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alypink · 2 years ago

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Call of Duty Black Ops OC: Aleks

MAIN INFO

Name: Aleksandra Clarke Rivera (Later Aleksandra Adler)

Alias(es): Aleks

Rank: Psy-Ops Specialist.

Age: 28 (1981) - 38 (1991)

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Native language(s): English

Other spoken language(s): Spanish, French, Portuguese, Russian, German.

Nationality: American / Mexican

Date of birth: July 23rd

Birthplace: San Mateo, California, USA

Face claim: Keira Knightley

Eye color: Brown

Hair color: Dirty Blonde

Height: 5’5” / 1.66 cm

Weight: 58 kg

Body Type: Lean

Blood type: AB-

RELATIONSHIPS / FAMILY

Mother: [REDACTED]

Father: Lt. Christopher E. Clarke.

Love interest: Russell Adler (Spouse 1981)

Children: [REDACTED]

Pets: Milo (Dog)

AFFILIATIONS

Central Intelligence Agency

Special Clandestine Officer Russell Adler

Special Agent Jason Hudson

Special Operative (Master Sergeant) Frank Woods

Special Operative (Captain) Alex Mason

Captain Lawrence Sims

Eleazar "Lazar" Azoulay

Bell

Heather McEthan (© ivqnx)

New Zealand Army

Koa Nikau (© islandtarochips)

Australian Secret Intelligence Service

Craig Alan Jones (© kaitaiga)

MI6

Special Agent Helen Park

Other Affiliations

Abby Mason (© revnah1406)

Dr. Charles Moore (© deepthrashwitch)

Anastasia Pérez Ivanov (©alexa-mwII)

Yume Sieheart (©cyberghostdraws)

GENERAL INFO, PERSONALITY AND TRAITS

Myers-Briggs Type: ISFJ

Enneagram Type: 6 - The Loyalist

Aleks is an extremely empathic person, putting others before her. She has a calm and cool nature and wont speak too much unless it is required. She is extremely observant and prefers to build her own opinions by experiencing and researching stuff, rather than listening to others. While still not being over her mom’s tragic death and her father’s apparent silence about this tragic event, she still decided to join the CIA, despite not trusting them or their employees at all.

Due to her past she has attachment issues and dependency on those she holds dear.

While not always serving on the frontlines, she specialized on Psy-Ops (interrogation methods, analyze operational environments, physical targets and target audiences.), intel gathering and encryption/decryption.

After joining the Special Activities Division, people around the CIA accused her of being in her position due to Nepotism, as her father was close friend and colleague to her now boss, Russell Adler. She isn’t bothered by it as she has a calm personality and won't get provoked easily by comments or others actions, as long as it does not harm others.

She developed a good working relationship with Lawrence Sims and Russell Adler. Not fully trusting either of them, for obvious reasons. Although tasks are mostly assigned by Russell Adler, she doesn't know him at all. She spends most of her time with him but she knows little to nothing about him. Still trying to find what assignments he used to work in, most of his data has disappeared from the CIA’s database, something that she finds pretty suspicious.

She finds him pretty mysterious, something that she finds amusing and interesting, letting her start to develop another kind of interest towards him, making her being in conflict with herself. The treatment he gives her is the same he gives to any other of his colleagues or subordinates, but he tries to be “nicer” to her sometimes.

She joined with the purpose of finding out the truth by herself to see what kind of operations the CIA and their operatives are involved in, to see if she either joins them fully or to tell the world the truth about the U.S. and its agencies' real intentions.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

She is usually seen with turtleneck shirts and jeans or black pants. She loves tight clothes and mostly uses neutral colors. During summer she likes sun dresses and maxi dresses with nice patterns, and during winter she enjoys large coats, skirts and cozy scarfs. She likes to put on a little makeup, only using some mascara and red lips. Aleks used to always have her hair short, as she thinks she looks better on iher and it's more practical to have, but decided to let it grow in order to look more like her mom, who had the same hairstyle that Aleks does now.

PROFESSION AND SKILLS

Amazing CIA Templates made by @romancedeldiablo

Current Profession / Occupation: Psychological Operations Specialist.

Professional Background: Bachelors degree on Psychology and International Affairs from a credited US University. Served on the US Military for 4 years before joining the CIA Special Activities Division. An expert on intel gathering, conducting military information support operations and analyzing operational environments. She is also trained and familiar with encryption and decryption, specially on soviet complex ciphers such as GOST block cipher (Magma).

Weapon Preferences: Aleks holds a preference on American sniper rifles and handguns but she is trained for any other kind of weaponry. She holds a strong preference on the M40 Sniper Rifle.

Hand to hand combat: She's trained on Kenpō and Karate.

PREFERENCES

Clothing style: Classic, Romantic style. Turtlenecks, maxi dresses, skirts, large coats, jeans, cargo pants, and boots. Anything comfortable in and out the field. Loves warm and neutral colors and usually she's seen on different shades of brown.

Favorite book: Mysterious Stranger, The Prince and The Pauper - Mark Twain

Favorite color: Brown

Favorite drink: Vodka Tonic, Black Coffee

Favorite food: BBQ Ribs and Caldo de Res

Favorite song: Always something there to remind me - Naked Eyes

MISC. AND FUN FACTS

Aleks' hobbies include photography, sketching and finding new coffee spots in any city she is currently at.

She also loves cars, and is constantly working on her dad's 1970 Dodge Charger RT and would love to own a Shelby Cobra someday, as she is an avid American Muscle Car enthusiast.

She is a dog person, and has a Labrador named Milo at home in San Mateo with her dad.

She enjoy reading historical romance novels, her favorite being "The Prince and The Pauper" by Mark Twain.

Before having a career on the intelligence agency, she wanted to be a college professor like her mother was.

BACKGROUND STORY / BIOGRAPHY

Aleksandra Clarke Rivera was born in 1953 in San Mateo, California, to a Mexican Professor and a U.S. Army Special Forces Soldier. Her parents met when her mother studied abroad in the U.S. to become a political science professor. She was studying at El Paso, Texas, near to the Ft. Bliss base where her father was stationed for the moment.

They married one year after, and moved to California, where Aleks was born. Soon after she was born her father decided to retire from the military and move with his Family to Mexico City, since his wife was offered a position as a full-time political science professor at the UNAM (Mexico’s largest university).

In 1968, Aleks dad was contacted by his former colleague Russell Adler to join him on a special operation on Vietnam. Having the need to help his former colleagues, he decided to go with them and the rest of the MACV-SOG team to serve on an operation called “Fracture Jaw”. He left his family three days after New Year’s eve in 1968.

Aleks' dad decided to stay and help more at the MACV-SOG through the year, and have little to no contact with his family. But every time he could, he would send a letter or telegram to them.

On October 2 1968, while Aleks was in school one of their family friends told her that her father wanted to speak to them as soon as possible, but Aleks headed to school before talking to her dad, making a mental note to call him later during the day. Later that day, the “Tlatelolco Massacre” took place at the University. Most civilians and students were shot to death by Mexican Special Forces. Aleks' mom was killed while trying to defend her students.

After hearing the news, Aleks' dad traveled back to Mexico City to attend his wife's funeral and to take 15 year old Aleks to the U.S. to take care of her as she had no other family to go to in Mexico. Filled with regret of knowing what happened and not being able to help his wife and his daughter, he stepped out of the military again and retired.

A couple of years later while in High School Alek’s classmates and professors were saying that political oppression and anti-comunist movement were the issues that caused the Tlatelolco Massacre in which her mom was killed. Wanting to know more about the issue to understand more, she contacted survivors and other professors. She found out that most of them agreed that these students and teachers were killed due to being or promoting “communism”, and these soldiers were trained by the CIA to prevent communism in Mexico. Although she started to hate the U.S. government, she decided that she would find the truth on her own and decided to leave town and study Psychology and International Affairs at University. After completing her studies she joined the U.S. Military as an officer. She served two tours, specializing in long-range combat.

1978

Aleks met Adler for the first time on 1978 during the almost culmination of the “Mexican Dirty War” (1960 - 1980) which was the Mexican theater of the Cold War. Mexican government was backed up by the CIA to prevent communism and establish a conservative government.

Little did she know it was really a CIA backed campaign to target different communist movements in Mexico, assassinations of left-wing sympathizers, that the CIA disguised as drug lords. All of this in order to keep Mexico and other Latin America country communism-free.

Aleks was assigned to Adler’s team and she helped with the capture and logistics of those “drug lords” terminating some of them and capturing the others.

In order to keep the façade, Adler acted casually as if it was any other drug cartel take down operation, trying to keep the real situation as hidden as possible for Aleks, but deep down he wanted to loosen up a little bit for once and enjoy the free time they had in Mexico. They developed a cordial relationship after that. Aleks accepted that operation and others without fully knowing this was the same war in which her mother died back on 1968, which Adler also hide from her.

1980

In 1980, after completing her tours, she was selected to join the Special Activities Division as a Psychological Operations Specialist. She was assigned to other operations through Latin America.

1981 (Cold War)

In 1981, Aleks returned with Russell Adler's team on the Safe house on East Berlin, where she was introduced to a new team member with the code name "Bell". After the incidents of Cold War she stepped out the agency to focus on her personal life and family, for a couple of years.

1986 (Black Ops 2)

She sporadically helped the CIA through missions in Latin America. She advised the CIA about a Nicaraguan Cartel "Menendez Cartel" who had a reputation and a lot on influence throughout the underworld. Aleks was there as point of contact along with Jason Hudson when Manuel Noriega offered the CIA help to give away Menendez's cartel plantation location. After they confirmed Raul Menendez was KIA, she stepped out the CIA again to fully focus on raising her family. She thought she was doing the "right thing", but deep down she understood Menendez' hatred and desperation towards the agency and the USA, as she always had suspicions herdelf about the agency regarding the events on Mexico during 1968.

—

All Aleks’ related posts ☕️

#call of duty oc #call of duty #black ops cold war oc #black ops oc #call of duty bops oc #call of duty black ops cold war oc #call of duty oc: Aleks

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izzielizzie · 3 years ago

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you should rank karen’s narrators

1. maeve rojas

2. brynn gallagher

3. ellery corcoran

4. tripp talbot

5. aubrey story

6. jonah north

7. malcolm kelly

8. addy prentiss

9. phoebe lawton

10. knox myers

11. nate macualey

12. cooper clay

13. milly story

14. calvin o'shea-wallace

15. mateo wojcik

16. allison story

17. bronwyn rojas

18. ivy sterling-shepard

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bearisweet · 4 years ago

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a bunch of lil chibis of my lil cast of OCs for whatever story is centered around sal

from left to right: Mateo (he/they) Dove (she/her) Candy/C4ND1E (she/her) Leo (he/him) Dollie (she/her) Sal (they/she/it) and Jones (they/she)

#My OCs #My Art #idk if i wanna tag them all #Sal the Demon #Dollie Lenoir #Leonardo Myers #Candy the Alien #Dove the Angel #Mateo the Angel #Jones ??#the heights arent 100% accurate

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memoiers · 2 years ago

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FRESHMEN :

BRIAR — #62 conor edwards & taylor marsh

SOPHOMORES :

BRIAR — grace ivers, #12 hunter davenport, demi davis, brenna jensen, summer di laurentis & rhiannon novak myers

JUNIORS :

BRIAR — hannah wells, allie hayes, #55 colin fitzgerald, mike hollis, olivier peletier, & wren cortese

HARVARD — #01 jake connelly & #25 tristan pearce, fleur peletier ( transfer from briar )

SENIORS :

BRIAR — #44 garrett graham, #22 john logan, #66 dean di laurentis, #44 john tucker, sabrina james, leia maverick, #86 archer hughes & #48 dante fleury

HARVARD — #19C greyson novak, #39 jace forbes, #13 myles leblanc & #54 mateo reyes, #04 declan ripley, & zaria fletcher

GRADUATES :

HARVARD — camden peletier & constance turner

#&&. — world building ❯❯❯ OFF CAMPUS #// this is just my personal preference. timeline would be the score & the goal #// my ocs are listed in italics #// unsure of if i'll move the peletiers to senior year #// also if people want me to i'll gladly make some sort of masterlist??#// also if anyone knows the exact jersey numbers of book boys please reach out and let me know!!!#// grey is listed as C because i personally hc he's captain of harvards team from halfway through sophomore year to his senior year

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inesosorino · 2 years ago

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— people like to tell you what you're gonna be

{ ZION MORENO, 21, TRANS WOMAN, SHE/HER } Is that INÉS OSORIO? A JUNIOR originally from SAN DIEGO, CA, they decided to come to Ogden College to study PRE-LAW on a FINANCIAL SCHOLARSHIP. They’re THE PRODIGY on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

CHARACTER STATS.

FULL NAME: inés yesenia osorio cruz GENDER IDENTITY & PRONOUNS: trans woman & she/her BIRTHDATE: september 5th, 2001 (virgo sun, leo moon, sagittarius rising) BIRTHPLACE: mérida, mexico NATIONALITY: mexican-american RELIGIOUS AFFILIATION: athiest LANGUAGES: spanish (fluent), english (fluent), latin (fluent), can speak the other romance languages conversationally, currently studying cantonese

MORAL ALIGNMENT: true evil neutral MYERS-BRIGGS: estj TEMPERAMENT: melancholic VICES: icy, egotistical, self serving, workaholic, controlling VIRTUES: confident, poised, resourceful, studious, sharp SKILLS: hand sewing, knows how to interpret and use body language, public speaking CHARACTER INSPIRATION: michaela pratt (how to get away with murder), lydia martin (teen wolf), harper spiller (white lotus), spencer hastings (pretty little liars), drea torres (do revenge)

PERSONALITY.

inés is a type a personality through and through. not only is she academically gifted, she’s quick witted, accomplished, capable, and not to mention incredibly humble. it’s hard to let go of a massive ego when you’ve been told all your life how much you’re going to achieve. while such praise may have caused others to burn out, her drive became her super power. no feat was too large for inés osorio to face. it just come from being conceited however, ever since she was a child she has had to fight for the things she wants and she’s carried that spirit with her into adulthood. she’s had to bare her teeth a few times to have her way and she’ll do it again. while that may make her come across as intense and overly zealous when it comes to her studies she believes if you can’t keep up then you can get out of the way. she’s earned her right to be at the table and she won’t apologize for the things she’s had to do to get there. there is more to inés than her over achieving mean girl persona though. she’s introspective and curious and enjoys to have deep conversations. bonus points if you can actually challenge her as she is prone to growing bored rather quickly. in spite of herself the glitz and glamor of the upper class still impress her and it can be charming if she’s caught letting her guard down. still, she has high standards for herself and those she keeps around her so don’t be too shocked if she’s quick to write you off.

THE PAST.

inés's parents had married young after her mother had become pregnant. truth be told their relationship was fresh and they didn't know each other that well but they shared the same dreams and that had to count for something, right? he played piano and wrote songs while she was a singer. and so, ximena and mateo moved their small family to sunny california from mexico. inés was too young to remember their time in their home country but she thinks about the cramped apartment in san diego's downtown more than she would like to. it was fine, at first. mateo worked two jobs to keep the household afloat while ximena took care of the baby. she would come home from school to her mother cooking and sundays after morning mass were full of laughter and music. the osorio household was a place for love and light.

except ximena was never able get past an audition and mateo never caught his big break. after years and years of waiting to be recognized for their talents, reality began to sink in for the couple. tensions rose as ximena refused to work but insisted they sent money to her family in mexico and mateo had to put his foot down as they barely had enough for themselves. the two fought often. they would do their best to have their arguments when inés was asleep but children pick up on more than their parent’s think. eventually they stopped hiding it. the two never left each other and inés always wondered if it was their own way of punishing the other.

when she began school, her teachers noticed how much more excelled in class than her peers. inés had an impressive memory and was incredibly well spoken for a child. her english was far more advanced than any other children her age who learned it as a second language. after her parents made the discovery they were raising a tiny genius, ximena went crazy. she pulled inés out of the public school she had been attending and used the rest of their family’s money to enroll her in a private one on the other side of town without consulting mateo. he was justifiably upset with her new treatment of their only child and ximena told him exactly where to stick it because inés was special and, more importantly, a chance out of this life they were in.

while inés’s parents were initially upset that their prodigal child was more interested in being a girl than kissing one (she would realize a few years later she didn’t mind doing that either though), they were ultimately accepting. her accomplishments in school had brought them so many gifts even if they were still making ends meet. ximena would push inés. if she failed, affection would be withdrawn to show there was no room for anything less than perfection. her daughter was going to be someone whether she wanted to or not. inés didn’t mind. she liked being the best. she liked the power that it gave her and she learned how to harness it. she was just as good as her peers who lived in big mansions— no, she was better.

mateo left to move back to mexico inés’s sophomore year of high school. he had been talking to a woman his family had found and decided would be a “more suitable” wife and the two developed feelings for each other. ximena didn’t even look at him as he left, but later that night she crawled into bed with her daughter. instead, she focuses all of her time and energy into her daughter. she becomes overtly critical of anything inés did from what she wore to what she ate to who she spent her time with. her study sessions become longer and she signs up for more activities to excel at. there isn’t room for failure or burnout. inés to this day considers ximena to be tough but fair although from an outside perspective her parenting methods are definitely questionable. she stressed how vital it was for inés to succeed and to get a good job so the two of them could have the life “they” deserve.

THE PRESENT.

inés settled into ogden university with ease. not long after her interview she was offered a full ride and she knew she would be a fool to turn it down. the undergraduate program was a walk in the park. she wanted to focus on buffing up her resumé before going to harvard, anyway. befriending greer and her group of friends was an added bonus. it can be hard to tell what inés’s true intentions are but she proved herself to be loyal to the golden girl so it didn’t matter what the rest of them thought. with her dear friend gone, inés stays skeptical as things are most definitely not what they seem. she can’t stop the world from turning though and even if she could she wouldn’t want it to.

HEADCANONS.

extracurricular activities (oh boy): captain of the rowing team and currently filling in as coxswain, cheerleading team (co captain), undergraduate student council, pre law association, and mock trial.

cw: drugs. the type to say no to a cigarette because smoking is bad for you then immediately do a line of coke.

hates animals!! dogs have too much energy and she’s allergic to cats and she isn’t fond of anything with scales. if she isn’t interacting with something that is bipedal and can talk she’s getting out of there as soon as possible.

it isn’t that inés doesn’t appreciate the arts, it’s more after watching her mother and father’s lives fall apart due to the dream they were chasing she feels contempt for them. she learned from a young age only certain people were allowed to succeed in the field.

she’s the kind of person you would want around during a crisis. inés is very good at remaining calm and talking people down before any hysteria hits.

was very much a regina george type in high school. prom queen, top of her class, and casually cruel. that hasn’t changed much.

inés doesn’t actually like rich people but she likes and believes she deserves their lifestyle. after being surrounded by them for much of her life she’s come to the conclusion they’re not very bright and most of the time not worthy of her respect.

EXTRA.

wanted connections

playlist (tba)

#this is late i'm SORRY #ogdenintro #( * ooc. )#( * about. )

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ripleysxfiles · 2 years ago

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( JOE KEERY, AGENDER, THEY/THEM ) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that RIPLEY VAN SANT is a twenty-eight year old PHD STUDENT, ENGINEER, AND PART-TIME WEB SHOW HOST that’s been in Chicago for EIGHT YEARS. According to the file, they are FOR MUTANTS. That must be why they’re FRIENDLY and CHAOTIC. If you ask me, they remind me of nasa posters, rainbow flags, an old car covered in bumper stickers, quoting fox mulder. They are affiliated with NOBODY.

character inspo — pez (red, white, and royal blue), mateo (911 lone star), shane madej (buzzfeed unsolved), the entire cast of high school musical: the musical: the series (high school musical: the musical: the series), fox mulder (x-files)

trigger warnings for drug abuse/drug mentions, overdose, homophobia (implied)

@forwardintros

STATISTICS:

Label: The Chaos Storm

Full Name: Ripley Daniel Van Sant

Nicknames: Rip (by Pip only)

Birthplace: Asheville, NC

Parentage: Daniel Van Sant, Elizabeth Van Sant & Leslie Van Sant

Siblings: Pip Van Sant, Etta Torres, Louisa Torres (sibling in law), Hedwig Van Sant, Korra Van Sant

Greek Zodiac: Aries

Element: Fire

Myers Briggs: ENFP-T / 86% extraverted, 84% intuitive, 86% feeling, 100% prospecting, 57% turbulent

Temperament: Sanguine

Seven Roles: The Sage

Alignment: Neutral Good

BIOGRAPHY:

Trash. That’s what everyone in the town of Asheville said about the Van Sant family. The family of seven lived in a cramped, falling to pieces house on the outskirts of town. Ripley was the middle child of their family. They grew up entirely too poor and Ripley’s father kept two jobs in order to keep the family afloat while their mother worked her own odd jobs when she could. Which basically left Ripley and their four other siblings adultless most of the time, especially since their nearest neighbor was at least six miles away. What the Van Sant family lacked in money, they gained in being a close knit family. Ripley’s mother told them bedtime stories and when their dad was home, he would play catch with his children.

There were rumors about the family being drug pushers. Ripley’s father was said to be a drug lord and did all his business out of the shed in the back yard. Their mother was said to sell on the side, since she didn’t have another job. The rumors were all over the place from a comment here and there, to there being actual conspiracy theories about it. Ripley can’t count the number of times the police showed up at their door, expecting to finally find evidence of their father’s crimes. But the rumors weren’t true. They were just a below average American family with nothing but each other.

Life was okay with Ripley until they turned six and their parents got a divorce. It didn’t surprise anyone — they’d been having problems for a while and with little money saved up, tensions in the house had grown high. Ripley was too young to understand what was going on, but suddenly their father was gone, leaving only one parent in the house. It didn’t bother them because honestly it wasn’t much different than before, except Etta wasn’t around as much, babysitting near by kids.

Almost six months went by before Ripley said their father again. In that time, their mom had started dating someone new, her childhood sweetheart. Ripley’s father was appalled that she had the never to be in a relationship after such a short amount of time after their divorce, and to someone they’d both been friends with in high school. But Ripley didn’t understand the problem, Leslie was a very nice women and they liked her very much. Their father ran out of the house and swore never to return, which is a promise he kept.

Eventually their momma married Leslie and they moved into a slightly bigger and better house. The seven year old had no idea what was happening, but suddenly, they had a room they only had to share with one sibling, not three. And instead of having a mom and a dad, they had two moms and no dad. It was an adjustment, but they really did love their new mom.

Things started to change for Ripley when they entered high school. The kids around them started paying more attention to clothing and shoes, things that they knew they could never afford. Despite living in better conditions than before, their parents still didn’t have extra money to buy fancy things for their children, especially when it wasn’t one pair of Converse, it was five. Which Ripley didn’t mind at first. Then other children started making fun of them for their handed down clothing and ripped shoes. They were already younger than everyone there, having skipped two grades. Something in them snapped. They were better than them, even if they didn’t have what everyone else around them had. At first it was little things that Ripley did that got themself into trouble; fights with other students, talking back to teachers, and snapping at anyone that tried to help. When that stopped satisfying them, Ripley sought out other ways to be a little more defiant — stealing, lying, going to parties, getting drunk.

It wasn’t long before they fell in with the wrong crowd, where they started dealing and doing drugs. Ripley’s teachers all tried to get more involved with their life and keep them away from the groups of people they’d gotten in with, but the more they tried, the more Ripley pushed them away, refusing help from everyone, including their own family. With a steady income from the drugs they was dealing, Ripley could get anything they wanted. Those people that made fun of their plain clothing, boring sneakers, and handed down cell phone, watched as they suddenly owned the best they were willing to buy. They rose to the top, surrounding themself with the people that used to make fun of them — if only to prove that they had the ambition to do what it took to prove everyone wrong.

All good things must come to an end however, and things feel fast for Ripley. Senior year of high school, Ripley overdosed on some prescription drugs they’d taken before class — a mix of things they didn’t even know what they were. Rushed to the hospital, the doctors managed to save their life and they were sent to rehab for the rest of their senior year. None of those friends they made visited them.

When they were released, Ripley ended up redoing their senior year, but rather than finish school off in Asheville, his parents relocated to Blowing Rock, North Carolina, a smaller town, where no one would know what happened to them. And luckily, it helped with the healing process. They managed to get through their senior year with little effort and without doing a single drug, even with temptations at parties. They graduated the top of their class and at seventeen, they had the pick of college. But they did something unexpected: they stayed for two years at community college in a year and a half before transferring to a four year university in Chicago.

They graduated from the Illinois Tech with a degree in Aerospace Engineering and Applied Physics before going to graduate school at the same school for a master’s degree from the same college. School has always been something important to them and their goal: space exploration.

Eight years later, Ripley is getting their PhD in Aerospace Engineering. But it’s their side business that’s what’s gotten them put on the map. Cryptids and Crime is their popular web show they started in their free time when they moved. The show focuses on different crimes and cryptid stories throughout the world, though their main focus is on the supernatural. Space and the unusual have always been a big part of their life, especially after their older brother Pip got them obsessed with the X Files at a young age.

#👽 about .#👽 ripley .#👽 intro .

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trippinsorrows · 1 month ago

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okay. i have all the thoughts in the world, but what else is new?

pretty sure i read this while holding my breath the entire time. reading about how terrified baby girl was of letting go of carmelo is heartbreaking. ivy is forever going to be traumatized by this, but zaia has also gone through a significant amount of trauma. she lost her father. roman stepped in as that father role and then showed his true self and now has really shown his true self, thus losing him as well. she witnessed a man be brutally murdered by roman. she knows roman has her mom. like, my God, the extent of that trauma. both ivy and zaia should/would be in therapy for years. for sure.

and ivy. idek where to start with her. it would take so much work and healing for her to ever open herself up to love and trust another man after this. if she's even willing, because i can see her not even wanting to risk it because of her daughter and the trauma she went through as well. she's so resilient and unrelenting, a necessity to make it out the way she did.

now roman/mateo....i just have no words. you should have heard the way i screamed when this nigga really had the audacity to give her his dead ex-wife's wedding dress!!!! the ex wife he killed??!?!?!? and this crazy ass motherfucker reciting vows like this is some tyler perry movie???? THIS NIGGA WAS UNHINGED AND NEEDED TO BE PUT DOWN! IDC WHAT YOU GIRLIES SAY!!

now lastly.....i could be wrong, but i wonder if roman is really dead. it seemed like ken's shot was effective, but idk, mateo seem like michael myers or some shit. his ass won't die, and i'm terrified what that means. they should have called in the national guard for his ass. seal team 6 or something.

i have a feeling this book is going to end with an open-ended ending or a cliffhanger.

The Boy Next Door: Chapter Nine

MASTERLIST ✨ harmshake’s masterlist ✨ msbigredmachine’s masterlist

Word Count: 6k

💥TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains DARK THEMES. Please proceed with caution💥

The quiet suburban street was now a grotesque distortion of itself.

The sun sagged in the sky, bleeding out its last light, but the golden hues of dusk were no match for the relentless strobe of red and blue. Police lights pulsed like an open wound, casting jagged, shifting shadows across the once-pristine houses. Manicured lawns, previously symbols of order and wealth, were now splashed with chaotic flashes, flickering like something out of a fever dream. The street, once a haven of silence and security, had been reduced to the backdrop of something far darker, ominous.

Carmelo envisioned how Waco must have looked back in 1993. A neighborhood swallowed whole by the weight of disaster, its carefully curated normalcy shattered under the weight of gunfire, fire, and the relentless gaze of the world. A place where the scent of blood and burning wood tainted the air, where sirens drowned out the prayers of the desperate. Where families—just like the ones here—once sat behind their doors, believing the horrors of the world couldn’t touch them. Until they did.

This somewhat feels the same.

Police cruisers lined the curb by Roman Reigns’ mansion, their doors flung open. Officers moved with urgency, barking orders, sealing off the area with bright yellow crime scene tape. The air was thick with tension, the hum of police radios mixing with the low murmurs of horrified neighbors. Some stood on their porches, whispering in disbelief. Others had locked their doors, their blinds drawn tight, unwilling to bear witness to whatever horror was unfolding on their street.

The blood that soaked Roman’s lush front yard—Gable’s blood—was already beginning to dry, darkening into the earth like a cruel stain. His body was being wheeled into an ambulance, hidden beneath a white sheet, but the weight of his absence lingered, heavy and suffocating.

Seated in the back of his cruiser, Carmelo watched them take him away, his throat tight as he dragged a hand down his face. The worst part was still ahead.

The phone call.

To Gable’s wife, Maxxine. To his daughter.

To tell them that their husband and father was never coming home.

But grief had to wait. Because Ivy was still inside. And so was that lunatic.

The flashing red and blue lights reflected in the windshield of his cruiser, casting fleeting shadows over the little girl beside him.

Zaia refused to leave his side. Her tiny fingers gripped the edge of his jacket draped over her shoulders. She was still trembling, her eyes too wide, too empty for someone so small. She hadn’t spoken much since she watched Gable get shot and her mother get dragged into that house of horrors; just the occasional sniffle, the quietest whimper.

Duchess lay curled in the back seat, her tiny body nestled into the fabric, rising and falling with each shaky, exhausted breath. The puppy had run for her life, her little paws carrying her as far as they could after Ivy had set her free. Now, spent from the fear and the frantic escape, she had finally succumbed to sleep. Even as the sirens wailed outside, she barely stirred, as if the terror of the last few days had drained every last ounce of strength from her small frame.

A pair of unmarked black SUVs screeched to a halt at the barricade. The moment the doors swung open, two figures emerged, cutting through the commotion with an air of controlled authority.

Detective Cody Rhodes and Lieutenant Jade Cargill had arrived.

Rhodes’ sharp blue eyes were unreadable as he flashed his badge. Cargill flanked him, tall, imposing, exuding a deadly calm that made even the most seasoned officers step aside. They moved with urgency, cutting through the chaos as they headed straight for Carmelo. There was no hesitation in their steps, no wasted movement. They had a job to do.

The two men’s eyes locked, but before either could say anything, Rhodes’ eyes flicked to the ambulance, the blood staining the white sheet covering the body. “Who’s that?” he asked, solemn.

Carmelo swallowed hard. “My partner. Gable.”

Cody frowned. He was the man he’d spoken to on FaceTime, sitting in the passenger seat while Carmelo drove. It hadn’t been that long ago. Now everything was already going to hell.

His expression hardened, but there was a flicker of something else—regret, maybe. He gave a small nod. “I’m sorry.” His voice was gruff, clipped, but genuine.

Carmelo just swallowed. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Me too.”

But Cody didn’t linger on grief. His next words were clipped, focused.

“But we need to move. Now.”

Carmelo exhaled sharply, forcing himself to push past the gut-wrenching weight of loss. He had a job to do.

Jade folded her arms. “What the hell is happening here?”

Carmelo tightened his grip on the little girl in his arms. “We got a hostage situation,” he said grimly, his voice thick with urgency. “Roman’s neighbor. Ivy Jones. She and her daughter lived next door to him.” He jerked his chin toward the house across the street, its windows dark and lifeless, an eerie contrast to the flashing red and blue lights flooding the night. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that crawled under your skin and settled in your bones, the kind that told you time was running out.

That every second they wasted out here was another second Ivy spent trapped with that psychopath inside.

Jaw clenched, he turned sharply to the newcomers. “Who the hell is this guy?” he demanded, his voice rough, desperate for answers—anything that could tell him what the hell they were dealing with.

Jade let out a slow, measured breath. “We’ve been hunting him for over a year. And now, another neighborhood is coming face-to-face with the monster he really is.”

“You said his name is not Roman Reigns.”

Cody took a step forward, his gaze hard. “Roman Reigns doesn’t exist. That’s a fake name. A mask. The man inside that house is Mateo Hobbs, and he is one of the most dangerous men I’ve ever encountered.”

Carmelo’s grip on Zaia tightened. “What do you mean?”

Jade spoke this time, her voice laced with anger. “He’s a manipulator. A sadist. A fucking killer. He doesn’t just hurt people—he destroys them. Women, men, even unborn babies. And when things get too hot? He disappears. Changes his name. Leaves bodies behind.”

Carmelo’s blood ran cold.

“He’s evaded us before,” Rhodes added grimly. “We had him locked up once. But he got out.”

That stopped Carmelo dead in his tracks.

“He escaped?”

“Slipped through the cracks like a fucking ghost,” Jade said, bitterness dripping from every word. “And we’re not about to let that happen again.”

Another choked sob came from Zaia. Carmelo glanced down at her, at the tears streaming down her face, staring at the house her mother was entrapped in.

She was just a kid. She shouldn’t be here.

Jade’s gaze flicked to the little girl, her expression softening. “And who’s this little lady?” she questioned.

Hesitant for a second, Carmelo then replied, “Ivy’s daughter.”

Jade crouched down slowly, making sure not to startle her, whose wide brown eyes darted between the unfamiliar faces. Jade’s sharp features softened, her voice gentle but steady.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she murmured. “My name is Jade. We’re here to help your mama, okay?”

Zaia clung tighter to Carmelo, her small fingers digging into his uniform. Her tear-filled gaze flicked between Jade and the chaotic scene behind her.

Jade didn’t rush her. “Can you tell me your name, baby girl?”

For a moment, Zaia hesitated, her lip trembling. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she mumbled, “Zaia.”

Jade offered a small, reassuring nod. “That’s a beautiful name.”

Zaia’s breath hitched, her small chest rising and falling in uneven tremors. Her fingers uncurled just enough for her to lift a shaky hand, pointing toward the house across from her own. “She’s in there,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “With him.”

Cody’s jaw tightened. He turned to Carmelo, his voice sharp. “Why the hell is she still here?” Frustration edged his tone, barely restrained.

Carmelo stiffened. “I’m not just gonna—”

“This is an active crime scene,” Cody cut him off firmly. “We called in SWAT and they’re getting ready to move in. If bullets start flying, do you want her caught in the crossfire?”

Carmelo clenched his jaw, his arms instinctively tightening around Zaia. He wasn’t about to tell Cody that she’d already seen more than she ever should have—had already watched a man die right in front of her. But he knew Cody was right. Keeping her here was dangerous.

Still, the thought of handing her off, of not being the one to protect her, made his guts twist.

Jade straightened, her expression softer for the sake of the clearly frightened, traumatized child. “I’ll take her,” she said simply.

Carmelo hesitated, but Jade didn’t wait for an answer. She reached out, gently prying Zaia from his arms.

Zaia whimpered, clinging to him tighter. “No—no, please, I wanna stay with you!”

“Zaia.” Carmelo’s voice was low but firm. He smoothed a hand down her back, an assuring gesture even when he didn't quite feel that way. “Sweetie, I need you to go with the nice lady. She’s gonna keep you safe. Trust me, okay?”

She hiccupped, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

Jade hoisted her up with ease, settling her on her hip. “I got you, baby girl,” she murmured, “You’re safe with me, I promise.”

Zaia let out a shaky breath, burying her face in Jade’s shoulder as she walked swiftly toward one of the police vehicles.

Cody turned back to Carmelo, his expression unreadable. “What else can you tell me?”

Carmelo exhaled, rubbing his temples, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight. “Roman’s locked down the house. Bolted the doors, barricaded the windows. He’s not letting anyone in or out.”

Cody’s jaw tightened. “That’s because he’s planning something.”

Carmelo frowned. “What do you mean?”

Without answering, Cody reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick manila folder, his fingers drumming against the worn cover before he shoved it into Carmelo’s hands. “This will catch you up. Like Cargill said, we’ve been tracking the son of a bitch for over a year.”

Carmelo hesitated, then flipped the folder open. The first thing he saw was a name: Mateo Hobbs, bolded in black ink beneath a photo of a younger Roman Reigns. His heart kicked hard against his ribs.

His eyes swept over the pages—crime scene photos, autopsy reports, psychological evaluations. A long, grim history that had been hidden behind Roman Reigns’ easy charm and impeccable reputation.

So many deaths.

The details clawed at Carmelo’s stomach.

His college girlfriend, found hanging in her dorm room. A suicide on paper, but the bruising on her wrists and neck suggested otherwise. His pregnant wife, stabbed multiple times in the abdomen. His own cousin. Stabbed in the groin. Castrated. Left to bleed out like an afterthought.

All clinical, methodical. A morbid pattern.

And speaking of clinical—his psych evaluations were blood-curdling.

Flipping to another section of the file, Carmelo’s pulse hammered as he scanned the reports. Words jumped out at him. Narcissistic tendencies. Extreme manipulation. High-functioning sociopath. No empathy. No remorse.

He swallowed hard.

A homicidal maniac was welcomed into this neighborhood months ago. Went to their parties. Shook their hands. Smiled at the people on the street. And no one had realized it, no one had suspected.

Not until an hour ago.

His stomach churned.

“Jesus.” His voice came out hoarse.

“Yeah.” Cody’s nod was grim, an unmistakable edge beneath his tone. “Mateo doesn’t have a pattern. He doesn’t leave evidence. No traces, no witnesses—at least, none that survive. He knows how to clean up. He knows how to blend in. He’s calculated.”

Jade had returned, her arms crossed, her gaze hard. “That’s what makes him so damn dangerous.”

Carmelo looked back up, the weight of their words settling in his chest like lead. “So what’s his deal? He just kills for fun?”

Cody kissed his teeth. “Not exactly.”

“He doesn’t kill out of impulse,” Jade elaborated. “He kills because he wants to. Because it gives him a sense of control. He studies his victims, gets close to them, learns their fears, their weaknesses.”

“Every murder has a purpose, even if it’s only clear to him. Sometimes it’s revenge. Sometimes it’s power. And sometimes?” Cody’s jaw ticked. “Sometimes, it’s just because he can.”

Carmelo dragged a hand down his face. Fuck.

“He’s playing a game,” Cody continued. “A sick, twisted game where he’s always one step ahead. He makes people trust him, makes them feel safe—” his voice dripped with disgust “—just so he can tear their lives apart.”

Carmelo’s gut twisted. Ivy and Gemini.

Roman had done exactly that—slithered into Ivy’s life, isolated her, driven a wedge between her and Gemini. What had once been an unshakable friendship had crumbled under his manipulation. And now, Ivy was at the mercy of a man who never left survivors, and Gemini nowhere to be found.

It wasn’t a coincidence. No way.

Cody’s jaw flexed. “When Mateo is cornered, he doesn’t run. He makes sure no one wins.” He shook his head, glancing towards the house again. “If he’s barricaded himself inside that house, that means he’s got a plan. And trust me—you don’t wanna find out what it is.”

The air around them thickened. The tension was palpable.

Carmelo shook his head, heart pounding. “And now Ivy’s in there with him.”

Jade’s expression darkened. “We need to move fast. Because if history tells us anything?” Her gaze flicked to Cody.

“We’re running out of time.”

Ivy's breath came in ragged gasps, Gable’s blood and brains still clinging to her like a grotesque second skin. But even that horror paled in comparison to the fury burning through her veins.

“You shot at my daughter,” she seethed, her voice trembling with rage. “You could have killed her!”

Roman didn’t even look at her. He stormed around the house, sealing all the doors. Bolting all the windows. Turning his house into a fucking fortress.

Each lock clicked into place with an eerie finality. Metal scraped against metal as he slid the deadbolts shut, his massive frame moving with ruthless efficiency. The chains rattled as he pulled them tight, ensuring that no one—not her, not the police, not a goddamn soul—was getting in or out.

As she watched Roman move, a chilling realization settled deep in her bones.

He wasn’t panicking.

He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t frantic. He was prepared.

He had always been one step ahead.

She flinched as he suddenly turned toward her. His dark, wild eyes raked over her, dragging from the tangled mess of her hair to the torn fabric of her shirt, to the bruises forming around her throat from his cruel chokehold moments ago. He devoured the sight of her, his lips parted slightly as if savoring the moment.

The amusement in his eyes then dissolved into something darker, something dangerous.

“I don’t trust you anymore, baby girl,” he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable. “You lied to me.”

He lunged.

She barely had time to react before his hands clamped around her arms, lifting her like she weighed nothing. She thrashed, fists pounding against his back, feet kicking wildly as he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Put me down, you sick fuck!” she screamed, nails clawing at his skin.

Roman ignored her.

The walls blurred as he carried her, each step heavy, controlled as he made his descent back into the basement.

Cold.

Final.

He dumped her on the hard concrete floor. Not the mattress where she had been forced to sleep for days, but the floor. The message was clear. The niceties are over.

Blood dripped from his temple where she had struck him with the tray, streaking down his face in dark, viscous lines. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. If anything, it only made him look more monstrous. More unhinged.

Ivy scooted back on her hands, pressing herself against the wall, her chest rising and falling in ragged, shallow breaths.

He just killed a cop.

Murdered a man in front of her daughter.

In front of another officer.

Officer Hayes saw the whole thing.

He had to still be outside, waiting. Backup had to be coming, to help him rescue her.

But one look at Roman, at the eerie calm in his expression, told her everything.

He was ready.

And whatever madness he was about to unleash—he was dragging her down with him.

She looked on as he turned, stepping away for a minute that seemed to stretch into an eternity. And when he returned, she felt her stomach plummet.

In his hands was a dress.

Not just any dress.

A wedding dress.

The fabric shimmered under the dim basement light. Delicate, vintage lace. Soft ivory, not stark white—aged, preserved. Intricately embroidered. A thing of beauty. A thing of ghosts.

Ivy gulped thickly. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“…What is that?”

Roman smiled. A slow, creepy, thrilled smile.

“This, my love,” he said, voice reverent, “is your wedding dress.”

Her stomach turned to ice.

What?

Roman ran a hand down the delicate fabric, almost tenderly. His fingers traced the intricate lace, his gaze softening in a way that made her sick.

“Elesha wore it on our wedding day,” he murmured. “She looked so beautiful that day. But…” His dark eyes flicked to Ivy, full of something twisted. “Something tells me you’ll blow her away with how you’ll look in this dress.”

Ivy’s blood ran cold.

His dead wife’s wedding dress.

The walls felt like they were closing in.

“Put it on,” Roman ordered.

Ivy just stared at him.

His expression darkened, amusement slipping into something deadly.

“I said—put it on,” he repeated.

Her body wouldn’t move. Her limbs were frozen, paralyzed by the sheer insanity of what was happening.

She shook her head. A tiny, barely-there motion. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

The moment the words left her lips, his hand shot out.

Fingers wrapped around her throat in a bruising grip, yanking her forward.

She gasped, nails clawing at his wrist as he crushed the air from her lungs, forcing her face inches from his.

His breath was hot against her ear. Low. Dangerous.

“If you don’t,” he whispered, voice almost gentle, “I’ll go outside and get Zaia myself.”

Ivy gasped, eyes wide, blood turning to ice.

Roman sighed, his thumb dragging absently across the pulse in her throat. “I’ll gun down every motherfucker out there to get her, too. And you know it.”

Her vision blurred.

No.

No, he wouldn’t.

But then she saw it.

The gleam in his eyes. The sick amusement.

The pleasure he took in watching her break.

He would.

A sob fought its way up her throat.

Tears burned hot down her cheeks.

Her hands shook as she reached for the dress.

Roman released her, stepping back, watching her with the same smug satisfaction as a predator watching its prey finally submit.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

The SWAT team arrived in full force, their black-clad figures moving with precise, deliberate efficiency. Armored vehicles rumbled to a stop, their engines growling like beasts ready to strike. Officers fanned out, their boots crunching against the pavement as they secured the perimeter, their weapons raised and ready. The tactical command post had been set up across the street, blueprints of the house spread across the hood of a police cruiser. Officers hovered over them, strategizing, mapping out every possible entry point, every potential threat.

The breach team moved first, sweeping the perimeter with methodical precision. They checked every door, every window, every possible access point. Main entry, fortified. Deadbolts reinforced. Steel plates bolted over the side windows. Rear exit, barricaded from within. Basement access, padlocked from the inside. Every door was shut tight, every point of entry sealed as if the house itself had swallowed its victims whole.

“This place is locked up like a goddamn bunker,” one of the SWAT officers muttered, stepping back from the rear entrance. He tapped his headset. “No visual inside. We got nothing.”

Carmelo watched from the sidelines, frustration bubbling. This wasn’t just a hostage situation—it was a goddamn death trap. The longer they stood out here, debating their next move, the more time Roman had to do whatever sick thing he had planned for Ivy.

Cody stood beside him, clad in full tactical gear. His bulletproof vest was strapped tight, his rifle slung over his chest. He checked his watch, then turned to Carmelo, his face rife with urgency.

“We don’t have time for this,” he announced, motioning behind him with two fingers. “We’re moving in!”

Carmelo froze. A thick weight settled in his chest, pressing against his ribs.

Moving in?

His instincts screamed at him. This isn’t right. This isn’t safe. Busting down that door without knowing what was inside? That was suicide. That was reckless. That was exactly what Roman wanted.

“We cannot just move in!” he snapped, his voice rougher than he intended. “That fucker is armed! He’s killed already! I’m not about to move reckless and take a mother away from her little girl!”

His words hit the air like a gunshot. Cody and Jade both turned to him, their eyes sharp, assessing.

Carmelo swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a breath. His pulse was hammering in his ears. He dragged a hand down his face, trying to steady himself. Think, Hayes. Think.

“I’m sayin’…I’m sayin’ we gotta move correct.” Carmelo’s voice was lower now, controlled, but tension coiled beneath the surface like a live wire. “There might be other people in there, and we could lose them all if we don’t move smart—if we don’t think this through.”

His mind raced.

Gemini could be in there. Countless others, maybe.

His throat tightened.

He couldn’t afford to let this go wrong. He’d already lost his partner. He wasn’t about to lose his girl, too.

Cody’s jaw tensed. His fingers flexed around his rifle, knuckles white against the grip. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something dangerous.

“Hayes,” he said, voice sharp as a blade, “if we wait any longer, everybody in there, including that little girl’s mother, will die.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice but making sure Carmelo felt the weight of every word. “This is Mateo Hobbs we’re dealing with. I’ve spent months tracking this bastard, and now I finally got him. You’ve seen what he’s capable of. You know how this ends if we don’t act now.” His gaze darkened. “It’s now, or it’s never.”

Jade stepped up beside them, adjusting the grip on her HK416 rifle. Her movements were smooth, practiced. Cody grabbed another ballistic vest, shoving it toward Carmelo.

“Can we get to it?” he said, his tone clipped. “Can we go now?”

Carmelo stared at the vest in his hands. There was something in Cody’s tone—something personal. This wasn’t just about taking down a dangerous man. This was a vendetta, one that could end innocent lives.

One wrong move, and Ivy wouldn’t make it out. Maybe none of them would.

But one right move?

One right move, and they could end this nightmare. Get her out. Get all of them out.

With a steadying breath, Carmelo yanked the vest from Cody’s outstretched hands, fastening it over his chest.

“Let’s go.”

When she was a little girl, Ivy had imagined her wedding day bathed in golden light.

A garden ceremony, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and roses. A soft breeze carrying the delicate chime of wind chimes and laughter. She would walk down the aisle on steady feet, her wedding dress flowing around her like a dream, her heart pounding not with fear, but with love.

As she grew older, she imagined it would be Angelo, waiting for her at the altar, his smile warm, his eyes full of promise. He would take her hands in his, whisper something only she could hear, something that would make her laugh even as happy tears welled in her eyes.

Their vows would be spoken with certainty, their future stretching ahead of them like an open road, untouched by darkness.

Ivy had always believed that was how her love story would unfold.

Now, it was nothing more than a shattered fantasy, ashes and dust.

The dress was suffocating, clinging to her like a spider would cling to its prey, ready to devour. It was heavy, with sweat, dust, and something far more sinister. Once belonging to a woman murdered at the hands of her husband. Roman’s dead wife—his first bride, his first possession. Now, he wanted Ivy to take her place.

The dress was suffocating. It clung to Ivy’s skin like a predator, sticky with sweat, dust, and something far more sinister. It was heavy—drenched in history. The history of a dead woman. Roman’s first wife. His first possession. A woman he had claimed, then discarded.

Now, he wanted Ivy to take her place.

Across from her, Roman stood tall, his broad frame shadowed in the dim, flickering light. His suit was crisp, his face clean-shaven, his long dark hair slicked back. He had the look of a man at peace, as if this moment—the one he had constructed in his deranged mind—was everything he had ever wanted.

The handcuffs binding his wrist to hers were agonizing, cutting into her skin every time he moved. Wherever he went, she followed. A grotesque symbol of his control. Of his twisted idea of devotion.

A small table sat between them, draped in a white lace cloth stained yellow with age. Atop it, two candles flickered, their wax dripping like melting flesh. A withered bouquet lay beside them, the petals shriveled, brown. And at the center—two wine glasses.

A wedding altar. A sacrificial offering.

“Ivy,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the back of her bound hand. The cuffs linking them together were tight, cold against her skin. “From the moment I saw you, I knew. I knew you were the one. I knew you were meant to be mine.”

Ivy’s insides twisted. She wanted to scream, to rip the dress off her body and scrub every inch of herself clean. But she stayed still. Forced to listen to this insanity.

Roman went on, his voice shaking slightly, like this actually meant something to him. “I vow to protect you. To love you. To cherish you in a way no one else ever could. And in return, you will be everything I need you to be. My perfect wife. My queen. The mother of the children we will have.”

His eyes narrowed, bone-chilling. “I will make sure no one ever takes you away from me,” he whispered, his fingers tightening around hers, his grip a slow, merciless vise. “And you will be mine. You will give yourself to me fully, in every way I want, from this day forward.”

Give herself.

To be broken.

To be raped.

To be used.

To be devoured piece by piece until there was nothing left of her but a hollow shell, a vessel for his sick desires.

Again.

Eyes trained on her, he lifted her bound hand to his lips and pressed soft kisses against her knuckles.

Fighting the urge to gag was getting tougher and tougher.

“You may now say your vows,” he instructed.

Ivy struggled hard to swallow down her revulsion. She cleared her throat, as if she were preparing for the speech of a lifetime.

“I vow...” she began, voice steady, tears rolling down her cheeks, “I vow to keep reminding you that the police are outside. That you killed one of their own.”

Roman’s expression darkened instantly.

Ivy tilted her head, her full lips curled into the faintest smile. “And I vow,” she continued, “that whatever happens to me…I know for a fact, you’re not making it out of here alive.”

Something inside him snapped.

The chain between them rattled as he yanked her toward him, their bodies colliding hard. His breath was hot against her cheek, his grip a steel vise around her wrist.

“You think they’ll take you from me?” he snarled. “They won’t. No one will.”

He reached into his pocket, and before she could react, he pulled out a small glass bottle.

The smell hit her first. Sharp. Bitter.

Ivy recoiled, her stomach lurching.

Roman lifted the bottle slightly, tilting it so the candlelight glinted off the label as he poured its contents into the two glasses.

A crystalline liquid. Clear. Odorless.

She looked closer, and gasped.

Potassium cyanide.

A slow, creeping horror wrapped itself around her ribs, tightening, tightening...

“Poison,” she whispered, the word like ash in her mouth.

Roman smiled. His voice softened, almost coaxing as his fingers caressed the bottle. “A permanent solution for us to be together. To still have our forever.” He lifted his glass, swirling the contents gently. “A toast…to our union. To Roman and Ivy Reigns. Bound by one bond, now and always.”

Ivy’s heart pounded, each beat hammering against her ribcage like a desperate, caged thing.

“Roman, I…I don’t wanna die. Please,” she begged.

At her plea, he sighed, shaking his head. “This ain’t about death, baby.” His voice was patient, indulgent. “This is about devotion.”

“And what about my daughter? Zaia will be an orphan!”

Roman’s expression darkened. A moment of silence stretched between them before he finally replied.

“She’ll grieve,” he mused, “Children are resilient. And Zaia…She’s strong, just like her mama.”

Ivy’s pulse was a wild, erratic drum in her heaving chest as her brain swirled erratically at the thought of her baby being all alone.

No mother. No father. No one to hold her when she cried, to tuck her in at night, to remind her she was loved.

A childhood stolen. A life shattered.

Because of this madman.

“No,” she choked out, shaking her head violently. “No, no, no!”

She thrashed against the cuffs, against the sickening weight of the dress clinging to her skin, against the inevitability of what he wanted to do to her.

She couldn’t die.

Not like this. Not by his hand. Not while Zaia still needed her.

His words were the final straw.

“No!” she screamed louder. She wrenched backward, twisting and writhing like a wild animal. “No! I won’t do it! Let me go!” She was physically weak, but she had made up her mind that if she did die, it would be from trying to escape this place. She had had enough.

Roman’s patience snapped. He kissed his teeth, seizing her by the arms. “We can’t be together if we don’t do this, Ivy! Now shut up and drink the damn thing!”

“Help!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, trying to get to her feet, but it was difficult when she was being held back by a human anchor. But there were no limits where her life depended on it. “Somebody help me!”

Her heart dropped as his huge hand wrenched her head back, forcing her mouth open.

No! Please, God, please—

The cup tilted toward her lips.

A sudden, earth-rumbling crash shattered the tense silence above them, followed by the sharp clatter of something heavy hitting the floor.

Voices. Loud. Urgent. Rushed.

Both Ivy and Roman went rigid for just a second, the weight of what was coming pressing down like a vice.

She reacted first.

Twisting violently, throwing her full weight against him. They crashed into the table, knocking the candles to the floor, a splinter of wood slicing above her eye. Wax splattered. Shadows leapt wildly across the walls.

The cuffs yanked painfully against her wrist as she fought like hell, breath ragged, heart hammering.

Her eyes fell upon his gun. Tucked into his waistband.

Desperation surged through her as she dove for it, fingers clawing for the weapon. But Roman snatched her wrist, wrenching it painfully out of reach. She let out an involuntary cry of pain, the firearm slipping from her fingers and clattering to the ground—she could hear the rasp of metal against concrete as it slid across the floor.

Roman grabbed her by the throat, crushing her into the floor with his size, his grip unrelenting. She clutched at his wrist with both hands, gasping for breath, his long fingers bruising her windpipe. Her vision swam. Pink, then red, then black.

The madman cocked his head to the side, eyeing her with bemused interest.

“I’ve always liked how feisty you are,” he murmured. His free hand slid beneath the layers of fabric of her dress, his fingers searching. “Maybe you wanna consummate our marriage first…”

The horror snapped her back into herself.

Oh, no! Not again.

He tugged her panties to the side.

“I’ll always be a part of you, Ivy,” he said, his fingers brushing against her folds, “You ain’t never gon’ be free of me. You belong to me forever, baby girl.”

As he spoke, Ivy fought the panic rising and forced herself to focus. Bringing up both knees, she caught him square in the balls. Roman grunted, his grip on her throat loosening just enough. He collapsed to the side, cupping himself and moaning, his eyes squeezed shut in that particular agony that only a shot to the testicles could evoke. Ivy clutched at her throat with her free hand, coughing as she struggled to suck oxygen back into her body.

Moving more out of instinct than any sort of coherent awareness, she crawled as closely as she could toward the weapon, grappling with the massive weight of Roman literally tethered to her. Sweat and blood impaired her vision as she stretched her hand out, her fingertips just grazing the grip...

Another loud crash.

Then—

“FREEZE! DON'T MOVE!”

Armed men in black swarmed into the basement, weapons drawn.

Ivy barely heard them.

She turned.

Roman lunged, an enraged roar.

BANG!

The shot rang out like thunder.

He jerked back violently, his lips parting in shock. A deep crimson stain spread across his torso, dark and blooming over his dress shirt.

The gun trembled in Ivy’s hand, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

His trembling hands pressed against the wound, as though he could hold himself together, as though sheer force of will could undo what she had done.

His eyes found hers.

Confusion. Hurt. A twisted kind of disbelief.

“Baby…” His voice was barely more than a breath, raw and fragile, as if she had betrayed him. As if she was the one who had shattered their delusion.

Then, a second shot—louder, sharper.

Roman’s entire body jolted as a second gunshot rang out, the bullet ripping through his back.

Unlike Ivy’s, Cody Rhodes’ aim was precise, unforgiving.

A wet, gurgling choke tore from Roman's throat. His knees buckled beneath him, his massive frame swaying. His fingers twitched, still reaching for Ivy. As if, even now, he could still pull her back into his grasp. As if she could still belong to him, one more time.

But there was no more time.

With a sickening thud, he collapsed forward onto the cold floor, the impact sending a final shudder through his massive frame.

Silence.

Ivy stared down at him, her vision tunneling, the gun slipping from her fingers. Her chest heaved, but the air wouldn’t come.

It was over.

A choked, broken sound tore from her lips, something between a sob and a gasp. Relief crashed into her—too fast, too hard—drowning her in the weight of it all.

Her torment. The unspeakable horrors he had inflicted on her. The sheer, staggering relief of knowing he could never touch her again.

Footsteps. A key unlocking the cuffs. Freeing her. A figure kneeling beside her.

“Ivy?” a woman said gently to her. “My name is Jade. We got you, okay? You’re safe now.”

Ivy lifted her gaze, dazed.

Then—

The sobs burst free. Hot, wracking, desperate.

Panic, fear, relief, surging like wildfire through her veins with a brutality that she could no longer contain.

Her chest tightened even as her wails amplified.

The walls blurred. The edges of her vision darkened.

And then—

The world slipped away, fading to black.

We're in the endgame now.

Expect chapter ten on Thursday or Friday. What do you expect/predict from the final chapter?

Please remember that this is FICTION and nothing more. Thank you so much for understanding!

Your comments and reblogs are so much appreciated! Please keep your Asks coming, loving all the theories!

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