#in other words Extremely Normal™️

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

I nod along attentively, but the truth is, I can't concentrate

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 18 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: everything you need to know about the woman with no name.

words: 6.4k

chapter warning: heavy chapter warnings for s-lf h-rm/ s--cide. Read at your own risk.

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, wh-mp. hurt/comfort. s-xu-l situations. spousal ab-se. family trauma. dr-g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you never laid awake at night in a cold sweat, afraid the FBI was going to break down your door because you downloaded a Metallica song on Kaazaa, then well, wait was it just me? oh. okay then. minors dni.

Back to Part 17.

Part 18

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, fifth edition (DSM-5),1 defines dissociation as a disruption, interruption, and/or discontinuity of the normal, subjective integration of behavior, memory, identity, consciousness, emotion, perception, body representation, and motor control.

This was another dream.

She was dreaming again.

The DSM-5 dissociative disorders (DD) are:

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID);

Dissociative Amnesia (DA);*

Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder (DPDRD);

Other Specified Dissociative Disorders (OSDD);

Unspecified Dissociative Disorder (UDD).

She was having an out-of-body experience. Like astral projection. Everything she saw through her own eyes were the actions of someone she was ghosting over. 

Her life wasn’t happening to her. 

She was dreaming. 

Having a really bad dream.

*In DSM-5 Dissociative Fugue (DF) is now a subtype of Dissociative Amnesia (DA), and not a separate disorder.

That’s what she kept telling herself.

This is a nightmare. It’s only a nightmare.

This is a nightmare.

This can’t be happening. Can’t be real.

The DSM-5 diagnostic criteria for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) now include a Dissociative Subtype (PTSD-DS). Dissociative amnesia as a symptom is a diagnostic criterion for both DID and for PTSD. Criteria for PTSD-DS are that reminders of the PTSD Criterion: A traumatic stressor lead to depersonalization/derealization symptoms. In DSM-5, the DD section is specifically placed after the Trauma-and-Stressor Related Disorders to show their relationship to traumatic experiences. 1

She was calm.

Heart steady.

She wasn’t sweating this time. Wasn’t pissing herself.

Why would she? This was all a dream.

A strange dream—with John and Peter looking at her like she was a sight for sore eyes. They both wore a smirk. Both of them sharing a secret.

And Felicia was there. And Eddie was there. Johnny Storm, too. Miguel was there—magically reanimated.

What a strange dream. Who else was going to make an appearance? Jesus? Her third-grade teacher? Tod?

None of that really mattered, though. Nothing really mattered. So much so, she wouldn’t even remember what happened next.

How surprising was it, then, to wake up standing in the middle of Peter’s office. Felicia and Eddie lingered near the doorway. Peter stood across from her, eyes wide and alert. 

He was speaking to her. Muddled words. It really looked like she should be listening. 

But how did she get here?

Oh well. It didn’t matter.

This is a dream. Nothing can hurt you in a dream. Even if you die, you don’t really die. There was nothing to worry about. Everything was fine.

Her fingers were cold, though, wrapped around cold metal. Black as night. She was holding a gun. How strange.

Peter was standing at the barrel end of it. The pistol that had been hidden in his desk. Her finger was on the trigger. Hand shaking.

“Honey,” Peter's voice echoed against her eardrum. He sounded far away. He sounded like he was inside her head.  “Please, just talk to me.”

Suddenly, she was awake. 

Her heart sped up, eyes focusing sharply as the color drained from them, swallowed up by the black holes of her pupils. She took deep breaths through flared nostrils. Cold perspiration trickled down the nape of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. 

She stood with her back to the office windows. Blinding daylight drenching the horrified expressions of the people surrounding her. Boxing her in. Closing a gap around her. Locking her into a trap.

That wasn’t going to work. She had the key in her hands. She had the key to it all.

“Honey,” Peter repeated, his voice featherlike yet full of terror. He fixed her with wide eyes, hands up at his shoulders to placate her. He inched closer.

“Stay back!” she barked, eyes feral. She suddenly noticed the tears on her face. Goddamn it, she’s crying again. When did that happen?

“It’s me, baby,” Peter cooed at her. “Jus’ me—”

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice cracking with the force of thunder. It was a wretched, vicious sound. “Who the fuck are you, really?” 

He blinked in confusion, reeling in a step backward. Too far to reach for her. Her eyes darted frantically, searching the faces of Felicia and Eddie. Searching for danger. Searching for safety. Searching for any way out. 

John wasn’t in the room. He could be hiding around the corner for all she knew. Hiding in her closet or under her bed.

Her lower lip wobbled. There wasn’t a way out. 

Her heart wrenched in her chest. “Why did you pick me?” she desperately whimpered, returning to Peter. “Why are you doing this to me?” 

Her voice was small and fragile, like a sugar glass figurine. Blinking rapidly, he furrowed his eyebrows, staring at her in confusion. 

“Okay, Honeybun,” Felicia chimed in, singsong. “Let’s all just calm down, shall we?”

Honey jerked her arm, pointing the gun at Felicia. She shrieked, jabbing her with each word, “I wasn’t talking to you, you lying bitch!”

Felicia raised one of her brows and muttered barely above her breath, “Not with that tone, you’re not…”

“Cat,” she heard Peter gently admonish, a warning in his tone. 

Slowly, he took another step towards the gun, mapping the distance between him and the bullet's path. Honey responded to the subtle movement like the cracking of a whip. In an instant, she was back on him, her watery glare and shaky aim directed at his chest.

“Is Miles in on this too?” she wept breathlessly, rage filling her lungs and suffocating any sense of trust. “Is Bella already dead? Did you fucking hurt her? Tell me the goddamn truth, Peter!”

Peter shook his head, exasperated. “What—I-I don’t—what are you—?”

She cut his sentence short. “I saw what you did to that woman!”

Peter froze. Eyes wide, lips parting.

Fury surged through her, bulging her veins and twitching her muscles. 

“You asshole—you fucking tell me that you love me, that there’s no one else, and you had that fucking stripper-whore all over you!” 

His jaw locked, eyes filling with remorse. Voice dropped to a whisper. “I can explain—”

“And then you murdered her!” she spat, words burning like acid. “You mutilated her! You fucking monster!” 

Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, blurring her vision. Sharp crimson splatters and deep umber stains replaced it like frames of a snuff film on celluloid.

“Dumped her body like a used condom, you motherfucker!” 

He lifted his chin, shame shadowing his face. His expression was as good as a confession in her eyes. 

“Is that what you were gonna do to me?” she hotly demanded.

Peter grimaced at the question like she’d already fired the bullet. Finally, desperation overtook him as he opened his mouth to speak.

Eddie blurted out, “That ain't how it happened—”

Peter shot a warning glare over at him, face turning pale. Eddie bit his tongue, but the damage was done. Angry eyes were now fixed on him, their black holes threatening to tear them all apart. 

“You knew about this?” she hissed, horror spreading across her face. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me?” She was vibrating with self-righteous rage, her features melting into a vicious sob.

Eddie buttoned up his lips, helpless against her betrayed expression.

Jaw agape, Felicia shot a frustrated glare at both men. “Jesus Christ.”

“I know what it looks like,” Peter cut in, desperate to regain her attention and refocus her wrath on him alone. “But he’s tellin’ the truth, okay? You’re right, you're right, but that’s not how it went down. I swear it, I-I don’t remember—I-I didn’t even know what happened—”

“You know everything, Peter, you always know everything!” the heartbroken woman sneered lividly, mocking him. “You know everything about me, doncha? What’d he tell you? Huh? Did you already know I was married?”

The room fell silent. Peter gazed at her, a crease painted between his brows. He glanced at Felicia, who mirrored his expression, before turning back. “I… didn’t.” 

“You didn’t, huh?” she seethed, her anger simmering with anguish and shame. “You couldn’t find the marriage certificate? You wanna know why?” 

He stared at her, blinking. Jaw opening and closing. 

“Because I forged my sister’s signature and stole the savings in her bank account! I used it to pay off an old creep at the county clerk’s office!” She hissed with a twisted mouth, as if the words tasted rancid on her tongue, “Five grand and a blow job were all it took to erase the shittiest mistake of my life.”

Peter stared with eyes like saucers. Despite his desperate attempt to keep his face neutral, he reflected silent shock.

“I was high when I met John,” Honey added, her voice trembling. This time, she leveled her contempt toward Eddie. “Did he tell you that, too?” She pictured every sentence as a knife wound. Each punctuation was a twist of the blade. 

“Stole two of my mom’s Xanaxs,” she hiccuped, swallowing her sobs in an effort to force out the words. “Let him fuck me in the back seat of his car with a camera in my face. He came in my mouth, and I cried on camera, and I told him I wanted to kill myself and asked him to murder my mother.” 

The words spilled out of her in a frantic blather, vile puss spewing from old wounds. “I used to sneak into the kitchen at night, turn on the gas, and think about blowing up my family. Me. My little sisters. I didn’t care! Did he tell you about that?!”

Peter’s eyes shimmered with tears. Opening his mouth felt like prying apart steel. Despite that, he kept his words gentle. “Honey. Whatever happened, we can talk it out—”

She blurted out a livid laugh, hot tears running down her cheeks. “Oh, you wanna talk to me?” She pointed her finger, jabbing it at the doorway. “Talk to him!” Felicia and Eddie glanced at the door, both of them perplexed. “Let him tell you how he used to get drunk and pass me around to all his friends like a fucking Fleshlight!” 

Peter flinched at the noise her voice made, cracking like glass. Her lip wobbled as she fixed him with giant, horrified eyes. She looked as if a sudden realization struck her.

“Is that what you were gonna do to me?” she cried in a tiny voice. “Were you two gonna share me after you fucked with me? Was that the plan all along?”

His face was clouded with bewildered horror. 

Conversely, her vision was crystal-clear. Everything suddenly made sense to her. She didn’t know how he did it, but she knew. 

John and Peter were working together. They were always working together. She had never escaped either of them.

John knew where her apartment was. Peter did too.

John was waiting outside of her mother’s home. Peter was waiting inside.

Peter kidnapped her whole family. He held Bella hostage. John knew where to find them.

John had pictures of Bella. He had pictures of Gabriella. 

Peter had pictures of her, too.

John was Peter. Peter was John.

She was stupid. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Nothing is free!” she was muttering aimlessly, babbling without realizing it. Giant sobs racked through her. “Nothing is safe! Can’t trust anyone—they’ll do anything they need to to survive. That’s what I did! I survived!” 

“Please,” Peter’s voice cut through, recapturing her attention. “Please, please, baby.” His eyes shimmered with desperation. “You got this all wrong. I don’t know—I-I-I never meant to hurt you like this. I swear.”

She shook her head, fat tears spilling down her cheeks. “Were you lying to me about Gwen, too, you fucking bastard? She didn’t fall, did she?”

“Honey—”

“Did she?!”

“She jumped!” Peter yelped, his heart shattering as the words escaped his throat.

The gasp that followed seemed to reverberate off the walls. It was as if every sound in New York went quiet. A blaring, piercing silence that made eardrums ache. Peter looked devastated, on the verge of collapse. She settled her stern gaze on him, watching his face crumple. He brought his hands up through his hair, tugging his scalp hard enough to tear. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from screaming.

Gobsmacked stares from the other side of the room confirmed that this was a piece of information that no one had. 

Looking stoic and shattered, he sucked a big breath in and out, keeping his jaw firm. Wiped at his nose. Dug his fingers into his hips. 

“I didn’t want this life for her,” he finally muttered, silent tears flowing. “She was a smart woman. Smarter than me. She was supposed to do something—something amazing with her life. She wanted to help people.” He swallowed hard, apparitions playing in his gaze. “The fear. The violence. It took a toll. She tucked it away inside. Never let it show.”

He gulped, running a hand down his face to clear his watery eyes. “They, uh, came after us, and-and she killed someone. She had to. I tried to tell her that but... she never was the same. Somethin’… somethin’ ate her alive. From the inside out.” 

His brows furrowed, heartache seizing his expression. “I didn’t see it.” He sounded like a wounded animal. In many ways, he was. “I didn’t see what it was doing to her. Not until it was too late.”

He went quiet. The tears that rimmed his eyes flowed free. He marinated in agony and self-resentment. His voice was calm with resolve. 

“I destroyed her,” he said. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that.” He lifted his heavy eyes. “I don’t know how else to say it to you. But I’d rather die before I let that happen again. So if you’re gonna shoot one of us, shoot me.” They locked gazes with each other, his eyes swelling with tears. “I’ve had it comin’ for a long time.”

Her arm was beginning to shake from the weight of the weapon. 

His doe eyes fixed on her. She couldn’t read them anymore. Too afraid of the next chapter. Too weary for the following sentence.

But none of that mattered anymore. Because this was all just a dream.

“Maybe she had the right idea,” Honey whispered, her lip wobbling. She closed her eyes. Put the gun to her own head.

The sound of the gunshot deafened her, swallowed up by an unholy roar. 

She didn’t expect the falling sensation. She was expecting pain—maybe. She was expecting a tunnel or a big white light. Or maybe for it all to go pitch black. Maybe she was expecting nothing at all.

But she was falling backward unexpectedly. The gun tumbled from her reach. Tentacles wrapped around her arms, oily, cold, and slick. Like a primordial monster out of the ocean depths. 

They encircled her entire body. Constricting around her waist. Wrapped around her throat. Locking her ankles in place. 

When she looked up, Hell wasn’t what she expected. She didn’t expect the Devil to have oozing, inky, onyx flesh. Or dead white eyes that wrapped around its skull. She expected horns. But not a mouth the size of a Great White’s with twice as many teeth.

Certainly, not that tongue. Twisting. Dripping. Like a black serpent slithering from his mouth.

“Pete, no!” 

Eddie was here too. How did Eddie get here? 

Then, she felt the pain.

The still-healing crack in her bone buckled as her ribcage was compressed. She thought her pelvis would be next as the tentacle's heavy, crushing, constricting force closed around her hips and waist. Another thick mass squeezed her throat. The air was being forced from her lungs as the ooze gripped tighter.

“What the fuck is that?”

Felicia. She sounded surprised. She sounded terrified. 

Honey was terrified too. Opened her mouth wide to scream. But she couldn’t. No air. She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was gaze up at that horrifying Cheshire smile as it grew wider. The monster loomed larger. It was getting bigger. Towering over her.

It would be over soon, she hoped. 

“Pete!” Eddie again. 

This time, the beast let go.

She was tossed backward, flung through the air, landing hard against the side of the desk. After taking a deep, painful gasp, she fine-tuned her attention to what was happening in real-time.

A steel blade glinted in Felicia’s hand as she buried it deep into the black tentacle of the monster beneath her. 

Miguel was in the room now, keeping himself from being dragged off by the creature with repeated jabs into its flesh. He flexed his wrist, and a set of razor-sharp blades, curved like talons, retracted from a device mounted on his forearm. He hit the monster with the spines of his arm guard, causing it to cry out with a shrieking squelch.

The real damage was done by Eddie. He held a pressurized canister of dust cleaner in one hand and a lighter in the other. Igniting a spark turned the spray into a blow torch. A column of fire shot out, lashing at the monster’s body. It shrank backward, retracting its shape.

“The window!” Eddie shouted, his voice nearly lost in the creature’s shrieks. “Felicia, take out the window!”

Gunshots rang out. Honey covered her ears as glass rained down into a crashing cascade. The monster screamed with a noise similar to nails on a chalkboard as cold air rushed into the office. 

In a moment, everything was silent. The monster vanished. 

And so had Peter.

An hour had passed. The great room was eerily silent, even with the gang gathered there.

John was in the wind, having slithered away. Johnny Storm had been escorting him to the garage just as Honey was retrieving Peter’s gun. Walker was gone before anyone knew what was happening.

Honey gazed down at a wound on her right thigh—a scrape from being tossed across Peter’s office. The ring in her ears from the gunshot was only now fading. Her head was throbbing. Although if Peter had been a quarter-second later knocking the weapon away, there’d be a hole in it. 

Whatever healing her rib had accomplished had likely been undone by the desk. Or the—fuck, is tentacles even the right word?—the fierce grip of the monster. 

Whatever healing she had accomplished was undone. All of it, out the window. Whisked away with the monster living inside of Peter.

Which the Spider family had now seen. 

Once her sense of hearing had returned, Honey tuned in to the conversation again.

They had questions for her. They had questions in general, minds swirling with confusion and doubt. They were squabbling over facts, terrified by truths they weren’t ready for. Everyone, except Eddie, holding a solemn gaze on the windows outside. 

Felicia was beyond questioning and had progressed to action. She paced the floor in the room, eyes firm. It wasn’t a nervous tick, although fear was not an inappropriate response. Instead, she looked more like a general strategizing in the war room. 

That’s precisely what this was—a war. Honey could see that now—with secrets, spies, and death. Everyone was a casualty. The lines were blurred.

Even amongst Peter’s team.

Johnny sat on one side of the sectional with a pout on his face, and his arms crossed against his chest. “Wait, none of you were going to tell me that he was a psycho?” he protested. “Christ, I walked that guy to his car! I could’ve been killed!”

Miguel held an ice pack to the welt on his face. His response was colder. “Clearly, we were worried sick.”

Disgusted, Johnny whined, “You all left me out of your plan!”

“You’re not the only one,” Eddie muttered bitterly, staring at the black sky.

Felicia spun on her heel, facing the beefy hothead. “Johnny,” she began calmly, “I appreciate that this has been a real challenge for you. It’s been hard on all of us. And I want to be able to address your concerns. But for now? Do me a favor. Put a pin in it. And Shut. The Fuck. Up.”

Her raised voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling. With a scowl, Johnny wedged himself back further into the sofa. But he was silent.

Felicia turned her ire towards Eddie. “And you’ve got a lotta nerve bitching about secrets, Brock. You and Pete left out a couple of crucial details about Vegas.”

“Look, we can point fingers later,” Miguel sighed, agitated. He slapped the ice pack on the sofa cushions next to him. “Right now, we have bigger problems.” He fixed Honey with a stern gaze. “You’re the one who's been in communication with him. What can you tell us?”

Honey glared up at him coldly from beneath the fringe of her lashes. Didn’t bother to move her head or her slouched position in the armchair. “His name is John Walker,” she glowered. “He’s a Leo. And a vegetarian.”

Miguel’s lips straightened into a line. “Preferably something useful.”

“He’s a Fed and an asshole.”

Miguel huffed sardonically, “Okay, then. Something we don’t already know.”

Eyes flashing red, she hissed, “If you knew anything, you would know not to fuck with him!” Now sitting up in the chair, her vicious bite gave him pause. “He’s the devil,” she said. “He’s ten times worse than anything you’ve come up against.”

“I highly doubt that,” Miguel scoffed.

“You think this is a joke?” she snapped back, seething. “I’ve watched him destroy lives. Not just end them—destroy! The more violent, the better. He’s a cancer. He’s everywhere. He’s inside everything. He’s the man behind the curtain. The monster at the end of the book.” She fixed them with a grave expression, full of bitter resentment. “And one way or another, he always wins.”

Miguel shook his head with a sigh. “Look, no disrespect to what you’ve gone through, but you’re not—”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve gone through!” Her voice snapped like a whip, crashing like thunder. Miguel’s mouth snapped shut. “If you did,” she spitefully said, “if you knew what he was—you wouldn’t breathe the same air as him, let alone work with him!”

Felicia stepped into her field of vision, fixing her with a firm gaze. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice low and calm. “We are not with him. Never were. I need you to understand that right now.”

Honey blinked up at her skeptically, the corners of her mouth downturned.

“We were never against you,” Felicia explained, lips tight. She downcasted her eyes with a bitter scowl. “He came to us about the same time you did. We knew ‘Steve Rogers’ was a sham. The social security number on his accounts belonged to a real Steve Rogers, who died in 1945.” Honey’s brow furrowed curiously. Felicia continued, “Figured he was a Fed, but we couldn’t crack his identity. Whoever hid him hid him well. We knew he was important. That he wanted to help us. And he was lying to us. That’s all we knew.”

Honey glanced down, her tear-laden eyes suddenly heavy.

“I promise you,” Felicia declared, her steel gaze locking onto Honey’s. Her words were weighed with sincerity. “We didn’t know how you were connected.” A moment passed. Her face fell somber, eyes going cold, “Or why you were working for him.”

Honey stared at her, offended. “You say it like I had a choice!”

“Let’s hear it, then.” Felicia threw her hands up with a ‘come here’ gesture. “Why did you agree to help him?”

Her eyes narrowed defensively. “Because,” she answered with a razor-sharp edge, “if I said ‘no,’ he would’ve murdered everyone I ever cared about. So. I said ‘yes.’” 

It was a simple enough answer, and Honey tossed it at her as such. The two women held an uncomfortable stare for several breaths. It was difficult for Honey to accept that this was Felicia whom she was skewering with her gaze, and the realization only made her heart sink further.

Honey’s face softened as her guilt settled in. “He had pictures of Bella. Peter said that he’d protect her, but that was a lie. It was never possible. Not when John’s involved.”

Miguel gazed at Honey, disappointed. “That’s not true,” he softly replied. “Peter wouldn’na let anything happen.”

Felicia shuffled her feet and continued to pace again. “Evidently not,” she muttered scornfully, “considering what we just saw.”

Miguel scowled at her. “We’re talking about Peter here!”

“Go suck his dick, then!” she cracked back like thunder. Miguel pulled his chin back as she jabbed her manicured finger towards him. “Letting a Fed into our backyard was your stupid idea,” she growled as she leveled her cold gaze, “and Peter was an idiot for agreeing to it! If you’d both listened to me, this Walker creep would have a bullet in his head already! And instead of dealing with that mistake right now, we have to focus on finding Peter and... killing whatever that thing is that’s got ‘em!”

“It’s not that easy,” Eddie replied, his back towards the group. “M’not even sure it can be killed.”

“What do you mean by it?” Honey looked over at him, wide-eyed. “Isn’t this about the drugs? The stuff he shoots up with?”

“Pete’s on drugs?” Johnny exclaimed, further irritated. “Whatthefu–are we Breaking Bad now?!”

“It’s not a drug,” Eddie said. A graveness weighed heavily on his voice. “It’s not... easy to explain.” 

Felicia gritted her teeth. “Try.” 

He looked at her over his shoulder, finally turning to face them. “It’s— it’s a living organism. A symbiote. Gets inside you and holds on. Like a parasite.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “We call it ‘Venom.’”

“Where the hell did that thing come from?” Johnny asked, eyes wide.

Eddie cast his gaze towards the floor. “From me.” 

The room fell silent for a moment. 

The gruff man tightened his lip, clearing his throat. “Pete helped me contain it,” he explained. “He studied it. And we thought... we thought we could use it to our advantage.”

“How exactly is turning into a giant squid helping our cause?” Miguel asked snidely. 

“It feeds off of you—yeah, but it also makes you stronger,” Eddie said. “Makes you practically invincible. Makes everything better—gives you abilities you couldn’t imagine.” He sighed, then added thoughtfully, “If any of us was gonna take a bullet, Pete wanted it to be him. ”

“Yeah,” Felicia groaned skeptically, “That sounds like our boy. But I’m not sure ‘better’ is the word I’d use to describe it.”

He swallowed hard, bitter remorse returning to his eyes. “It doesn’t have the same effect on everybody,” he explained. “Everybody’s different. The way it responded to Pete was... different. His body was adapting to it too quickly. Kept needing more, using more. Sometimes... Sometimes he’d black out. It would take over, and he wouldn’t remember a thing.” 

Eddie turned his attention to Honey. “That’s what happened in Vegas. The woman you saw was hired to kill him. Almost did. Ran him through with a sword. Then It took over. She never stood a chance.” 

Honey glanced down, biting her lip as she contemplated the information. 

Eddie turned his attention to the others. “That’ll happen to all of us if we’re not careful,” he warned. 

Miguel said thoughtfully, apprehensive eyes fixed on Eddie, “You keep talking about this thing like it has a consciousness. Does it?”

“It has a mind of its own,” he answered. “It takes all your thoughts and scrambles them. Implants its own. Pete’s not in the driver’s seat anymore. And Venom will kill us if we get too close.”

“Not all of us,” Felicia said, gears turning. Honey followed her voice to see the silver-haired woman’s gaze fixed on her. “It kept her from shooting herself,” she said. “Maybe Pete was the one in control. Maybe he can stop It from killing her.”

Honey’s eyes bugged out of her skull.

Miguel was already thinking the same thing. “If we find Peter, we can use her to snap him out of this. Get him somewhere safe and—uh... ? Detox him? Exorcize him—whatever, I don’t know—find a way to get that thing out.”

“Bait?” Honey exclaimed. “Are you kidding me?!” She shot a glare at Felicia. “You can’t be serious—”

“It’s not the best plan, but it’s what I’ve got,” Felicia replied, holding up her hand to silence any protests. Her tone was cold. “And considering this is your mess, too, I’d appreciate your cooperation.”

Honey blinked up at her, stunned. “Are you mad at me?”

“Yeah, I’m mad,” she said with an eerie calm. “Not because you lied. I don’t care that you kept secrets from us. I can even understand why you did what you did.” Her somber expression gave way to bitter anger. “But you put a gun to my friend’s head,” she said through gritted teeth. “And that I can’t abide.”

Honey blinked up at her several times, her jaw agape. The image of Peter’s desperate expression as she pointed the gun at him echoed in her mind, filling her with shame. “I-I don’t think I would’ve actually shot him,” she murmured, more of a whimper than a statement. “I-I’ve never fired a gun before—I don’t even know where the safety is!”

Johnny raised a finger, offering his two cents. “Guns like that don’t have a safety.” He was ignored. 

A hard crease had formed between Felicia’s eyebrows as she glared down at Honey, crossing her arms across her chest. “I’m not talking about him,” Felicia glowered.

Honey blinked again, pursing her lips shut. Then, reading her stern expression, confronting the betrayed look in her eyes. 

Felicia didn’t have many friends, that was certain. But she had counted Honey as one of them. And with the same fierce protectiveness that she used to defend her, she also used to admonish her. 

Buttoning up her emotions, Felicia turned to the others, “Alright, we can't afford to look vulnerable right now. We keep this quiet to everyone that’s not a Spider.” She looked at Miguel, Johnny, and Eddie. “We need to spread out. Cover all the ground we can until we find Peter. Eddie and Honey, you’re with me. Everyone, keep your eyes open. Not just for Peter but for our enemies. Feds included.”

Honey gasped, a terrifying thought crossing her mind. “Miles,” she said with alarm.

Felicia went still. “What about Miles?”

Honey glanced up at her, only taking a split second to decide. “John threatened to go after him,” she explained urgently. “He’s in danger.” 

Felicia rolled her eyes, growling, “Fuck me! You shoulda led with that!”

Johnny leaped to his feet. “Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

Felicia said to Honey and Eddie. “Let’s go.”

Honey came to a careful stand. Eddie joined her side. “Where are we goin’?”

“Empire State Building,” Felicia grimly replied. 

The first time Honey had been to the Empire State Building was on a class field trip. She remembered experiencing overwhelming vertigo from the sidewalk, one that almost kept her from being able to go up the elevator. She was equally unsettled now as she looked up at the orange sky. 

Eddie stood beside her on the sidewalk, both in the glow of a convenience store. He was less interested in the building and more interested in lighting his cigarette. Felicia wasn’t present, having instructed them to wait for her.

“Did you know it only took, like, 400-something days to build?” Honey said.

Eddie glanced over only briefly, uninterested. “You don’t say.”

She looked over at him incredulously. “So you’re mad at me, too?”

“Why’d you do it?” Eddie asked, tossing out all pretense.

Honey pressed her lips in a line and returned her gaze to the sky. “I told you,” she said. “He threatened—”

“I’m not talkin’ about your ex,” Eddie argued. “I mean, what you did back at the office. Why’d you put the gun to your head?”

Honey didn’t have an answer for that. “So, you are mad.”

He bristled, stewing in his frustration. “Didn’t say that,” he muttered, then took a long drag from his cigarette. “It wasn’t the smartest move.”

She let out a long sigh, an edge of sarcasm in her voice, “You know, I looked inside my bag of ‘good ideas,’ and as it turns out—it was empty. Just like my bag of ‘fucks to give.’”

Eddie blew the smoke out of his lungs. “That doesn’t sound like you. ‘Specially after what Pete told you about how his girl died.”

“I never said I was a good person, Eddie,” she remarked with a clipped tone. “You want to judge me, that’s fine.” 

“I’m not speaking from the point of judgment,” Eddie replied quietly. “I’m speaking from experience.” She turned to him curiously. He took another long drag. “That’s how I met Pete, y’know?”

She stayed silent, shaking her head, ‘no.’ He shoved his free hand in the pocket of a far-too-thin hoodie for the weather. 

“Yep,” he sighed, avoiding meeting her gaze. “You’re not the only one that ran out of good ideas.”

Her head tilted at the admission, eyes softening. Idly, he scratched the scruff on his face, rubbing the back of his neck. He fidgeted in a way that reminded her of Peter. 

“It was a couple of years ago, actually,” Eddie explained, only glancing up briefly. “I used to be a reporter back in San Francisco. I was covering this shady corporation— pretty sure I was about to expose them for illegal human testing. Instead, I, uh...well... Venom found me.”

His eyes darkened, shadows falling across his face. She stayed quiet.

“It was, uhm... rough,” he continued. “I couldn’t control it. Then the company I was investigating accused me of stealing their ‘property.’ I was trying everything I could to get rid of it. Lost everything. My job. Apartment. Girlfriend. Came here to start over, but... I pissed off the big guys in Silicon Valley. You don’t start over from that. They made sure of it.”

He paused, tensing with wet eyes. Sucked another breath through his cigarette, then continued. “I was angry,” he snarled under his breath. “Not just at them. Not even at the Symbiote. I was angry at me... for getting into this mess in the first place.”

The words slowed down, almost getting lost in his thoughts. “I got low. Decided that I didn’t care, either. All that mattered was killing this thing. Even if it killed me first.”

He stared at the passing cars with calm, haunted eyes. By contrast, she was shocked.

“Pete stopped me,” he said. “He saved me.” The fading sunlight reflected a shimmer in his gaze. “He’s the only one that tried to help me. He’s the only one that ever understood that this thing—Venom— it’s a gift and a curse. ‘Oppenheimer’s Genie,’ he called it.” A brief smile crossed his lips before it faded into his memories. “He’s the only one that understood the burden and wanted to help me carry it.”

She gulped hard as a burning sensation piled up behind her eyes. Her jaw tensed as she tried to blink the moisture away.

“When I met him, I didn’t realize that, of course,” Eddie added. “He had to knock my ass out. Carry me fireman-style out of a belltower.” A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed it down. “He coulda just let me die. I’ve never understood why Peter would go out of his way to save me. Until today.”

She stayed silent, although her heart ached so much she was confident the throb was audible. The pain she felt for him shimmered in her eyes.

“Nobody that tries to do the right thing is a bad person,” Eddie said, glancing over at her. “You’re not a bad person.” 

His soft words felt like a knife to her heart, cutting open the thick muscle walled up around it. Tears welled up in her eyes. She fought the urge to collapse into a pile on the sidewalk.

“I know it seems like sometimes the world wants you to be your worst,” Eddie added. “Sometimes, you want to be your worst. I get that too. You think it’s easier that way to deal with all the bad shit that’s happened to you. As if it can make you immune.” He turned to face her, and for a moment, she felt like they were in their own little world. A snow globe amongst the chaos.

“Stop trying to be whoever you’re pretending to be,” he concluded thoughtfully. He put the cigarette up to his lips, taking a final draw. “Accept who you are, and work with that.” 

He fell silent, taking in the sounds and sights of the city at twilight. She stared up at him with her lips pursed and her heart aching. Her first impression of Eddie was amusing to her in retrospect—the stoner-loner with a mouth full of cupcake— and now he had proven himself to be one of the wisest people she’d ever met.

They turned their attention towards Felicia as she jogged up to them breathlessly. Her look of barely-concealed dread told them what she had confirmed. “He’s not here,” she sighed in frustration. “Christ - do we really have to comb through every landmark that this pathetic emo boy could possibly mope on? We’ll be out here for days—”

“Why were you in a bell tower?” Honey asked Eddie. Both he and Felicia looked baffled by her question.

Eddie’s brows furrowed. “Huh?”

“You said you wanted to get rid of it,” Honey explained, “and you were in a bell tower? Why there?”

Eddie shrugged, “It doesn’t seem to like loud noises very much. Thought I could kill it.”

Honey gazed at him, her mind spinning as she plugged in pieces. “That’s what his plan is.”

“What?”

“Maybe Peter is in control,” she explained, turning to Felicia. “Maybe he’s trying to find a way to kill the Symbiote.”

Eddie shook his head, stunned at the foolishness of such a plan. “So, what, you’re saying he’s banging his head against a giant bell somewhere?”

Felicia’s eyes widened, before they rolled into the back of her head with frustration. “Shit.” The two of them turned to her worriedly. “I know exactly where he is.”

Continue to Part 19

[back to masterlist]

A/N Thank you for your patience on this update everyone! We are in the home stretch. The next two chapters will feature almost everything you've been waiting for. :-)

To be tagged when they release, you must reblog so I can keep track of all 100+ of you!

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

☕️the most egregious problem The Flash has is that it literally NEVER ADDRESSES ANY of the trauma it consistently puts Barry and co through, like it has other problems but I think that's the worst lol

1000000% and I will die mad about it.

Since it’s (always) on my mind, let’s take season 2 for example shall we?

If I had a nickel for everytime Post-Zoom-trauma just disappeared at the drop of a hat, I’d have four nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s fucking INFURIATING THAT IT HAPPENED F O U R TIMES

The four (for lack of a better word) victims in question: Caitlin, Barry, Jesse, and Jay.

Caitlin: kidnapped and held against her will for (I believe) two weeks (that’s putting it simply but we’ve all seen the show so🤷‍♀️). The show gives her one single episode to deal with it, during which she shows very real symptoms of PTSD— solved and therefore ignored and glossed over entirely with a single pep talk. I would also like to add that she showed NO fear of him in the season finale which makes no fucking sense with what the show established only an episode earlier. But tbh, this is the best one because at least the show ACKNOWLEDGED that trauma; if only for one episode.

Barry: Back broken during first encounter (among other severe injuries), humiliated by being dragged around the city to show he wasn’t strong enough to stop Zoom, confidence shattered from the experience. Like Caitlin, we got one episode to deal with this trauma and in that episode, Barry also showed signs and symptoms of PTSD (the entire season is evidence tbh). But of course, one pep talk from his dad and everything’s magically ok :-D !!!!!! I’m going to eat glass (also I will definitely make a post on that fucking episode because I hate it). As mentioned; he continues to have PTSD symptoms throughout the season but it’s glossed over so much and attributed to generic-superhero-stuff™️ that it really doesn’t matter. Gods, I could go on all day about Barry’s post-Zoom AND post-Thawne trauma. (Oh, he was also kidnapped, threatened, and {borderline} tortured by Zoom in the Earth-2 episodes; but that’s all normal superhero stuff ofc so it doesn’t matter right :-D !!! gnawing at the bars of my enclosure)

Jesse: Good gods where do I even start. Kidnapped by a known serial killer, tortured by said serial killer, repeatedly and (probably) constantly threatened with death, and held captive for around 9-10 months. Mm also, she was clearly terrified of Zoom every time he showed up prior to her rescue. Sounds like an extremely traumatic experience with multiple opportunities and instances to develop PTSD right? WRONG! According to the lovely writers; people are completely fine after a traumatic experience is over! What’s PTSD??? chewing glass chewing glass chewing glass. They didn’t even TRY with her, at least with Barry and Caitlin they pretended to give a shit about what they went through but Jesse makes two things crystal clear. 1) The writers don’t care about your trauma unless you’re an MC. 2) The writers put minimal effort into trauma if any; MC or not. It’s like they said ‘Ooo, we should have Caitlin kidnapped by Zoom!’ ‘Won’t that have some sort of effect on her? Being kidnapped is a terrifying experience’ ‘Ah fuck you’re right… eh, we’ll give her one episode ig’ ‘What about Jesse?’ ‘Who?’

Jay: Fucking. Hell. I ordered this in what I consider best handled to worst. Jay is by far— handled worst. Let’s see here *checks notes* Ah yes. Kidnapped and taken to a completely different Earth, an attempted theft of his powers, imprisoned and put in a mask so he can’t speak, {not confirmed but very likely with Zoom’s track record and somewhat implied} tortured, had his identity stolen and {likely} mocked and tormented about the subject, and the ~delightful~ cherry on top— held captive in this situation for at least one year. Fuck I’m so tired. Anyways; there’s not much to say. He got rescued (off-screen ofc), was able to access his powers instantly with no problems, and left to go back to his Earth. Trauma? What trauma? *gestures wildly at said trauma posted above* That’s not traumatic at all! *screams* I don’t care how much experience you have as a superhero— that doesn’t just GO AWAY! PTSD, FLASH WRITERS. LOOK INTO IT P L E A S E fuck I just remembered the show is over now ALL YOUR MC’S HAVE IT! EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Sigh. In the end of *gestures at said trauma* all that, Jay was just used to cause Barry more greif from his father’s death. Obviously he gets roles in later seasons but (as far as I can remember) this whole thing was never brought up again. Sigh.

I COULD GO ON

I COULD GO ON FOR DAYS

but I won’t cause dear gods I’ve been typing forever now

[zwergenhandwerk]

Snowed in with Yuji

This is really just a very short fluffy scenario that came to my head, when I didn't wanna leave the bed for work. :') I hope some of you enjoy this anyway! This is my entry for @shirohyorin 's Ficmas Calendar 2022!

Summary: You and Yuji get to spend your day at home, because there's too much snow to drive to work. That's really all there is. :) (This is an AU since Yuji aged up, man's got a job, and he's just a normal dude™️, he's... curseless.) Genre: x reader, fluff, AU Word Count: 1k Content Warnings: None. Maybe extreme weather? And mentions of having to go to work obviously, lmao.

It was early in the morning, no light shining through your window yet, when you heard Yuji's alarm go off. You felt him shifting on his side of the bed and letting out a grumble, before he turned off the alarm on his phone.

Just a few moments later, he readjusted your blanket to cover your bare shoulder, which you didn't realize until now has felt really cold, and left you with a kiss to your forehead to tumble over to the bathroom.

On one hand, you always felt really sorry for him, for having to get up for work somewhat earlier than you. On the other hand, it always gave you a chance to appreciate the fact that you can stay in bed just a little while longer.

So that's what you did. You cuddled yourself deeper into the warmth of your sheets and tried to slumber a bit longer, accompanied by the quiet noises of Yuji getting ready in the bathroom next door.

Just when Yuji was done and left the bathroom while whistling a Christmas song, your alarm went off as well. You pulled the blanket over your head in hopes you could block out the noise, but you knew you had to get out off your warm bed into the cold December air eventually.

When you heard Yuji approaching you to tuck away your blanket carefully, you let out a whine.

"Pleeeaaase... Don't make me leave the bed."

He petted your hair and gave you a warm smile. "Come on, I'll make sure coffee is waiting for you before I leave."

You thanked him with a light peck to the cheek and watched him walk to the kitchen, while you left your bed with a heavy sigh, feet searching for your slippers on the ground. A shiver ran down your spine, when you got up and left the warmth of your bed for good.

"Am I imagining things, or is the flat way colder than yesterday?" you whined over to Yuji, who was preparing coffee in the kitchen as he promised.

But you didn't get an answer. Maybe he just didn't hear you, because the coffee machine was so loud. Then, the noises of the machine boiling the water stopped abruptly and Yuji hurried over to the bedroom.

"Forget about the coffee," he exclaimed with a big grin. "Look out the window!"

You really did not want to forget about your coffee, the only thing that motivated you to get out off bed, but you did as Yuji told you and made your way to the window.

The sight that awaited you was magical. Everything was completely covered in snow. The streets, cars, houses, lanterns, trees... all was overlaid with a thick blanket of snow. Not a single car drove down the streets.

You came to the conclusion that, "There's no way I can go to work like this."

"I just got an e-mail from my boss that we're supposed to stay home until the streets have been cleared and are safe to drive again. Maybe you've got a mail too?" Yuji sounded very hopeful for you, cause it would mean getting to spend the day at home with you.

You checked your phone quickly, but there was no e-mail from your job yet. So you took matters into your own hands, and decided to give your boss' assistant a quick call.

"Oh no, everyone who can't reach the office by foot is supposed to stay home! We much rather have everyone alive for the Christmas party next week," the voice on the other end said jokingly. You thanked her for that, knowing that many other jobs would have required you to find a way to get to work anyways.

When you hung up, Yuji was already jogging back into the kitchen, rattling with some mugs and almost aggressively pulling out different ingredients out of the cupboards.

You found him preparing hot chocolate with marshmallows and sprinkles in two large Christmas mugs with an adorably joyful expression. When he caught you watching him, he cheerfully walked over to you and pulled you in for a kiss.

You were a little surprised by his eagerness, but it was like you could almost feel his relief of getting to spend the day with you instead of being separated.

The warmth of his body replaced the chilly air that creeped up your body this morning and made you feel so warm and wanted, that your hands searched for any way to pull him even closer to you, even though it was impossible at this point.

When your lips parted, the flat didn't feel so cold anymore, and all the colors around you seemed a tad warmer and brighter.

After a quiet moment of getting lost in each others eyes, Yuji snapped back to being excited about his plans for the day and grabbed the mugs he left on the kitchen table earlier.

"So, what your favorite Christmas Movie?" he asked excitedly.

You ended up cuddling under a fluffy blanket, the mugs warm and filled with the most delicious hot chocolate, and your favorite Christmas Movie on. Your head sank onto Yuji's shoulder with a content sigh, as he ran his fingers through your hair and over your neck lovingly.

Snow was still falling outside, and you didn't hear a single car drive by yet. The only thing you could hear from time to time, were children playing outside - seems like school has been canceled as well.

Throughout the day, Yuji and you made sure to make it as enjoyable as possible. You took a walk through the snow, holding hands in his pocket, had a snowball fight that ended in stealing a few kisses from each other, warmed up with a bowl of soup when you came back inside and baked cookies for dessert.

At the end of the day, both of you ended up together in your bathtub and put on your matching Christmas pajamas afterwards. This day was exactly what it took for you to get into the holiday mood, after being stressed too stressed to enjoy these special days. And you knew the rest of December would be just as festive, having your lovely pink-haired boyfriend around, whether he made you some coffee to get you out of bed, or served you hot chocolate to seduce you into staying at home.

[nat-seal-well]

I’m going to the renaissance fair today so I probably won’t be on much, haha. I’m about to go get ready for it because that’s going to be a Process™️. But before I do that I wanted to share part of what I’ve been working on (since I hit a roadblock with my other wip again).

When Elena comes to, it happens in stages.

She is vaguely aware of her mind waking up, only to be pulled back under the sea of unconsciousness. Like the lull of ocean waves, advancing and retreating, she is one grain of sand picked up by the force of the water and helpless to do anything but ride it out. Conscious and then not. Conscious and then not. Over and over again, in a loop.

But tides go out eventually, and when hers does, she finds she’s able to stay awake for more than a few seconds. Here is the next stage. She is slow, groggy, and wakefulness comes sluggishly like it often does after a long night with Tina and cheap, flavored vodka.

The third stage is thought, and the thought in particular that she has is, I fucking hurt.

I fucking hurt is an understatement. If Elena wanted to be more precise, she wouldn’t have been able to tell herself anything at all, because she doesn’t have the words for it. The hurting is an all-over sort of pain, a compounded concretion of many different kinds all at the same time. Her muscles ache. Her head is killing her, above her right eye, where something feels gross and like it was wet once, but dry now. All of her limbs burn with the stinging of too many different cuts to count. And whatever is under her is hard and unyielding, like stone, which does nothing to help.

It occurs to her afterward that this is not normal. She should be—

She should be…

…Where should she be?

There is a gap in her memory that unnerves her exactly as much as it should, which is to say, a lot.

Through her closed eyelids, Elena can see that there is a light. Someone must have left it on, which is annoying. She already has a headache and the brightness of the light won’t do a single thing to help, so she elects to keep her eyes shut as she has a little, private, spiral of panic.

Okay, okay, okay, she says. C’mon. Don’t freak out. (Too late, but she can try.) What happened? What is the last thing you remember?

Where were you?

When Elena was in high school, she needed to fill one of her classes with an elective because she was an extremely uninteresting teenager and didn’t feel like having a free period. It was the only high school in Wayhaven—what was she going to do? Wander around town? That was what all the other kids did their last year, only taking a half-day because they already had all of their required credits, but Elena didn’t see the point in it. She had already spent endless weekends unsupervised and doing exactly that, when she wasn’t working short shifts part-time at a little boutique she hated. So she decided to take an Intro to Photography class, just for the hell of it.

They had her go out with one of those super old cameras, the kind from before everything went digital. The pictures had to be processed in chemical baths under a red light, the whole deal, and then hung up to dry and develop. Whatever the camera had captured an image of would start to show eventually, a little at a time, and Elena’s was spectacularly awful. It was a good thing the teacher graded based on participation.

Trying to remember feels a lot like that picture in the dark room.

It comes to her slowly, bit by bit. Fuzzy at first, it starts to clear up the further she pries into her own head, even though that is already voicing its complaint with the throbbing right above her eye.

[nether-before]

oc posting with no lore? for shame...

how are you gonna leave me interested in your designs with no context?!

You're really going to make me put the vague and disjointed thoughts in my head into words? Me?

Ok in all seriousness they all exist in a post apocalyptic outer dimensional space. Dimensions are being consumed by these unknowable objects/beings but fragments of life persevere on the crumbs they leave behind. The whole fragmentation reality breaking thing has a variety of effects on those caught in it such as "mutant" humans like Jan and Miggy or the more extreme schrodinger's corpse type situation that the disembodied head is in, but there are "normal" humans too.

There's all kinds of other stuff like alternate universe creatures/humans, a relatively benign cult worshipping precursor artefacts and world's worst white woman ™️ but its mostly just people trying to thrive at the end of the world.

[tieflingteef]

so, for context, Millie is a hexblood witch created in a cauldron from a soul larva by a coven of night hag sisters in order to become the vessel of their dead archfiend father, Cergaroth. so as you can imagine she’s a horrible little freak

also, this campaign uses a system called Action Points, which basically let each of us periodically pull off badass stunts that we normally couldn’t

anyway yeah, a non-exhaustive list of Millie Moments™️:

immediately developed an incredibly strong crush on Ionia the paladin, who despises fiends and undead, even though Millie is a devil-worshipping necromancer. almost burned down a library trying to save Ionia from what turned out to be a non-threat despite Millie later saying that she strongly disagrees with the destruction of knowledge

shoved a guy who made her uncomfortable off his mule and then complained when she wasn’t able to provoke it into kicking him too

showed how much she respected two of the party’s recently deceased allies by not asking if she could harvest their body parts (I mean this completely genuinely, that really does mean a lot coming from her)

briefly grew two extra ears due to a potion mishap resulting from an Action Point used to craft a healing potion way too fucking fast. while the party was fighting against an enemy that used thunder damage

immediately after succeeding on her save against Tasha’s Hideous Laughter, successfully cast Tasha’s Hideous Laughter against the person who had just tried to cast it on her

used an Action Point to channel pure rage into a blast of magic aimed at an enemy while he was trying to teleport out, thus leaving him, in Millie’s words, “thoroughly discorporated”

finally realized she has a crush on Ionia after the party members got asked point blank if they were a polycule or something because the three of them kept bickering like an old married couple

immediately developed a crush on a polite, long-haired, kinda muscular half-elf merchant guy with good cheekbones who kept complimenting the party members because flattery is a tactic that works extremely well on Millie

became extremely gleeful when she realized the enemies who had captured us had failed to keep her bomb-making supplies in the higher-security area where they put our weapons and armor

broke free of fear induced by a barrier spell she had tried to pass through by reminding herself that Ionia was on the other side and needed help, then, upon entering and seeing a mind flayer, shouted that she needed his bits

after being compelled with a Suggestion spell, slid down a Greased slip-n-slide that would’ve sent her straight into an ooze before panicking and icing it with a Ray of Frost

became the chew toy of a fiendish wolf made of ice (oops)

using an Action Point, commanded the Rod of the Pact Keeper that’s mysteriously infused itself into her left arm to work for her before commanding a bunch of undead to bow down, becoming empowered by pure evil through her attempt to magically assert control over these unholy beings, before cackling involuntarily as she gripped her own neck with the rod arm and healing herself, electrifying her with red and black lightning that made her skeleton visible like a cartoon character getting electrocuted

as recently noted, killed a drider with Vicious Mockery by threatening to snap said drider’s neck. while paralyzed.

[waitineedaname]

Another Ritsu Thought™ (kind of) (please for the love of god tell me if these get too overbearing🫡im just so normal about him and need other people to be normal together with.)

i've always known he and teru are kind of alike in more ways than just being popular boy duo and their obsession with psychic powers and growing up earlier than they should have and etc but the one i'm thinking most about right now is how they're like. the type of traumatized that tries so fucking hard to excuse/justify the stuff they went through. teru would never admit he's ever gone through anything slightly traumatizing. he's like "[has not heard the voice of his father nor felt the touch of his mother for years] [is going through a life threatening situation] this is just part of my character arc guys dont worry! it will make me stronger :)". while ritsu would be like "well yes but i turned out great actually. [shows you a collection of trophies] do you think i'd have these if i grew up without a scar on my head and expectations on my shoulders🙄". they'd also both go "Well It Got Me Places!" and then proceed to make up every possible excuse to explain how it was actually their fault and they deserved it and it was not really that bad and (do you see the vision)

one of my favorite things about mp100 is the fact that every character can parallel every other character in so many different ways, and ritsu and teru in particular make my brain fucking rattle around like a can of bees. teru absolutely tries to justify everything as part of his Character Arc™️ like he spent so long thinking of himself as the protagonist of this world so whenever something traumatic happens, he's like "this is just part of my tragic backstory, I'll be fine :)" <- desperately needs therapy

meanwhile I think ritsu is like. maybe one of the more self aware of the kids? which is a low fucking bar, but considering he is a) thirteen, and b) extremely traumatized, he actually demonstrates a surprising amount of emotional intelligence. he's usually able to put his feelings into words (though usually just in his internal monologue), he was able to identify the guilt he was feeling during the cleanup arc and explain why he was acting the way he was, he's fully aware both he and his brother are traumatized (best demonstrated by the confession arc confrontation). so I think he's decently self aware, but with the caveat that he is in fact only thirteen and makes stupid decisions.

the thing that really gets me about his relationship to his trauma though is that post I saw about how he's internalized his role as the sacrificial lamb to provoke his brother into action. he knows the best way to get mob to act is to be endangered somehow, no matter how much that brushes against both their traumas. it's why the moment before his 100% is so important! he's breaking that cycle of trauma! he knows it's not getting them anywhere!

[staysuki]

DOWNCAST | seo changbin fic

pairing: writer!seo changbin x reader | established relationship au

genre: fluff, soft angst, changbin is a sadboi™️

word count: ~750

warnings: none.

synopsis: you were the only light in changbin’s gloomy life.

mastertag: @geniejunn @leagreenly @90s-belladonna @fuzzylard @loveliebri @chimmybaek7 @todorokiskitten @lilacdreams-00

networks: @ficscafe

“did you eat yet?” your head popped from the doorway to his office, and suddenly, changbin’s energy was instantly recharges. he looks at you as your frame emitted an ethereal glow that filled his vision with a warm loving light. your radiance never failing to get him through every single depressing day of his life. you were the only source of his joy in this world, the only love he holds onto. you were the only light in his dark surroundings, giving him the much needed boost to keep him going on.

he shook his head to your question, then training his eyes back to the computer in front of him, typing down on his manuscript. he had forgotten the words that were floating around in his head when you made your presence known, a distraction that always throws him off his writing momentum— but he didn’t care. it was you, after all. you could distract him as many times as you want and changbin would let you do it without a single complaint.

he didn’t like noise, he didn’t like harsh light, hence why his office was always so dark and glum, so devoid of life. he didn’t like it whenever people refused to knock before entering— but whenever you do it, he finds it endearing. there were many things that you did opposite to how he likes it: how you never bothered to separate the whites and colored clothes in the laundry, how you never cleaned the inside of the oven, how you never knew how to turn down the tv volume when you watched netflix. so many things that should get on his nerves— but since it was you, it never did. in fact, he basked on all of your quirks, labelling it as you, and became a normal addition to his life.

he hated the world. he hated talking to people and hated it more when people tried to talk to him. he loved locking himself in his room, surrounded by books and words to be put on a page, to make his own world where things are okay and life is governed by laws defying all sorts of logic. he liked it better being alone in his dark room, never to be disturbed. he doesn’t even like the fame that came with his works, he simply enjoyed creating them. he was the eccentric writer— the guy who has zero hopes in life: until you came along.

you gave him a small pout, your significant other barely moving to take care of himself. you understood his work and you understood how driven he is when it comes to it. if it was up to him, you knew that he’d never stand up from his desk.

you remember the first time you’ve met— a mutual friend asked you for help because changbin had been locked away in his office for more than 48 hours, you remember chan asking you to accompany him as he visited and take care of changbin’s chores. accidentally, you entered his office, thinking it was the bathroom, the stale air immediately greeting your senses. but what caught your attention was the man passed out on the floor in front of a computer. in a panic, you shouted for chan who immediately came running, worried about your frantic disposition until he saw changbin. he said that it was normal for the man to work until he passed out, unhealthy as it was, it was how changbin thrived.

ever since then, frequent visits from you became a regular occurence. you didn’t even know why you always came back to him, perhaps it was the intrigue to get to know someone with such an extreme work ethic. you would cook for him, freshen up his office, clean his apartment— you made a lot of noise, but changbin never complained.

one night, when work had overloaded you and you forgot to visit changbin you got home and wondered what it was that you had missed— it wasn’t until the man himself came knocking on your door, a worried expression in his face with the only words leaving his lips: “you didn’t come.”— that was the night that you two had become official. to finally just live together.

there were no other words exchanged, just two lips joining together as one in smooth languid flows against each other.

it was then that changbin realized that maybe life isn’t as dark as he thought it was.

[calciferstims]

o no, dont worry about it, i didnt mind!

oh the ones i seen are neurodivergent but they had them tagged as aesthethic. but they may have spoken about neurotypicals though, now that you do mention it. i didnt think about that lol.

i think that idea is strange. i mean they arent exclusively done to nd's, i think everyone should be able to enjoy them. as long as they obviously dont break whatever dni's they have and behave nicely, it should be fine. or so i think at least. but you might be right though.

lmao i definitely agree with you. i mean lets be real though, they are aesthetically pleasing to look like. maybe they have beef with the word aesthethic lol.

so ironic you mentioned about whether your anxiety is normal level or nah, i have gotten a video recommended to me a couple times now about whats normal anxiety and what isnt. aint looked at it because i already know my shits out of control bad lol. like severe n whatnot.

oh my god can you please share a link to it? i wanna see it! sucks to hear it may have not helped, but may have been able to provide some kind of distraction at least?

HI SORRY I KEPT FORGETTING TO ANSWER THIS I have just had. A Week™️

But yeah I definitely I think stimboard should be enjoyable to anyone!! It’s just aesthetic fun times 😌

And yeah I need to do more research on anxiety tbh 😂 for years I’ve really written off my anxiety (even though other ppl picked up on it) because it wasn’t that ‘extreme’ but it wasn’t until pretty recently that I was like. Ok yeah maybe this Isn’t Normal for realsies…. (Meanwhile my mom and my therapist and my friends are all sitting there like yes congrats you are literally the last one to know 😂) but I’m still not sure???? Idk.

[lanceeselhombre]

What are your thoughts od Autistic Keith hcs?

I love them! No two sets of hcs are alike, which makes it super fun and adds a lot of diversity!

Here are my personal autistic!Keith headcanons:

-Contrary to the beliefs of those around him, he’s very social and enjoys people.

—The miscommunication comes from the fact that he doesn’t get small talk, so when people to talk to him he gets that Blank Stare™️.

—Keith also has a bad situational stutter, so he tries not to put himself in a situation where he’ll say a word that he usually struggles with in front of strangers.

-He is very touch and sound sensitive.

—Touch sensitive does not mean touch adverse! He loves hugs and cuddling. :3

—He dislikes a lot of textures, but he can deal well. The only two that he can NOT handle are his own finger prints against each other and textured plastic.

—Keith loves soft and smooth, cool things.

——Thermal blankets and clothes are his absolute favorite. Slime and stressballs are a close second.

—When it comes to sounds, he is actually sensitive to the pitch, not the volume.

——He could literally sit next to a speaker playing some base at max volume but would cringe at someone clinking a glass in the next room over.

-Keith is also taste sensitive, but everything he’s ever tried is sensory heaven instead of hell.

—Except for cooked mushrooms. They are his worst enemy.

-His sense of balance, body awareness, and smell are extremely undersensitive.

—As a result he loves spinning, G-forces, negative G-forces, being upside down, and pressure.

—He walks into literally everything but doesn’t feel the pain of the impact, which causes many bruises he can’t recall getting.

-While going through the foster care system, he learned to suppress his stims, so he doesn’t consciously engage in them.

—BUT he very frequently stims while thinking, speaking, eating- basically anything that takes his focus away from what his body is doing.

——His favorite stims include: tapping his lips with his thumb, flappy hands, head shaking or twitching, and echolalia.

-Keith 100% has visual and auditory processing disorder.

—Lance: Hey man, Wanna spar? I’ve been practicing with my sword-

Keith, trying to hear what he’s saying: Hey man, finna spit on Sven crackling worlds?

Keith, internally: What the actual fu-

Keith, out loud: Sure.

—He once woke up in the middle of the night and stared at his helmet for hours because he couldn’t decide if it was a snake or not.

——His brain only figured it out after Shiro came to save him and put the helmet on his head.

—I can totally see him hearing his own breathing and mistaking it for another person even though he’s alone.

——Keith: breathes

Keith, holding a knife, convinced it was a spy in his ceiling: I won’t hesitate

-He rarely melts down or shuts down. There has to be a LOT going on or one really bad trigger to set him off.

—That being said, he can easily get overwhelmed and can spend most of his day like that if he isn’t paying attention to himself.

——That also being said, he is one of those autistics that can’t tell if he’s hungry/thirsty/overwhelmed unless he really thinks about it.

—He doesn’t have a tendency towards meltdowns or shutdowns.

——When he melts down he cries and goes completely nonverbal.

——During a shutdown he is still somewhat in control and can react normally, but also goes nonverbal.

-Keith isn’t good at making jokes or understanding them, but he is the King of perfectly timed references.

—The team: *talking about experiences they’ve had while camping*

The team: *pauses*

Keith: So, this one time at band camp-

-He is hyper empathetic but horrible at expressing it as sympathy.