#shes never the aggressor shes always got to be the victim

[hellfireconfessions]

Hey there, is Guri here. You may know me from years or unfortunately for all the drama before HF shutdown. All this situation is getting a lot put of hand for me, and I wanted to reach out here in order to explain what happened on my side ( if anything is worder incorrectly, please let me know, English is not my first language.)

Ok, so... About the doc. Some people may have read it already, and may not know what it means because the wording wasn't the better but I'll give some context. It was a story from a villain character POV on their abussive relationship with other character, both of the characters are from my creation. "Did the doc contained grooming?" No, both characters are adults. The villain character met the other character once when it was small and then didn't met each other after the other one was adult. "Did the doc had sexual content?" No, the "love bites" were a trait I gave to my characters subspecies, but since the character in question was a villain, the bites used to happen a lot more than usual. "Did the doc had zoophilia?" no, both characters are animals. "Did the doc had non-con/rape?" No, all the doc is basically the villain saying that they love biting the second character and that they love the taste of the blood. "What does the [ But she had a body I can't recall her to have] then?" the original concept of the character was a normal bipedal Utahraptor with some feathers, later was revamped to a quadrupedal more "cat-like" creature. That line meant that the character used to remember the other as s feathered normal Utahraptor, and now that they are adults, seeing her as a completely new creature with different features is weird. "What does [ swollen womb] means?" pregnancy, thought it would be another way to say it. The doc had a trigger warning on the very top and was censored entirely, to ensure the safety of sensitive readers. But many people ignored it.

I haven't groomed anyone, I'm not a pedophile, I'm not a zoophile. My characters does not define me, I'm sorry if anyone has felt uncomfortable with the doc. I truly thought that putting a warning and censoring it would be fine. The server in which was posted was a +17 server, which a few 16 years old members. No one has reached to me about the docs until noodles did on a report ticket, I got a final warning and got my pack rep removed and accepted the punishment. But aside from that, I haven't done anything. I would like to ask for the harassment and lies about me to stop, saying that im a pedophile, zoophile, that i promote incest, rape and other horrible things is not true, even I heard that some people were saying that they had proof of me grooming people and that there was a supposed victim. Of course, when you asked for the evidence, none was provided aside from the doc.

I been banned from server which I haven't played on, all for a doc that staff decided it was not banneable. Getting into my personal space and insulting my family is also not ok, while I won't blame the entire dentem et pluma pack even if the comments they made about me were horrible and I had never talked about them that way, one thing is insulting me as a player, other different is including my husband as Snail did. I make this announcement as an attempt for people to also see my side of things, that I am sorry for how everything took place and that even if horrible things were said towards me, I mean no ill intentions towards my aggressors that as long you didn't insulted my family. Guys, this is a dinosaur game, it's totally ok to not be friends with everyone but what is not ok is harassing, insulting and getting in the personal life of someone over a dino game. Stop the doxxing too, stop judging the private lives of members. If anyone would like to talk about what happened and have a fresh start/make amends. My DMs are always open.

normally i wouldnt approve but i dont know the exact details of what happened so ill let yall go at it

[viatagrinner]

Gilbert von Obsidian. The Prince is a bodyguard.

Chapter 2

Part 2/1

Prince Gilbert put his hand on my shoulder and laughed briskly. I couldn't help but smile, but it was a tight smile.

(But I would rather be a friend than a lover.)

Louise: Your friend .... If this is the case, you still have to treat them well.

(Ah...)

The cup in Lady Louise's hand shakes slightly, and the tea ripples.

Her voice was not as strong as usual.

(I'm used to Prince Gilbert, but others are not.) 

He may look like a cheerful young man, but he is a conquering beast who has trampled and ruled many countries.

MC: ...Prince Gilbert is a scary man, but he is not a man who bites everyone.

MC: He's not as scary as you might think. ...At least not in private.

Gilbert: Ha, I'm only nice to Miss Bunny, right?

(I'm sure you know that... you're so mean.)

MC: Oh, by the way, I read the book you introduced me to earlier!

Deciding that my words weren't enough to calm Lady Louise's trembling, I changed the subject.

Louise: How did you like it? I fell in love with the knight who appeared in the middle of the story...

MC: I know! I was surprised by the unexpected appearance of the knight...

MC: But when I reread it, there was a lot of foreshadowing.

Louise: That's right! I got goosebumps when I realized that.

Louise: Actually, there's a sequel in the library... If you're interested, how about we start right now?

Part 2/2

MC: Really? I'd love to...!

(I'm glad, I've been wondering about it)

MC: Prince Gilbert...

Gilbert: I'll be right here... I'm sure you girls have some things you want to talk about...

(....I thought you would follow me, but I didn't expect you to.)

Louise: Well, let's go!

Lady Louise gets up from her seat and I follow her.

Meanwhile, Prince Gilbert was nonchalantly sipping tea from his cup. I never noticed the meaningful smile on his face.

Louise: This is the room. My father gave it to me for my birthday a few years ago as my personal library.

MC: Wow, I love it...!

(I wish I had a special room....)

(I wonder if I'm the one who thinks she still looks pale...)

Perhaps because of the heavy memories of Prince Gilbert, Lady Louise looked as if she were about to faint.

(I'm sure it will be fine after some time.)

Lady Louise unlocks the door and invites me inside.

The moment I stepped into the library, my nose was hit by a sweet aroma.

(What is this smell? I don't think it is the smell of books.....)

(.... I feel like... but...)

━━━━━━━༻❀✿❀༺━━━━━━━

Louise: .....Please. I'm sorry... please.

Gilbert: Good morning, Miss Bunny.

(...... This man....)

(This is... What's the situation?)

Part 2/3

It was a dimly lit place, dust rising in the air and glittering in the candlelight.

As my eyes adjusted, the details of the landscape became clearer and clearer.

Standing a short distance away from me was Prince Gilbert, smiling as always.

And ....The shadows huddled around me were human.

The stone floor is wet.

I can't see the color, but I know the smell.

MC: ...Oh...

(Blood......)

The more I understand the situation, the more the blood recedes.

As my body swayed unsteadily, the champs tightened around my neck.

???: Stand still!

MC: .....Ah.

(It's an arm. ...... I'm being held by someone else.)

(And the hand and feet look as if they are somehow connected.)

I looked down frightened and saw that the thin blade was clearly against my throat.

Louise: Oh, father!

Earl: You must keep quiet!

MC: ...Lady... Louise...?

I can't move my eyes much, but I can hear Lady Louise's voice from a distance behind me.

(I... I went into the library... and I don't remember anything from there.)

(But this situation looks like a hostage situation.)

Gilbert: Well, I think the situation is beginning to clear up.

Gilbert: Do you need help?

Part 2/4

(Prince Gilbert, me?)

The man who is holding me is trembling. I am not sure which of us is the aggressor and which of us is the victim.

MC: ...May I ask what happened?

Gilbert: Well? I was enjoying my tea when the lady there called me over.

Gilbert: I went along with the Earl and his soldiers, who gave me an enthusiastic welcome.

(In other words, it's not like Prince Gilbert did anything wrong.)

Gilbert: I did some talking before you woke up...

Gilbert: They want to start doing business with Obsidian..... An anti-monarchist extremist organization, so to speak.

(Anti-monarchist...Lady Louise's father?)

Gilbert: Seeing that the overprotective princes haven't stopped communicating with the young lady, they must have been cautious until now.

Gilbert: But they dared to take Miss Bunny hostage, which they said they did in order to negotiate with me.

Gilbert: My coming to the house was just a coincidence, but for them it was an advance in their schedule.

Gilbert: He said if I don't take over, he's gonna rip Miss Bunny's throat out.

Gilbert: You're so pitiful that even I feel sympathy, haha!

MC: .......

(..... I was happy to have new friends.)

(..... Ah, I see.)

(..... That's right.)

Part 2/5

Lady Louise, who was supposed to be nearby, said nothing. It is more painful than the knife in my neck.

Gilbert: Didn't I tell you? Your idea of a friend is not the same as an aristocrat's idea of a friend.

Gilbert: After all, I'm your only friend.

As if enveloping my weakened heart, Prince Gilbert's sweet and gentle voice poured out.

(There is only Prince Gilbert...)

(...Really?)

Gilbert: If you lose confidence in people, I'll take care of you.

The sound of the cane shook the darkness.

As Prince Gilbert took another step, the strength of the arm around the man's neck intensified.

Earl: Stay away!

(It hurts...)

Gradually his throat tightened and tears came to his eyes from the pain. As if to follow up on this, the weight of the air suddenly increased.

Gilbert: Oh, by the way, you guys don't know. I've told Miss Bunny many times...

Gilbert: I hate more than anything to see my prey harmed.

Gilbert: If you thought you could negotiate something like that, you're a fool.

It felt like my whole body was being squeezed by a death-like feeling I'd experienced many times before. Prince Gilbert seemed to soften his gaze, but the smell of blood seemed to become even more intense.

(As it is I, The Earl, and Lady Louise...)

The Earl's trembling, which spreads throughout his body, is so strong that he cannot hide it. I heard something resembling a sob from Lady Louise.

(I see... "I need your help." That's not about me.)

(I meant do you want me to help the Earl and the Lady? ......)

Gilbert: You think I can't kill them because it's it's Rhodolite?

Gilbert: You're so naive. I'm good at destroying evidence, you know?

(Prince Gilbert... is serious.)

(In that case, really...)

Gilbert: So who do you want me to kill first?

All rights reserved by Cybird. Translation is not 100% accurate.

Chapter 1

Gilbert's Masterlist

[autumnfuzz]

Heinry and Kaufman and sexual harassment

TW: nonconsensual SH

I know manhwa fandom glorifies rape and sexual harassment and often the ml's are like that so I wasn't surprised when Heinry and Kaufman were just that.

First let's talk about heinry. He in his bird form stalked Navier to get close to her with malicious intent, he fell in love with (read got obsessed with) her later. But his first priority was to gather information and ruin her reputation. What a great start for our golden retriever puppy boi 🥺

Navier kissed queen, held it against her breasts, even spent a night with his bird form while he could feel her touch as a human being, not to mention as a naked person too. Navier didn't know it was heinry. She thought it was an adorable bird and he took advantage of that. He was a pervert who touched Navier intimately and later blushed in his room thinking about 🙄

McKenna never let Navier touch him in his bird form cause he knew it wasn't right. He felt uncomfortable doing this to Navier. Cause it was creepy and sexual harassment.

Of course the author made Navier brush over the fact cause otherwise how would he look better next to Sovieshu? You don't want people realise that your ml is worse than the antagonist.

And now Kaufman - that man is lucky cause he gets hardly any backlash despite being equally creepy cause he licks Navier's feet and punched Sovieshu. But this fandom ignored how he offered a rape drug to Navier to apply it on Sovieshu. Yes it was a rape drug. It basically forces people to fall in love with one person and the aggressor could do anything to the victim and the victim would have no choice but to comply. He also does this to heinry later. This guy is just distributing rape drugs like Tylenols and yet gets no flake from Navier. Cause once again how would he look better than Sovieshu if people realised that?

You know who never sexually harassed Navier or any other women? Sovieshu

You know who never distributed rape drugs to people? Sovieshu

Everything he did with Rashta was consensual between two adults. He never pushed Navier to get sexually intimate when Navier refused him.

His relationship with Rashta was never treated as cheating rather Rashta was considered a second wife. She signed documents like a marriage certificate and their prenup was that her kids won't get the throne. She told Navier that they had the same husband and Navier never refused that cause it was true.

Polygamous relationship was allowed and heck even Sovieshu told Navier she could take another husband if she wanted but he told her not to take heinry or Kaufman which is very logical cause it's a security risk for the nation. He wasn't against Navier taking another concubine, he was against the creepy dudes that were circling his empire.

Man I can't believe that Sovieshu, the intended antagonist of the story, is way more moral than the supposedly good guys of the story.

But again I'm not surprised. Manhwa community glorifies rape and sexual harassment. Trust me if heinry and Kaufman were ugly looking, there would be much more outcry but they get a pass cause they look decent. Don't get me wrong, I still dislike Sovieshu about how he treated Navier and Rashta later but that bish paid for his crime by being miserable rest of his life.

Heinry is the pUpPy boi and Kaufman is the mysterious hurt foreign man 😑 never did. They don't even think their actions were creepy.

I really hate manhwa authors and its fandom sometimes.

This is why beware of the villainess will always be my favourite. It points out the creepiness of manhwa fandom.

[bookofmirth]

I've read your meta-analysis about Nesta and her sisters and I agree with mostly all of them, so I wanted to know your thoughts on Nesta's relationship with her father. Especially since its a huge element in her trauma and grief.

Personally, I don't like how ACOSF painted him as a victim Nesta should have been more appreciate of. It almost erases any accountability Nesta should have reserved for him.

Nesta was maybe 11 when they lost their fortune and throughout their poverty, her father never protected her or her sisters the way they needed. Going so far as to only talk about the day they will get their fortune back.

“But at least Nesta didn’t fill our heads with useless talk of regaining our wealth, like my father.”

It personally bothers me that his ego got in the way of protecting his daughters and finding means to protect them.

 "He’d been so sure the venture would gain him even more wealth—an obscene amount of wealth. People told him he was mad, but he refused to listen. When they were proved right … I think that humiliation broke him as much as the financial loss.”

“He could find work if he wasn’t so ashamed”

His own ego was his downfall. And his daughters paid the price. 

But it bothers me more that the narrative paints Nesta as the one who needs to become deserving of his love without acknowledging her right to be angry with him and expect more from him. Papa Archeron was painted the victim and Nesta—the child she was through majority of their poverty—the aggressor.

Despite everything, I do believe he loved his daughters. But love isn't always enough. Especially when its used to vilify Nesta further.

Hello! I have so many thoughts about Nesta (and Elain and Feyre) and her parents! Thanks for giving me an excuse to write about them. This got longgggggg...

Generally speaking, I didn't think that acosf excused Papa Archeron so much as it made Nesta grapple with the fact that despite all of his failures - which were definitely failures - and despite her own anger towards him, she still loved him and is angry at herself for that, and wonders why she's so affected by the death of someone that she thought she hated. I always like to distinguish between intellectually knowing something, and emotionally accepting it. You can know intellectually why someone did what they did, without being okay with it. I think with Nesta, she is angry at him and she wants to hold on to that anger, but ultimately he was her father and that's a lot easier said than done.

Because of all that, I don't think that Nesta's thoughts about her father are honest. Her negative thoughts about herself are a big part of acosf, and I thought this was interesting:

She’d failed her father, failed Feyre for years before that. Failed her mother, she supposed. And with Elain, she’d failed as well: first in letting her get taken by Hybern that night they’d been stolen from their beds; then by letting her go into that Cauldron. Then when the Cauldron had taken her into the heart of Hybern’s camp. She’d failed and failed and failed, and there was no end to it, no end—

But were those things are failures? Or is Nesta being too hard on herself? Just because Nesta thinks those things about herself doesn't make them true, so imo the book isn't trying to vilify Nesta, but to help her sort-of... contextualize and understand that the things she thinks about herself aren't true? At least not 100% of the time. (We're all assholes at least a little bit of the time.) So back to her father, I think there is truth mixed in with the self-debasement because yes, he lost their money, yes he refused to pull himself out of his depression or what have you and get work, yes he failed to get healers for their mother - and yet. Nesta still loved him. And she's so, so confused by that, and so angry at it, because she also sees herself as a failure and therefore not worthy of love or forgiveness. But here she is, loving him anyway. And she sees Elain and Feyre, openly mourning their father and seemingly forgiving him for every shitty thing he did, and she feels like she doesn't deserve the same sort of forgiveness that they are offering him.

If Nesta can't forgive their father for his failures, then why would anyone forgive her for hers? That's what she's thinking, if not explicitly. IMO. Although we know that she does find some peace with his memory, and that other people can embrace her as well. It just takes her time to get there.

That is all I hear—the snapping of his neck. His last words to me. That he loved me.” She whispered, “I didn’t deserve that love. I deserve nothing.”

I mentioned in another post that I wonder if Nesta really understands what unconditional love is, or if it's always transactional to her. No one "deserves" love, or has to earn it, or is "good" enough for it, but that's where her thoughts tend to go. This is another example of her thoughts being inaccurate, btw. This is at the end of the hike when she finally lets it all out and tells Cassian what she's been thinking and feeling. And here is his response:

His eyes glimmered with pain for her. “You are. I’ve seen it—I’ve seen what you can do when you are willing to fight for the people you love. Why not apply that same bravery and loyalty to yourself? Don’t say you don’t deserve it.” He gripped her chin. “Everyone deserves happiness. [...] She blurted, “All the things I’ve done before—” “Leave them in the past. Apologize to who you feel the need to, but leave those things behind.” “Forgiveness is not that easy.” “Forgiveness is something we also grant ourselves. And I can talk to you until these mountains crumble around us, but if you don’t wish to be forgiven, if you don’t want to stop feeling this way … it won’t happen.”

Cassian's response isn't to tell Nesta that she's wrong, that if she just changes her attitude it will be fine, but that she needs to move forward and forgive herself. Which is exactly what she needs to do with her father as well, because to put it bluntly he's dead and she can't hold onto hate forever and still be a functioning, healthy person. And she can't keep berating herself for Elain being thrown in the Cauldron, or the Illyrians dying, or Feyre hunting, because most of those things were completely out of her control.

This makes me think that later on, Nesta will have to deal with their mother. Because considering that Nesta was "closer" to their mother, though what we mean by closer is complicated at best, and their mother is the one who molded Nesta into this child whose future was one of "conquest", we saw zero done in acosf to address that relationship. Maybe it's partly because their father's death was the more immediate concern, but I also think that it makes sense for that relationship to play out a bit more with Elain. As we saw Nesta's focus was on their father though they weren't close, I wouldn't be surprised if Elain still has unresolved issues with their mother because of how dismissive she was of Elain.

(Sidenote, I made a post before acofas came out where I predicted that Nesta would refuse to openly mourn their father and would have a hard time with grief, and that Elain and Feyre would go through that process "normally". I can't find it but I swear I knew it would work out exactly this way.)

The second factor at play here is that I think that his death is a huge, huge factor in why Nesta sees her father and their past the way that she does. Not because of the way that he died, but because she will never get the chance to reconcile with him or have the conversations they needed to have. In other circumstances, they might have been able to move past all of the hurt and have some sort of relationship. Probably never a close one, but something. Instead, since he died, Nesta is left with all of this leftover rage and nowhere to put it, because now grief has taken over and she doesn't want to grieve this man she thought she hated, and he's not even there for her to yell at over it! So I think that part of this whole complicated web is that Nesta was used to her father always being there, and it's easy to be mad at someone and refuse to forgive them when you think they'll always be around.

Basically, the fact that their father was not great at taking care of them and protecting them is something that Nesta resents him for while also loving him, because you can't choose your family. And this is all wrapped up in her own ideas of what it means to be worthy of love and forgiveness, and how other people might view her own failures.

I hope that this all made sense - I've been thinking about it for a few days since you sent this ask and I feel like family relationships are so incredibly complicated if there is any sort of failure, hurt feelings, betrayal, etc. I'm coming from the perspective of someone who is not close to her family but still cares for them. Despite old hurts and grudges. Also I hope that this actually answered your question haha! Basically I don't think anyone was the villain here, just human. And if we're lucky, we get to grow up and see our parents as humans, too.

[weebsinstash]

I really feel what you mean on that last post. I’ll mix my yandere ideas with horror and then remember that dark stuff does happen to real people. It kinda puts me off writing horror sometimes

I try to always tag my shit appropriately and that's one of the biggest reasons, is the knowledge and consent with consuming certain things, but even then, I myself have had times where I read tags and labels and I'm like "ok, ok, this sounds like a good time" and then I read through it and I say "actually, this is surprisingly upsetting for me, I feel viscerally uncomfortable" and can even like lose my day to Depression Fog

Like. For example one thing that immediately springs to mind is I will say things like "oh, what if Reader had a stalker that kidnapped them and treated them like an object and you know noncons you all the time, youre just their pretty little cum dumpster" and that, you know, has a different focus and energy than like, a specific hentai whose name I want to say is maybe Dropout where there's a school that basically forces the girls with the worst grades to be, would calling them "free use sex slaves" be accurate. Like on paper they're being forced into a lot of the same dehumanizing sort of scenarios I occasionally brainstorm, collars marking them, other stuff

Another I guess specific name is if yall have ever heard of Kuroinu.m (because I had an ask recently asking for porn recs that I've been neglecting to answer lmao). That's a hentai that's like OG monster fucking stuff but i vividly remember being like turned on and disgusted by it in the past bc it's like, monsters and defeated heroines and stuff, good size difference, got the hero vs villain aspect, good, good, but it's also like eventual dehumanization of women with sprinkles of "this is all you'll ever be good for, all the women are enslaved, the female knights are enslaved, the princesses, etc etc,"

But then again those are also drastically different tones so maybe that's a bad comparison. Like for me a common, I guess, "yandere aesthetic" that i personally try to always include or appeals to me, or at least my most common interpretation of these kinds of stories, is that the inherent forcing of, anything, any act whatsoever onto the victim/Reader by their, you know, yandere/partner/whatever, displays that the aggressor wants or likes or needs something from you that much to the point they force you into it. They lose control of themselves for you.

I mean shit you want another example, I wrote Doubt where Reader is pregnant and then the overturning of Roe v Wade happened and pregnancy felt disgusting and a physical threat to be defeated, and then some time after that now the newest development is "what if Reader loved her new chubby baby actually and she decides that the father is the problem and fucking books it and also hooked up with Clark as a defense maybe 😳"

I guess consuming media and engaging with kinks is sort of an ongoing development for everyone, and I guess that goes even without NSFW material too. You can try a new story and they explore a concept you've never encountered before and find yourself absolutely DISGUSTED, or you could find something that awakens something in you. Playing Corruption of Champions in my formative years was definitely an experience for sure. I remember reading a Transformers fic once where a bunch of the Autobots literally got reprogrammed and had their memories altered and even spark bonds erased like their actual souls tampered with to become enslaved and that was like upsetting at that time like the sheer loss of even will and ability to control and feel ones one thoughts, and now I occasionally play around with "tee hee what if write ABO where Reader is an Omega and those hormones are just ao crazy sometimes she just maybe kinda loses control a little maybe ;) those alpha smells can send you in a little frenzy maybe tee hee ;)"

Finding your comfort zone is an ongoing experiment I guess

[bosspigeon]

so i am officially in my new apartment! i have slept here for the past few nights, and barring some hiccups (and the fact that i'll be sleeping on an air mattress until sunday) i am... finally starting to feel safe again?

i've kind of had to share things my entire life. my space, my things, my time, so i've never really had anything that was just mine? it's why i'm so neurotic about my space/things as an adult, but given that i've never not lived in a shared house/apartment, i've always had to just suck it up, deal, and cultivate my personal space, however small it was

it's kind of extra fucked to think about how my ex-housemate behaved, pretending she cared about boundaries and "respecting" my space, but made a point to twist my issues with enforcing them to her own ends, and poking at all the soft bits of my issues to bend me to her will and make me feel crazy and irrational for even trying to protect myself and my space

and now i've got her mugshot saved to my phone, and every time i start to feel like i was overreacting, or to feel guilty for any part of what went down, i look at it and think "they wouldn't have arrested her if i was in the wrong."

they wouldn't have arrested a petite white girl with wealthy parents if she wasn't wrong. if there wasn't undeniable proof that, however good she was at playing it, that she wasn't the victim, but the aggressor. i have proof that, however hard she worked to dig her hooks into every insecurity and trauma response and twist them for her benefit, she was the one who was wrong, not me.

idk where i was going with this, im just. alone for the first time in a while, and there's a part of me that's sad and scared, but most of me is just... relieved.

i feel like i can finally breathe again.

[spongebobafettywap]

Sorry for randomly crashing onto your blog out of nowhere but while I scrolled through the X-Men asks you got and your answers to them I really felt understood and had my frustration vindicated (for polaris and nightcrawler) so thank you

If I had to add anything it would be that, there was an anon who mentioned how nightcrawler used to be allowed not to forgive his bio parents as an abandoned and adopted child because of how shortsighted and selfish they were about his life, the way they treated him since meeting them again and willingly choosing to forget his entire existence (now literally with Destiny and a bit for Mystique). Well xmen#700 has a small Claremont story about the whole retcon and how nightcrawler was holding a grudge against mystique and destiny for what they did to him and most of the reviewers were MAD and FRUSTRATED that nightcrawler didn't just forgive the two right away because "he's supposed to be all forgiving and compassionate" and "they only did this to save his life". The reviewers kept saying it was all unnecessary wordy melodrama in an already boring comic to end the era and that they were saying this as people who extensively read xmen and like

Claremont has always been wordy it's his trademark and his name was on the book. Nightcrawler was never all forgiveness in regards to his abandonment : Not in the first version, not in the second version, not even in Claremont's second X-Men run. The only version who was fine about it is the one we had during the one-shot retcon written by a guy who doesn't know his character. They kept repeating the gaslighting the retcon conjured into existence about how it was the only way when Age of Apocalypse is right there

I'm not even a hardcore fan and I still know all of this so wtf. Let abandoned children created specifically to be weapons hold grudges against their creators and selfish progenitors who were shown to have done better

It's always nice to hear someone else felt the same way about the way Kurt and Lorna have been mishandled over the years. It's honestly one of the main reasons why I stopped reading X-Men comics I don't like reading stories where my favourite characters aren't treated well.

Honestly I think it either speaks to those reviewers actual views on abandoned children not wanting to forgive their parents or they have this disconnect with how they view these things or it means that if those parents give them some type of sob story or have main character syndrome they will sympathise with them. Sure maybe in very few cases there's actually reasons a parent will abandon their child for the better.

But these retcons have removed any good reason Mystique could have had to do so, and when Mystique and Destiny have been able to raise Rogue it just makes their abandonment for Nightcrawler even worse. This is another reason why Destiny being involved in Kurt's parentage just makes it worse she's a precog so she can see all of this potentially happening to him, so how are we supposed to also sympathise with her?

I always think that Kurt can be forgiving but only if that person is like actually worth forgiving. Tf is the point in him forgiving two selfish supervillains? Honestly people hate Azazel but at least he owns being a Supervillain he's not playing the role of being an aggressor and a victim at the same time which is a personality trait that I cannot stand.

[heroic-endeavors]

“According to his friends, he’s not that bad and we just set him off.” Katsuki rolled his eyes “fucking bullshit really! I got sent home for 3 days and he doesn’t get punished at all, it’s only us and I’m fucking sick of his stupid face. He always looks so smug and I just want to beat that look off his face. He aggravates me so much, Shitty hair says to try and ignore him. I’m the aggressor apparently even though he provoked me.”

"People who say that about bullies are usually also bullies," Noriko commented frowning. Then she realized she wondered for a moment why this kid was with Sadao.

Mirai on her phone decides to post something about 'Hard to believe UA tolerates bullies and punishes the victims. Perhaps I should be glad I never went there.'

[snapheart1536]

Bad Arguments

Elizabeth I

She Was An Adult

Here's a lie purposely misrepresenting the customs of the time in order to push an extremely evil message.

And thus it must be stopped.

This filth, although similar to Girls Could Marry At Twelve, in fact builds upon its false foundations:

...But We Must Remember that Girls Could Marry At Twelve, and She Was An Adult by Tudor standards...

See the leap?

Girls now can marry at sixteen, two years off legal adulthood, so this fetish of wheezing pensioners and their imaginery twelve-year-old wives and how no one batted an eyelid and it was Fine and Normal and everyone's just too darned Victorian about This Sort Of Thing doesn't in any way prove these girls weren't also considered children.

Any old oik is free to just stroll up, look at what befell Elizabeth and call it exactly what it is: child abuse.

We can't have that!

The answer then is to introduce distortion:

Girls Could Marry At Twelve

Then equate it to a lie:

She Was An Adult

In two steps, they've concocted a ramshackle excuse for why it's all Elizabeth's fault.

No such thing in this fantasy land of children developing at different rates, oh no.

The law allowed marriage at twelve, therefore special birthday biology ramped up her foul, lustful urges from absolute zero to instant monomania at light speed, and there ain't no bloody 'off' switch here, love.

Once it's on, them hormones is ON, leaving Elizabeth demented for the rest of her much-begrudged life, thereby justifying every later depiction.

Nature of course oblingingly calmed down once the rules changed, and never again gave kids even an inkling before sixteen, because you can't degrade modern children how they do Elizabeth.

Why I daren't even suggest past experiences left Elizabeth the least inclined to trust men, much less fling herself into the sweaty gorilla arms of a hairy old stepfather.

As if! None of this fetid collective care one single iota for the actual truth:

• Elizabeth was an adult at twelve, but then Seymour stood as guardian, because she wasn't.

• Henry was an adult at fourteen, and yet Margaret served as regent, because he wasnt.

Funny how you never hear 'Boys Could Marry At Fourteen' to justify anything.

And my personal favourite:

• Katherine Howard aged 11+: Whore

• Elizabeth aged 13-15: Grown woman (whore)

• Mary aged 17-20: OMIGOD SHE'S JUST A CHILD!!!

Ignore all the pious, hang-wringing appeals to 'context', for adulthood is never a fixed position for them.

Rather, it shifts and scurries like sands in the wind, depending on who is cast as the villain.

And that's always Elizabeth.

Had she been under twelve, it would suddenly be The Tudors Had No Concept Of Childhood, thus Elizabeth was ackshully an adult whilst in her cradle, and still to blame whichever way.

Oh? So THREE adults were involved in this sordid situation, yet only the youngest is ever held accountable.

• Seymour, a fully-grown, middle-aged adult male, thrice Elizabeth's age, is just some poor, deluded sap at the mercy of a siren's song.

Yer can't expect a wee lad like that to have any sort of self-control.

• Parr, a fully-grown, middle-aged adult female, on her fourth husband, is the put-upon Real Victim in all this.

How was she to know holding Elizabeth down while her clothes got torn off was wrong?

Nah, a thirteen-year-old orphan is the true cause of all pain and suffering in the world.

For Elizabeth, obviously the seductive aggressor, supped harlotry through the bloodline and was simply born evil, and not only far more 'aware' than wide-eyed little Parr and Seymour were at her age, but such was her villainy she exceeded all their present years to boot, and was indeed the most adult-est being ever to stalk the universe.

But do remember: whilst she's An Adult, instantly physically and mentally mature since the magic age of twelve, also clutch them pearls at the depths of wantoness in a mere slip of a girl.

For the younger she was, the greater the evil, thus the more she is to blame, and the further they can stain her reputation and drag her down to their squalid level.

I mean, we simply can't have people to admire In This Day And Age.

Comin' over here and achieving things, bitch!

And that's the underlying message.

If so 'corrupted' in childhood, just imagine what a slut she was as a woman, and now see how laughable that 'Virgin Queen' (as if) tag really was, hah-hah-hah.

As long as they can blur the dividing line between children and adults, tricking your mind into accepting the most abominable acts for the sake of 'historical accuracy', then their job's done.

But for now, this Bad Argument provides the ideal fig-leaf cover defence so these perverts can keep on churning out the porn.

[coffedraven]

All my solidarity for people living where abortion is illegal. I live in Brazil and it's a crime since forever, it's only allowed if the person in question was r4ped (with proof of the event, and even so, our judicial system will try to blame the victim and dissuade the idea of the abortion). Last week an 11 year old girl had to get an abortion after being r4ped and the far-right/conservative people - including the president of this country - were pressuring the poor girl to keep going with the pregnancy. The judge of the case and the prosecutor (which were both women) told her that this momentary sadness - the fetus she carried after being violated - could be the happiness of a couple in the future. After this situation going viral on twitter, the girl got to do the procedure and those horrible people against it kept calling her and the doctor murderers - again, including the president . She's 11 years old. She was 10 when she got pregnant.

In the same week, an actress had her story leaked by tabloids, saying she had a baby and that she gave the baby away - insinuating she abandoned the child. After this pressure, this actress made a post telling what happened and again, another story of violation. She was r4ped as well and got pregnant. When she told the doctor, he refused to give her options, since she hasn't filled a complaint against the aggressor. She said she couldn't give love to someone whose birth came from such a violance and such a trauma. Still, when the child was born a nurse called a reporter and told him everything, except that the woman she was exposing had to give the child to adoption because of the nature of the conception. The same people that judged the child I mentioned, felt like they could judge this woman.

These are just two examples. There are millions out there.

It's a very cruel world to live. I'm always terrified by the lack of empathy we face every day. Being a woman doesn't seem like a punishment, it IS actually a punishment. Specially if you live in places that erase your rights every now and then - or where those rights never existed. And the same goes for minorities.

This culture of oppression is so real, if you don't feel it you're probably part of the oppression and I think you're a terrible person and I want you to get away from me and from my loved ones cause there's not a way we can discuss things out. This culture is killing people, if I tell you guys how many women die here in Brazil every day you would be shocked. This is the country that kills trans people the most too.

I don't have a cool ending for this text. I'm afraid, stressed and mad. I'm a woman.

[bloodanddiscoballs]

.

[physicalturian]

[18+] Deranged Love - Hanma Shuji x F!Reader - Part 1

[Probably contains spoilers from the anime and the manga] [She/Her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone is +18]

Words: 9403

Archive of our own

Warnings : Explicit! / Blood / Injuries / Guns / Bruises / Choking / Blood / Graphic depiction of violence / Killing / Murder / Crying / Trauma /

Summary : Wrong place, wrong guy. Wrong in so many fucking ways it only made the attraction more sick and twisted...Yet I wanted more of him and would end up doing anything for him, with him.

If you feel like I should add more warnings, send me a dm or and ask, I'd rather be safe than sorry

- - -

Routine.

This would be how I would describe my way of life, a routine. I liked it like that, it was safe, comfortable and I was sure of what would happen. Far from me the idea of only doing the same things over and over again, I would sometimes go out with my friends or see a movie—doing things on a whim was not off the table. But I liked knowing what I was signing up for. Surprises, however, never were a thing I enjoyed—seeing my friends in my house when all I wanted was to relax after work was something dreadful and annoying to no end. I would pull through and be a good host, nonetheless, making sure everything was enjoyable, but I would be drained by the end of their stay.

Perhaps that need for reassurance, for a safety net, was the reason why I never truly took an artistic path or even considered any artistic career. It was too free, too unpredictable, too risky. Never could I have imagined myself doing such a thing; those who did were in my eyes the boldest and I admired them greatly for following their dream, but I was not bold, I preferred the solace of a job I knew would always bring me money. A simple 9 to 5 job was fulfilling enough for me; for some it was not, but I enjoyed it. It was something I could do and found relaxing to do, even when there was more rush. It just made sense to me.

There was not much thrill in this job. The people were nice enough; the clients were a bit bitter from time to time, depending on whether the job we had done was in their favor or not. Some of my colleagues would tell me crazy stories about some firms they had worked on or with and I would have a hard time believing it, but perhaps it was because different departments would deal with different types of clients. I had simple people: homeowners, tax payers, easy stuff. I liked it.

Now, even if I was keen on this routine that I had of going to my job, using the same transports, the same paths, headphones in to ignore the people around, I knew when following that same path would bring me trouble. I knew when to break that routine even just a little bit.

Tonight was one of those rare occasions. As I walked back home from work after having had to stay one more hour to help my colleague Darren fix his mistake—I made sure to tell him he owed me for helping him this late—I saw a group of men surrounding someone on the street. With one glance around, the entire street was empty except for those seven men and their victim. The usually crowded place was completely deserted and as I wondered how it could have happened, I noticed bikes at the end of the road blocking any possible traffic. It did not take a genius to know this was something far above me, there was no way I would interfere with that. Turning around, I made sure my steps were less heavy, less determined and started walking back. I did not have time to think I was going to get out of there safely when I heard, “Miss! Call the police-“. A thud sound, followed by a pained moan reached my ear.

When I dared look over my shoulder, I saw the man on his knees, blood pouring from his nose. I recognized him, he was a creepy older man that would sometimes stay longer on the train to look at younger women. Glancing at the other people around him, I kept my face as neutral as possible. Should I call the police? The outfits they wore all had the same sigil on them, the same pattern, and since they did not look like high schoolers I hardly believed those were school uniforms. Which led to the conclusion that they were the ones the news talked about a lot. The city was filled with gangs fighting over territory, not hesitating one bit to kill anyone who would cross them. I was sure of myself, assertive, yes… but I did not possess a savior complex. Seeing that man on the floor made me realize how wrong the system was, but I could not risk taking part in the situation and helping him. There were too many and clearly a lot scarier and stronger than I was. Looking away, I kept walking and heard them laugh, “That’s the right thing to do missy, he deserved it-“ “I said I was going to pay as soon as I got the money!” The victim interrupted; he was speaking very fast, but the fist smashing his jaw was faster to tell him to shut up. “It ain’t about that, you know it!”

Playing my music again, louder this time, I walked away and let them deal with everything, taking a different route than the one I would usually take. It’s alright to not have helped, you wouldn’t have made a difference… But he deserved it… I can still call the police… A turmoil inside my head started as I kept walking. After a few minutes, I grabbed my phone and dialed the police department’s number; they picked up quite fast, asking me what the emergency was. “There are gang members beating up a man in-“ “I’m sorry ma’am we can’t help with that, have a nice evening.” And just like that, the person on the other end of the phone hung up. Looking at my phone incredulously, I called again, all while taking a turn and walking by a warehouse, “Hello, you must have misunderstood me earlier—it is not a joke, there are gang members in the-“ This time, I was not interrupted by the person on the phone but by my arms being grabbed suddenly.

My heartbeat picked up, I suddenly felt sick and my head started spinning. When things like this happened, we’d always think it only happened to others, so when I realized it was happening to me, I did not feel well. Blood drained from my face, from my entire body. It all happened so fast: one moment I was walking past the warehouse, then suddenly my phone hit the ground and I joined it when I was thrown on it with force. My cheekbone took all the damage as someone pressed the side of my face onto the wet ground and made sure to put weight on my back to stop me from moving. I was shivering in fear already, but that fear only grew when my hair was pushed out of the way by a bloody hand, its knuckles painted red and brown from fresh and drying blood. The action did not feel one bit intimate, it was scary, intimidating. With the pressure on my back, I was pressed against the hard floor and could barely breathe, but in a situation like this I knew better than to talk.

I knew that. Yes.

So why did I talk? Why were my nerves acting up in moments like these?

“I am sure you got the wrong person—I’m just an accountant-“ A gun was now pressed against my cheek, I took it as a sign to shut up and did so. The man on my back twisted the gun a few times against my cheek, making me open my mouth from the weird movements against my teeth, like someone forcing a dog to open its jaws to get food out of it. “Aren’t we noisy? Tonight wasn’t the right night to feel heroic, girl.” The man asked as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I closed my eyes in discomfort, my breath hitching. Laughing sadistically, he continued talking, this time his tone lowered, “Rats shouldn’t snoop in businesses that aren’t theirs.” I felt the weight shift on my back, then heard him ask someone, “Keep beating him up, I’ll take care of her then we’ll continue having our fun,” His voice was stern but I still heard some tones of him being carefree, he was enjoying this. He then addressed someone else, “Sounds good to you?” The answer consisted of muffled cries, attempts at screams that were cut off by hits then a gun cocking. With a sigh, the man on me pulled the gun away from my face and tutted the man who was bound on his knees.

I felt the weight leave my back but did not dare move, I stayed right where I was. Steps on the humid ground were heard, getting away from me but clearly approaching the man who I assumed was being tortured. The gun fired soon after, startling me as I tensed up and closed my eyes a few seconds before opening them again. The crazy man that put me on the ground laughed loudly, “Come on, it’s just the thigh, you can still walk for now, yeah?” He had said. Turning my head to look at them, I saw the older man on his knees, hands tied behind his back and suit bloody. His tie was undone, and he had wounds all over his face and chest. “I said you can walk, yeah?” Recognizing the voice, I could put a face to my aggressor as I watched him remove his glove before grabbing the victim by his arm and making him stand up, only to force him to wobble a bit. “See! I am being nice! Talk and it’s all over, come on.” He cooed in something that could be seen as sweet if it wasn’t happening in a warehouse with violent people and a man bleeding on the ground.

“I told you! I don’t know anything I-“ The man with the long earring in his left ear did not think twice before punching the office worker in the face with enough force. I believe I heard his nose crack. I caught a glimpse of the tattoos adorning his hands but could not decipher, from how far I was, what was written on them. The crazy man laughed after the punch, “Wrong answer! Haha, you have one last chance, ok?” He said, leaning over so that his face was at the same level as the other man’s. From my place on the ground, I could only see the wicked smile on his face, and it made me feel uneasy. The tall violent man was clearly crazy, having such a man roaming the city did not seem safe at all and it scared me to think of what else was happening in the shadows. “Alright, alright, please Reaper-“ The man he called Reaper gripped his chin tight and chuckled, “Straight to point, I don’t have time to waste on vermin like you, you’re no fun.” He said as a matter of fact, as if they both believed this. His face had turned serious so quickly that I feared the moment I felt like I could escape, he would change his mind in half a second.

The bleeding man nodded quickly, tears streaming down his cheeks, “It’s Silas&Sons—That’s the name of the firm that discovered something was off-'' While I was left in shock at the mention of the firm I worked at, the Reaper grinned and brought the gun to the man’s forehead, “Wasn’t hard, was it?” the man tried to tell him not to shoot, adding that the violent one had promised he would stop. The latter shook his head, “I said it’ll all be over! Listen carefully next time,” He said the last part like a parent berating their child then winked and pressed the trigger, killing the man in less than a second as his body hit the ground, blood spattering behind him. The man with black and blond hair looked at the body on the ground and chuckled to himself, “There won’t be a next time, but you get the jest.” He huffed with a wave of his hand before handing back the gun he had been given earlier. Turning around, his eyes locked on mine. I widened my eyes in pure terror and turned my face to be in the position he had left me in; I was aware he had seen me, but I was hoping he would not mention it.

The other people that were in the room had gone silent and were probably all looking at me, the woman lying on the floor, shaking, dreading for her life. The odds of me coming out of this unscathed seemed to be decreasing the more I observed what was happening around me. A stinging pain reached my scalp making me hiss, as someone lifted my head from the ground to make me look at them. While turning my head their way, I saw two men sitting on a crate, one with two braids that were long enough to go down to his ribcage while the other had shorter purple hair and glasses. Boredom adorned both their features alongside blood stains on their outfits, and yet they were nonchalant about it. I saw a man leaning behind another crate but barely managed to catch a glimpse of his tattoo that the man called Reaper snapped his fingers in front of me. “Here, I’m your tormentor, not them, yeah?” He grinned. Meeting his gaze again, I forced myself to keep my mouth shut and kept my eyes on him.

“You’re being courageous, not even crying yet! You’re a fun one, gotta love it.” He said happily, his hand patting the cheek that had taken most of the damage when he slammed me on the ground. I flinched when I saw his hand approach my face then winced at the rough touch against the bruising skin. “What will I do with you little rat? Eavesdropping ain’t nice, tattling ain’t it either.” The latter was said in a more serious tone as his expression turned somber, any humor that dripped from his words a moment ago was completely gone and he was now looking at me with caution. “Get up, come on.” I did not have a choice, the grip in my hair did not slacken and I had to follow his movement to avoid most of the pain. My clothes were dirty and damp from the humid ground; I felt my legs shake as I got to my feet and hissed at the pain when he yanked my hair for me to follow him quicker.

Pushing me forward, he threw me against the crate where the two other men were sitting. Hitting my shoulder against the wooden item, I swore under my breath and was about to fall to my knees again when the man with the long braids wrapped his legs around my neck and somewhat choked me. Caught off guard, I gripped his shins tight and tried to break free, but his hold only tightened. I heard him mock me while he dug his heels deeper in my biceps from the position he was in, “Stop moving and it’ll stop hurting, fuck you’re stupid.” He sighed with disdain, bringing me closer towards him but it only pressed my neck against the wood. Gritting my teeth, I stopped trying to get him to let go and let my arms fall to my side, when I felt the choke weaken and took a large intake of breath while focusing my eyes anywhere but on the man in front of me.

The manic laughter I had now heard many times in those few minutes I was on the floor reached my ears again, “I can see you wanna live, what are you willing to do to stay alive?” He asked in a light tone. It was a real question, but I did not want to do anything. I wanted to punch them and make a run for it, but they had guns and strength, none of which I could match in any way. I kept my mouth shut again.

The Reaper chuckled again, “I don’t know if you keeping your pretty mouth shut is a curse or a blessing-“ he stopped himself and slapped my now undamaged cheek with as much force as he could, making me yelp at the pain. I kept my face turned the direction his hand had turned it, but he gripped my chin forcefully and made me look at him. His expression had turned almost sour as he stared right into my eyes, “Fucking answer the question, what are you willing to do?” he spat, his face only breaths away from mine. Keeping a frown on, I uttered, “I wasn’t calling on you, there were people blocking another road-“ His mouth contorted into a smile once again as he pushed my face against the crate before letting go as he threw his hands in the air, and turned around on himself once, “She speaks! God it’s so entertaining to see you’re—Still. Not. Crying.” He gritted through his teeth the last three words before leaning over once again, his face very close to mine just like before.

“You’re telling me it’s a coincidence then?” He asked in a playful tone, clearly mocking me.

Fuck I wanted to make a run for it and get away from here. My heart was trying to beat out of my chest the longer I spent time here, the only thought running through my mind was: I am going to die here. How else would I end up? He had killed a man that had told him what he wanted to know, so no matter what I said he would kill me, right? Stammering a bit, I nodded the best I could with legs still around my neck, “Yes, I hadn’t seen you were here, I-“

“You’re funny! I’ll give you that! God you’re-“ He pulled back and made a rapid movement of his arms approaching me, as if putting me on display, “You’re fun! Ran, let her go.” The first part was said in excitement, the latter in the utmost seriousness. The moment he had spoken those words, the man let go of my neck and I was about to stumble when the Reaper grabbed me by the shoulders. He was tall, strangely tall, way above average, and it only added to all the traits that already made him scary. My whole body tensed, I thought this was it. He glared at me for a few moments before speaking to one of his friends, his gaze never leaving mine, “What do we know?”

An unknown voice reached my ear, it was close, so it must have been the other man on the crate, “Seems like a civilian, said she was an accountant. She also seemed surprised when the vermin said Silas&Son.” That perked the Reaper’s interest.

“Oh, so the little girl knows things. Have they sent you?” He asked, forcing me to look up by gripping my chin once more. He did not care the amount of strength he used, he couldn’t care less if I was uncomfortable, to him I was just a puppet that he could throw around and play with. Clearly he was right since I moved along and did not fight back. If I did, I would die, I was sure of it. “I was walking home from work—I saw my usual path was blocked and people were ganging up against a man so I-“ “You ran? The rat isn’t one for conflict, eh?” He patted my head and smiled almost reassuringly before letting go of me, making sure I fell on the floor. “Then? Make this quick, this ain’t the time for a bedtime story.”

“I called the police so that they could check—they said it was none of their business so I tried again and you-“ Fuck I was stuttering, the stress was too much and once I had fallen on my back, he was a lot more intimidating. He could just pull out his gun and shoot me, I could not get up with how I was shaking.

“You tried to do the right thing, right?” He asked, his back now turned to me. I could not gauge his emotion, so I replied sincerely, “Yes, it was all that I could do-“

Suddenly he turned around and pointed a gun at me, grinning, “Wrong! You could have helped the poor, poor man on the street, yeah? But you didn’t, why?” I did not reply right away, so he waved the gun around before crouching right in front of me and taking a good look at me. “They were too many-“ “That never stops a hero, does it? It’s all about charisma, determination, letting your body act faster than your brain, no?” He asked rhetorically, but while I waited for him to continue he sighed and looked down, his gun dropping lower as his arm fell limp. He started mumbling to himself a moment, using the gun to scratch his hair. Perhaps it was not the most adequate time to do so, but I looked at his outfit and saw he was wearing suit pants and a white business shirt. Quite the outfit for a murderer, but he had made sure to pull his sleeves up to not stain it. He was right in doing so since all the blood from earlier was on his black gloves and his forearms.

“Tell me, rat,” He slowly looked up and gave me a wicked smile, “Are you a hero?” He brought the gun to my forehead and all I did was close my eyes in fear. A sob escaped my lips as I tried to back away, but I was only met with the wooden crate, accidentally bumping my head against the shoes of one of the men sitting on it. “Do you believe there is good in this world? That it deserves to be saved? Hm? Would you die for this pathetic excuse of a world?” He pressed the gun even more against my skin. I heard the click as he disengaged the safety and tried to close my eyes even more than how I had already shut them, but found it impossible. My entire body was shaking, there was no helping the sobs escaping my mouth even by covering it.

I felt a gentle hand push my hand away and opened my eyes in confusion, only to see that the man who was holding a gun against me was grinning, “Answer the question.” He turned the gun horizontally and rested his arm on his knee as he placed his head on his free hand, completely relaxed. Getting lost in thoughts, I stared emptily at him while he started counting down, “Three…” Am I a hero? How would one describe a Hero? None of the mythological heroes could define me, none of those famous franchises either. “Two, think faster.” What answer did he want? Should I give him what he wants, or should I just be honest? “One-“

“I’m not a hero, I didn’t call right away because he deserved it, I-“ Taking a deep breath, I tried to take a hold of myself and calm down the best I could. “He harassed people, no one ever did anything about it-“

“See! Wasn’t hard, was it? Good girl,” He patted my head before moving the gun under my chin and raising it with the end of the gun, his finger never leaving the trigger, “You’re also a bad person then, you’re like us, right? Some people do deserve to die!”

Shuddering, I took a shaky breath and inhaled, “I’m nothing like you-“ “If he died it’s because ye didn’t act quick enough, don’t you agree?” He inquired with a pleading look, the mockery never leaving his tone. “I don’t, no.” My words were followed by the gun leaving my person as the man stood up quickly and barked out a laugh before asking his friends if they had heard that, they only grumbled in reply. He tucked the gun in the back of his pants and I quickly let my head down in fear I had triggered him somehow, frightened it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “I like you, accountant woman. I just wanna see one thing to know what I should do with you—well two, but I’ll start slow.” Bringing his arm behind his back, I tensed again but then felt the gun hit my ankle as he threw it at me.

“Shoot me,” He ordered as he crouched in front of me, his arms crossed over his knees while grinning broadly. “I killed a guy, right? I am bad, killing me should make you a hero.” His little speech was stupid, it only started a vicious cycle of death with no end. Killing a killer that killed one person? It’d make me a killer that killed one person, and so on. But he brought his hand to mine and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the gun before pressing it against his forehead. “Here, you can’t miss from this close, show me you got guts! Come on, do it.” That grin turned into something scary, manic, he was getting off on the thrill. But my hands were shaking, I had never held a gun before, never intended to, but tonight was nothing if not exceptional. When I tried to put my arm down, he grabbed my elbow and kept it up, “It’s you or me, come on, make this fun for both of us-“ “I’m not shooting you in the head! You’re insane-“

Hearing my words well, he barked a laugh then guided the gun to his heart, one of the men behind me sighed and told him to hurry up, but the Reaper only shushed him. “Here, then? Sounds better?” Nothing was right in his head; I couldn’t understand what he was doing. No matter how hard I tried, I did not know the point he was making, but taking all this time to think about it made me lose the position of power he had given me. Forcing my hand to let go of the gun, he took it and, at the speed of light, put it in my mouth, making a sob escape it as he did so. “That’s a missed opportunity, too bad.” He shrugged then as I saw him press the trigger. I closed my eyes, my hands gripping my thighs so tight, it must have left some marks under the fabric of my pants.

The click of the trigger echoed, and I felt myself jump on the spot at how loud the bang was—so this is it? That thought crossed my mind rapidly, but was shoved aside by the loud ringing in my ears. I then heard footsteps echoing around the warehouse. The gun was no longer in my mouth, there were no bullets, it was a blank; I felt my stomach churn and opened my eyes in panic before pushing my tormentor away. I was surprised when he let me do so, but it was better for him. Slamming my hands down, I was on the floor as I emptied my stomach on the concrete. Chuckles reached my ears along with the whispers of a few words, “Can’t even stomach a bit of gun play.” “Should have killed her, blood stench leaves easier than vomit.” The latter comment made one of them laugh.

When I was done, I thought for a second that death was quick, most of the time. And when it wasn’t, you expected it, you weren’t filled with stress. Hence why no one ever spoke of post-mortem vomit. It made me laugh only for a second until I was pushed back on my ass when the man with the earring pressed his foot against my chest, making me wince. “Your name, what is it?” he asked seriously.

Feeling some sort of confidence build up, I looked up at him and leaned over, using the hem of his pants to wipe my mouth, but did not answer. The seriousness on his face turned into the look of someone who had been challenged; he snapped his fingers, then I heard someone say my name, my birthdate and my birthplace. Looking at the person who kept reading out loud, I saw the man with a tiger tattoo on his neck approach before tossing my wallet at me. I did not know when they had found the time to pickpocket me, but they managed to. My cheeks were burning up from the sickness, the stress and the embarrassment this entire situation brought but I still tried to keep my head high, for what it was worth. Bringing my hands to my face, I only now felt the tears that had rolled down my cheeks.

“Okay little tattletale, I think I’ll let you go for now-“ “Are you not going to kill me? Isn’t this what you do?” I asked in a weak voice, not even attempting to get up after all the time you had been mishandled. Both the man with the earring and the tattooed one were standing in front of me. The former reached out for my hand to help me get up, I did not take it, so he sighed loudly and bent over to grab my bicep and forcefully get me up. “We only kill snitches and annoying fucks, are you one of those?” I was about to tell him no when he leaned over suddenly and pressed his index against my lips to shut me up. Startled, I tried to step back but he held the back of my head with his free hand and beamed, “No, you’re not. You’re gonna be useful, you’re just the right amount of malleable,” The finger that had left my mouth moved to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, I shivered in disgust, “I can see it in your eyes that you’ll be a fun one to work with.”

I tried to pull away from him, but his hand gripped my hair tight and kept me in place, stopping me from leaning back when he approached closer, “Since you’re not a hero, we’ll make you a villain then—I mean, it’s not going to be hard considering your stance on killing.” He grimaced at that before turning it into a full laugh and letting go of me.

“Rindou, take her back to her place-“ “I’m not doing that, I got plans with Ran. Send the tiger boy, we’re done for tonight.” The one with purple hair and glasses said as he hopped off the crate, followed by the other man on it. It made the Reaper’s face turn sour as he gripped the one who had just spoken and tightened his hold on his shoulder, “I don’t do escorting, that’s your job.” He gritted through his teeth.

Seeing the tension, I put my wallet back in my bag and cleared my throat, “I’ll—I can walk home on my own, by now they must be gone-“ All of them looked at me with a threatening gaze, I felt like a deer caught in headlights. The man with the braids started walking off, Ran was his name I believe, along with the man with the tattoo on the neck, while the two others stayed right there and glared at me. When I took a step back, taking their silence for permission, the Reaper wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me close to him, “Right, I’ll do it tonight. Just because she’s a fun one-“ “I can walk home alone, it’s no problem,” I tried to push him away, my hands were shaky and had a few scraps. Without the constant manhandling, not that I missed it, I could feel the dampness of my clothes and how cold it was getting.

Looking down at me without any expression on his face, the Reaper turned us around and waved everyone goodbye, his arm never leaving my shoulders. “We both know that’s not true, if we let you walk home alone you might get beaten up by—how did you put it? ‘Gang members’, yeah, that was what you said on the phone.” He hummed, shoving his free hand in his pocket as he guided us outside. I felt uneasy in his hold, I felt like he was walking me towards my execution. I did not want to lead him to my house, but what choice did I have? He would find it sooner or later; at least that’s what he said, but I did not know how much truth there was to it. In my eyes, it was but a small group of violent men that had killed someone.

“In the end you did get beaten up by a gang member, but it could’ve been worse.” He said lightheartedly as he stopped in front of a car. When I paused my steps and still did not look at him, simply waiting for his next move, I felt him grab my chin and turn my head towards him. My breath hitched in fear as I met his golden eyes. He seemed a bit bored now, but I couldn't care less how he felt, I wanted to bolt away from his touch. “You should disinfect that, and you’ll definitely bruise, but you probably have makeup or something to hide that.” He shrugged.

When he leaned over again, I brought my hands in front of me and closed my eyes to stop him from touching me, but I only heard him huffing a laugh next to my ear as he opened the door of the passenger seat. “Get in, I’ll drop you off.” Looking up at him, I blinked a few times then glanced at the inside of the car. I don’t know what I was expecting, something dirty, bloody, disgusting perhaps. But instead, it was perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt in sight. It looked like an expensive car, but perhaps it was just very clean, I did not know. Still unsure, I hesitantly got inside and was about to close the door but felt a certain strength holding it back. The man was leaning on the door and bent over to peek his head inside the car, thinking he needed something. I pressed myself more against the seat to let him grab what he wanted, but his hand reached for the belt and fastened it for me.

“Wouldn’t want you to escape—ah, I mean, safety first.” He said mockingly before winking and slamming the door shut. My hands found their way to the belt and held it tight as I watched him walk around the car. His steps were too big for me to make a run for it, he would catch up on me in no time, I was stuck with him. As he entered the vehicle and fastened his own seatbelt, he pointed at the glove box and handed me his gloves, “Put them back and hand me a wipe, tattletale.”

His craziness was a lot more toned down, for a second I wondered how many faces this man had. The one I was seeing right now was intimidating from how put together he seemed, the other one was scary from how unexpected his actions were. “Why aren’t you killing me?” I asked without looking at him, focused on pushing the gun out of the way inside the glove box and grabbing the little pack of wipes. Giving it to him, his brow was quirked, “Because you’re a good girl,” He grinned, wiping his hands as he continued, “No one would ever suspect you’re working with the likes of a gang. You’re gonna be useful and that’s all that matters, you should be thankful I didn’t kill you. I hate people who eavesdrop.” He said, as he shoved the wipe in the door compartment.

“I didn’t eavesdrop.” I muttered, looking outside the window when he started the car. The laugh that erupted out of nowhere scared me, making me tense again, I dared to look his way and saw his manic smile again. “So, you’re an accountant, pretty boring. You should be thrilled I chose you.” He said in a mix of pride and humor before increasing the volume of the music then drumming his fingers on the wheel. Thinking about his words some more, I glanced his way and lowered the volume, catching his attention as he looked me dead in the eyes. “What if I don’t want to work with you?” I asked, measuring my tone to not piss him off, it did not take a genius to understand this man was unstable and that I needed to tread lightly around him.

Even with as much care as I put in my voice, his reaction was sudden when he turned the wheel and stopped the car on the side of the road. Passing cars honked in annoyance but the man did not care one bit while I had slammed my hand on the dashboard to stop my head from hitting it. Insulting him under my breath, I looked up and saw he had placed his arms on the wheel, his left cheek resting on his forearm. “Then leave. Get out right now, nothing’s stopping you.”

“What’s stopping me is that you’ll kill me, or you’ll run me over, multiple times,” I could see the smile on his face was spreading, but he did not move. The condescendence in his lack of reaction, of action, annoyed me but at the same time frightened me, was he going to slam my head against the window? Against the dashboard? I did not know, but I continued, stammering this time from how nervous I was becoming, “My life is on the fucking line, that’s what’s holding me back.” I spat. My eyes had never left his, even as his smile turned into a grin and his slender fingers gripped the wheel tighter.

When he did not look away, I did. At the same time, I turned on the seat and fully looked ahead instead of facing him. A silence set for a moment then I heard the car start and the man sighed, content, “You’re smart to stay, you’re only alive because I can use you. If you had left, I’d have shot you and left you on the side of the road to die.” He said in a light tone. The words he had spoken had the same effect of a bullet; my guts took a hit without being truly hit. I did not have a choice at all, I was stuck working for a man I did not know without even knowing what I had to do.

His hand rose and I closed my eyes, flinching slightly, “Type in your address, tattletale.” With the little confidence that remained, I lifted my shaky hand and typed it in while telling him that I had a name. Then added, “You should use it. Maybe there is a name I can call you by?” I was not asking for his ID, nor anything specific, if he had a codename in his stupid gang or something like that I would go with it, but calling him Reaper in my head sounded idiotic. “Sorry doll, I think nark or snitch suits you a lot more.” He hummed a moment, throwing me a glance from the corner of his eyes as his hands moved on the wheel absent-mindedly. Huffing in annoyance, I placed my elbow against the window and rested my chin against my fist, thinking he was done. After all, why should I care what he called me? I should simply call him an asshole if he was so keen on calling me a snitch. Or perhaps I should live up to the title and do exactly that, tell the police.

A hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me out of my daydream with my head bumped against the window. Wincing in pain, I heard the man laugh loudly while being focused on the road, “That’s deserved for not paying attention.” He said through laughter. “Pay attention to what? The road? I’m not the one driving-“ “To me, you should keep your guard up, snitch. Who knows what I could do.” He said with a deadpan expression. Without looking at me, he brought his hand to tuck my hair out of the way, then glanced at me and smirked. His touch was light, almost gentle. It allowed me to get a proper look at his tattoo, but I could not focus on it at all, I only tensed up before feeling him grip my throat and bring me closer to him. I made a choking sound and complied to avoid as much pain as possible, “You can call me Hanma, as long as you don’t scream it from every fucking rooftop.”

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. This night was not going as planned at all and every time I found any respite, it would be ruined, and the man would turn violent again. I could not let my guard down, I knew it but when he would just stay put, I could not help myself but think he was done. Clearly he wasn’t. His hold lessened a bit, so I took the opportunity to claw his hand away and pull myself back, my own hand around my throat in protection. “They called you the Reaper.” I croaked, wanting him to talk more so that I wouldn’t have to.

“They did, yeah.” He shrugged.

That was it. He did not add anything else. The matter was closed. When I asked him why they did that, he pulled the car on the side of the road again, startling me in the process. With how on edge I was, I did not realize where we were and thought he would be mad again, but instead he looked over my shoulder and nodded, “That’s you, get out.” He told me as his left arm rested on the wheel while the right one was on the back of the seat, casually leaning on it while looking at me. Looking behind me, I saw my house and felt some hope at finally being able to get home and yet… I did not leave right away and instead prodded, “The news talks about your gang, how many people did you kill?” His eyes traveled from my head to my hands then up to my head again, the arrogance never leaving his face as he leaned back against the car door and waved a hand dismissively, “Take a guess, I think it should be fun.”

I was about to give him a number when he leaned forward quickly, his face right in front of mine as he whispered, “Don’t forget those in comas or those at the hospital, they might not be dead, but they might as well be,” He chuckled happily then approached even closer, his lips right next to my ear, “They’re only alive because I said they could be, like you are. One wrong move and,” leaning back quickly, he clapped his hands, “Bang, dead.” He said dead meaning those in the hospital, but I fully understood he was threatening me, I was not an idiot.

Taking this as my cue to go, I unbuckled my seatbelt and when I was about to open the door, I heard the mechanism of the car locking it. Turning around to look at Hanma, I wordlessly asked if he needed anything else. His hand reached out towards me, “Your phone.”

“I didn’t record this or anything, I was not on a call with the police either, I-“ snatching it from my hand while I was rambling, Hanma tried to unlock it but instead was met with a locked screen. Hesitantly, I took it from his hand, mine being a lot shakier than his seeing how steady his were and unlocked it before giving it back to him. A minute passed and he handed the phone back to me, “We’ll be in contact. Things are gonna change for you, doll. Hope you’re ready for what’s coming.”

He was an unusual character, he was confusing, violent, and surely insane. All of those things added up in my mind, making me accidentally let it slip, “How can one be ready with you? Crazy man…” I said it all under my breath and huffed the last part as I pushed the door open. I let out a sigh when the door opened easily, part of me even thanked the man for not keeping me in any longer but I was still on my toes, certain he would say something else as I left the car, but he did not.

Grabbing my bag, I shuffled away from the car that still hadn’t moved and kept glancing over my shoulders until I reached the door where I struggled to put the key in the keyhole. At each failed attempt my frustration grew, the swears flooded out of my mouth easily and soon it turned into a stupid crying of frustration. “Fuck this, fucking shit-“ when the key finally fit, I hurried inside and locked the door behind me again but this time with the sliding lock, knowing full well I would struggle again too much to lock my door with the key seeing how tensed I still was.

The darkness of my home was what welcomed me. It was awful, it was cold and above everything it felt oppressive—my face was heating up, I was suffocating, my clothes were burning my skin, but I was also shaking. Fanning my face, I made my way to the bathroom with heavy steps, my breath was quickening, was it breathing or heaving? I needed to calm down, I needed to ground myself but I did not know how, this never happened but I felt like I was dying. I could not breathe, my lungs hurt at each intake of breath. “Fuck, fuck, shit, calm down“ I panted while taking off my clothes, I needed to take everything off, I wanted to burn them, it was filthy, disgusting and smelled wretched.

As I took off my top, I caught a whiff of the stench of the warehouse and let out a sob but did not let it stop me even if I could not breathe. I removed the rest of my clothes and knelt by the bath, leaning over to turn the shower on but did not wait for it to be warm to step inside and let it pour all over my dirtied body. The coldness made me take a deep breath that seemed to have helped with the panic attack I was having, but it did not help the crying, so I let it all out while I was washing up. What have I gotten myself into? What happens next? What am I supposed to do now? Is he going to ask me to kill someone? Am I going to have to use a gun? I didn’t want to do any of those, I only walked by something I had nothing to do with and—letting out a scream of frustration, I sat down in the bath and let the water rain on me. I ran my hands through my wet hair and placed my elbows on my knees, grunting again, “I don’t do gangs… I do numbers, I don’t have time to murder people…” I mumbled.

Letting my own words sink in, I let out a chuckle at first and focused my gaze on the wall in front of me then laughed again, shortly. I don’t have time to murder people, yeah… “Because if you had time you would?” I asked myself jokingly as I stood up, laughing again. Shaking my head, I shut the shower off and got out, almost slipping on the water that had splattered around the bath. I hadn’t taken time to put a towel on the floor or prepare anything, fortunately I managed to balance myself and took one from the closet. Once I was dry, I wrapped my robe around my form and stopped in front of the mirror, taking a proper look at the damage I had taken.

The scratch on my cheekbone was bruised, there was another bruise on my neck that I could probably hide with a turtleneck, the season allowed it, and if not with a turtleneck then a scarf would do the trick. Disrobing myself just to take a look at the rest of it, I had some bruises on my arms where I was grabbed to be moved roughly, without counting the pain on my ass but no one would see that. Passing my tongue over my teeth, I was glad as I still had all of them, but my jaw hurt, “Did I bite the inside of my cheek? At what moment could-“ A flashback of when the man slapped me with full force appeared in my mind, fueling me with a bad feeling of uneasiness as I put back my robe. “Bastard…” I huffed before opening the door of my bathroom and stepping inside the dark room again. Talking to myself, I continued, “Nothing’s stopping me from telling the police, who does he think he is? I could very well call them, yeah…” I paused in my steps and scoffed dryly, “Not that they’d listen.”

The news was always talking about the gangs in the city, telling us that the police were working on stopping them, but no one knew the people that were supposed to defend and help were a bunch of sellouts, bribed out idiots. The system we had put our trust in had decided to fuck us over and to leave us to ourselves, it was because of them that I was in this situation. It’s not like it had been hard to stumble upon one of their gang meetings. They might claim discretion, but if anyone could find them, it was anything but. “Who am I kidding? I am fucked,” I barked a laugh and turned on the light, “Guess I am a gang member-“ I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the man my thoughts were plagued with, sitting on my couch, his legs crossed with one ankle over a knee. “Not exactly, you still need to prove yourself. But I love the enthusiasm!” He said while placing an arm on the back of the couch and looking at me with a satisfied smile, not even fully facing me, only to look right ahead once he was done talking.

Usually, one would say don’t turn your back on your enemy, but he was the predator here, he had nothing to fear, I was the one shaking in my metaphorical boots. Deciding to not be useless, I was about to shuffle to the kitchen discretely when I saw him beckon me closer by bending his index finger. Thinking I could play it off as not having seen it, I took one step towards the kitchen when I heard him click his tongue over his teeth, “I said, come here.” Stopping dead in my tracks, I did not speak, and silently opened my bag to pull out my phone and start recording. His hand gripped the back of the couch and I heard him chuckle mockingly, “Ran said you were stupid, but we both know you’re not, now come.” Putting the phone properly on the furniture, I followed his order and walked up to him to stand right in front of him, my arms crossed over my chest to close my bathrobe up to my neck.

“How the fuck did you get in?” I spat. He was not driving, which meant he could not throw me out of a speeding car. He was not surrounded by other maniacs either, and if he had a gun and decided to shoot me, I would have proof of it. There was a semblance of safety, even amidst the fact that the man had broken in without caring. It led me to have some confidence.

The man grinned and leaned over, his elbows resting on his knees. His demeanor was one of a man in control, he knew he could do anything to me because I would bend, he said it himself, I was malleable. But not for lack of will, simply by fear. And if he kept bending me this much, I would not last long, I would break. As long as I feared him, he had the upper hand… but I was not feeling fearless yet. With a low chuckle, he simply said, “Broke in with pliers,” then showed me the pair of pliers lying on the couch. I glanced at my door and saw the chain of my lock was broken as he had said, but that loss of attention directed to him annoyed him. Snapping his fingers, he brought my attention back to him, “Here, you should make a double of your key-“ “I’m not doing that. First, you’ll pay me back for breaking my lock, then if you want to meet up for whatever you got planned for me, you pick a spot but not-“

My breath hitched when Hanma rapidly stood up, his form towering mine as he looked down at me with his hair falling randomly on his forehead. “We got a lotta confidence suddenly, don’t we? Go ahead, finish your sentence, I’m listening.” He cooed in a condescending tone, his face approaching mine as he hovered slightly over me. Looking up at him, I looked down to his chest feeling my confidence wane slightly. When I tried to step back, not liking how close he was to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Come on partner, let it all out, you seem to have a lot on your mind. Keeping it all bottled up ain’t gonna end up well. We should get along if we’re gonna work together, yeah?” He said in a fake listening attitude, we both knew he didn’t care but I was riled up and clenched my fists.

“I don’t want you in my house, you’re a piece of shit. I don’t want to get along, I want you to fuck off—Get out.” I managed to say everything without stuttering, but his grip tightened on my shoulder, making me tense up even if it was not painfully tight. Simply knowing that nothing was holding him back, not his mind, nor his ethics, nothing. His mood was the turning point of his actions, which means one change of emotion could make him go feral and hit me, it scared me. Hissing mockingly, he tilted my chin up to make me look at him, a smirk adorning his face, “Make me leave then, do something about it.” Grabbing both my shoulders, he pushed me back slightly then spread his arms wide, a huge smile on his face, “Go ahead, I won’t do anything—it’s free hits,” He taunted. When I did not move, he pointed at his face and licked his lips like an animal looking at its next meal.

“Do it, show me your guts, little rat! I hit you right? I put a gun to your head, that must be so annoying, right?” Biting the inside of my cheek, I could feel my frustration building up inside me again. He had done all those things, and no regret was written on his face, none. He had killed a man, broken inside my house, manhandled me and hit me. He had mocked me, humiliated me, mistreated me and while it all happened in a short time span, I already felt strongly about him. Reminding myself all that, I hadn’t realized the hit that flew from my person until it landed on his jaw, my fist feeling like it had hit a wall. His face turned to the side by the end of the action.

Using the heel of his hand to wipe the blood that dripped from his mouth, he looked at me with hooded eyes and grinned, his teeth colored red, “That’s hot, but ye shouldn’t have done that.”

[Part 2]

[1994sunflower]

what if Michael accidentally hurts y/n. Like maybe she’s coming home from her classes and she sees him beating someone up and she tries to stop him and he hurts her on accident. Sorry I just really love your writing especially angst ;)

thank you so much! i love angst too hehe...I dont know how angsty this is but i put a little bit of fluff at the end lol

also, i’m so sorry for being so inactive guys i really am working on stuff i promise :(( but i’m also making like 20 essays for school applications so it’s going slowly. hope you like this!

in which michael accidentally hurts you

You’re never sure how they start. You couldn’t picture something making you so angry that you’d resort to fists. Even your boyfriend, as apathetic as he is with most people, you didn’t know his violent side intimately. It was just never the way Michael was with you. It almost felt like a stranger when you saw evidence of it acting against others, hurting others. 

You never minded much, just tried to stop him and chastised him a bit while you patched him up. Because at the end of the day you knew he wasn’t a bad guy. Even appreciated his ability to defend himself and you. But still the mystery was always preserved. How the man that held you close, looked at you with nothing but love could be the cause of so many broken bones and bloodshed. Was it his temper that you had never seen or was it his not caring of anyone or even himself, the harm it could bring to him if he wasn’t careful.

Either way you hated it. Hated it each time you heard of it, his (comparatively much more violent) past of it and even more when you caught him at it yourself. It was never on purpose. Because if Michael had known you were anywhere near the vicinity he would stop, or leave to finish his business without you being there to witness that side of him. 

You were docile, so much different than him. Michael knew that as well as anyone else. He knew he didn’t deserve you. So, he tried to hard to avoid adding to the list of why. He could imagine in his worst nightmares you seeing that dark side of him, the one that was so much better than before thanks to you, and be terrified. Realize what kind of man you had chosen and finally see that you needed someone better. Someone who wasn’t so aggressive, so violent, so scary. He didn’t want you to look at him with those eyes. Scared, like you never really knew him. Because the truth was you knew him better than anyone else.

Usually you’d catch him when you were walking back from class. Something he should be doing as well. Instead, he’d be somewhere where he imagined you’d never cross paths, far from your last class. Too bad you liked to walk around campus and take shortcuts more than you should. 

It was usually the same thing. He’d have the upper hand. With his height and strength, it was easy. But that’d leave a victim, someone who couldn’t properly defend themselves against the wrath brought on by whatever they had done to Michael. Sometimes as little as bumping into him. You, with all your goodness and empathy, always stopped your boyfriend because you knew only you could. And if you could help someone, you’d always take the opportunity. 

This time was a little different. Maybe Michael had gotten his days crossed, maybe he forgot you had lab that day and you’d have to pass by that way. But in the walk from your building back to off campus, in the little alleyway of one of the last buildings separating campus from the main street, you heard it. The building was tall and its brick walls looked more like formidable walls, so you had to keep walking until you were right at the entryway of the surprisingly big alley to see. 

But your boyfriend was unmistakable. And so was the way he was punching down another boy. The boy was younger than him, it was obvious, maybe even a freshman. Which somehow made it worse. But they were almost equally matched in height and the boy, either from adrenaline or reflex, wasn’t just holding his hands up in defense. He landed more than a few punches back at your boyfriend. Hitting him in his jaw and face, you already saw some scrapes on his temple and cheek. 

Your face contorted into panic at the sight of Michael getting hurt. Maybe even more fear-stricken at that fact than you would have been just seeing another person getting hurt by his hand. It wasn’t fair to care more about him than the other boy, especially when you were sure Michael was the aggressor. But you didn’t care. You loved him too much to see him get hurt. It was the reason you hated him fighting so much, you dreaded to see the consequences it could end up having on him. You’d told him so many times to stop fighting in the past but he wouldn’t listen. He was getting better but never stopping. Being as good for his girlfriend as possible so you’d be proud of him.

There wasn’t much need to worry, though. A few punches landed on him but he still was dominating the fight by far. Especially when he was more pissed off at the younger boy fighting back. But it didn’t matter. If it went on the way it currently was going, both of them would be more seriously injured than maybe they even realized.

You weren’t sure why you didn’t call out to him. Maybe it was the urgency of the situation that had you mute and just running to your boyfriend as quickly as you could. You always stopped him, but that was always when he realized it was you by the sound of your voice. It never occurred to you that he wouldn’t recognize your touch when he was so blinded by rage. You didn’t realize until you were too close, had already touched his arm desperately, hoping to stop any more attacks from raining down on the other boy. You didn’t even get a chance to call out to him, let him listen to your familiar voice that always seemed to soothe him.

By then, he had already pushed you away. He did it without even looking at you, his anger still directed at the boy and no one would stop him — at least when he thought you wouldn’t be there. 

“Get the fuck off me.” His words were in a tone you’d never heard directed at you, only at other people. And his hand hit your shoulder and sent you flying back, landing with a loud thud on the concrete. 

You weren’t sure if the feeling of your body left lingering on his fingers was what made him recognize who he had just pushed. Or maybe it was the recognition of your voice in the pained yell you had let out as you fell down. But he froze. So completely paralyzed, his body rigid. He was begging that as he turned around, slowly almost mechanically, he wouldn’t see you on the ground. That you wouldn’t be the person he had just physically hurt in his anger. 

It was fruitless. As he kept his grip on his opponents shirt, but stopped yelling, stopped assaulting; just looking behind him, dreading what he would see. It was you. You sitting up, your knees and arms scraped from the fall, some blood and red, raw skin on the injuries. Your pretty dress was crumpled and dirty, bits of concrete, dirt and filth marred your spotless person. His pure, fragile girl.

But it was your face that had him letting go of the boy, arms hanging limply at his side, anger forgotten and eyes wide in horror at what he had just done to his girlfriend who he loved so much. You were looking up at him, tears in your eyes from the pain. They flowed down your cheeks and while you were silent, your eyes screamed at him what hurt more than any of the punches he had just taken. It’s your fault.

He hadn’t pushed that hard. But to your smaller body, even a light hit from him would be painful and powerful. Especially with his added strength.

“Y/N…” The boy was long forgotten. Even when he took the opportunity to run away. Michael forgot the reason for the fight in the first place. Nothing, really, entered his mind as important except you. All his thoughts had zeroed in on the scene in front of him, what he had just done to you. You were the best thing to ever happen to him. He cared about you so much. He loved you more than anyone else, even himself. Hurting you was the last thing he ever wanted to do. He’d hurt himself before he let anything touch you. All he ever wanted was to protect you. But yet, he was the one that ended up doing just that.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t-” Know it was you. 

He fucked up. He’d never felt more ashamed at having lost control. If he hadn’t, he’d have stopped and seen it was you. He would have listened when your little hand took hold of his arm. Recognized the feeling of your skin on his like he could so easily do when he was in the right frame of mind. He wouldn’t have hurt you. You wouldn’t be on the ground, dirty and injured because of him. 

But as he stepped towards you, already bending down to help you up, check on you, it got worse. It was worse before you pushed yourself back with the heels of your feet, putting more distance between him and you, making sure he couldn’t get near you. “Don’t touch me.” 

Hurt flashed on his face at your words. At you rejecting to even be near him. The one person that had always stuck by him through everything and forgave him even with how often he fucked up. The one that gave him an unconditional love he wasn’t used to. Part of him new he deserved it, for hurting you even if it was an accident. But the ache he felt when he couldn’t even help you, ask for your forgiveness because you didn’t want to hear it right then, was strong. 

Your voice wavered and broke but your eyes showed very clearly how much you meant those words. He wasn’t sure what was worst to see in them, the anger or the fear. 

Why were you even there? He was sure you had class on the opposite side of campus. It was why he never imagined you were the one trying to stop him. He pictured you walking peacefully from your class back home to wait for him to get back to you. Not what actually ended up happening. He would have never fought in a place you could so easily have seen, so easily have gotten hurt. Especially when he wanted to make you see how much better he was being for you, even if not by much. If you had called out to him, he hadn’t even heard you.

Michael felt a pit at his stomach. Could already hear you breaking up with him, because a girl like you didn’t deserve to be on the ground, looking so pretty and innocent and have that ruined because her boyfriend couldn’t just listen to her and try to be less violent with others. Dread filled him at the different possibilities of losing you this could bring him. None of them did he want. But still, watching you wince as you emotionally collected yourself, he had to curse himself. He wouldn’t blame you. It’s his fault.

Even at your words, he still moved forward, getting down on his knees to be on your level. When you lifted up your palms from the ground, they were tinged pink from the fall and bits and pieces of the concrete were stuck to the palms of your hands. His jaw locked at the sight, regret filling his mind.

Taking your small hands in his, slowly, he sucked in a relieved breath when you didn’t push him away like he thought you would. Instead, he wouldn’t meet your big eyes as he felt them looking at him, he couldn’t. It was so shameful to see that pure wide eyed look of yours and know he had hurt someone that wholesome and kind. 

His gaze stayed on your hands as you held them out palm up. One of his hands cupped the back of your two hands while the other he used to gently pick off the grovel. Not too fast lest they be sharp and hurt you. It was almost comical really, to see his hands, still bloody at the knuckles from the fight, being so tender only a few minutes later. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked you when he was done. When you winced as you curled your fingers in was the answer. 

You wouldn’t even look at him. Let alone acknowledge the apology begging to leave his lips. And he had to resist the urge to take you into his arms so he wouldn’t feel the coldness you were currently giving him. Tears were still running down your cheek by the time your backpack that had fallen beside you was taken up by Michael. He slung it across his shoulder easily, no matter how heavy you had found it. Then his arm was around your waist and his hand on your arm, pulling you up finally from the ground that should be kissed at your feet instead of you laying in it. 

Clearly, he wasn’t taking your command to not touch you seriously. But you didn’t make any move to enforce it - despite how angry you felt, how struck at what he had done to you, no matter that he had done it unconsciously. He needed it, to feel as if he hadn’t completely destroyed everything in the relationship he cherished so much. That the only girl he loved and respected didn’t feel terrified of him and distrust him.

He’d brought a lot of emotions out of you, particularly pleasure, but pain was never meant to be one of them.

That much was obvious in the almost shameful look on his face all the way back to your house - the place you’d forced him to take you to instead of his own home. You would’ve preferred to go home by yourself, your anger and freight not being appropriate to be next to him, let alone have him nearly piggyback carrying you all the way. But he wouldn’t leave your side. 

It was also seen in his small voice, as shaky and almost insecure as you’d ever heard it when you forced him to put you down as you finally got home. The security of your home giving you what your had been lacking the second Michael sent you to the ground, the safety you usually got from him was weak.

“I can help...” 

“No, I got it.” Your words were cold, so different from your usually light and happy voice, as you walked away from him and to your bathroom where you kept the first aid kit. It was usually there for him whenever he got in a fight and got hurt. But now, you needed it.

He flinched at your tone. Despite whatever fights he ever got in, you were the only one who could ever truly hurt him. 

Michael stayed in the living room silently while you disinfected your wounds and covered them up. He hurt you. You could still feel the pain of it, see it physically manifested. You were still crying, sniffling as quietly as you could. It didn’t hurt so much as it did scare you. Not that you were scared of him. Despite what happened, you knew it was an accident and you knew he would never hurt you purposely like that ever. 

But the fact it happened, the fact he had been so lost in his anger that he didn’t stop and think about what he was doing and his surroundings. The fact that you had felt his strength in such an ugly, dangerous way. The suddenness of it scared you. 

And you hated feeling that towards your boyfriend. You only wanted to feel happy and loved with him, nothing as negative as this. It was also frustrating, knowing you had warned him of consequences of his actions like this, though never expected you’d ever be on the receiving end of it, but he still hasn’t changed. But this was the last time you’d ever allow yourself to be in this position.

It made you almost think that your friends, the rumors, maybe they were more right about Michael and his anger than you were whenever you tried to defend him. You wanted your boyfriend to be safe. You didn’t want to believe they were right. Otherwise, you didn’t really know the man you claimed to love.

You were mad and frightened. But it came from a place of love. You didn’t want him to get hurt and you especially didn’t want it to get to this point where he couldn’t even stop himself before it got out of his control until it was too late. You loved him.

When you finished fixing yourself up as best as you could, you left the bathroom and moved quietly into your living room where Michael was sitting silently. His face was in his hands. His very posture screamed regret and you didn’t even want to imagine how dark and self-deprecating his thoughts were as he blamed himself for hurting you, you knew it was hard for him.

He’d told you so many times it was the last thing he wanted. You weren’t sure he could forgive himself. Especially when he knew his strength compared to yours, when he saw your injuries caused by his hand. 

You weren’t sure he even felt your presence when you slowly sat down next to him on the couch, the kit still in your hands. “Here, let me cover that up.”

He had bruises all over his face, particularly his jaw but he had an especially nasty cut on his forehead. 

But when you raised your hands to start working on it, Michael finally looked at you, only to move his head back and shake his head. You were too good for this world, to still worry about him after everything. 

“Don’t waste it on me.”

With you red rimmed eyes, your voice was still more serious than usual but your words were almost normal, “Don’t be silly. You’re hurt.”

Michael kept silent as you focused on his injury. But you could tell his mind was moving quickly, probably figuring out what to say to you.

You wanted him to feel bad, it wasn’t okay and he needed to feel it in order to change. But you didn’t want him to drive himself crazy with kicking himself in the back for what he accidentally did. He stopped as soon as it happened, it gave you hope of how he could change. How this could be a wake up call.

It was only when you were almost done that he spoke. “I didn’t know you were the one grabbing me. I swear I would never have hurt you, it was too late when I realized you-” his head hung in shame, “You were already on the ground when I figured out it was you.”

He was silent for a while and you thought it was him re-living the moment you had been flung so strongly. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I would never hurt you like that. Ever. I promise. You’re the only good thing I have in my life. I can’t lose you and it shouldn’t have happened, I should have realized I was just so pissed off. And I thought you were in class. I never thought you’d be there. But it will never happen again.” 

“Michael…” You sighed, you’d heard that before. 

But he cut you off. “No, I’m serious. It won’t. I….I hated seeing you hurt like that. Especially because it was my fault. I know I’m violent but you’ll never experience that again. You’ll never see that again. I’ll never hurt you again so…please…I’m sorry.”

He was so rarely vulnerable with his words, let alone speaking so much. It was obvious he meant it. You took in his apology and his words. You didn’t say it was okay but you didn’t move away or reject his apology either. 

“You won’t lose me.” When his guilty eyes bore into yours, you took his bruised hand. “I know you didn’t meant to, Mikey, you’re not that type of guy and you’ve never been violent towards me. But I get so worried seeing you fight and get hurt, you didn’t even realize it was me because you were so mad. It’s seeing you in a light that I don’t like.”

His words were soft-spoken and gentle, his rough hands encasing your smaller ones almost as if they were glass, like the most precious thing he had. “I know. I’m working on it.” Both of you knew he was. If just to keep you happy. His fights are fewer and farther between but when they do happen, they’re never any less bloody. 

Michael’s eyes trailed down to your arm and your dress, marred with stripes of gravel and dirt. Your scraped knees. Your eyes puffy from crying. Even hurt you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He almost wanted to pull away, he had no right to be touching you, to still be the object of your love. Not when someone as sweet, innocent and peaceful as you was with someone as wrong as him. You deserved someone that brought only smiles out of you. Fuck. He cherished you. And he was disgusted at what he did; would always be, the memory would haunt him for a long time. 

He almost looked in pain as he forced himself to keep looking at what he had done to you. “Does it still hurt?”

You almost didn’t want to answer, for his sake but still you nodded. “I have to change clothes, too.”

“You look so pretty.” It made it worse, how much you more you deserved. “You deserve better.”

Your eyes were confident with your next words, “You’re going to give me that.” He had to. Otherwise, you didn’t think anything you imagined your future would be was going to stay the same. 

And he would. For you.

It didn’t mean he would be perfect or that his tendencies would change. You’d always catch him in fights or in some kind of trouble. But he would be in his right mind, he’d stop before he went too far. And most importantly, he’d never hurt you like he did today. It wouldn’t be hard. When you changed his life so much, he wasn’t in that state of mind he was when he was so angry and violent before he met you. 

Michael started that new resolution to change by peppering you with kisses, grateful he still could, not stopping until you began giggling and pawing at him to stop. You were still kind of mad and hesitant after all, but it was hard to fight back against his sweeter side giving you more of an apology. He was careful to ghost his fingertips over your injuries so as not to hurt you as he took you in his arms like his life depended on you being with him. 

“I love you.” His gravelly voice murmured, “So much.” You were everything to him. What he cherished the most in his life, who he would always need at his side. The last person he wanted to hurt. He was so lucky you were such a good, forgiving person that believed in him. Trusted him. Loved him.

“I know. I love you too.”

You and your love were the what that brought his happiness and goodness into his life. Without you, he would be so much worse than he seemed to be right then. You were the reason he could imagine a normal future for himself, one with a family and a home. The reason he was so much happier recently, why he hadn’t been in a fight in months before this last one. 

He’d never hurt you again. You’d only ever feel good feelings arisen by him, like it always should have been.

Your voice was almost shy but your words were very much willing to take advantage of his guilty mind. “Can we have a spa night? I think it might help my wounds.”

Michael, your big, mature, manly, would-never-have-a-spa-night boyfriend looked at you, knowing very well the healing properties a spa routine could have on your injuries was bullshit. But still he nodded. He’d do anything for you. 

Anything to make it up to you. To take away that hesitancy and sadness in your eyes, to try as he might to erase his huge mistake and replace that scary image of him and know that he was nothing like that with you. Anything to have the rest of the day bring you nothing but peace and happy memories with him, what you had always felt in your life that changed when you met your explosive boyfriend. Having you in his arms for the rest of the night, forgetting the cuts on both of your persons for the night. 

“With face masks?”

“…Fine”

You smiled sheepishly, “….And can we watch Legally Blonde?”

“Whatever you want, baby.” 

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Extreme Aggressor: Final Part

Pairing: Eventual Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst

Summary: Jason Gideon is called back from a six-month leave from the Behavioral Analysis Unit to profile a killer. Meanwhile, the team flies across the country to Seattle when another young woman goes missing at the hands of "The Seattle Strangler," another serial killer.

Author’s Note: Here is it finally! After hard work, it is finally ready for your viewing pleasure! Please, feedback is always appreciated so let me know what you like about it and what you didn’t!

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

So without further ado, please enjoy!

After the shocking news that Gideon presented, you were able to get a list and pictures of the people the police have interviewed. Gideon wanted you to look at them since you might be able to tell who the suspect in question was. The only name that stood out to you was Richard Slessman, and you couldn’t tell them how you knew this, but there was something about those eyes that just told you what you needed to know.

“You sure about this?” Gideon asked.

No matter how long he knew you, he always had doubts about the things you could do—even if those doubts were small.

“Are you really asking me that question?” you whispered, holding your gun close to your body as you hid while another agent went to lure Richard into this house. “The minute I passed his house, I could tell he was the one. His house reeks of spiritual energy.”

The woman known as Elle Greenaway, a woman who wants the other opening in the BAU, was bringing Richard to the abandoned house across the street from his own in order for the FBI to take him down. As soon as she entered the house, she began leading him into the room where everyone was. As soon as she gave the green light, the swat team in head-to-toe uniforms appeared and trained their guns on him. Elle took him down and began to read him his rights.

“Richard Slessman, FBI,” Elle said as she began to handcuff him. “You are under arrest for the murder of…”

Her voice trailed off as you and Gideon stepped into the light. Richard stared at you two for such a long time as if he knew something you two didn’t. As soon as they got him in handcuffs, you headed over to his house where the rest of the team was waiting. As soon as you entered the house, you could feel the energies of spirits that they left behind. While none of the victims died here, they did want you to know what something happened here.

“There's no sign of the girl here,” Spencer noted when Gideon walked in behind you. “We can arrest him with probable cause, but we won't be able to hold him.”

“Slessman's been at the top of the suspect list. Is that the mother?” Gideon asked when he saw an older woman sitting at the table with a distressed look on her face.

“Grandmother. The mother died in a fire when he was 13,” Elle informed.

“I’m going to check upstairs,” you told Gideon before going off on your own.

There was something calling you upstairs, but you didn’t exactly know what. The more steps you walked, the stronger the energy got. Derek was stationed inside of Richard’s room, but that’s not where you wanted to be. There was a door right next to his bed, and when you opened it, there was a staircase behind it. Climbing it, you saw Elle, Spencer, Gideon, and Hotch standing inside the attack.

“Oh, my God,” you whispered once you had both feet on the floor.

“What is it?” Hotch asked.

“Richard’s standing right next to you,” you muttered.

Hotch looked around him, but Richard was nowhere to be found.

“He’s downstairs.”

“Let her finish,” Gideon defended you.

Richard was on the phone, and although you couldn’t hear what he was saying, you could guess due to the stressed look on his face. He wasn’t getting anywhere with the person on the phone, so he hung up and turned on his TV. Gasping, your eyes widened at what you saw on the TV.

“He just got off the phone with someone, and he turned on the TV. There’s a woman on the TV, but she’s tied and gagged. Oh no, there’s a man with her, and he’s—oh God. Richard is sitting by the game that Spencer is looking at and starts to play himself. I can’t,” you whispered, looking away in pain.

“What kind of game is it?” Elle asked.

Richard misted away so that you were brought back to reality.

“In China, it's called wei-chi. Here we call it ‘go’. It's considered to be the most difficult board game ever conceived,” Spencer answered.

“Chairman Mao required his generals to learn it,” Gideon added.

“This might provide an advantage, actually. Go is considered to be a particularly psychologically revealing game. There are profiles for every player—the conservative point counter, the aggressor, the finesser, and more.”

“What kind of player is Slessman?” Hotch asked, looking at you to make sure you were okay.

“Extreme aggressor.”

“Well, we’re not going to find answers up here. We need to talk to Richard,” you said, crossing your arms.

Spencer, Elle, and Gideon nodded in agreement and left the attic. Hotch walked past you, but instead of leaving, he stopped by your side.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t get to choose what I see. Sometimes, I don’t prepare for it. I mean, I see things like murder and rape, but I can’t ever prepare myself for it. I promise, I’ll be better at it.”

“You’re doing fine,” he said calmly.

He let you go down the stairs first, and you watched as Elle and Derek tried to figure out how to get into the computer that was apparently locked.

“Do you think you can break in? In 6 tries?” Elle asked.

“Try again. Fail again. Fail better,” Gideon said.

“Samuel Beckett,” you and Spencer said at the exact same time.

He looked at you, but you blushed and quickly looked away.

“Try not. Do or do not,” Derek argued.

“Yoda,” Spencer whispered to Gideon.

The fearless leader took one look at Richard’s shelf and noticed something familiar. He grabbed a book, but it wasn’t that he was interested in. Inside contained something far more personal to Gideon.

“I wanna talk to him. Y/N, will you come with? I want you to get a read on him.”

“Sure,” you nodded, walking past Spencer to follow Gideon to the kitchen where Richard was silently stewing.

The criminal looked at you two as you took a seat, and you crossed your arms as you just stared at him. Gideon was doing all the talking here, you were just here to see if you could get anything on him.

“You read my paper. Learn anything?”

“Heirens said a man living inside of his head was the one who committed the murders. You said he was lying, that there'd never been an actual case of multiple personalities.”

“You have an academic interest in dissociative identity disorder, or you just planning your defense?” Gideon asked. Since Richard didn’t say anything else, he opened the book he grabbed and pulled out the article that was stored inside. “You a fan of Adrian Baal's work?”

“No. I'm a fan of yours,” Richard smiled.

He leaned in to try and get under Gideon’s skin, and as soon as you got a whiff of his cologne, your vision got blurry. Richard, Gideon, the table, the article, and even the policeman who was standing behind Richard were getting darker, only for a new picture to replace them. It was Heather inside of a cage, but Richard wasn’t with her. It was a much larger man who approached the cage. His back was turned to you so you couldn’t see his face.

The only name you could see around the room was Timothy.

“Why don't you tell us where Heather Woodland is?” Gideon asked, bringing you back to reality.

“Woodland… Isn't she the girl that went missing a couple days ago?” Richard smile. Gideon had enough of him and motioned to the officer.

“Get him out of here,” Gideon said, getting up.

Staying where you are, you watched Richard get taken away, but his gaze was on you’re the entire time. Ever since entering this house, you’ve gotten two visions. Putting those together—Richard talking on the phone, his stressed look, the woman on the TV, the woman in the cage, the large man, and the name Timothy—there was another unsub.

There was another killer.

Getting up, you rushed out of the house to try and find where Gideon might have gone to. Once outside, you heard two men talking to one another and noticed it was the two superior men.

“Gideon! Hotch!” you exclaimed, rushing over to him. “There’s two unsubs. Richard didn’t kill those girls, someone else did. All I’m getting is the name Timothy. Does that help?”

“It does. Stay here with Morgan and Reid. Call me if you get anything else.”

“Okay,” you said, walking back into the house only to find Spencer inside Richard’s room sitting crossed-leg on the bed with every single CD this guy owned—opened and laying everywhere.

“What is all this?”

“Morgan thinks that the CDs might help us with the password.”

“Will it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Can I help?”

“Be my guest,” he offered.

Looking at all of the CDs in the room, you tried to get a feel for the energies surrounding them—the more energy a CD has, the more that Richard used it. Looking at the CD shelf, you froze when you saw Richard standing there, looking through the different kinds of CDs.

“What is it?” Spencer asked, seeing as there was nothing by the CD shelf. “Is he here?”

“Yeah.”

“What is he doing?”

“Looking for a CD. There’s hundreds of them, but there is only one that he wants,” you noticed, walking closer to him.

He picked out a Metallica with a smile before heading up to the attic. As soon as Richard disappeared, you looked through each and every one of the CD cases until you found the one you wanted.

“What are you doing? Did you find something?”

“He chose this one,” you held up the Metallica CD.

“It’s empty.”

“Doesn’t the laptop have a CD port?”

“You’re right,” he whispered, grabbing something off the bedside table.

He walked upstairs with you trailing behind to find Derek almost on edge.

“We’ve been thinking about the CD's,” Spencer began.

“Oh, Reid, come on. We tried the CD's. We searched, sifted, and sorted through every one of this guy's head-banging heavy metal collection. We gotta find something, or this girl is dead.”

“Think you may have missed the obvious,” you said.

Spencer used the tiny pin in his hand to forcefully open the CD port on the side of the laptop. Inside was the missing CD case.

“What are you doing? Reid, what made you think of this?”

“It was the only empty case,” you shrugged, tossing the case to Derek.

“Alright. I'm an insomniac who listens to Metallica to go to sleep at night. What song could possibly speak to me?” Derek thought out loud.

Spencer eyed the back of the case before looking at his friend.

“Enter Sandman.”

“You sure?” Derek asked.

Once Spencer nodded, he typed the password into the computer, and low and behold, it unlocked. The only thing on the home screen was a video file, but it wasn’t just any kind of video…

It was a live one.

“Call Gideon,” you gasped once the video file was opened.

It was the same thing you have been seeing—Heather tired and gagged inside of a cage. Derek grabbed his phone and dialed the superior agent.

“Gideon, Heather's alive… 'Cause we're watching her right now.”

“I feel her pain and fear,” you whispered with wide eyes.

The swat team was called up to examine the video, and then they began searching the attic to see if they could find evidence of where this girl might be.

“Morgan, can you show me the last 12 images lined up next to each other?” Spencer asked.

“Yeah,” Derek muttered, doing as he was told.

“You see that? The light bulb hanging from the wire?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“It's shifting positions like it's swaying, like the earth is tilting.”

“Not the earth, doc,” you commented, “the ocean. That girl is on a boat.”

“Hotch, Heather is on a boat,” Derek said once he called Hotch. “It’s a pier or a dock. He wouldn't be able to transmit the webcam image from the middle of the ocean… It's the best we got, Hotch. Even if we're right, getting the exact location's on you, my friend… To work me a little magic.”

Just to be updated on Heather’s situation, you kept watching the video to see what might happen or if the second unsub, which was Timothy Vogel, went to get her. Apparently, when Richard was in jail, Timothy was the guard who befriended him and looked out for him. That was the man you’d been seeing in your visions when you saw Heather in the cage. The video was transmitting shot by shot, and in one shot, she was alone.

The second shot, Timothy was approaching her.

“Guys, he’s inside,” you panicked.

The panic you were feeling was mostly coming from her since her energy was strong enough to come through the camera.

“Get Elle on the phone,” Derek ordered as Spencer did what he asked.

Once the female agent was on the phone, Derek took the phone from her and started speaking, but you weren’t paying attention to them. Heather started fighting back and kicked Timothy in the face. She escaped the room, and once he did as well, you couldn’t get anything else.

“He’s gone. They’re gone. I can’t see them anymore,” you panicked.

“Elle and Gideon can handle this. Come on, we have to go,” Spencer urged.

This woman’s life was in danger, and you couldn’t be responsible for another dead body.

You wouldn’t allow that to happen.

“You thinking about doing this full time?” Gideon asked after Heather was rescued and Timothy was taken away.

Hugging yourself tightly, you looked at the other agents on the other side of the dock. Spencer, Derek, and Hotch were talking to one another, and Elle was talking with one of the officers.

“I am. I was trained to help people. It’s what my dad taught me to do.”

“I’ll put in a good word for you then,” he said, leaving your side.

“Thank you, Jason.”

The plane was silent since most of the agents were sleeping. Derek and Elle were comfortable on the couches, Gideon and Hotch were talking quietly in the middle of the plane, and you were sitting all by yourself in the corner, giving everyone their spaces since you have yet to feel like one of them.

“Nice job you did back there,” Spencer complimented you, taking a seat next to you with a coffee in his hands.

“Thanks, you too.”

“I’m having trouble understanding the things you can do.”

“What do you want to know?” you asked, closing the file in your hands.

“How long have you been able to do this?”

“All my life, I guess. I was born with it. I just have incredible sensitivity to people’s emotions. You know how some people know when they’re being watched? That feeling of eyes on you? Or when your gut is telling you something is bad or wrong? Well, this is my sixth sense.”

“Can you hear things?”

“No. Back at Richard’s house when I saw him talking on the phone, I couldn’t hear what he was saying. However, based on his looks and his emotional state, I had a clue. I’m kind of lucky I don’t hear what I see because if I did, I don’t think I could ever leave my house. I can close my eyes if it gets too much, but I can’t turn off my hearing.”

“So, you can get a read on me?”

“Yes, I can. Do you want me to try?” you chuckled.

Spending time with Spencer the whole ride home was something you can get on board with. You just met him, but there was something about him that just drew you in.

"When you look long into an abyss, the abyss looks into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@averyhotchner​

[sk1fanfiction]

the many faces of tom riddle, part 1

-no hate (this is merely my humble opinion) but i strongly dislike tom hughes as tom riddle, and here’s why-

FULL DISCLAIMER THAT THIS IS JUST MY OPINION OF A CHARACTER WHO DOESN’T HAVE THE STRONGEST CANON CHARACTERIZATION, AND THUS ALL THIS IS BASED ON MY CONCEPTUALIZATION.

Just personally, this fancast induces a lot of cognitive dissonance for me, but this is the first time I’ve been able to sit down and articulate properly why it always throws me for a loop.

Now, does he fit the visual/aesthetic archetype?

Yes. I understand completely why people like this fancast. We know that he is studious, intellectual, and (at the time people generally fancast him for) involved in the criminal underground, and he more-or-less fits the physical description.

And, to be clear, it’s not that I don’t think Tom Hughes could play Tom Riddle, it’s that I don’t think the character he plays in the fancasts is a close enough approximation of Tom Riddle.

For me, herein lies the issue.

Tom Riddle’s character is all about the emotions bubbling under the surface. He’s a disaster waiting to happen -- he’s angry, he’s lonely, he wants revenge, he feels empty and hopeless and desperate, he’s irrational...

Not sure what movie/show the Tom Hughes clips come from, but the character he plays isn’t that at all. the character he plays is very self-possessed, poised, self-aware. Reflective. Remorseful (there are clips of him crying when/after he shoots someone). Introspective. 

That, to me, is not Tom Riddle at all. 

Yes, he does deal with moral conflict, but it’s never at the forefront of his mind. It’s not something he’s constantly grappling with. He doesn’t really... brood in this Hamlet-esque way.

Tom doesn’t think. Sure, he plans, he ruminates, he rationalizes a posteriori. But he’s very unaware of himself (in fact, it’s one of his fatal flaws). It’s not that he doesn’t have emotions; just that his internal state is a mystery most of the time.

He doesn’t connect with his own emotions; he is completely estranged from them. Tom cannot tell you whether he is happy or sad (not just because of his pride). He keeps his emotions and moral compass (which are highly uncomfortable things), in a locked little box, swallows the key, and disregards them. And yet, this character connects so deeply with his emotions that even the audience can see exactly what he’s going through. 

(There’s an openness -- an ease of vulnerability -- that Tom Riddle doesn’t have)

The thing about Tom, is that he hates himself just as much as he hates everyone around him. Creating Horcruxes to save himself from death is not an act of self-love, or even narcissism to the extreme; instead, forcibly ripping your own soul seven times is the most literally and metaphorically self-destructive thing a person could possibly do.

"Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction —"

If we go all the way back to Book 1, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, you’ll remember that the eponymous material (first described in the Epic of Gilgamesh) is capable of producing the Elixir of Life, a magical substance that makes its drinker immortal, as long as you have a steady supply. Not only that, but according to the beliefs of historical alchemists (such as Nicholas Flamel), it was capable of curing any disease. In the alchemical tradition, it symbolized perfection, enlightenment, and heavenly bliss.

If all Tom Riddle was concerned about was prolonging his life, this is the obvious (and better) option.

Here’s the alchemical symbol of the Philosopher’s Stone. Looks kind of like the Deathly Hallows symbol, right? It represents the interplay of the (at the time, believed) four elements of matter -- a sort of periodic table, if you will.

The mature Philosopher’s Stone was believed to be a red stone (for making gold), and the immature one a white stone (for making silver). Rubeus Hagrid and Albus Dumbledore, anyone??

"So he's made himself impossible to kill by murdering other people?" said Harry. "Why couldn't he make a Sorcerer's Stone, or steal one, if he was so interested in immortality?"

And Dumbledore responds:

"But there are several reasons why, I think, a Sorcerer's Stone would appeal less than Horcruxes to Lord Voldemort.”

"While the Elixir of Life does indeed extend life, it must be drunk regularly, for all eternity, if the drinker is to maintain the immortality. Therefore, Voldemort would be entirely dependent on the Elixir, and if it ran out, or was contaminated, or if the Stone was stolen, he would die just like any other man. Voldemort likes to operate alone, remember. I believe that he would have found the thought of being dependent, even on the Elixir, intolerable...”

And while, yes, he did try to steal it rather than make it, I am sure that in the time it took Tom to make all of his Horcruxes, he could have learned enough alchemy to produce it for himself (or wheedled the information out of Nicholas Flamel). While Dumbledore hypothesizes that it’s because Tom hates feeling dependent, this must be irony, because he spends the first book as a literal parasite, the next three as a virtually helpless creature, and the remainder still reliant on his Horcruxes.

"Well, you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."

But, like me, Dumbledore is making guesses at Tom Riddle’s internal state, and in this case, I think, he’s made an oversight. Horcruxes make him equally as dependent as the Philosopher’s Stone would have. It’s been established in canon that you cannot make yourself immortal without help; either you rely on the continued existence of your Horcruxes or your supply of the Elixir.

And while the Elixir represents the positive aspects of eternal life, like renewal, rebirth, and the cyclical nature of the universe (see above the ouroboros of Cleopatra the Alchemist, one of the four women who knew how to make the philosopher's stone), a Horcrux is antithetical to life. It represents disorder, and once the creator of Horcruxes dies, they are unable to move on from Limbo -- shut out of the cycle. Harry describes Tom’s mangled soul as looking like a flayed and mutilated baby -- permanently immature and stagnant.

This theme of destruction is furthered by the Golden Trio’s discussion on how to reverse the process:

Ron: "Isn't there any way of putting yourself back together?"

Hermione: "Yes, but it would be excruciatingly painful."

Harry: "Why? How do you do it?"

Hermione: "Remorse. You've got to really feel what you've done. There’s a footnote. Apparently the pain of it can destroy you. I can’t see Voldemort attempting it somehow, can you?"

With this in mind, we can surmise that Tom is either (a) impatient, which we know he is not (b) there was some deeper reason for favouring Horcruxes -- so, yes, I believe that either metaphorically or literally, this was self-harming behaviour.

He takes on the name of Lord Voldemort because he hates himself, Tom Marvolo Riddle. He hates the Muggle part of himself so much that he’s willing to tear apart his entire being. 

"Voldemort, is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter..."

If that isn’t renouncement of himself, I don’t know what is. He was clearly not born Voldemort.

While of course, this does NOT excuse ANY of his actions, I find it vastly implausible that the likes of Malfoy, Mulciber, Carrow, etc... would have been welcoming in any way, shape or form to an assumed ‘Mudblood’ in scruffy secondhand robes from a London orphanage, and as such, indoctrinated him into his fanatic belief in blood-purity via antagonizing him. 

(Imagine Hermione, but poor and without parents, in the 1930s/40s. She would not have been treated well in Slytherin, either.)

Children are more vicious than you think. And while Tom probably gave as good as he got at Wool’s Orphanage (and was possibly an active aggressor himself), Hogwarts wouldn’t have been a level playing-field. (I’ll talk a bit about this and the significance of the Gaunt Ring in Part 2).

In other terms, I think Tom was bullied for having dubious origins. That’s often the swiftest way to radicalize someone, and would have left Tom with a crippling sense of self-hatred that I don’t think he would have even picked up from the orphanage.

(And it’s possibly this early experience with relational aggression that results in his constant need to be on the offensive/defensive, distrust of others, and fear of vulnerability. To me, this is an archetypal response of someone who was a past victim of bullying.)

Why else would an extremely powerful half-blood subscribe so strongly to those beliefs? (Rather than discriminating via amount of raw power or something -- because what Tom is immensely proud of when Dumbledore meets him is his ability, not his parentage). But I digress.

Now, Tom Riddle is never, ever quietly menacing like this. The mask is either completely on or completely off. We never see this character angry. Tom Riddle, when the mask slips off, is fury incarnate. Anger is the one emotion he doesn’t find weak; the one emotion he’s completely and utterly honest with.

Besides, that brings me to my next point. Tom’s not quite so austere. In fact, he’s quite witty, and often quite pleased with himself.

Just look at the difference in their body language. Tom has much more fluidity (he’s circling Harry, the head-tilt, the eyebrows move and he smiles a bit) than the other character, who has so much tension. Yes, they’re both menacing, but in completely different ways. Tom is comfortable with his actions, no matter how shitty they are. This other guy doesn’t like doing what he’s doing, but he’s going to do it, anyway.

Contrasted with the above, Tom’s unawareness of himself is such that we end up with a character who has a bizarre mix of extreme self-hatred and high self-esteem -- he always believes he is in the right -- in this case, doing Salazar Slytherin’s noble work -- while going to extreme, self-destructive lengths, such as tearing himself in half at the mere age of sixteen.

So, sorry... I kind of get the appeal, but... I don’t like the fancast. 

(More unpopular opinions coming at 5:30 PM EDT tomorrow!)

[darkshrimpemotions]

I get so annoyed watching the Hotch/Haley arguments in the early seasons, because I don't like Haley but she's also so clearly meant to be unlikeable. It's not subtle at all and if you look beyond what the writers are spoon-feeding the audience, it's really unfairly weighted to make Hotch seem like a victim.

Every argument they have goes like:

Hotch: *forgets something really important or breaks a promise he made*

Haley: *is upset and disappointed and guilt trippy and reminds him that his family should be a priority*

Hotch: *is sad and apologetic and guilty but never commits to doing better or shows any evidence of taking steps to actually find some kind of work/life balance*

These scenes are always played like Haley is the aggressor and Hotch is the poor beleaguered one, but really Hotch is the one not fulfilling commitments he made, forcing Haley into the position of trying to hold a grown-ass man accountable. We get to see lots of Hotch's turmoil over being a good enough father and husband, but none of Haley being left alone constantly. Hotch is painted as a victim to his own life, like he has no control over his own work/life balance.

And the writers consistently frame it as a problem not between Hotch and Haley, but between The Job and Haley, not only making Haley a minor antagonist given the nature and focus of the show, but also tacitly absolving Hotch of all responsibility to the woman he married and the child they had together.

It also makes Haley look really insensitive when Hotch gets suspended and she's just blatantly giddy about it and keeps trying to make Hotch be happy too even though he's obviously miserable. Only to then immediately have her escalate to getting angry at him and giving him an ultimatum in the same episode.

What's never acknowledged is that her anger is completely understandable. Hotch has demonstrated repeatedly by that point that obligations to his family are flexible in his mind, but obligations to his job are impossible to shake, even when he's suspended and asking for a transfer...even when doing so is directly detrimental to his home life. It's basically proof positive that Hotch is more dedicated to the BAU than to her and Jack.

This is a failing of the writers, IMO. They make it perfectly clear that Hotch would be miserable without his job, and that he constantly feels guilty about not being there for his family. But instead of ever dealing with how his actions and inability to delegate, set boundaries, and keep his promises got him to this point in the first place, they make Haley's anger the problem and villainize her for having needs that are inconvenient to Hotch.

She exists as a part of his story rather than as a real character, in a way that's so transparent it's hard to be invested in them as a couple. And it drives me crazy, because so much of Hotch's later development rests on this idea that he and Haley had this great love and that he lost her, but we only ever see the loss. Very little evidence of his love when it wasn't convenient for him.