grunted, glancing at you from his peripheral. It was just a little noise, but it brought the strength and energy back into your step.

The trees were a few blocks away. Just a little further, and you could catch your breath in the shadows.

You let out a strangled yell as your nervous system completely frizzed, seizing and crumpling to the ground in a breathless heap.

Sam shouted your name.

You blinked up, dazed and confused. What… what was… was I shot? What...

The officer was ordering you to put your hands behind your back, waving a yellow device at your chest.

A taser. One prong dug into your chest, while the other was deep in your leg.

And the officer was at liberty to light it up again.

You complied, slowly bringing your stiff arms back, so they could cuff them. And from the scuffling to your right, Sam was doing the same.

You could take on monsters any day, but three officers with loaded guns and tasers? It wasn’t a fair fight.

This officer was seemingly much more pleased with himself in comparison to his partners. He lugged you up beside a planted tree, not to be confused with the woods, which was standing ten feet away. How irritating.

His eyes flashed golden, and you tensed under his hold.

"You’re the shapeshifter," you breathed.

"Must you spoil the surprise?" All at once, he raised his gun and killed the other officers with two resounding bangs.

You screamed.

Sam stumbled in his handcuffs, which had him secured to the chain link fence to your left. His eyes were like saucers as the officer arresting him dropped dead at his feet. "What… why… why did you..." he asked, stunned. “You’re the…”

You bit back another scream as the monster put a knife to your throat. The blade’s edge was cold, just enough to be painful against your skin.

Sam's hazel eyes were dark. "What do you want?"

His cuffs were far too low for him to stand, so he had to awkwardly hunker down. It looked uncomfortable.

The maniac had the blade right against your jugular. All it would take is pissing this guy off, and it would be over—you'd be dead.

"You’re going to give me the demon knife," the monster demanded. His hand was dripping blood from where you'd stabbed him.

“How entitled," you said.

The knife pressed harder. “I don’t care what you have to say, girl. Sam Winchester has the demon knife, and I want it.”

"Well, good luck, chuckles." You spat, "Because Sam sure ain’t going to listen to you."

Sam’s brooding, however, didn’t waver.

The shifter trailed the knife along the veins of your neck. "It wouldn’t be hard for me to kill her.”

"He's bluffing," you said, and you fell on the wet dirt, choking back a scream as he lit up the taser.

He leaned in, his breath warm on your ear. "Not bluffing,” the shifter said. "I just have better things to do than pick fights with noble Winchesters." His eyes flashed. "My only exception is the knife. It’s the demon knife, or it's her. You choose."

"Sam…" you warned. " Sam don’t—" The shifter pulled the taser's trigger, and you keeled over into the dirt, trying not to cry. "Sam—" you tried in vain. You were met with another interval of several long, excruciating seconds.

Getting tased felt like a full-body charley horse. Pitchforks instead of prongs. Portable Hell.

Little tremors still ran through your arms. You wanted to tell Sam that you couldn’t let the knife get into the hands of this psycho, but from the look on his face, you could tell he was thinking the same.

It wasn't that the knife mattered to you (because it didn't, you had angel blades that worked just fine against demons) but it was that the knife would matter in the shifter's hands. This guy was clearly unhinged.

You were all for killing demons, but giving any kind of knife to this guy just put a bad feeling in your gut. If there was anything you'd learned today, it was that your gut had a pretty good intuition.

"This can go on..." he sighed. "Though, I'm not sure how long a human heart can take this."

“Enough.” Sam finally said, glaring. "We'll give you the knife."

"Oh, you're not giving me anything. You're going to tell me where it is, and I'm taking it."

You couldn't let Sam tell him where it was. "What do you want it for, anyway?" you snarled. "It can’t be of any use to you. You kill people, not demons."

"Sure, it’s of use to me. Demons are scum on the earth. They kidnapped and tortured my family, and the knife is just what I need to avenge them.”

“So that gives you the right to hurt the MacDonalds? What would you want with them anyway?”

The shifter laughed. “Oh, all that? That was just a case to reel you guys in. I knew you’d follow the little ‘omens’. And then you’d see the skin I left so clumsily by the dumpster, and you'd talk with the parents and find out that... oh, wow, their stories aren’t matching up about each other—how could I have been so messy? Silly, stupid shifter.”

He smiled, resting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing. “You know, it was funny watching you do the whole 'monster test' on the parents. It was cute. You’d never assume it was the child, would you?”

The photo on the cabinet had been from before the parents had divorced, so this guy must have planted himself for at least four months, doing whatever he pleased until the Winchesters got wind of his ‘mistakes’.

“Honestly,” he said. “I couldn’t care less about the MacDonalds; I was just biding my time until the infamous Winchesters showed.”

Sam’s lips were curled in disgust. “All this for a knife?”

You noticed a shadow twitch from behind Sam and in the line of trees. So small a movement that if you blinked, you would have missed it.

The shifter sneered. “Rather hypocritical, coming from someone who would do anything for their family. Would do anything to get the Colt to kill the devil.”

“That’s a lot different—” Sam argued.

Again, you saw something move in the woods.

The monster cried, “No! No, it’s not! These demons—they’re slaying my kin. They’ve ruined everything, and so have you! All you’ve ever—”

You intervened before it got out of hand. “You know what? Fine. I’ll tell you where it is,” you said. “After all, just a knife, right Sam?”

Sam’s expression became one of absolute bewilderment. “What? What are you...”

“Where is it?” The blade dragged down and dug a little harder at your collarbone.

You couldn’t help but smile. “You’ll find it in Hell.”

Dean Winchester took the shot.

The silver bullet hit its target on point. Right through the shifter’s heart, and the monster crumpled, its skin already peeling.

Dean ran over, shotgun slung over his shoulder. "You guys okay?!"

"Yeah. The crazy shifter wanted the demon knife.” Sam nodded. “Lockpick in my left pocket."

"Got one already," Dean said, waving his. "Why didn’t you just give the knife to him? You guys look like he beat the shit out of you." He worked on picking Sam's cuffs.

"I had a bad gut feeling," you grunted. "He would have killed us afterward." You were in a daze. Your muscles were rigid and they smarted like a bitch. Your skin was tingling.

Dean glanced your way, and when he saw your condition, left Sam the lockpick to do the rest himself. "Jesus—hey. Kid? Hey, hey, you gotta stay awake."

"M'fine," you groaned. "Just really sore."

"What happened?" His eyes flitted over you.

"Zzch zzch zzch," you mumbled, imitating the noise. "Taser. Not fun."

"How many times he get ya?"

"Too many."

Dean angrily worked the cuffs off your wrists. "That could have killed you."

You knew he was referring to your time with the werewitch, which left you with a few heart complications. You shrugged. "Didn't."

Sighing, Dean hauled you up. "All this for a gut feeling?"

"He would have actually killed us if we let him get his way," you said, leaning into him. "Could see it in his eyes."

Dean threw your arm over his shoulder. "You gonna recover?"

"Damn right, I will."

"That'a girl."

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kk095 · 4 years

Text

The VIP

*I'm sorry I haven't posted in awhile. This story may have some typos, but I hope everyone enjoys!*

Tara Thompson was a pop/country singer who recently achieved stardom. Her debut album sold millions of copies, had ample amounts of radio/streaming airplay, and even won her a Grammy award. She recently purchased a beautiful and expensive house in Los Angeles, and was getting acclimated to the celebrity lifestyle. Tara seemed to have it all: talent, money, newfound fame, and of course, looks.

She was a 27 year old blonde, standing at 5'5 with beautiful blue eyes, a nice California tan, and a toned but petite body. She carried herself confidently (some would say borderline cocky) and had a good sense of humor, which made her a favorite amongst talk show hosts and fans alike.

Yesterday, fate had other plans for Tara. She was a trauma patient at our emergency department after being involved in a high speed MVC. At first, we didn’t realize it was her. When the call from dispatch came in, all we heard was “27 year old female, high speed MVC. Blunt chest trauma from steering wheel injury, tachy and hypotensive, ETA 6 minutes.”

I ordered the nurses to prep trauma room 1. “Let’s make sure we have the room set up. Get an intubation tray, a chest tube tray, and a thoracotomy tray just in case. Let’s make sure we have some meds around, go to the blood bank and 4 units o-neg, 2 of platelets, and 2 of FFP. Page cardio and trauma surgery, and let’s keep radiology on standby in case she’s stable enough for a scan.” I tell my subordinates as I pop on a yellow trauma gown and a fresh pair of gloves.

Before we knew it, the ambulance's sirens could be heard as it arrived at our emergency department. Moments later, the medics wheeled the patient into our trauma room. “oh my… that’s Tara Thompson…” I realized immediately. She didn’t look like her typical self. She was on a backboard and c-collar, stripped down to just her black bra and matching underwear. She had cuts, bruises, and abrasions scattered across her body, and she was in and out of consciousness.

The medics told us that the set up 2 large bore IVs and started her on ringer’s lactate for fluid resuscitation, and pushed a round of codeine for pain management.

Upon arrival at our emergency department, Tara’s vital signs were: BP 79/42, pulse 129bpm, and her oxygen saturation was down to 94%. We immediately started her on blood transfusions and drew trauma labs (CBC, BMP, toxicology screen). Since a chest injury was suspected, I ordered a chest x ray. The chest x-ray showed a sternal fracture with 2 broken ribs on the left side, a left sided hemothorax, and herniation of the heart into the right chest. I decided to follow that up with a FAST scan, which is just an ultrasound of the chest, belly, and pelvis. The chest portion of this test further confirmed the herniation of her heart, but to my surprise, there was no evidence of pericardial effusion or tamponade. The abdominal portion of the test showed some minor bleeding in the ULQ, which is typically indicative of a spleen injury. Since the bleeding didn’t appear to be major, that injury was to be monitored conservatively. Finally, the pelvic portion of the exam came back clean.

With all that information in mind, it appeared Tara had a chest injury that was explaining her hemodynamic instability. Even though she didn’t have tamponade, cardiac herniations are associated with great vessel injuries, particularly the pulmonary arteries or veins (the princess Diana case is a prime example of this injury process).

Since she had a hemothorax on the left side, we decided to place a chest tube. Tara’s left ribcage was sterilized and I made a 1 inch incision in between her ribs. Tara moaned loudly, feeling the scalpel’s every move since she wasn’t stable enough for me to anesthetize. She yelped loudly with tears running down her face while the tube was placed into her pleural space. Blood shot from the tube and onto my yellow trauma gown.

Outside of the trauma room, you could hear media personnel and paparazzi start to swarm the hospital’s entrance, waiting room, and ER nurses station. “How’s Tara?!” “Any updates?!” “can we get a word with Tara?!” were some of the things being asked. Hospital security was completely overwhelmed by the sudden mob of people, but were able to move everyone out to the hospital’s main entrance. “you can’t just stand around in the waiting room, that’s for patients only.” One of the security guards told the nosey crowd. Hospital administration decided to make a statement to the media and paparazzi to at least appease them for a little while. “Tara Thompson was brought to our emergency department after being involved in a high speed motor vehicle accident. Her exact condition is unknown to hospital administration, but our emergency department and other coordinating departments are working diligently to stabilize her injuries. We will present another update when more information is available, thank you.” Was the statement given to news media outlets.

Back in the trauma room, Tara’s condition began to decline. Her blood pressure was plummeting and she was groaning while drifting in and out of consciousness. With her deteriorating condition in mind, we decided to intubate her. “Push succs and etomidate and get me a 7.0 ET.” I called out as I placed the laryngoscope into Tara’s open mouth. “meds in" a nurse said as another nurse handed me the ET tube. I then began the intubation process. I navigated the tube through the right side of the mouth so my view wouldn’t be obstructed. I identified the epiglottis and then placed the tube into the upper portion of the trachea. I continued lowering the tube until it was about 2cm past the vocal cords. While I held the tube in place at that level, 1 nurse removed the stylet and the other inflated the cuff with an empty syringe. While still holding the tube in place, a nurse began to place a blue tube holder. After that, we confirmed tube placement and attached an ambu bag.

After intubation, we decided that Tara needed to be taken up to the OR for emergency surgery to treat her herniated heart and associated vessel injuries. We covered up her torso with a blanket and wheeled her out of the trauma room. We headed down the hall towards the elevator which led directly to the OR floor. “BP's still dropping, doctor" a nurse called out. “let’s push vasopressors and hang another unit of blood products from the rapid infuser. Let’s try to buy her a few minutes.” I replied.

During the elevator ride up, Tara became pulseless. “no pulse, but we have activity on the monitor.” A nurse called out, shaking her head. “she’s in PEA. Someone start compressions!” I replied urgently. A nurse pulled down the blanket and began deep, harsh chest compressions on the young celebrity. There was a popping sound during CPR from the sternum and rub fractures. “let’s get epi and atropine in. I wanna do a pulse check in 1 minute.” I barked to the trauma team.

Once the meds were in, resuscitation efforts went on. Tara’s chest caved in, causing her perky B cup breasts to jiggle in sync with the chest compressions. Her belly bounced outwards and her head bobbed from the residual force of the life saving efforts. When the 1 minute mark of the code was reached, we did a pulse check in the elevator. “still no pulse. PEA still on the monitors.” A nurse said anxiously. “resume CPR. Push meds at 4 minute mark.” I replied.

We reached the surgical floor a second or two after we resumed CPR. The elevator doors opened up and we were greeted by a few surgical nurses and a surgical resident. “she coded on the way up here. Down for a little over a minute. Pushed 1 of epi and atropine, no shocks. Still in PEA.” I told the surgical resident. “ok doc. Follow us, OR 3 is prepped and ready for her.” The resident replied to me. Deep, harsh chest compressions continued on the singer while she was wheeled through the corridors of the OR floor. “wait a minute. Is that…?” The resident asked before I cut her off. “yep, it’s our VIP patient.”

Tara’s complexion was fading just as fast as she was. Her fresh, tan complexion was now a ghastly, pale that had a grayish tinge. Her lips could be seen through the blue tube holder, and they were now a reddish purple color. Her eyes were half open, staring blankly off into space, devoid of any life or emotion.

Just a minute or so later, we were in OR 3. We were greeted by the surgical attending and the OR staff who were waiting by the OR table. “oh boy, what happened to her?” the surgical attending asked me, surprised to see is bring in an active code. “she coded on the way up. Pushed 1 of epi and atropine, 0 shocks, down for 1:45 and counting. PEA present on last pulse check.” I replied to the surgical attending. The surgeon continued “ok. Let’s get her on the table on my count. One… two… THREE!”

The monitors chirped loudly during the transfer. Tara’s body moved limply while she was moved over to the OR table, still showing no signs of life. “resume compressions! Let’s get a repeat echo and an abdominal ultrasound.” With CPR ongoing, the nurses and surgical techs got the ultrasound machine set up and squirted the cold, gooey gel onto her chest and belly. The surgeon took the wand and moved it onto the gel spot on the belly. “splenic lac, but I don’t think it explains this.” The attending thought out loud, referencing the code blue. They then did a repeat echo: “ok, here’s our problem.” The surgeon said within milliseconds of the ultrasound being done. “cardiac herniation. No tamponade, but she’s bleeding into her chest. I think it might be the pulmonary veins. If it were the pulmonary artery, she would’ve died at the scene.” The surgeon continued.

We did a pulse check at the 4 minute mark, and she was still in PEA. The surgical team pushed the next round of epi and atropine, and they started the first dose of bicarb. Since Tara was in rough shape, the surgeon decided the next course of action is to open her chest via a clamshell thoracotomy in order to make structures in both halves of the thorax visible, especially because of the cardiac herniation into the right chest.

Betadine was splashed across the singer’s bare chest. The surgeon made an incision in the 5th intercostal space, which extended across the entire anterior chest. With the first cut out of the way, a 2nd cut had to be made to incise the subcutaneous tissue in order to expose the sternum, intercostal muscles, and costal cartilage. Now that the intercostal muscles were exposed, heavy scissors were used to snip through the muscle on both sides of the chest in order to create space for the rib spreader, which goes in a few steps later. The next aspect of the clamshell thoracotomy is to divide the sternum in half horizontally. This is somewhat of a challenge since it’s the 2nd hardest bone in the body (the orbital bones, a.k.a. eye sockets are #1), and because Tara sustained a sternal fracture. The sternal fracture was stable and a little above the halfway mark of the sternum, so the usual spot could be cut through. An electric sternal saw was then passed over to the surgeon so the sternum could be divided. The saw made a high pitched grinding sound as the drill cut through the dense bone effortlessly. There was some blood leakage after the drilling was done. The cause of the blood was from the inferior mammary artery being cut from the drill. This is a common complication during clamshell thoracotomies, but it’s easily treatable and isn’t an immediate concern since her heart isn’t pumping blood effectively. The next step was to place the rib spreader, which was put in the center of the chest over where the divided sternum is. With external CPR halted, the knobs on the rib spreader were turned so the chest could be opened up. The OR became filled with a popping and cracking sound from Tara’s ribs breaking.

There was an immediate rush of blood upon entry to the chest. Suction was applied to the area and clamps were placed on the inferior mammary artery since it was injured, and the descending aorta down by the diaphragm. With additional blood accumulation in the chest cavity, the OR team decided to place a 2nd chest tube, which would go on the right side. While the 2nd chest tune was being placed, the pericardium was cut and the heart was delivered so effective internal resus could take place. The 2nd chest tube drained a decent amount of blood, which pooled on the OR floor. Once proper chest tube placement was confirmed, internal massage started.

The surgeon wrapped her hands around Tara’s weakly moving heart and placed her thumbs on the left ventricle. She pushed in a hard, upwards motion on the left ventricle to pump blood outwards. The surgeon’s internal compressions made a wet, rhythmic squishing sound while she tried to force Tara’s heart to do its job. After a cycle or two of internal massage, the surgical resident took over internal resus while the surgical attending dug around in the celebrity’s chest cavity trying to control the hemorrhaging.

While the surgeon was probing around in the woman’s chest, her ET tube became clogged up with blood. In order to keep her airway intact, the ambu bag had to be disconnected and the tube had to be suctioned out. The suction made a wet, soggy slurping sound during this quick process. With the airway restored, the ambu bag was attached and oxygenation was able to continue.

Tara reached the 7 minute mark of the code with no improvement. Another bag of blood products were hung, making this her 8th transfusion (her entire blood volume), and the next doses of epinephrine, atropine, and sodium bicarbonate were injected intravenously. One of the pulmonary veins were stretched out while the other was absolutely shredded. The surgeon was having a difficult time with the shredded vessel. They clamped off the severed end and tried to staple it to the left atrium after the heart was repositioned. However, the staples didn’t hold so the vessel and left atrium continued to leak blood into the chest cavity.

The surgeon restarted their efforts to control the hemorrhage, but the medications were able to convert Tara to a shockable rhythm. The attending surgeon then ordered the team to charge the internal paddles to 20 joules. An electrical whirring was heard during the charging process before the large, spoon shaped paddles were handed off to the doctor. The paddles were lowered into the chest and placed around each side of Tara’s fidgeting heart. Once everyone backed away, shock #1 was delivered. A dull thump was heard, and Tara’s torso flopped slightly in response to the quick jolt of electricity. “still in v-fib.” A nurse called out, shaking her head. The surgical resident resumed internal massage for a moment while the paddles were recharged to a slightly stronger setting of 30 joules.

When the paddles were recharged, they were lowered back into Tara’s chest and the next shock was delivered. The singer’s torso jerked again and her toes curled, showing off a few sharp wrinkles in her soft, size 7 soles. Shock #2 failed to ameliorate the situation since v-fib was still present on the monitors. A cycle of internal massage was performed while the internal paddles were readied for the next shock. Her ET tube became clogged with blood once again, so suction was required to restore her airway. Once her airway was cleared, the next shock was delivered. A dull, wet thump was heard in the OR, and Tara’s upper body flopped limply on the OR table. This shock sent her back into PEA, so internal massage had to be restarted.

Tara’s skin was freezing cold and had a pale, grayish tinge that was becoming more and more noticeable by the second. Her heart felt warm and firm, twitching weakly but frantically. Multiple cycles of internal massage failed to convert her or achieve ROSC, so another dose of cardiac stimulating drugs were pushed at the 11 minute mark of the code. At that point, things started to become repetitive in the code. Cycle after cycle of internal massage failed to produce any change, and the room grew increasingly quiet.

Medications were pushed at the 14 and 17 minute mark of the code, respectively, and the 10th round of blood products were hung from the infuser. These 2 doses of meds failed to produce a shockable rhythm. Tara spiraled further downhill, with an agonal rhythm displaying on the heart monitors. Tara was also maxed out on meds at 17 minutes, so if she were to come back, it would either be now or never.

The surgical team performed internal massage for another 3 and a half minutes, but Tara was asystolic, had no respirations, and her pupils were fixed and dilated. Despite everyone’s best efforts, Tara Thompson was pronounced dead at 10:26am.

The flatlined monitors were switched off and the ambu bag was detached from the ET tube. A nurse began pulling off the EKG electrodes from Tara’s lifeless body while another nurse removed the IVs. The chest tubes, clamps, and rib spreaders were all removed. Tara’s eyes remained half open, almost appearing as if she was watching the nurses perform postmortem care. The nurses then shut her eyes and covered up the young woman’s battered body. Lastly, a toe tag was placed on the big toe of her left foot. The tag dangled in front of Tara’s cute, wrinkly soles as she was wheeled off to the hospital morgue.

Now that Tara was dead, the doctors and hospital administration met in order to figure out how to address the media since this was a high profile case, and her death at their facility may be bad for the hospital’s public image.

At 11am, the hospital administrator and board of directors decided to meet with the press and paparazzi, sparing the doctors of the media circus. The statement was the following:

“We thank you all for your patience this morning. As many of you know, singer-songwriter Tara Thompson was brought to our emergency department after being involved in a high speed motor vehicle accident. She arrived in unstable condition and our emergency department and required emergency surgery. During this surgery, her condition deteriorated further. Despite our staff’s best efforts, Ms Thompson passed away at 10:26am. We’re all very saddened by her untimely passing, and we request that you give her family, friends, and our staff time and space to grieve this loss properly. Thank you.”

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rubik-ashala · 4 years

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Valenwind but the Demons are Symbiotes.

This is my most recent head cannon of the valenwind ship. I had this idea after watching and getting into the venom fandom for a while and this idea came to me. Instead of the demons just being monsters determined to destroy Vincent or being representatives of different parts of his psyche, I decided to make them a race of beings of their own. That come in two types and come from the life stream.

Symbiotes, once they leave the life stream, need to either have a host to survive, or have been around long enough and become strong enough that they can form their own body.

Parasites are symbiotes that became predatory either to other symbiotes or to the hosts they inhabit and only consume them when they bond.

A symbiote can be both or go from one to the other and back if they choose too.

Chaos or Cass as he is called in my potential fic is the oldest and one of the strongest of the symbiotes in existence. He met Vincent when Vincent was a child and saved him from getting lost in the woods. In return, Vincent and his family gave him the resources to form a body and became Vincent's de-facto adopted brother and was with Vincent for most of his life. Until Hojo came in.

When Hojo came in he not only took Vincent but found Chaos as well and through much pain and trauma put Chaos into Vincent, bonding them together. But when he also tried to put Death Gigas and Hellmasker in, Chaos had to use nearly all of his strength to subdue them so they didn't kill Vincent and ended up giving birth to Galien Beast to protect Vincent while he went dormant to recover.

When the group first meets Galien, it’s when they meet the Materia Keeper in the mountains and she rips it a new one after it nearly kills the party. Unfortunately because of the fear the group shows off it makes Galien back away and act aggressively and they deem her dangerous.

When they meet Cid, he finds offense that nobody seems to introduce Vincent to him and takes it upon himself to Introduce himself to the man. Not scared of the man at all. A fact that interests Vincent since the rest of the group seems to be at the least wary of him.

When Galian comes out again, she backs up into a corner after killing the monsters and exhibits the same aggressive behavior from before. Cid see’s this and is the first to notice that she is just scared and yells at the rest of the group, “Put your fucking weapons away! It’s just scared and your making it Fucking worse!”

Cid, in a country boy fashion that includes several pieces of jerky, is able to gently calm her down and win her over. Proving to the group that she means no harm and is actually the sweetest werewolf creature on the planet.

Vincent is incredibly thankful and amazed and begins to trust the gruff pilot because of this.

When Death Gigas comes out, Cid reacts similarly as before but quickly realizes that Death Gigas is more like an angry child that is constantly overwhelmed by everything. Leaning more towards him being on the autistic spectrum in terms of mannerisms. Needs more research though. He is much harder to win over but eventually this one eventually at least lets Cid near him and later the rest of the group.

After this though Vincent starts feeling Hellmasker begin to stir and issues a warning to not just Cid but the group. He also fully explains the remaining two symbiotes to Cid, knowing what may be to come. It is the first time Cid has seen Vincent truly afraid of something.

Hellmasker, unlike the two they had met, is a manipulative psychopath and a parasite. He loves to destroy any hosts they are apart of by destroying thier lives first. Vincent knows that, as soon as he is able to take over, the group and most importantly Cid, would be in great danger.

And unfortunately, the only one strong enough to stop him was Chaos who was still laying dormant.

And just as expected, Hell masker starts to manipulate and pick at Vincent's mind as soon as he realized he is awake. He whispers into Vincent’s head about all the things wrong he has done, starts forcibly taking over to mess with the rest of the group, and then starts going after Cid once he figures out that Vincent had started to grow feelings for him.

However, during one of the conversations he has with Hell masker, he realizes that, for some strange reason, Hell masker only has knowledge of his memory form before he was locked away. Hell masker could still access Vincent's thoughts as he thought them but any attempt to search his memory from after that point Hell masker couldn’t get.

(Something about how traumatic the force bonding was when Hell masker was put in made it unable to completely connect to Vincent's mind. Still working on it.)

Once this is revealed Hell masker turns instead to Galian and Death gigas, attacking one and manipulating the other. In hopes he can become the only one left and take over Vincent completely in order to consume him.

After a time Vincent is rendered incapacitated by the fighting inside of his own body and the sounds of Galian and Death gigas trying to fight off the much stronger Hell masker.

The group watch the fight, much like Venom and Riot at the end of the movie, but sourcing form Vincent's open mouth. AS they watch Death gigas get consumed and Hell masker going after Galian they hear something seemingly bust open inside of Vincent.

(Think Vincent on his knees, head thrown back, mouth open, but from out of his mouth is a large gooey mass with multiple colors fighting each other floating above him.)

And another symbiote enters the fight. Right before the new symbiote starts ripping the other apart and consuming it, they hear “NO! How are you out?” “You attacked what is mine. I woke up.”

After the last two symbiotes sink back into Vincent he collapses and is rendered unconscious. However after a few moments, Vincent groans a bit, but a different voice comes out and instead of red eyes , the eyes are molten gold.

When Cid asks, “Vin, is that you?”

He hears, “Vincent Valentine isn’t available right now, please leave a message after the beep. BEEEEP.”

Chaos is proven to be a wise ass who swears at about the same rate as Cid does but talks more freely than Vincent about anything and everything. Not too mention how brutally honest he can be. It ruffles some feathers.

Especially when Cass takes over to give a few members of the group a few hard truths.

But Cid and Cass get along fabulously.

Chaos is also the hardest shipper of Cid and Vin and is the best friend rooting the two of them on.

#valenwind #vincent valentine #cid highwind #final fantasy vii

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