#the worst is that they send you an absolute psychopath | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollfacefantasy · 2 months ago

Text

INFECTED WITH INFATUATION ♡

pairing: carlos oliveira x fem!reader

summary: you and carlos are out on a mission when you come into contact with an unfamiliar plant specimen. the effects are unexpected to say the least.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, dubcon (cause of the pollen), sex pollen, breeding kink, overstimulation

wc: 6k

a/n: omggg kinktober already over halfway done. crazyyy. i hope you guys like this one. it was fun to write so thank you to the person who requested. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 17 - sex pollen

"Carlos, watch out!" you shout.

Your partner, the man you called out to, takes heed of your warning as soon as it hits his ears. He ducks down, giving you a clear shot at the overgrown spider crawling down the hedged corridor at the two of you. The moment you have a lock on the target, you shoot. You never hesitate in the field. It only took you one day of dealing with bioweapons to learn that lesson.

Your finger presses down on the trigger of your gun hard, firing multiple rounds right at the creature. The bullets tear through its flesh. Its limbs fumble, and it crumples to the ground. Your heart slows down a little. The sight of its death helps to calm your nerves.

Carlos pops back up, his black hair swishing out of his face with the motion. He turns to you with an approving smirk across his lips.

"Nice work, sharpshooter," he says.

You roll your eyes at the nickname. He'd given it to you after your first mission together in which you encountered an infected dog and managed to miss every single shot you fired at the thing. It had been first day nerves you insisted, and so far, that had proven to be true. But that wouldn't stop Carlos from making fun of you.

The two of you walk over to the deceased organism. You silently thank every possible higher power that this mission is almost over. There's only one more sector after this one, and then the two of you are done for a few weeks.

You hesitate to get too close to the arachnid. Even though it lies there motionless, some sort of innate survival instinct told you no. Your eyes scan it with disgust, looking at the coarse hairs and the multitude of eyes. Gross. You would just have to step around the thing.

With extreme caution, you traverse over its large legs. You wonder what kind of psychopath would want to engineer spiders and make them this big. Your feet land firmly on the ground with every stride you take. The absolute worst case scenario here would be falling over onto it and finding out it still has some life left. Another few steps though, and you're in the clear.

However, your partner apparently does not possess the same inherent fear of spiders you do. He walks over the dead thing without any extra care. In the process, his boot catches on the end of its thorax.

You watch as a baby spider bursts from it and bolts away from the body, making a beeline towards you. And you know it's ridiculous. You know it's humiliating. But you scream.

You're not sure if it's because it's tinier and faster or because it's appearance is so sudden. Either way, you shriek. You recoil before you can control your reaction. Shooting at it would probably be smarter, but in your panic, you don't want to blow a hole through Carlos's foot. You just jerk back and accidentally send yourself tumbling into a bush.

Luckily, he's quick to get to it, not discharging his weapon at all. He simply stomps on it with his large boot. It squishes beneath the sole and splatters on the dirt. His eyes then turn to you in the foliage.

Laughing a little, he heads over to you and parts the leaves. He looks at you with that same smug expression and extends a hand.

"Need some help down there?" he asks.

You glare at him but still accept the offer. It would be easier to get out of this mess of branches and little pink flowers with his aid. You reach out and wrap your fingers around his palm, feeling the warmth of it in your grasp. He pulls you up, and you shamefully watch his bicep flex as he does.

On the way to your feet though, he hisses in pain.

"Ah, fuck," he mutters, letting go of you as soon as you're upright.

He pulls back and brings his arm to his body, holding it there and examining the source of pain. You step closer to try and look too. Your eyes catch the sight of the injury almost right away. It would be hard for anyone to miss.

A red stripe spans from the outer side of his forearm to up just past his elbow. The ending of the cut seems like a deep gash while the beginning is only a thin line. Blood already begins to trickle onto his skin. It looks like a thorn had snagged him while helping you off the ground.

You pull a small cloth from the pouch attached to your belt.

"Here, let me see," you offer, your voice softer as your mind snaps into a more caring frame. It's the one you used to use everyday when you worked as a medic. Before you had been roped into this mess with mercenaries.

He offers his limb up to you without resistance. If there was anyone he trusted to look at him, it was you. After most missions, he stayed with the doctors Umbrella provided for the mandatory observation period, but you were the one to actually patch him up. With you, there were no ulterior motives or chances of being double-crossed. You wanted to help people, and that's what you did for him.

You do it right now as you take the small piece of material and dab up the crimson fluid seeping from his wound. He grunts as you get closer to the source.

"Sorry," you say. You try extra to remain gentle, lightly swiping at the edges of the injury. "Looks like a piece of the plant caught you. I can take a better look at it later, but for now, you should be fine. You're not bleeding too much," you tell him.

He nods and gets back to holding his weapon in the proper position. The two of you continue onward in the direction of your target. You only hope you've seen the last of those spiders.

Fortunately, your wish had been granted. You and Carlos hadn't encountered any more spiders, big or small, for the rest of the mission. The path to the objective from the sight of the last one had been pretty easy, presenting no real challenges.

The two of you made it back to the nearest Umbrella base for the night following a short ride there. You had to get checked out first and now stay overnight for the waiting period as was the procedure for all field operatives. The idea was to ensure you all didn't harbor any infections that remained undetected during the examination. But after that, you'd be home free.

You'd already completed the mandatory screening with the doctor. After finding nothing out of the ordinary, you headed to the assigned room they'd given you for the next twelve hours. It was pretty small, just a bed, table, chair, and shelf. You didn't need anything more though.

You change out of your grimy cargo pants and black sweater and pull on a much more comfortable pair of gray sweats and a t-shirt matching in color. Laying on the stiff mattress, you take a few moments to decompress from the earlier events. Your body seems to hold a dull ache all over, something you attribute to the heightened stress you experienced for hours on end. Your adrenaline has started to wear off, and as it recedes, the ability to feel in entirety returns.

Some time goes by, and Carlos knocks on the frame of your door. It feels like only moments have passed, but in reality, you're sure it's closer to thirty minutes. You look up at him with curious eyes.

"You need something?" you ask.

He walks in, and you see he's also changed. A charcoal t-shirt covers his upper body while gray sweatpants adorn his waist. You try to keep your gaze casual although it would be obvious to anyone with eyes that he looks statuesque in them.

"I was wondering if you're too tired to take another look?" he asks.

Sitting up, you pat the space next to you on the small bed. "Never too tired for my favorite patient," you answer with a small smile.

He returns the fond expression and takes a seat. You take your medical pouch off the table next to the bed. Unzipping it, you pull out the few things you predict you'll need. He rolls up his sleeve even though it's not necessary, allowing you to see his arm in full glory.

"You know they do have doctors here. Ones with much better equipment than me," you say teasingly as you rip open a small cleaning wipe.

He looks at you and shrugs. "I doubt they'd know how to use it as well," he says.

You shake your head and rub the alcohol-soaked patch across his wound. He hisses from the sting but manages to hold still. Your fingers work as quickly as they can, not wanting to prolong his suffering. You clean the dried blood off and make sure the open cut has been completely tended to. But your eyes narrow as you look at his skin.

"The doctors did look at you, right?" you ask.

"Yeah, why?" he responds.

"They cleared you?" you check.

And he nods. Maybe he was right not to trust them.

"Well, this doesn't really look normal," you say with uncertainty, "You have some discoloration around the cut. Your veins look a bit darker than they should. It could be an infection."

His eyes find yours. You can see in his stare that he's looking for reassurance.

"Does it hurt at all?" you continue.

"No. I mean, a little. Feels like I have a giant scrape on my arm. But not more than normal," he says.

A puff of air leaves your nose as you try to think. "Hm. You might be ok then, could be just some abnormal pigmentation," you offer, "I've never seen an infection manifest this fast, but if it were already showing, you'd probably have some symptoms too."

"So you think I'll live?" he jokes.

You scoff and nudge his arm away, putting up a playful front.

"Don't ask me that," you say.

In truth, you didn't want to think about Carlos dying. You'd seen so many people die since joining this task force. Your worst fear when coming into work was seeing that happen to the one you care most about.

"Alright," he concedes and surrenders, but his attitude doesn't dampen any.

You pull up your small roll of gauze next and begin to bandage him up. With careful hands, you rotate the thin material around his forearm, making sure to cover the entire scratch in a durable layer. The room is so quiet. There's no sounds except for the two of you breathing. You're tempted to say something and cut through the silence, but you don't. The moment feels intimate. It feels wrong to try and interrupt it.

When you finish wrapping his arm, you tear the gauze and tuck it under to keep it in place. Clearing your throat, you pat his shoulder and give him another sweet smile.

"All done," you say.

"Do I get a reward for being so well-behaved?" he asks. His voice lowers, and he leans in the slightest bit closer to you.

Heat blooms in your stomach and spreads up to your chest, but you'd never let him see the effect he has on you.

"Get outta here," you say and give him a light push.

He laughs and rises to his feet. He heads over to the door but doesn't leave before turning back to look at you again.

"Thanks, sharpshooter," he says.

"You got it, soldier," you respond with a small mock salute.

He shuts the door behind him after that. You put your things back in your pouch and lay back in bed again. A sudden wave of tiredness crashes into you. Sighing, you rub your face and yawn. Tonight it didn't seem like you'd have any trouble sleeping, a rare blessing as of late.

Rolling over, you wince as you feel a small burst of pain in the back of your thigh. You're so exhausted though that you chalk it up to a pulled muscle and resign to check it out when you wake. All you really want to do right now is knock out until the sun is up and the transport vehicle is ready to drop you off at the airport to go home.

It's still dark out when your eyes flutter open. The lids feel heavy with sleep. Your brain wants to be unconscious again, but something has pulled you from the comfort of sleep. It might be the fact that you're burning up.

Your entire body feels as though fire rages within it. Sweat coats your skin and causes your t-shirt to stick to you. You can feel your pillowcase beneath your head damp with it. You sit up, but you have to do so slowly because of how the simple motion causes the room to spin. You try to blink the dizziness away to no avail.

Once you're upright, you feel more conscious though. You're able to better assess your symptoms and maybe pinpoint the cause. You register that you feel tingly. Fizzling sparks rampage all throughout your body; though, the most intense area seems to be the back of your thigh. You peel down your sweats a bit and arch your back to try and get a look.

Your eyes widen as you find a puncture wound with the same discoloration you saw on Carlos.

Fuck, you must have landed on a thorn in that bush and not realized it with everything else going on. Panic rushes through you at the thought of being infected with something that shows symptoms so fast, but a more intense surge of it floods you when you realize that this means Carlos has it too.

You try to get out of bed to go inform him of your discovery, but a round of cramps doubles you over and has you curling up on the twin-sized mattress to ride out the pain. Small whimpers exit your lips. They were so intense, worse than any period cramps or stomach aches you'd ever experienced.

They start to ease up after about a minute, but it's then that you begin to notice the constant throbbing between your thighs. In the midst of all this other stuff coming to light in your groggy condition, you hadn't really noted how consistent it was, but it seems to have grown stronger after that bout of pain.

A strong pulse emanates from your clit. You whine and shove your hand in your panties to try and rub it away. A few strokes bring little pleasure, but not enough to ward it off for good.

You realize your breasts feel heavy too. With every breath you take, they call out for a pair of hands to cup them and squeeze them, to fondle them and toy with your nipples. Just some form of stimulation.

Your legs bend up to your chest while your hand still fruitlessly fumbles around between your thighs. You whimper in frustration now. These symptoms are unlike any of the infections you've encountered in your career. You're not sure what to do.

As you're trying to formulate some sort of plan, your door opens. Carlos stumbles in. He looks to be in the same condition as you. The gray fabric of his t-shirt is soaked in sweat at the underarms and neckline. His skin glimmers in the dim light while he looks at you with hooded eyes. The door shuts behind him, and the air between you feels thick. His scent drifts to you across the room, making you squeeze your thighs together hard with desire.

It takes everything you have to not lunge across the room and pounce on him like an animal in heat. From the strained expression on his face, it's not a wild guess to imagine he feels similar. He's panting, leaning against the wall for support.

"Safe to say we're infected with something, huh?" he chokes out.

You turn your head and nod against your pillow, unable to bring yourself to look at him anymore. If you did that, you wouldn't be able to control your reaction.

"What should we do?" he asks.

You have no clue how he's managing to stand or speak or even think through these questions. All your mind can conjure at the moment are visions of him on top of you. They're so vivid you can almost feel the sensations of them. You see him above you with your legs over his shoulders, plowing into your cunt with no reserve or hesitation. Visions of you on your stomach also flash through your mind. You picture him with an iron grip on your hips, pumping his thick, meaty cock into your dripping hole over and over and over.

It's enough to bring a moan out of you. Carlos winces at the sound, and he approaches your bed. You're visibly faring worse than him. Maybe it's because you have a puncture wound, and he has a simple scratch. Or maybe it's just a difference in your biology. You're not sure, and there's no way you're going to figure it out while you feel like this.

He cautiously lays a hand on your arm, and you moan again. But this time the sound is so much needier. It echoes between the four walls of this small bedroom, the volume enough to cause concern that you would wake other employees here. He pulls his hand back and looks down at you. Your hips rock on your hand, humping it desperately in an attempt for friction.

Your eyes crack open and cast onto him. You intend to look up at his face, but with where he's standing, right at eye level is the huge tent in his pants.

His cock strains against the gray material. You can see the outline perfectly. The sight makes your mouth water. You don't know what's happening with you. Sure, you'd always found Carlos attractive. Maybe you could say you have a little crush on him, but it was never anything so raw. You thought he was charming more than anything. Never before had you just wanted to tear off both your own and his clothes and start going at it.

He sees where your eyes lock on, and he feels a strong burst of arousal in his stomach.

"Hey, hey. Look at me," he instructs and pushes you by the shoulder onto your back.

You look up into his eyes. Your mind finds peace in them. They're serene and calm and offer a sense of comfort despite every other part of your body going haywire.

Your own hand reaches up and wraps around his wrist. You tug his palm down onto your breast. His brows raise, but he makes no move to pull it away. Instead, he gives the mound a squeeze, relishing the way you arch your back and mewl for him.

"Wait," he tries to resist, tries to be the responsible one, "Are you sure we should... do this kind of stuff? What if it makes this worse? We don't know what's happening yet."

If you weren't so wound up, you'd probably laugh at the way he poses the question. The man who could flirt with you like there was no tomorrow asking if you should do "stuff." But you don't laugh because "stuff" is all you want to do.

"I don't know what's happening. All I know is I need you," you rasp and start pulling his arm more, trying to get his entire body on top of your own.

He half indulges you, beginning to climb on the bed before stopping above you. Looking down at your lust-stricken form, he wants you so bad. His cock leaks precum with the urge to just slip inside. But at the same time, Carlos does like you. Really likes you. It isn't a maybe with him - he has a crush on you. And while thoughts of you spread beneath him happen to be what he jerks off to each morning in the shower, part of him can't help worrying that if he takes advantage of this, things between you two will shift and fracture.

"Are... are you sure?" he asks. Words are hard when your scent clouds the air around him and you look up at him with needy eyes like this.

You want to tell him to stop talking and just fuck you senseless already, but your lust-stricken brain seems to comprehend that in order to get fucked dumb, you have to handle his concerns first.

"I want it. I need you inside me. Please just give it to me," you whine. Your legs squirm, and you tug on him again. He's still hesitant. Looking into his eyes, you whimper, "You'll still be my favorite."

And that's apparently good enough for him. That brief statement of reassurance shatters the thin pane of resistance he had left. After hearing those words, he collapses on top of you in a flurry of passion. His lips collide with yours. He pants against your face and squeezes your hips.

Your tongues meet and slide against each other as your mouths move. One of your hands slides around the back of his head to grip his shaggy, dark locks. He groans and bucks his hips against your thigh. Your other hand rubs his chest, fingers digging into the muscle with desire.

He leans back for a split second and rips off his shirt. Under more delicate circumstances, you probably would have admired his sculpted figure. You would have traced your fingertips along the defined lines of his abs, swirled the delicate pads around his nipples and up to his collarbone.

But not right now.

You don't possess the ability to move with that much focus or care right now. Instead, you reach out and pull him back down again, almost crushing yourself with his bulky frame. It's worth it though because you lick up his happy trail, tracing your tongue over the contours of his muscles. He moans from the light touch before scooting down so he can remove your shirt and have access to your breasts.

"Look at these. Fuck," he says in awe. He gropes them, hands rough as they feel up the plump flesh.

He lowers himself on top of you again and kisses down your collarbone to your chest. You whimper as his mouth glides over the swells of your breasts before latching onto one nipple. He sucks with fervor, eyes fluttering shut as he focuses on the task. You gasp and moan. Between your legs, he ruts against the mattress.

His tongue swirls around your stiffening bud. He laves the smooth wetness over it a few times before switching to the other and giving it the same treatment.

"Been wanting to see these tits so fuckin' bad," he mumbles.

"You have?" you whimper, still squirming from the attention directed at your chest.

"Course I have. Those tight little sweaters you wear, the way they bounce every time you fucking move. God, drives me crazy," he mutters.

He spends some more time on your breasts before relenting and shoving down his sweats. His cock all but jumps out, eager for some attention as well.

"I've been wanting to see that so bad," you breathe.

You have to rub your thighs together once you get a look at his length. It's long and meaty just like you predicted. There are prominent veins spanning from the base upward. The tip is already leaking for you, oozing sticky white precum. His heavy balls hang below. All you can think about is how bad you need them drained inside of you.

He tears off your soaked panties and wastes no time slotting himself at your wanting hole. With both of you in frenzies of carnality, there's no teasing. He doesn't rub it over your folds or work himself in. No. In one go, he slams himself inside. A deep, guttural sound rumbles in his chest while a breathy whine erupts from you.

Your eyes roll back while your toes curl down below. You nearly cum from that stroke alone. He just fits you so perfectly. Even through the amorous fog that clouds your mind, you can't help wondering why you didn't do this sooner.

Just like in the flashes you saw minutes ago, his hands clamp around your waist. He doesn't take time to set a pace or give you a few moments to adjust to the girth of him. As soon as he's had the first taste of that warm, wet heat, he's slamming in and out of your little pussy with no thought.

His hot skin slaps against yours. Both of you pant with exertion while the cot below you scrapes against the concrete floor. Your legs bend upwards and you hold them to make sure nothing gets in the way of his thrusts.

Each time his cock slides all the way in, you think you see heaven. Your vision blots with white and then splotches of color. Your brain feels as though it's melting out your ears in the most blissful sensation. You're pretty sure you don't actually need thoughts anymore. Why would you when this seems like the only thing you'll wanna do ever again?

You bounce around with his strength pounding against you. Your head bobbles while your tits sway up and down. His head has been tilted back for a while, but he drops it now to look at the sight of you before him.

"Fuck, baby. You take my dick like you were made for it," he grunts.

Your walls squeeze him tight as a reward for saying that. He groans and fucks into you harder. The rhythm breaks for a moment. He has to slow down to deliver the small collection of particularly harsh thrusts.

With each one, his tip rams further inside you. The fourth one strikes some trigger inside you that rips a yelp from you and rockets you over the edge. Your body shudders hard beneath him while your walls spasm desperately.

"Hnghhh- Carlos- ah! You're fuckinmesogood," you babble out, eyes drooping so much they're practically closed.

You hear him growl above you and then feel his weight collapse onto your body. Your thighs are smooshed between the two of you, keeping you bent in half. He's as deep as physically possible now. That you're certain of. His cock kisses the opening of your womb with each jolt of his pelvis, making you cry out in an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain.

His head closes in on yours, connecting the two of you in a sloppy kiss. You move without sense. Every action stems from a place of pure desire.

He knows he's getting close. And he also knows he should pull out. But he honestly doesn't know if he can right now. He's burning so hot for you that in his head, the loss of your tight walls wrapped around him may seriously result in death. It doesn't just feel good, it's pure euphoria. He's not even at the peak yet, but this feeling right now is more intense than any orgasm he's had before.

"Fuck-" he growls, trying to work up the will to slide back and burst on your stomach instead. His mouth falls away from yours, landing against the crook of your neck. "You're making this so hard for me, sweetheart," he grumbles.

You're so shaky and blissed out that the words almost pass you by, but his close proximity allows you to catch them. You know what he means without him having to say it because you feel it too. A deep yearning in the most carnal recesses of your soul, a craving for him to sate the most base desire burning within you.

"Just do it," you whimper, lazily rolling your hips up, "Cum inside."

His muscles tense. You can feel them twitching against you.

"Don't say that," he breathes.

A petulant whine seeps from between your lips. You pull him closer by the shoulders with more force, digging your nails into the skin.

"Finish inside, Carlos. Pleaseeeeee," you try again, "I'll worry about it later. Just need you to fill me up so fucking bad."

His resolve chips away piece by piece with each strike from your pleas. Reasons to detach from you that had seemed logical moments ago lose whatever little appeal they had. His mind feels overcome by the desire to pump you full of his release, to fuck his seed deep inside your awaiting cunt, to let it take.

With a rough snap, he throws his head back and groans. His fingers dig into the plush flesh of your hips. The high overcomes him in a powerful blow, whisking the air from his lungs. It makes him feel lightheaded, actions completely guided by impulse created under the influence of whatever that plant had sapped into the two of you.

Hot, thick ropes of cum shoot against your inner walls. You whine at the sensation, eyes fluttering and rolling back in satisfaction. He works it into you over and over till the urge is sated.

Finally, he feels like he won't lose all capability to function if he pulls out. He eases his hips back, slowly freeing himself from the sinful confines of your slick walls. Every inch he reveals shimmers with the combined gloss of his and your fluids. It coats the area between your thighs thoroughly, marking the site of your connection.

While the throbbing in your clit and the burning throughout your bones has lessened, dull remnants of them remain. Your chest puffs up and down as you catch your breath and recover from the intensity of before. The air still feels thick, just less like a landmine than before.

But when you gaze down between the two of you, your eyes land on his cock. He's still fully hard. The shaft stands forward proudly while the tip remains darkened in color. His need for more of you plainly visible to anyone who looked.

Your eyes flit from it up to his eyes, connecting in a tentative stare. The question between the two of you is left unspoken. Neither of you really need the words to understand that you both want more.

His hands fly to your waist again and flip you over onto your stomach. Your face squishes against the pillows as he boosts your hips to the right angle and slides right back inside. You whine at the intrusion, fingers gripping the pillow for some way to ground yourself.

He gives your ass a firm smack before leaning forward and boxing you in beneath him. You have no way of knowing for sure, but you're almost certain the thrusts reach deeper now. He's moving at the same frantic pace from before, yet every stroke feels like it bumps a sweet spot within you. That or you're just more sensitive from your previous release.

You can hear him panting in your ear as he pounds you into the mattress. Every small grunt and soft growl drifts out behind your head.

"Fuck... think we should just do this till we're all better," he murmurs and nips at your shoulder.

"Mhm," you whine, arching your back and pushing your hips against him further. The next set of words comes out slurred and muffled both from your position against the pillow and the blurry state of your mind. "Never wanna stop. Just want you all the time."

He huffs out a laugh. "Yeah? That's what you wanna do, huh? Let me fuck you nonstop? Use you till you can't fucking move anymore? Breed you till I've had my fill?"

You mewl sharply and nod eagerly. "Uh huh, give it all to me till- ah! mmm... till we're both better," you whimper.

Skin continues slapping against skin in the otherwise quiet of the room. In the back of your mind, you wonder how far down the hall the sound echoes. It's a fleeting thought though, quickly overwhelmed by the repeated thoughts of how good you feel.

"Yeah? Maybe a baby in your belly is what you need. Maybe that's what we're supposed to do. Can't get this thing out of our system till we meet nature's demands," he rasps.

He doesn't even know what he's saying. He assumes the sudden desire to procreate comes from the infection, but the words feel as though they blossom from somewhere deeper. Whatever the case, it's obvious you like them. You clamp around his cock like you're trying to drain him dry.

"I'd probably fuck you like this every night if I saw you nice and round with my baby, sweetheart. Fuck, you'd look so good. Swollen in all the right places, aching for me to take care of you," he mumbles out.

"Give it to me. Want it so bad. Wanna... mmm fuck," you trail off, panting out the lasts of your desires.

The peak builds much faster for you two this time around. You squeeze around him till your rhythmic convulsions devolve into a burst of spasms. His thrusts land hard throughout his high, but you feel his muscles tense as he pumps another load into you.

Drops of his spend leak from your cunt and smear against both of your skin. This time he doesn't even bother pulling out. He knows he's still hard and that he has one, if not more, rounds in him. He keeps fucking you hard, through your cries of overstimulation and desperate squirming.

The rest of the night is a blur. You don't count how many times you go at it or keep track of the variety of positions you do it in. You know at one point you were on top, at another your head dangled off the edge of the mattress and bobbled around like that of a doll's. The intense passion and lust pervades all memories and casts the experience in a hazy fog.

All you're sure of is that now you feel better. For the moment, the two of you are satisfied, your bodies no longer alive with an electric craving for one another. Your head rests on his chest while the rest of you presses against his side. His hand rubs up and down your back in lazy, thoughtless strokes.

Neither of you say anything. Dashes of sunlight begin to shine through the windows that sit high on the wall. Both of you bask in the calm of the moment as you grapple with what happened.

"You think that cured us?" he asks softly after a while.

You pause before shrugging. "Can't say for sure, we'll have to wait and see," you say, looking up at him.

Somewhere inside of you, you believe that was it. That was the magic fix. You're almost certain that you fucked whatever that was out of your systems, but you want to be honest with him. Still, you can't help offering a little reassurance.

"We'll be ok," you say with a small smile.

He returns it. "If you're the one taking care of me, I don't doubt that," he teases.

You hum and squeeze your arms around his waist. Questions of a changed relationship status or potential future together going forward plague your mind, but you know it's not the time. If your supervisors hadn't heard the racket coming from in here, they'd realize something was up as soon as you and Carlos emerged from the same bedroom. You decide to take what semblance of peace with him you can get before having to face a possible onslaught of hazmat suits and probing tests.

Your eyes flutter shut as the beating of his heart lulls you into a state of peace. Even without the confirmation, you aren't worried about your connection. You're pretty confident that he'll be more than just your favorite patient in the coming weeks.

#divider by cafekitsune #carlos oliveira x reader #carlos oliveira smut #carlos oliveira x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil imagines #resident evil x you

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anli-rambles · 7 months ago

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No bc the 18th century assassins were actual shit and I'm not just talking about the Colonial branch, like-

The British brotherhood let a Templar GRANDMASTER run off with the son of one of their master assassins after his death and never did anything to save him. Years later that boy grows up to be a Templar, climbs up the ranks of the Order at lightning speed, and kills one of their assassin masters after stealing his hidden blade. And how do they respond to that ? They send one of their novices after him on a ship to Boston to kill him. Alone. And that novice, instead of going the assassin way and stab Haytham in the back or something, tries to defend him from getting killed by some other guys on deck before engaging him in a fucking sword fight during which he gives Haytham, A MASTER SWORDSMAN, HIS OWN GODDAMN SWORD, LIKE WHAT IN THE-

Then you have the disaster that was the Colonial Brotherhood. Achilles, the last student of Ah Tabai, goes on to do the one thing Ah Tabai spent the entirety of Black Flag warning Edward against (tampering with Isu sites) and becomes mentor to absolute psychopaths. They were working with gangs who were harassing civilians for protection money and developing chemical weapons that they planned on unleashing on entire cities, not to mention that they caused two earthquakes that killed hundreds of thousands and were going to do it a third time (and probably would never have stopped) had Shay and Haytham not intervened. Also, instead of talking shit out with an obviously traumatised Shay, they demonised him, shot him off a cliff, and left him for dead without even checking if he'd died or not - they were so bad that they made Shay, the most un-Templaresque person ever, defect to the Templars, which inevitably led to their downfall and you can't even blame the Templars for massacring all of them bc they were an absolute menace to society. Plus they were allied with the Fr*nch and it should be common knowledge that this is the worst crime one could ever commit

AND SPEAKING OF THE FRENCH ! Those bitches were also completely brain dead !! Like, they knew what happened to Haytham and how the man turned out, but they still let the Templar Grandmaster adopt Arno, the son of one of their master assassins, just like the British had done with Edward. Like, they should have known it could end in an absolute disaster. And they banished Arno, probably their most promising recruit since Charles Dorian's death, for doing his fucking job as an assassin just because he broke some rules, which is so dumb coming from people whose motto contains the lines "everything is permitted", I just- ☠️

Ratohnhaké:ton was legit the only 18th century assassin with a functioning brain cell istg

#haytham kenway #achilles davenport #connor kenway #ratohnhaké:ton #arno dorian #edward kenway #assassin's creed

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bsof-maarav · 7 months ago

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it's good this is my only social media and that i've insulated myself from the worst of this place. i'm not watching that video. i understand the value in bearing witness. but for me, it's like this. i know what's been happening to the hostages already, i don't need to be convinced. i don't want to violate them further by watching the beginning of the worst part of their lives and i don't want to be even more secondhand traumatized either. it would make me less, not more, able to do what i can do to be of use to the hostages.

but even more than i'm not watching that video, i'm not watching the absolutely psychopathic response to it by the mobs who are indulging in an orgy of probably the two oldest forms of hatred in the world--misogyny and antisemitism.

when i heard this video would be released, i had that impulse to hope that maybe now my former friends and community would finally get it. but it's not the case. we've all known this whole time. there's been no mystery about what kind of violence the go-pro wearing terrorists are perpetrating. we've already seen enough to know, even without seeking it out. journalists have described it thoroughly as well. if someone says they need to see something more explicit for "proof," they're nothing but consumers of terrorist torture porn. it's pure רַע

i'm not even going to try writing any appeals about these womens' humanity because anyone who doesn't get it, that's because they don't want to get it and they probably never will. they're getting off on this dehumanizing violence and trying to join it as part of the virtual mob. they're empty people and they are not going to change.

we are looking directly at this hate, some of us for the first time, and it's a window through time, through which we can see what many generations of Jews, and particularly Jewish women, have seen before. the violence and hatred is unchanging. only the technology of the violence has changed. the violence itself has not. the hatred has not. we know more about every previous age now, more about how our ancestors' hearts felt when they were breaking, the fear and anger, the determination to survive and make something better.

it's unbearable to know how outnumbered we are, how much of the world is morally and ethically dead when it comes to us, and how many of them accept, deny, are indifferent to, or celebrate this violence against us. it always has been unbearable, untenable, and yet we're here: the latest in a long line of generations who move forward even when it feels impossible, and do what we can to make a better world for the next ones with the conviction that no one should be hurt like this. never again.

and now i'm going back to listening to Israeli music. because i try to experience some kind of peace and calm each day, whatever i can, so i will have some strength to send. through davening, i try to send strength to the hostages to help them survive. we're one family, and all deeply connected. i have to hope that it helps in some way.

if you want to say Mi Sheberach and Tehillim for these women and don't know how, please reach out. or just daven from the heart for them, dedicate it to their merit, say each of their names out loud. light an extra Shabbat candle for them. set an extra place at your table. put something about them in a public place to make their reality present there. you'll have to protect it from attack. but do it anyway.

and if you want to know what you can do to pressure your political representatives or organizations to do something to free these captives, and all of the captives, i'll be here to talk about that as well.

#jumblr #october 7 #israel #terrorism #frumblr #israeli women #antisemitism #misogyny #rape culture #violence against women and girls #me too unless ur a jew #rape apologists #רַע #every day i'm losing my mind #our daughters should never have to fear this

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anxresi · 6 months ago

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They're absolutely right...

...It's the writers that deserve the lion's share of the backlash, for poor, innocent, boring-as-hell Zoe is merely a tool of the oppressor, aka Mr Astruc. What's being oppressed, you may well ask? Well, interesting storylines, proper continuity, two-dimensional personalities... I could go on. Everything that makes a show compulsive and rewarding viewing that Miraculous Ladybug conspicuously and utterly lacks in every department due to his increasingly destructive machinations, basically.

This pink-streaked plot device masquerading as a serious character can (along with another equally pointless individual called 'Soquerline' who was so unmemorable I almost forgot she was ever a thing) exists for one reason and one reason only: to diminish Chloe's relevance and role in the show to the sum of precisely nothing. Well after S5, job done I guess guys. Well done. Well done indeed. (Although apparently not... they're bringing Miss Bourgeois back for more torture in the London 'special'. Guess Tommy Boy just can't keep away from his favorite punching bag, can he?)

The irony is though, having such a super-sweet but dull-as-ditchwater Mary Sue to replace a well-established and multi-layered person such as Chloe actually sends out a seriously awful message. Why? Because if I was a bad kid and saw S1-3 Chloe, I'd think 'what a fascinating redemption arc, I can inspired by that and do better.' But after seeing S4-5 Chloe and what an arguable downgrade as a replacement the incredibly tedious Zoe is, I'd be more like 'well, obviously there's no point in trying to be good, because you'll probably turn into a psychopath overnight with no explanation in the middle of your genuine efforts to improve. And if what the show is presenting to me as the ideal for a teenage girl to be is the waste-of-blank-space that Zoe clearly is... then a life of deliquency sounds more tempting with every passing minute! Now, where did I put my spray can?'

The most shameless aspect to this whole argument though, is by those trying to paint the hapless Zoe as some kind of lesbian icon. Pardon? She got a plot-mandated crush on Marinette in one episode and somehow that makes her insipid and needless presence an asset for the gay community? Somehow a few people have got it into their heads if you 'dare' to make someone non-straight in cartoons these days you deserve a big pat on the back for that 'risk' alone. WRONG. They should also be fleshed-out, complex, necessary characters whose sexuality isn't just define them or deflect from deserved criticism as to what the hell they are doing there if they turn up in the middle of proceedings with no prior explanation. See: The Owl House for how it's done.

And that's all Zoe being gay is... an irrelevant trait Mr Astruc can point to cynically and say ' you're a bigot for disliking her whatever your reasons are, so I'm not listening to you' instead of engaging with the actual argument which is SHE IS NOT AND WAS NEVER NEEDED IN THE SHOW. Everything you required to make Chloe the brilliant character she could've been was RIGHT THERE in the script but you CHOSE to rub it all out and scrawl some hastily scribbled doodle with no personality other than being 'very nice' in her place. A tragedy. The worst case of self-vandalism I've ever seen. No wonder Jeremy Zag wants to start from scratch with his rebooted movies. More power to him, IMHO.

Needless to say, nearly all the above in the quoted post about her father loving her (we haven't met him yet, it's DEFINITELY not Andre Bourgeois, his name ends in 'Lee' for a start) her supposed growth (the only 'growth' she's had is when she turned into that giant golden Chloe after being akumatized) her alleged pansexuality (all in the desperate mind of the OP) her 'abusive' family (I think you'll find Chloe had it FAR WORSE over the course of the show in that regard, so why not idolise her?) is complete bunkum. and to be frank I couldn't compose a much delusional post if I tried. Sometimes I wonder: what planet are some people on to reach such implausible conclusions? I don't understand it, I'll never understand it and quite frankly I feel quite sorry for the arbiters of such risibly deluded takes.

Last but not least though, we have...

Now this I ALSO agree with 1000%. And I know just the place to 'flush' her... ;)

#The gay community deserves better representation #SAY IT LOUD AND SAY IT PROUD #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ladybug #chloe bourgeois #ml salt #zag #ml #disney #zoe lee #queen bee

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blegh-110 · 2 years ago

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I have an idea for “Have I found you, flightless bird?”!! What if after living with Tangerine for a while, Tan decides to test Y/n to see if she’ll try to run away again, so he leaves her bedroom door unlocked. So when Y/n wakes up in the middle of the night one night, having trouble sleeping, she goes up to the door, sees it’s unlocked, but instead of running away, she goes to try to find Tangerine’s room because she can’t sleep and wants to climb into bed with him? But he finds her before she’s able to get to his room and thinks that she tried to run away again + he had told her before never to leave the room without asking (he’s really mad), but she tries to explain that she wasn’t trying to run away, she just wanted to climb in bed with him because she couldn’t sleep and had a bad dream and was scared… Tan going from 😠 to 🥺 extremely quickly, and also a bit of 😏

OHhh I know this answer is really late, I'm sorry <333, but I absolutely love this idea!! So, I've made this into a little blurb!!!

This is probably the worst night you have had since being forcibly taken from your life.

You’re currently sitting up against the headboard of your bed, shaking like a leaf as you count to eight, waiting for the inevitable sound.

“-five one thousand, six one thousand, seven one thousand, eight one tho-” Then a clap of thunder loudly interrupts your counting, sending you into tears. You desperately want to be held and feel safe, but how are you going to get that when the only person in the house is a psychopath? As well as the fact that the door to your room is locked from the outside, leaving you helpless and with no choice but to stay on your pink bed and pray that the storm stops.

You try to distract yourself and trace the floral pattern on your bed, but you see a quick flash of light through your window, and all you can do is anxiously bite your lip and wait for the thunder. When it finally hits, it’s the loudest one of the night, even making the house shake just a bit. But it’s enough for you to yelp, throw the covers off of you, and jump off of the bed onto the cold floor.

As you quickly run to the door, you plan to give up and call for Tangerine. You just want to be next to someone, anyone. Just as long as you’re not alone.

You instinctively reach for the door handle and are about to rattle it, but the first turn of the handle opens your bedroom door. You freeze as you let go, letting the door open by itself and reveal the dark hallway. It almost makes you want to turn back into the comfort of your pink room and stuffed animals, but another clap of thunder sends you running to the room Tangerine has been staying in.

Meanwhile, Tangerine puts his hands in his hands and sighs. He also hopes for the storm to pass by, but it’s different in that it’s distracting him from his work. He likes the rain as well as the sound of thunderstorms, but not when he’s been trying to get some information on the latest case he and Lemon have been working on. This guy has been difficult to track, even more difficult to find any sort of information on. And as a result, he’s had a headache for hours now.

Not only that, but he’s been under more stress because of you. You tried to escape about a week ago, which came as a surprise to Tangerine since you’d been nothing but quiet. He thought you were starting to get used to him and your new home. So when he saw you trying to escape, once again, he knew he was back at square one with you. Then he realized you two never left, you tricked him into thinking you were okay.

He felt humiliated when he told Lemon, who couldn’t for the life of him stop laughing and making teasing remarks the entire day.

“You couldn’t keep one girl under control? You’re a shit assassin aren't you?” Lemon laughed.

Tangerine wouldn’t be fooled the next time. For the last few days, he’s left your bedroom door unlocked, to see if you’d pull another stunt. If you did… well, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He figured the two of you weren’t close enough yet that any sort of punishment would take an effect on you. He couldn’t ignore you or send you away to another room for the night or day, that would only make you happy since you don’t want to be anywhere near him. He wouldn’t dare even try to spank you, that would send you even further away from him. He toyed with the idea of taking away your stuffed animals and making you stay in one of the boring guest rooms instead of your room that was perfectly designed for you, but those were your only sources of comfort. He didn’t want to take that away from you.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the sound of feet running closer to his office then right past it.

Oh, I’ve got you now, love.

Tangerine quickly rises from his chair and pulls open his office door, fully ready to see you taking off down the stairs.

“And just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He says angrily.

You whip around when you hear his voice. All the fear you felt before of him goes away when you see him from the doorway of some room you haven’t been in, always being told “don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

You don’t know if it’s because you are so deathly afraid of the thunder, or the chill you feel all over your body, or if it’s the fact that you haven’t seen anybody in so long, but you're in a floaty headspace. One that makes you feel small and easily damaged. And when you look at Tangerine, for the first time ever he is your safe haven. And you just know that if he held you in his arms, you would feel okay. You try to ignore the furious look on his face and start walking towards him, your tears finally falling.

“I thought I told you not to leave-”

Tangerine, first angry, is confused then very concerned as you walk closer to him. When he hears your sniffle and hiccup, he meets you halfway down the hallway. Grunting when you crash and fall into his chest, crying your eyes out. You would’ve fallen, your knees deciding to give out, but Tangerine pulls you so close to him that your legs dangle.

“Oh, darling. What’s wrong? Is it the storm?” He asks softly, stroking your back and cooing when you nod against his chest. He feels you trembling in his arms, your endless shaking and sobbing has Tangerine’s heart into two. But then he’s reminded of the fact that you came to him, you decided yourself that he would make you feel better. Then Tangerine starts to feel proud of himself, despite doing nothing.

“It’s okay now, it’s alright. I’ve got you now, haven’t I?” He then brings you up higher and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist and nod your head into his neck. Your nightgown rises up, just barely covering your ass and exposing your legs. You would be cold, but one of Tangerine’s big, warm hands is under your bum, holding you up. And the other is stroking one of your thighs around his waist. Then you feel his lips against your head and the storm no longer exists. Only you and Tangerine.

“Wasn’t trying to leave, p-promise.” You hiccup and flinch at the thunder.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry for being angry, dove, probably scared you, huh?” Tangerine whispers into your ear. You nod your head against him.

“Wasn’t very nice of me was it?”

“Nuh-uh.” You admit.

Then you feel movement and wonder if he’s taking you somewhere. You lift your head and see you are back in your room. You tighten your arms and legs around Tangerine, signaling that you don’t want to be alone.

“If I give you a cuddle, can you forgive me?”

“Yes, please.”

“I should be the one begging you.” Tangerine tickles your sides, making you squeal and jump in his arms.

“Oh, please forgive me, my love.” He continues poking your sides and nuzzling his head into your neck, his hair and mustache tickling you. With tears still in your eyes, you giggle and try to push him away from you, but you’re trapped in his arms.

“Stop it, stop it! Okay-”

“Oh, (y/n), I’ll do anything. Please forgive me.” Tangerine mumbles into your neck, then throws you on the bed and starts peppering kisses all over your face, squeezing your hips and pinching your sides. You giggles and screams for him to quit it making him smile.

“I forgive you! Just stop it!” You yell with a smile on your face, the weather outside completely forgotten. You sigh when Tangerine takes his hands off of you, you suddenly feel cold again. Then he plants a long kiss on your head before getting up, making your heart pick up nervously.

“Let me just change out of my clothes real quick, lovey.”

“No!” You shout and quickly cover your mouth, shocked at your own reaction. But the thought of having to be alone again, even if it’s just for a few minutes, brings back your tears. “I’m sorry, just don’t want to be alone.”

“It’s just going to be for a moment, I promise. You won’t be comfortable laying on me with my suit on.”

“I don’t care, just take it off. Just don’t leave me, please.” You pout up at him from your spot on your bed. And Tangerine is immediately unbuttoning his vest and shirt for you. You didn’t quit realize it yet, but any time you flashed him your pout, he was on his knees for you, ready to do anything you wanted. This feeling became even worse when it was paired with your teary eyes.

When he was down to just his boxers, Tangerine climbed into bed with you. This wasn’t the first night he had slept with you, but it was one where you cuddled into his side and placed an arm on his bare chest. You closed your eyes and breathed in his scent as you quickly fell into your slumber. Because of this, you didn’t feel the quickness of Tangerine’s heartbeat right under your hand.

Soon enough, the only thing Tangerine can hear are your quiet snores and even breaths. This is how it should be. He knows that when you wake up, you’ll be mortified at your actions and the events that took place, but he places it in the back of his mind and pulls you closer. Smiling when you snuggle closer to him and say very quietly, “thank you.”

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine imagine #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine blurb #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson x fem!reader #flightless bird thoughts<3

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 8 months ago

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WIP Weekend

Weekly WIP update

I've mainly been focussing on my Steddie Big Bang fic this week, wrapping up chapter 2 and re-reading what I have so far. I've been suffering from bitchy brain syndrome all week with regard to this project, thinking everything I wrote was crap, but I guess that's mainly due to being unable to share my ideas. Revising what I've already written has actually helped a little, because I do quite like how it's coming together. I'll prepare my summary and excerpt next, then go back to working on chapter 3 of The King's Gift.

8 out of 29 prompts from my 1k follower celebration are filled, with a new one hopefully dropping over the weekend.

Send me an emoji and I'll write and share three sentences from that project. (Steddie Big Bang snippets will be blurred, as I'm not allowed to disclose anything yet.)

🏰The King's Gift

❓Steddie Big Bang fic 2024

🥳1k follower celebration ficlets

Snippet from 🥳

(CW nudity, explicit sexual content)

Eddie thought he knew what pain was.

He was chomped on by a flock of feral demon bats while fully conscious. He wouldn’t wish that experience on his worst enemy, and trust him, he has a lot of enemies, what with half the town still convinced he’s a devil-worshiping, cheerleader-murdering psychopath.

Eddie also thought he knew humiliation.

Hell, he needed help peeing in those first few weeks in the hospital. His dick has been touched by more people than he is comfortable admitting - and isn’t that something for a chronically bitchless, triple-senior D&D nerd?

Point is, if anyone had asked before today, Eddie would’ve boldly claimed there was nothing in the pain and humiliation department strong enough to make him even bat an eyelash.

Turns out he was wrong.

“Fuuuck,” he whines, hands white-knuckling the bedsheets. His head, heavy from craning his neck, thuds back into the pillow. “What the hell is taking so long? Take it off, take it off, take it-”

“I’m trying, okay?” Steve snaps. He has stopped laughing, which … okay, Eddie appreciates he’s taking this seriously, but he absolutely does not like that brow furrow. That's Steve Harrington's trademark ‘we're royally fucked but I'm gonna keep it together to not freak anyone out’ brow furrow. “The damn knot won't come loose.”

He tugs at said knot as if to demonstrate, and Eddie almost jerks off the bed as a jolt of pain zaps from the base of his cock all the way up his spine.

“Jesus fuck, be careful!” he barks, but Steve stays unimpressed.

“Hold still,” he scolds, voice deep and stern. One large hand grips Eddie’s knee and pushes his thighs further apart. It's very close to how Eddie envisioned this going, and his cock gives a treacherous little twitch. “Don't know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“I told you,” Eddie hisses through another bout of pain. “It was supposed to be a surprise. I wanted to do something special for our anniversary.”

Steve gives him a look.

“So you put a bow around your dick.”

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #wip ask game #wip weekend

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count-doodoo · 10 months ago

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Reverse unpopular opinion me: Qui-Gon :D

jess i saw you in my ask box and immediately panicked you were going to send me lene. god BLESS QUI GON (sentences i never thought i'd say)

anyways, for all the shit i give him, qui gon is really pretty cool! not to reduce him to his relationships but his position in the disaster lineage -- precious late space hippie son to The Treacherous Count Dooku and dad so rebellious his son followed the rules to rebel to obi??? INCREDIBLE. he's also just such a fascinating figure from a meta-fandom perspective -- like, is he Perfect Jedi (Which Is Good) or Perfect Jedi (Which Is Bad Because Jedi Bad) or Worst Jedi (But That Makes Him The Best Because The Jedi Are Evil) or Worst Jedi (Which Makes Him The Worst Because The Jedi Are Cool)? i'll see all of those takes, regularly, and everything in between. he's one of Those Characters, but not one where the question is "can they be redeemed" which means the worst thing anyone implies about his mental health is that he's a stoner and i don't have to see anyone arguing about what it means to be a psychopath, god bless.

but my proper favorite thing about him is that he delivers some of my favorite philosophy quotes in m&a:

“It matters," Qui-Gon said quietly. "It matters which side we choose. Even if there will never be more light than darkness. Even if there can be no more joy in the galaxy than there is pain. For every action we undertake, for every word we speak, for every life we touch - it matters. I don't turn toward the light because it means someday I'll 'win' some sort of cosmic game. I turn toward it because it is the light.”

and another:

"Yes I have [touched darkness]. No doubt I will again. This isn't a choice we make once and walk away from. It's the work of a lifetime.”

and i believe obi is the one who actually says this but he attributes it to qui so:

“People are more than their worst act. And they are also more than the worst thing ever done to them.”

and this one is less Deep And Meaningful but it is so funny and god i should read m&a (after i EVENTUALLY finishing the cursed book lb)

This all sounded very lofty when Qui-Gon said it, but in actuality it meant things like, It’s okay to “borrow” a spaceship from criminals if you really need it, or If I can win this tribe’s independence in a game of chance, then it’s worth selling my Padawan’s best robe for chips to get into the game.

so really, i don't agree with everything in qui gon's philosophy, or with all of his choices, but some of it here? absolute bangers.

#star wars #ask game #reverse unpopular opinion #charmwasjess #qui gon jinn

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darkmaga-returns · 19 days ago

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10 shocking stories the media buried today.

The Vigilant Fox

Dec 05, 2024

10 - Secretary of State Tony Blinken pushes to sacrifice the last of Ukraine’s youth to keep the war machine running.

“This is one of those things that looks more evil the longer you stare at it.”

Blinken told Reuters that “getting younger people into the fight, we think, many of us think, is necessary.”

“They’re pushing for teenagers to be thrown into the fires of an unwinnable war like it’s nothing,” Caitlin Johnstone wrote in a scathing rebuke.

She explained that the Biden regime is tossing the last of Ukraine’s youth “into the landmines and artillery fire just to keep this unwinnable war going for a few more months” because they want to “tie up Russia so that Syria can be turned into a smoking crater and allow the US war machine to focus its crosshairs on Iran and China.”

“Whether they succeed or not, the fact that they even tried is so profoundly psychopathic it’s actually hard to wrap your mind around,” @caitoz blasted.

“You won’t see anyone in Tony Blinken’s family headed to the frontlines in Ukraine.”

Speaking of which, why is the Biden regime so invested in this war to begin with?

@TheRedactedInc’s Clayton Morris explained that it’s because the CIA, U.S. State Department, and the Deep State are “running Ukraine.”

“We told you earlier this week how Zelensky, the dictator of that country who canceled elections and is now the dictator, has basically admitted they can’t win, and a peace agreement should likely be on the table. What did we do? We said, ‘Sorry, we’re going to send you more money.’ And NATO says, ‘Sorry, no peace talks. No peace talks. Those are off the table.’ So, we are running the show. The U.S. State Department, the CIA, the Deep State, with the mockingbird media in the United States, is running Ukraine. Don’t lie to yourself. If you think otherwise, you’re an idiot.”

Read Caitlin Johnstone’s full report here.

(See 9 More Revealing Stories Below)

9 - Joy Behar dies inside as John Fetterman explains that Trump’s NY trial was politically motivated.

“Those kinds of charges would have never been brought unless one side realized that they could weaponize that.”

Unbeknownst to Fetterman, he called out Behar to her face, condemning people who were “gleeful” to call Trump a “convicted felon.”

It turns out he made that statement to one of the worst offenders of that crime.

When Behar heard this, it was as if the life had been sucked out of her. What a truly embarrassing moment for her.

8 - Stephen Miller outlines Trump’s first 100 days—and it sounds absolutely epic.

“It will be a new golden age.”

• “Rapid, total, complete deregulation of American energy exploration.”

• “You’re going to see an American energy boom starting right away. You’re going to see all the regulations that are strangling job growth in this country and driving up prices, driving up housing costs, go away.”

• “You’re going to see the border sealed shut, the criminal aliens are going to be shipped home, and foreign countries around the world are going to accept the gang members and the cartel members that are poisoning our families and murdering American children.”

• “You are going to see peace begin to restore to the world as the President works to bring back harmony in the Middle East, harmony in Europe.”

• “You’re going to see him work with Congress to pass another round of historic tax relief.”

• “The swamp will be drained on day one. Incompetent and disloyal people that are hurting this nation are going to be replaced with those who care only for the American people, the American worker, and the American future.”

• “You’re going to see a government that is accountable to the people again.”

7 - Data analyst estimates 7 to 15 million dead from the COVID jab.

Edward Dowd: "So five billion people on the planet got a (COVID) vaccine of some sort. If you apply the range of the death rate in the US that I gave you earlier, you get a range of globally 7.3 million to 15 million died from the vaccine. And that's 7 million to 15 million."

"And so there's been a study by Dennis Rancourt. We've looked at his methodology. It's different than what we do. We're not saying it's wrong. It's an estimate and he came up with 17 million, which I think you talked about. So our upper range is right there with Dennis Rancourt."

"Disabilities, when you look at the ratio of four to one, you multiply the 7 million and the 15, approximately 15 million times four, you get a range of 29, because let me see, I've got to look at the numbers. 29 to 60 million disabled globally."

"And then injuries, if you take 18% of the vaccinated, just using the Pfizer, so that again, this could be money, but we get a range of at the high end, 900 million, 500 million at the low end injured. 500 million to 900 million who had an injury that has not disabled."

Credit: https://x.com/newstart_2024/status/1864417511053119777

6 - Ex-CNN anchor Chris Cuomo believes the Biden administration just made a FATAL error.

By pardoning his son after months of lies, Cuomo says Biden gave Trump the “baseball bat” he needs to justify beating the Democratic Party “to death.”

Cuomo predicted that Biden might even pardon himself and his brother, criticizing Biden’s behavior by saying:

“And yet he’s blaming his behavior in advance on a corrupt system. Tell me, who does he sound like? And that is the answer to why the Democrats lost — because he sounds just like the guy who’s supposed to be so much worse.”

Cuomo warned that Democrats have “validated” Trump’s arguments and handed him a powerful weapon. “You have allowed Biden to validate the exact argument — you gave Trump the exact baseball bat that Trump and the Funky Bunch are going to use to make justified what’s about to happen,” he said.

“They are going to beat you to death with the bat you just handed them.”

While you’re here, don’t forget to subscribe to this page for more daily news roundups.Subscribe

#5 - EPA Advisor Admits to Funneling Billions of Dollars to Climate Organizations as Fast as Possible Before Trump Returns

#4 - UnitedHealthcare CEO Assassin Left a Chilling Clue at the Crime Scene

#3 - James O’Keefe Drops Shocking New Video Exposing FEMA in North Carolina

#2 - Study Finds COVID-19 Vaccination Increases Risk of Depression, Anxiety, and Sleep Disorders

A study by Kim et al published in the journal Molecular Psychiatry, titled, Psychiatric adverse events following COVID-19 vaccination: a population-based cohort study in Seoul, South Korea, found that COVID-19 vaccination is associated with a 68.3% increased risk of depression, 43.9% increased risk of anxiety disorders, and 93.4% increased risk of sleep disorders.

Click here to read more.

#1 - ‘YMCA’ Songwriter Has Completely Changed His Mind About Trump Using The Song

After originally demanding that Donald Trump stop using the hit song ‘YMCA’ at events, The Village People songwriter Victor Willis has completely changed his mind and is now thanking the president-elect for choosing his song.

Willis said that he can tell Trump “genuinely likes” the song and was “having a lot of fun” using it at rallies.

“I simply didn’t have the heart to prevent his continued use of my song in the face of so many artists withdrawing his use of their material. So I told my wife to inform BMI to not withdraw the Trump campaign political use license,” Willis further stated.

Read More: https://modernity.news/2024/12/05/ymca-songwriter-has-completely-changed-his-mind-about-trump-using-the-song/

BONUS #1 - Stephen A. Smith Unexpectedly Turns the Tables on the Hunter Biden Pardon Scandal

BONUS #2 - It Was Dick Cheney Who Put Fauci in Charge of the U.S. Bioweapons Program Following the 2001 Anthrax Attacks

BONUS #3 - The Greatest Medication You’ve Never Heard of

BONUS #4 - WTF? Biden is Considering Pardons for Fauci, Schiff & Cheney

BONUS #5 - Tucker Carlson Delivers Bone-Chilling Warning Everyone Needs to Hear

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puckish-rogue-archive-deux · 8 months ago

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Lore Dump: Current State of Affairs

Note: The following is a discussion on this blog's main verse and what one could expect when doing crossover threads. As the original SR series is effectively dead in the ground, and as someone who wasn't the biggest fan of how it ended, I am basing this entirely off of my own ideas regarding canon, and my revised version of the third game. Please note that at this point in time, I do not have a post that details just what exactly I've done to rework the events of the third game. So until such a post is made, feel free to send me questions regarding just about anything; from plot points, characters, the setting, and so on. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy what's spoken about here.

Something that I've always been fascinated by were the long-lasting consequences of what the Saints had done during the gang war in Steelport. Because let's be real here; the fact that a street gang was able to completely wipe out a large scale criminal organization, whose power and connections were on a global scale, and win against a paramilitary task force that was under the control and supervision of the US government, which was more than likely really fucking embarrassing for them, is monumental.

And when I say monumental, I mean do you know how fucking insane that is? Like, do you know how that's going to affect the world? I would not put it past any kind of governing body to get a wee bit paranoid over this shit. "Well, if the Saints were able to hold their own against the fucking US military, what does that tell every other criminal organization across the globe?". That's horrifying for people in high positions of power! It sets an example. Plants an idea.

So, I can see them trying to deal with this in a number of ways; either they start dumping all their money into law enforcement in order to counteract organized crime, stay vigilant and play by ear, hire outside forces (I like to consider the Masako and STAG as the catalyst for PMC's becoming much more prevalent in this world). Or, special bonus crime answer, you work with OTHER criminal organizations in order to take out what you consider a huge threat. No matter what choice is made, the end result is all of them coming off as if they're panicking like crazy.

Something to consider as well is the public's perception towards what transpired in Steelport, and the way everything was handled. While the Saints' general popularity may have waned somewhat, there's definitely people out there coming to their defense. Or, at the very least, arguing in their favor. They could be seen as arguably better than a lot of the gangs they've gone up against (something that is hinted at in NPC dialogue during the second game), and they did prevent an entire city from being demolished because the US left a dude in charge who would do absolutely anything in his power to get the job done. So, like, hmm, maybe funny purple gang is a necessary evil?

But on the contrary we have the obvious. "How can you defend a bunch of criminals? Maybe things wouldn't have escalated this badly if they weren't around. These people are scumbags! Worst of the worst! And their leader is a godforsaken psychopath (sociopath, maniac, nutcase, whatever you feel like blurting out that day)". None of it is particularly surprising. Most folk don't really like the idea of letting a gang exist, no matter what sort of perceived "good" they might have done for the community. These are also the same kind of people who may even support whatever kind of law or program may be used in order to strike back against organized crime, regardless of how it may impede upon their life or the lives of other people.

"And what about the criminal underworld? Wouldn't this affect them too? Oh, please tell me more, Andre! You're very smart and creative." Ha ha! Why thank you, Hypothetical Person. But, yes, the criminal underworld will absolutely be affected. I mean, put yourself in the position of a gang leader; how would you personally feel seeing the Saints accomplish such an incredible feat? Either you're gonna try gunning for their leader's head, find yourself inspired enough to try and be just a little bit bolder, recognize the potential threat they are to your empire, or be a real stupid motherfucker and continue to underestimate them. It's highly dependent on the gang itself and the kind of person leading them.

The Saints are in a very interesting position currently. They have cemented themselves as a criminal organization to keep an eye on. A gang that has the potential to put themselves in the history books depending on what choices they make. And knowing how ruthlessly ambitious The Boss happens to be, it is almost guaranteed that the Saints will be doing whatever possible in order to expand this empire of theirs, no matter who might stand in their way.

It is the dawn of a new era within this world, and the 3rd Street Saints are carving their path to greatness.

#Lore Dump ⚜#So this is a rewrite because I wound up not being too happy with how the first one came out.#Felt like this reads a little better in some ways.#Ultimately I hope it gets the point across that the world in the main verse is a bit shaky when it comes to organized crime and everything #that surrounds it.#There's a lot of potential I think to explore different aspects and be influenced by a whooole lot of stuff.#So end of the day i just want everyone to have a fun time and get wild and creative.

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flock-of-cassowaries · 7 months ago

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My family didn’t go to church, but I was given a Catholic Children’s Bible at the behest of my paternal grandmother. And I read it a lot, and became very invested, because the alternative was the system of morality my dad presented, and… I’m pretty sure he’s a fucking psychopath, actually.

So, this dude in sandals, preaching that the most important thing in life is to have empathy for others?

Highly appealing.

But the more times I read through that book (and I read it many, many times, because the 90s were boring AF), the more a lot of the stories started to bother me.

I think the worst one was Job, because it was like - dude, what the fuck?

Are you seriously just ruining this guy’s life to prove a point to your buddy Satan?

��Like… that is such an absolutely shitty failure of empathy.

You might as will be the fucking rich nepo-baby brothers from Sucession, bribing an unhoused person to tattoo their initials on his goddamn face.

But they’re characters on an HBO show dramatizing / satirizing the evils of the rich and powerful.

You’re supposed to be the picture of all-powerful compassion.

And you do that.

What the fucking fuck.

…and also, like… what’s your fucking problem with Lot’s wife?

Like, calm the fuck down.

She is having a natural human reaction to her home being fucking destroyer; a natural, human reaction that hurts no one, except, apparently you, because she’s disobeying your command, and apparently you’re a fragile authoritarian fuckwit?

And why even fucking put the tree of knowledge there?

Like, it just seems like you set them up to fail, and just like… why? Why do that.

…also, why do you want a hoard all the fucking knowledge for yourself? That seems like you just want to keep them in a perpetual state of childhood so they can never think critically about your shit. Which like… kinda fucked up, honestly. Like, maybe you should’ve just made dogs? Though like… honestly, maybe not. Maybe get a tamagotchi.

And also, why are you so insecure about people worshipping the wrong, non-real gods? Like, if you really wanted people not to make mistakes about that, shouldn’t you like… commit to making more regular public appearances? Sort of seems like you want to have it both ways.

Also, if you’ve decided you want to be immortal, omnipotent Greta Garbo up there, fine; but then how are you getting mad at people for not worshipping you?

And like, honestly, if you’re the adult here, how are you fucking sending people to hell just for being born Buddhist or whatever? Like, shouldn’t it just be based on like whether or not they’re kind to other sentient beings? Whether they try to be good? Like… how can you, in good conscience, do that? It honestly just feels like an ego thing which, like… kind of sad, and deeply shitty.

…also, just on a more personal note, when you said to honour thy mother and thy father… did you mean these people?

Like, really?

Because like… I’m fucking trying, but I’m pretty sure that the loving and honouring is only going one way in this fucking household.

(For some reason, Abraham and Isaac never bothered me that much; maybe just because the idea of my dad actually listening to a command from anyone - including god - is fucking unthinkable. Even though he’s nominally Catholic.)

#reading god for filth #sorry to my one catholic follower #they’ve probably blocked me by now #religious trauma #credit where credit is due #jesus was a much better role model than my dad #childhood trauma #my dad

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bitterrobin · 5 months ago

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1,8,13 for the hate ask game 💃💃

a character everyone gets wrong -- The character I'd say that everyone truly gets wrong is Talia. With the exception of dedicated Talia fans and certain Damian or Bruce fans, pretty much everyone in wider fandom has some kind of negative view on her. If its not about Talia's relationship with Bruce, then its about her relationship with Damian. People will pop up with "Talia's a rapist!" Technically, yes, but that got retconned years ago and the writer admitted their own mistakes. Even then, why are you so adamant that Talia, historically one of few Arab/Asian characters in DC to be at least morally grey and portrayed positively romantically with a main hero, be immediately villainized based on the work of a single author? And then, there are also Damian fans who still swear by "Talia's an abusive mother!" when if her character wasn't so butchered, drawn and quartered by DC writers she would never treat Damian that badly? (Much less have a child raised in the League??) I've noticed some fans will stab at any flaw of the mother and dismiss the flaws of the father - it doesn't just happen w Talia it happens with almost every mother in Batman adjacent fandom. Talia, Janet --and then Bruce's clear flaws are ignored or explained away, Jack's actual present involvement in raising Tim is either dismissed or also turned up to eleven. I should stop here before this gets any longer lmao. There's more succinct and well-read Talia stans out there who carry the same complaints.

8. common fandom opinion everyone is wrong about -- A lot of misconceptions float around the fandom its hard to just choose one. But "Dick sent __ to Arkham!" and "Damian aggressively tries to kill Tim every chance he gets" are the worst contenders. No, SpongeBob, Dick didn't send Tim to Arkham, he was trying to get Tim to see a therapist. No, SpongeBob, Dick didn't sent Jason to Arkham, Jason got arrested by the GCPD and put there by them. No, SpongeBob, Damian doesn't feed Tim rat poison every day and try to slice his head off every hour, Damian's only seriously attacked Tim (in the Reborn 2009-2011 era) twice. Once, in his introduction where Damian was clearly set up as a nothing-character who wouldn't appear again until Morrison decided to project their "child of divorce" arc onto him. Again, the line cutting in Red Robin, when Damian was retaliating for something Tim did against him. Was it justified? No. But people really portray Damian as a child psychopath over these incidents. Some Tim-fan's genuine hatred seeps into their fics and become laughably awful to the point Tim doesn't seem like a sympathetic character anymore. And yes, Tim may be insecure and grieving but guess who also was??? Damian, who also lost his father and doesn't know where he fits into the family. Is it so hard to admit that Tim and Damian were equally bad to each other, and there is no side to take? Is it so hard to admit that Dick was also dealing with serious shit, also lost his father, and he couldn't make the "right decisions" for everyone? I feel like I have to get on a megaphone and yell "EVERYONE WAS GRIEVING AND TERRIBLE! THERE IS NO RIGHT OPINION OR OPTION THAT WOULD SAVE THEM!"

13. worst blorbofication -- *siiiigh* Objectively speaking, every character gets blorbofied, not even my fellow Damian fans are exempt from this. But the absolute worst offenders are of course, Tim and Jason and occasionally, Dick. They do get blorbofied for different reasons and in different ways though, which I'll admit does affect my opinions for each of them and their fans. Tim gets blorbofied to hell and back because its easy. Thats it. The longest running Robin has tons of fodder to explore, and I get it. Tim is easy to warp into whump mode, but that doesn't mean I'll turn a blind eye to how utterly fucked over everyone else has to get in order to get Tim to that state. You can explore Tim's terrible moments in life without making everyone the villain. Jason gets blorbofied in two ways: the struggles of his childhood and the ever-present specter of UTRH. Jason's fodder for whump is basically singular - its his death/resurrection and rarely anything else, maybe his parents if a fan's feeling bad about it. I get it, again, Jason's narrative is interesting to explore. Some fans just delve too deep into justifying all of Jason's feelings and actions and shoving Bruce into the "terrible dad/mourner" machine that I've grown apathetic to it. We get it, Jason's death was terrible and Bruce is terrible for moving on like a normal person would /s. Finally, Dick is a strange case. Ive seen more fans of other characters blorbofy Dick than actual Dick fans. I think this mostly because Dick's sources of trauma have been widely explored and agreed upon, or at least his history is so expansive that the fandom just doesn't get into it (cough the non-comic readers cough). Frankly I don't have major issues with Dick whump, just that it sometimes weirdly centers other character than actually around Dick. Tarantula/the multiple incidents of SA/Bludhaven getting nuked/Dick's subsequent mental breakdown always seems to get explored in terms of "how will these characters react to it?" rather than how does Dick feel about it? It bothers me when fics veer into "and Jason is a good brother/good arbiter of justice because he kills the rapist and everyone is fine with it and everyone clapped" when Dick canonically would just feel even worse about it if that happened. The scenario is set up to justify Jason's philosophy and history, and again, no one cares what Dick would really want. I actually think that's the only instance where Dick gets blorbofied in fics, correct me if i'm wrong, and its at his own detriment. I've read Dick being weirdly wrong or mean to other characters than fics where people are exaggeratedly mean to him.

(ask q's from here)

#so sorry for the walls of text #I have opinions #and I naturally gravitate towards haterism #im not cut out for wider fandom bc im the type of nerd that aggressively goes 'um aschkaully you see in issue number 3000 this character--"#thanks for the ask!#ask #batman fandom bullshit

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sometipsygnostalgic · 2 years ago

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Forget I said fandoms, you are focusing on the wrong part of the statement. I just brought up fandoms because it is salt in the wound.

After a hard day of your boss making you feel like crap, your alleged "fans" being rude to you doesn't make it any better.

of course it doesnt and it certainly impacts morale

i think though that a lot of creators have a misguided relationship to their own fandoms

back in adventure time the creators were very, very, very cagey and only ever responded to questions about the show once every year, the guy in charge adam muto expressly asked the creators to not discuss adventure time, because he knew that anything they said could snowball into some horrible controversy

he was right to have that attitude especially with the situation the show found itself in in 2011 after the mathematical! controversy

the issue is that adventure time's radio silence meant that they couldn't talk, at all, about any queer writing in the show, even new staff members who were really invested in it, and they had a limited capacity to talk about anything else either

but on the other hand i see more modern show writers like matt braly actively starting shit with fans and being weird, of course he's going to get backlash for that!!! he's right for recieving backlash for the recent controversy too. him and his team have done some creepy shit so yeah that's on them. though i wouldn't go so far as to accuse them of crimes, and people absolutely must have done that by now, and they need to calm the fuck down.

related, i was talking to my friend last night about voltron wherein she said that, even she agreed though the votron team were really weird about gay rep, they had started recieving GLASS CUPCAKES in the mail and stuff like that. what kind of fucking psychopath sends some poor artists GLASS CUPCAKES because they didn't like how they handled a cartoon!!! what the fuck!!!!!! if you want to send someone GLASS CUPCAKES go after the US supreme court or something, don't go after random artists because they wrote queerness in their show but were horribly misguided about it?????

and that's the kicker, isn't it? there is no room for mistakes anymore. people make absolute permanent value judgements on each other based on one mistake and assume they can never change and deserve to be hated forever.

if one thing is a bit off the entire thing gets condemned. look at she-ra. theres plenty that she-ra messed up (why the leash jokes???), but when it first aired people tried to say that it was perfect even though it had stuff like that, then when it made decisions that broke away precious OTPs, or when it finished and everyone moved onto the Owl House, people were saying that it's the worst show in the world and should be condemned.

can it not be in between? steven universe was utterly condemned, sure theres a hell of a lot wrong with that show but less from a moral front and more from an overall quality front. there's a ton of stuff in steven universe that is absolutely worth watching. i think that people just like trashing the old show to support the new show and pretend that there is some kind of moral basis for it.

#voltron #she ra #adventure time #atimers

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skeletal-kitt · 4 years ago

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Here have some random favorite head cannons for Nico that I don’t see very often (some of these might just be me projecting onto them but idc)

He struggles with insomnia, mainly because he doesn’t want to have nightmares and waking dreams/flashback of Tartarus, also because his spine and shoulders are little crooked it can be hard to get into a comfortable position to fall asleep in (the last part is definitely me projecting)

Nico is fine with being the little spoon while he’s awake but the only time he fell asleep as little spoon he had a nightmare and woke up to something or someone pinning him down and breathing down his neck so he assumed the worst and lashed out in self defense almost accidentally hurt Will. Nico refuses to sleep as the little spoon ever since and always rolls over to face Will so when he wakes up he can see it’s someone he trusts laying next to him.

When he’s not having nightmares it’s weird and obscure dreams that make no sense and he doesn’t remember them an hour after he wakes up.

He sleep talks during those dreams and says a lot of random stuff. Sometimes Will has weird conversations with half asleep Nico.

Nico sleep talking: Mom? Mom where are you?

Will: babe who are you talking to?

Nico: mom. Where is she?

Will: who? Your mom?????

Nico: yeah where’d she go?

Will: .........🥺angel I don’t know how to tell you this-

Nico: 😂BAHAHAHAHAHA *😂busted out laughing for no reason*

Will: *taken aback and confused* 😟w-what......Nico what are you laughing about???

Nico: *still gleeful*😂 she’s been dead for eighty years!!!!😂 *wheeze*😂I don’t need her anymore I take care of myself now😂!!!lmaooo love ya mom🖤rest in piece🪦

Will: *very concerned* 😦.......am I dating a psychopath???

Nico: *doesnt answer, falls into deeper sleep and starts snoring*

Hades somehow saved a few things from Maria’s old apartment, Nico and Biancas childhood teddy bears, a few more of their toys, family photos, Maria’s jewelry,

The skull ring Nico wears all the time used to belong to Maria. Hades gave it to her as a courting gift. When she died Hades held on to it until Bianca was out of the Lotus Hotel and he intentionally put the ring in her path where she would find it. When Bianca died she met her father and told him to give the ring to Nico.

He hates lightning and thunder because of what happens to his mom and the whole big three rivalry doesn’t help. He doesn’t like rain either but it’s not as bad as lightning. Absolutely loathes storms like tornados and hurricanes and natural disasters like tsunamis and earthquakes if they’re caused by Poseidon and hates electricity bad weather in general.

Nico is like the supernatural beacon of camp. Whenever someone has a supernatural problem like they were playing with a ouija board and accidentally summoned a demon or something like that they go to Nico for help. Even if he doesn’t have control over demonic entities he probably knows someone who does or knows how to get rid of it and close the portal.

this kid speaks or at least understands like 10 languages, and has a vague understanding of most Romance languages. There are the obvious: English, Greek, Latin, Italian/old school Venetian from the time period he grew up in. And things he was probably learning in school in Mussolini Italy in the 20s/30s: German and French.

Nico is frenemies with Sherman Yang, no I will not electorate on this, just think about they’re dynamic in The Hidden Oracle, it makes perfect sense. Nico shadow travels into Sherman’s chariot he was flying and beat the crap out of him and threw him overboard just to steal the chariot to help Apollo. Sherman claims he’s going to kill Nico but decides not to at the end of the battle.

He still has his old aviator jacket that Lycaon tore to shreds, he doesn’t wear it but he’s so attached to it he can’t throw it away

In The Demigod Files: The Sword of Hades Nico said he was just in a cemetery in New Orleans, I think he was hanging out with Anubis

This next one is random but here

Roman demigods are raised by wolves, Egyptian magicians are raised by wild cats, Greek demigods are raised by coyotes,(except for the underworld kids, they send their children off the to be raised by jackals), and Norse demigods aren’t raised at all, it’s every Norse demigod for themselves until they die and be sorted into the afterlife

That all I have for now folks, I’m gonna try to get some sleep now

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lihikainanea · 3 years ago

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we’ve talked about tiger having moments of insecurity and body image issues and i was thinking, what if she and bill are on a little vacation and he takes a picture of her that she believes is so unflattering. bill doesn’t see anything wrong with it, he thinks she looks beautiful but she’s genuinely upset. and maybe it’s towards the end of their vacation so they’re both a little irritable bc of packing to head home and their getaway ending so it turns into a bigger argument than necessary. the photo gets under her skin in a bad way, planting negative thoughts of “how could be want to be with a person who looks like this?” in her head. and bill isn’t having it, he won’t let her talk bad about herself. but they get absolutely nowhere in the argument because they’re both stubborn. so they walk away from each other to calm down, a few hours later they meet back at their hotel room, and have a long heartfelt talk about the whole ordeal and try to understand where the other is coming from. they’re both still a little upset but willing to talk it out rather than argue. maybe tiger turns into an emotional bean which in turn makes billy emotional because he hates that his girl is thinking this way about herself

You know, I kind of love this for the absolute colossal difference in their worlds that it reveals.

You ever like, listen to yourself? Ever send a voice message to a friend and save it, then play it back to yourself in your darkest moments of masochism? I feel like human beings are programmed to hate the sound of their own voice--and it kind of leads in to many of us also hating to see photographs or videos of ourselves.

Now, picture somebody who....enjoys that. Picture somebody who enjoys seeing themselves on camera. Somebody who is not the slightest bit unnerved at the sound of their own voice.

That's what an actor is. An actor is that somebody who genuinely enjoys seeing their face blown up 18475859 times on screens across the world.

I'm not kidding when I say that I legitimately think actors are probably just one felony charge away from being like, fucking psychopaths. How can anyone enjoy perceiving themselves from the view of others? (Although, I suppose if I was ridiculously good looking and was validated in that, perhaps I wouldn't mind seeing my face everywhere too).

Bill had his insecurities growing up, sure--he looked like a stick insect his whole life. He has big, fucking googly eyes. But his strikingly awkward features are also what made him attractive, so he quickly learned to work with it. Bill never felt any of the typical awkwardness that most people do--people have been taking photos of him for literally his whole life. Before he was an actor, he did some modelling work. And as an actor, he's one of those super intense dudes that wants to watch the playback of every scene they shoot, just to analyze it and see how he could do it a bit differently next time, what he could improve on.

So a lot of the absolute, sheer dread that most people feel when a camera is pointed their way was just...it was never something that Bill felt. And because of his comfort in being in front of the lens, he also developed a fascination for being behind it--Bill loves photography. On vacations he almost always has a camera glued to him somewhere.

And listen, that is just...man, that is tiger's worst nightmare. Tiger hates cameras. She hates having her photo taken. She's working on her confidence, it's getting better, but some people just legit are NOT photogenic and tiger is one of them (bitch, same). She can never manage a smile that doesn't look pained. She always somehow manages to look awkward and is mid-talking when a flash goes off, so the result is everyone looking normal and tiger with a big, gaping mouth and jazz hands while she's trying o excitedly explain something to someone.

And the double whammy here is that it's the end of vacation, right? There are no food boundaries on vacation. Tiger starts her day with rum punch and ends it with fries or Pina coladas or fries and Pina coladas. And maybe her confidence is getting better, sure, but I think it's such an uphill battle--one that maybe wouldn't be so hard if it wasn't for Bill's job. If Bill was just a regular dude, I think tiger's confidence would be okay. But knowing that he makes a living from filming with women who literally look perfect--movies where there are love scenes and kissing scenes--ugh, tiger will always compare herself to those girls.

So maybe on the last morning, it's early but Bill wanted to catch the sunrise--his schedule is packed the moment he gets back and he just wants to relish in those few last moments of peace. The sun is so golden but still so soft, illuminating and warming everything in its path. At one point Bill glances back inside--he left the patio door open--and tiger is snuggled up on her side, facing him. Her eyes are closed and she looks so peaceful, the blanket draped loosely around her chest and then pooling again at her hips. One of her legs are out, Bill can see the curve of her hip, and fuck--she looks like a goddess. She is all soft curves, suppleness. Bernini couldn't have carved her ethereal beauty out of marble if he tried his fucking hardest. The sun is hitting her pillow, her face is so peaceful. Bill can't resist snapping a photo.

She wakes up much later, and it's only when Bill goes to take a shower that she grabs his phone. He took a few photos of the beach yesterday that she wants, so she goes to his photo album to start sending them to her phone. They always do this. Secrets between them are non-existent, hell, THEY are one another's biggest secret.

But then tiger stops--she sees the photo of herself. And she doesn't see any of the beauty or god-like qualities that Bill sees--she sees her love handles, from the way she's lying down. She sees the dimples of cellulite in her thigh, with the way her leg is bent. She sees some arm fat, flattened and jiggly against her side. She sees the potato-like lump tangled in sheets with Michelin-man rolls everywhere and tears sting her eyes. The shower stops, and she rushes to the bathroom and yanks the shower curtain back.

"What the fuck is this?" she says, and Bill jumps a mile. He's not wearing his contacts so he squints and it takes him a minute to see the picture in focus.

"Oh, that was from this morning," he says, and then he looks at her a little scared. "You're....angry."

"Yes I'm fucking angry Bill," she snaps, "Delete it. Now."

Bill's face falls, and he looks genuinely apologetic.

"I'm sorry tiger," he says, "I thought it was okay that I take pictures of you when--"

"That's not why I'm mad," she interrupts, and shoves the phone at him again. "Delete it. Now, Bill."

He wipes his hands dry, and takes the phone from her. But he's still confused.

"Why are you--"

"Are you fucking kidding me? Why am I--" she imitates, then snatches the phone back and zooms in on the image, "I look like a hippo. I'm so fat! I have rolls and you can see all my cellulite and ugh--"

"Tiger--" He warns. But she shakes her head.

"No. Yellow. Red. Pineapple. I don't fucking care," she throws the phone at him, "Fucking delete it. Now."

He sighs, and tries again to calm her down.

"Red Bill," she snaps, and that's enough. Limits are limits, and Bill can't push them. There's no talking her back down from the ledge right now. Bill sighs, unlocks his phone, and deletes the picture. Then he goes into his Recently Deleted album, and removes it from there too.

“It’s gone,” he says, grabbing a towel. He hands the phone to her. “Look.”

She grabs it, flips through it, then hands it back.

“Thank you,” she says curtly--and then she walks out.

The tension between them is palpable--Bill wants to talk to her about what happened, he needs to, but he can’t do shit once she’s said her safe word. The plane ride back is hell, tiger’s anger is pretty evident and they haven’t said more than two words to each other.

And like, I’ll bet tiger is like that for awhile. Bill tries every fucking day.

“Tiger, we need to--”

“Red.”

He’s frustrated, he’s pissed off now, and tiger is pushing her luck. Maybe after a few days of that, he calls her out on it after another failed attempt.

“That’s not what your safe word is for and you know it,” he stops her from leaving the room by grabbing on to her elbow, “Enough, now.”

“I said red Bill,” she snaps and pulls her arm back, “I’m still not ready to talk about it.”

“You get that excuse for one more day kid,” he warns, “One more, and then this little game ends.”

But like, the thing with tiger is she went from being mad to just...being really caught up in her head, really hurt, really self-conscious, all of those things. And instead of asking for help to dig herself out, instead of letting herself be vulnerable--now she just feels like she’s gone too far to go back, she’s gone too far into her anger and into this little facade that she can’t swallow her own pride and let her walls drop, she can’t let him in and let him help her.

But Bill knows that.

And the next day when she wakes up, after waiting awhile for her coffee--she can smell it in the kitchen so she knows its ready, but Bill hasn’t brought her a cup yet--eventually she stumbles out of bed, heads to the kitchen--and she sees him there at the table, his glasses on, two steaming mugs in front of him and his arms crossed.

“Sit,” he says calmly.

“Coffee first,” she mutters.

“Coffee when you start talking.”

“That’s not fair,” she snaps moodily.

“Neither is using your safe word for three days to avoid this conversation.”

Shit. He’s got a point. Reluctantly, she sits down. She reaches for a mug, but he moves it further away and looks at her expectantly.

“I lost my shit alright?” she says finally, “I lost my shit.”

“I know that,” he continues calmly, “And now I want to know why.”

“Because I hated the photo,” she says. She’s flustered, fidgety, running her hands through her hair and avoiding his gaze, “I hated the photo. All I saw was just...bad.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw fat and rolls and cellulite and..and...god, I looked like a cow. I looked huge and--”

“Stop,” he commands, and it’s so authoritative that she stops immediately. “You can have this conversation without putting yourself down. And you will have this conversation without putting yourself down.”

“I hated what I saw,” she mumbles after a long pause.

“Why?”

“Because I just did,” she says curtly.

“And?”

“And nothing. The photo was awful and I wanted it gone. Full stop.”

“And?”

“No and,” she snaps. Bill’s not convinced.

“And?”

She stares at him blankly.

“And?” he presses.

“And nobody else in your little fucking world has cellulite or fat or rolls Bill,” she finally explodes, “God the women you are constantly surrounded with are fucking perfect and they sure as hell don’t jiggle the way I do.”

“There we go,” he says, and he slides her coffee mug towards her, “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Argh I just--”

“Tiger, listen to me,” he says after he takes a slow sip of his coffee, “And listen real good. The women I work with--they’re paid a lot of money to look that good. Millions tiger. They’re paid millions to be beautiful. And I can assure you--they still have fat, and rolls, and cellulite. And the ones that don’t have had their bodies cut open and all of that surgically sucked out. It’s not real.”

Tiger doesn’t respond, and he leans over and taps her nose.

“Hey, do you hear me? It’s not real,” he says, “But you’re real. And I love every single part of you. You’re fucking beautiful, tiger. In every way. Your mind, your spirit, your body--all of it is beautiful. I love all of it.”

“I don’t look like them,” she mumbles softly.

“You’re not supposed to. Nobody is asking you to. And not that I have any say in it--but I don’t want you to. Hell kid, they don’t look like them either. What you see is hours in a makeup chair, and an entire career and millions of dollars based on looking good. But you....god. You’re beautiful. And you’re so fucking soft, tiger. It drives me wild. You drive me wild. All of you.”

“It’s....it’s hard for me to realize that. It’s hard for me to hear it,” she tells him honestly.

“Then I need to do a better job at helping you realize it.”

“I’m sorry Bill,” she mumbles, “I shouldn’t have used my safe word to avoid you. I’m sorry I freaked out. But I just...I really, really don’t want anymore photos, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, “But tiger, promise me we’ll work on this okay? No more photos is a bandaid. This needs more care.”

“Like iodine on an open fucking wound,” she sighs heavily, “It’s hard, Bill.”

He reaches for her hands, tugs her up and pulls her over onto his lap.

“We’re good at that,” he reminds her gently, kissing her nose.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfic #bill skarsgard fiction #BFF!Bill #soft bill

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boldlyvoid · 4 years ago

Text

Intro to Criminal Minds: Why They Did It

Criminal Minds x MINDHUNTER AU

Spencer Reid x Margaret Carr (OC)

Part 1: Ed Kemper.

Summary: Spencer is teaching a 7-week seminar on the most interesting criminal cases, explaining their actions to understand why they took place. Only, not everyone in the audience is a student.

warnings: graphic details of a real rape and murder case, like every trigger in the book, applies to this fic so read with caution (if you watch either show you're used to it, however), it's all real and did actually happen and I don't support any of it. strangers to lovers, mutual pining, flirting, fluff, eventual smut, idiots in love, OC is Wendy Carr's daughter, her bio father is Jason Gideon

word count: 3.9K

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't having fun teaching.

He started with guest speaking, moving to special seminars a few times a year. But he wanted something more, settling for a 7-week criminal justice elective of his choosing.

Intro to Criminal Minds: why they did it. Giving Spencer an excuse to share the most intimate facts about serial offenders in a setting where no one could tell him to shut up.

14 students total signed up for the two-hour Seminar, taking place every Thursday at 11 am from September until Halloween. Over the 7 weeks, he would explain the fascinating insights of the most successful killers in the United States. Only asking that his students write about a prolific crime they find interesting by the end of term, for their full grade.

All he wanted was to read about obscure killers from around the world, from the perspective of aspiring profilers.

The first Thursday, he came prepared with his coffee a half hour before the class. He wanted to write the main points on the whiteboard in advance, nice and neatly.

To his surprise, a student was already there waiting for him. "Oh, hello,” he smiled softly.

She was sitting with a book in her hands, she pushed her glasses up her nose to look at him as he walked in. She was older than his typical student, around 35. Probably finishing up a degree or adding something to what she already had.

"Hi," she smiled at him. “Sorry, I’m early, I was visiting my mom at Quantico earlier.” She explained. "I'm not a teacher's pet or anything. Promise, I’m not even a student.”

It made him laugh slightly, correcting him like she read his mind. "It's okay, I'm Doctor Reid," he introduced himself softly.

“Margaret Carr, Peggy is also fine.”

"Pleasure to meet you," he said quickly before focusing his attention on the whiteboard.

He could feel her eyes on him the whole time he wrote, not wanting to turn around and catch her. "That's so interesting," he heard her mumble under her breath.

"Hmm?" He turned around.

"It's just that, everyday occurrences that never phase the regular person somehow cause psychopaths to kill," she read the board back to him.

"I was reading a study a while back about how psycho killers medulla oblongata is approximately 19% smaller than the average human’s. Based on the way they're nurtured as children affects if they grow up to kill. The ones that don't often end up in law enforcement and other positions of power where their psychopathic tendencies can come to play."

He was taken aback for a moment. He had never experienced a student who was like him before. Someone who just pulled facts into conversations like it was nothing.

"I read that as well," he smiled. "It is fascinating. The smallest amount of bullying and abuse from a mother or disappearance of a father figure can set them off."

"Or, on the other hand, there are people like Ted Bundy," she added. "He was well-loved and taken care of, but it went to his head. His god complex and affinity for lying led him to be incredibly charismatic and enabled his killing."

"You're very educated on this already; are you just interested in hearing me speak today?" He asked, not wanting her to leave, finding it interesting that she was there.

"Oh," she blushed. "I was going to talk to you more about it after the seminar actually."

“Okay, I’ll be waiting for you,” he felt a little giddy at the prospect.

"Thanks," she laughed. "Seriously though, I'm a big fan of your teaching style, I saw a few of your classes when my dad was teaching at the academy in 2005. It's a lot easier to remember facts if the lecturer genuinely loves what they're talking about."

"You're going to like this Seminar then. It’s basically just a way for me to get paid while unloading all the random facts I have,” he warned her with a smile.

"I know." She smiled back at him.

The rest of his students filed in slowly. By 11 am, 14 faces were staring back at him.

"Hello," he waved awkwardly. "I'm dr. Spencer Reid. For the last 12 years, I've worked with the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit. Catching serial offenders across the country."

He took a deep breath, letting the nerves find their way out of him. "I've been asked time and time again who my favourite serial killer is, which is a peculiar way to phrase the question. It feels morally wrong to have a favourite in the way people do with baseball players.

"I am, however, fascinated with several serial offenders' reasoning and explanation for why they did what they did. Every single killer is different, but it all comes back to 1 thing. Do you know what that is?"

They all shook their heads. “What is your relationship with your parents like?" He asked.

Everyone in the room reacted; some students sighed, some rolled their eyes as they recalled their parents and childhoods to memory.

"When a person decides to kill, it's often never in the moment. It's in childhood. The majority of serial offender's stories start the same; their mother didn't love them, their father left. Someone at home abused them or put them down repeatedly."

"Thus, causing a hatred so primal to bubble. No matter how hard they try and fight it, the bubble always bursts. They go from fantasizing to killing in retaliation for their abuse, taking the anger out in stages."

He referred to the board. "Every killer has a stressor and a trigger—something that causes the urge to bubble and the event that causes the bubble to rupture.”

"Edmund Kemper is a fascinating example of this. He grew up with a family for the first few years of his life before his father fully abandoned them. His mother handled the situation by turning her anger onto her son; it was his fault his father left, he looked just like him, Ed was just another useless man who would never amount to anything," he emphasized the words. Hoping the class sees the effects words have on children.

"He started by cutting up dolls, stealing his sister's barbies and cutting their heads off. In his mind, he was getting out his anger and hatred for how his mother saw him. She hated men, causing him to mature with a warped idea of what women are truly like."

"His attraction to killing worsened his mother's hatred; she could tell something was wrong with him, that he didn't react to everyday situations the way he should. By the time he was ten, she was locking him in the basement for days on end, telling him he was a monster and her biggest regret."

"The change in her rage amplified his own. He hated hearing her speak. He hated the way she walked around, thinking she was better than him. That just because she was a mother and a working woman, she deserved respect and submissive’s. All he could see was a woman with a big head who needed to be humbled. This is the moment when the psychotic side of his brain blended his hatred of his mother with how good it felt to kill."

"Is that why he, you know?" Peggy cut in, running her finger along her neck as she pretended to cut her head off.

He pressed his lips together in an awkward smile, nodding. "His signature, as it's called, was decapitation. But more specifically necrophiling the severed head of his victims."

The whole class let out a disgusted noise, Peggy and Spencer making eye contact while they shrugged, it wasn't news to them.

"At age ten, he moved from barbies to cats and dogs, never leaving them around for his mother to see. While he hated her, he was also absolutely terrified of her. Breading a special type of killer. When you think of school shooters or preferential predators, what do they have in common?" He asked.

He pointed at a student in the back. "They have a specific type of victim they’re after?"

"Exactly. Most serial offenders want to go after the cause of their pain or attraction. However, Ed wasn't able to kill the source of his rage for a long time. His mother mentally abused him so intensely that he believed she was in control of him and that her opinion of him mattered. He saw her as his God, he loved her, but he also knew that he disappointed her.

"He ran away soon after to find his father. Travelling to California, only to be told he was unwanted there as well. It wasn't just his mother that his father was escaping; it was the fundamental aspect of family that he didn't want. Ed defiantly didn't want to go back to his mother after that, so he moved in with his paternal grandparents."

He kept catching the looks on Peggy's face. She knew the story already, waiting patiently to hear the words he chose to make the horrific acts seem a little more conversational.

"His grandmother was exactly like his mother. If I had to guess, his father most likely had a distaste for his own mother and thus divorced Ed's mom. Only he never grew up to be a killer, just an absent father—his absence doing to Ed what never happened to him."

"Ed killed his grandparents when he was 15. Telling the police and his therapists that they had beaten him constantly, they refused to feed him and called him names. He said he snapped from the trauma; it was self-defence."

Peggy laughed to herself, making him smile softly. "Sending him to a mental hospital instead of a juvenile facility was the worst thing they could've done for him," Spencer added.

"Why?" A student asked.

"Ed is a psychopath." He reminded them. "He doesn't feel empathy the way we do. You can admit that you feel bad for him, yes? If you understand why he killed people, it doesn't make you sick, like him, it makes you human. You see a hurt person hurting others; Ed Kemper sees himself as a new sort of God, choosing who dies, how and when."

"He was brilliant, having the exact IQ as I do," just a humblebrag, "the staff trusted him. He looked like an innocent boy, smart enough to take matters into his own hands for the betterment of his life. They gave him computer privileges, they let him work the front desk and file patient information. Giving him all the resources to learn about who he was inside and how to get away with it perfectly."

"Damn," another kid added. "When did he get out?"

"At 21.” He answered the student quickly. “Ed was interviewed by my mentor Jason Gideon, in the 70s. Where he explained that being locked up during his sexual prime, as well as the access to information, is what truly set him off more than his mother.

"He moved back in with her and his sister when he came out of the institution, immediately returning to the constant ridicule. He went from being told all the time that he was a smart and charming young man, capable of rehabilitation to a useless, no-good son, who would have been better off collecting in a condom or running down her leg."

The whole class laughed, shocked at his repetition of Ed's mother's words.

"He got his licence when he was released. And remember, this was prime time for hitchhiking in California; everyone and their mother walked the roads with a thumb in the air. It was the birth of free love and recreational marijuana usage. It was also the best hunting ground for a learning serial killer."

"He was able to pick women up, but like I said, missing his sexual prime while in an institution made him almost impotent. He didn't know how to speak to women; he had to create a fantasy in his mind every time, one that involved killing, before he could look at a woman."

"How did he get them in his car then?" A voice asked from the back.

"He was 6'9, 300lbs; he looked like a big teddy bear. And his mother was the local college administrative assistant, so the whole town knew him anyway. If Ed offered to give them a ride, it wouldn't be that bad, right?" Peggy turned around to face the class as she explained for Spencer, who just shook his head.

"He only wanted to rape the victims, originally," Spencer added. "But he couldn't. There was no release of the tension. The bubble that had been growing inside him was at its breaking point; he needed to just do it. Get it over with and move on."

"He killed 6 women in succession after that. Gaining the name "The Co-Ed Killer," well before anyone even suspected Ed Kemper," Spencer took a sip of coffee, feeling his throat start to dry as they reached the insane part.

"He was overly friendly with the cops; he wanted to get his record expunged and join the force.” Spencer finally continued. “Being told, "don't worry about your record, worry about your weight.""

"Most killers enjoy wearing a uniform for the power and talking to the police about their cases, in the hopes of gauging how smart they really are—taking pride in the fact that they are getting away with it for so long."

"He watched all the cop shows, and he read all the books. He knew that in order to get away with it, he had to do it where no one could trace it back to him. He knew he had to keep his cool and avoid looking obsessed with the case, but just curious enough to gain insight into how they thought he was doing it. It went on for years, and they had absolutely zero leads, finding headless bodies every few months before they finally received a call." He left them hanging, walking over to his sheet of paper and pretending to read it while they anticipated the catch.

"Ed always knew that he wanted to kill his mother. He just never knew when,” Spencer teased the story along. Noticing as the students fidgeted in their seats as they wondered what happened next.

“In his interview with Gideon, Ed said that he knew she would die 7 days before he killed her. He walked into her room that night to find her reading, with the audacity to ask if he wanted to come in and chat all night. Teasing him for the way he rambled to her. It was the last time she ever did that."

"It's hard to imagine his signature with the fact his second last victim was his mother," Peggy added, cringing at the thought.

"Wait," another student interjected. "Who was his last kill then if he only really wanted to kill her?"

"Remember how I said he lacked empathy?" Spencer asked. "He loved his mother in the same way a prisoner can end up loving their captor."

Peggy nods at the comparison, looking like she's never thought of it that way before, then smiling at him.

"You grow a bond through the trauma and when the only thing you've ever known is violence and hate, you don't know what to do when that's gone, it's hard to cope."

"He said he killed his mother so that she never had to know what he did. She'd never have to sit at his court hearings or be able to tell the media that she always knew he was a killer."

"His last kill was his mother's best friend," He finally answered the question.

"He didn't want his mother to be even more disappointed in him, but he also didn't want his mother's best friend to find her like that and be upset. So the obvious answer to him was to kill her too."

"What the fuck?" He heard a couple of kids say under their breath.

"Yeah," he agreed with an almost chuckle. "This is what I mean by their answers are fascinating. It makes so much sense to them; clearly, if I kill my mother, her friend will be upset, so the best answer would be to put her out of her misery as well. He sees them as objects, like a matching set. One would lose value without the other."

Everyone was silent then. The students took in all the information they had just received, staring up at him with a look of disgust mixed with wonder.

"Any questions?"

Peggy raised her hand for a change; he pointed towards her in approval. "You missed the part where he specifically took the heads from the three women before his mother and brought them back home with him. He buried them in the yard outside her bedroom window, making sure they were always looking up to her."

Spencer was amazed that she knew the details. "Yes, I guess I did."

"I always found that part particularly interesting in this case," Peggy added. "Her opinion mattered so much to him. He knew how much she loved her co-ed's and how they looked up to her so much. They'd be exactly like her. He felt trapped in a town of women who were exactly like his nightmare, and his response was to make them physically look up to her for the rest of her life."

"Exactly." Spencer smiled. "understanding how he sees the situation and how the events played out in his mind is the key in figuring out who he is."

"If you were on the case in '72 when the first victims were discovered, how would you have handled it, Dr. Reid?" A male student in the back asked in the silence between answers, taking his shot before Peggy and Spencer went any further in their discussion.

“That's a hard thing to answer, connecting evidence back then was a lot harder than it is today, if it wasn’t for men like Ed there wouldn’t really be this many answers,” Spencer said honestly.

Another student put her hand up, “what’s the worst thing he did in your opinion?”

That racked his brain, there was a handful of horrific things he did that were particularly horrific, “probably his mother's entire murder.”

“What did he do?”

Before Spencer could answer he saw Peggy open her mouth and start explaining. “He not only cut off her head and fucked her neck, but he also took her vocal cords out and shoved them down the garbage disposal. And before he called the cops, he cleaned everything up and made her look presentable because he said his mother wouldn’t want guests to see the mess.”

The class all cringed, sinking into their seats with disgust. But that didn’t stop Peggy from explaining it all further.

“He used to go to a bar all the cops went to and he would talk about his case. They would always one-up themselves and say they were close which gave him this false idea that they were on his tail and they’d find his mother soon. But when they didn’t, he called it in from a payphone and said he’d come over and explain it all. And boy did he ever, the cops said he wouldn’t shut up. And then when they put him in the cop car finally, a woman walked past him and he threw up.”

Spencer watched her with awe, the way she could call information to memory like that was beautiful. He listened to her like he’s never heard a fact before, she was so intriguing.

“Thank you for the detail,” he teased her lightly. “Sometimes I get so caught up that the really gross parts get swept aside.”

The class smiled at him, he had gained their trust and attention within only 1 hour of class.

“I know you said you don’t have a favourite,” another student asked from the back. “I agree it’s weird, but who is the one you gravitate towards the most?”

“I’ve met hundreds of serial killers, I’ve read about thousands,” he explained. “I think Ed Kemper is the one I gravitate the most around because he was so willing and open to explaining why he is the way he is. Going as far as to say that the only way they could keep women safe is to give him a lobotomy. He didn’t believe there was any correcting to be done, only removal of the evil within him.”

He heard slight mumbles as everyone took in what he said. “Does anyone here have a killer or a case that interested them in learning more, or just introduced you to the chase of justice?”

Peggy put her hand up, “I personally think BTK is the scariest, most tactical, and just downright evil man to ever exist. He scares me to no end but he’s so interesting to learn about.”

“Ahh,” Spencer agreed. “Too bad you won't be here for week 3. But with that I think I’ll end the class, next week we’ll be discussing the difference between Ted Bundy and Richard Speck.” He nodded lightly, watching the majority of them close their books and had on out.

“I really enjoyed the class,” she said softly. Holding her purse in one hand, a collection of files in the other.

Spencer turned to look at her then, smiling right back. “It was a pleasure to teach alongside you.”

“What do you mean?” She teased, “it’s not like my mom and dad were the ones who did all the interviews."

“Carr,” he repeats her last name. The gears turning in his mind as he brings all the information forth.

“Your mother is Wendy Carr, she was recruited after the BTK case with Bill Tench, she’s who was behind that study you mentioned.”

“I know,” she smiled.

“Who’s your father?”

“Guess,” she looked at him with an unimpressed look on her face, pushing her glasses up slightly.

“You’re kidding? Gideon never said he had a daughter let alone a,” he stops himself before he can embarrass himself any further.

She smiled at the implication of his words, “but he’s told me all about you Dr. Reid, that’s why I'm here.”

“You need help with a case and I’m the only agent in Virginia currently,” he pressed his lips together awkwardly. Knowing it was too good to be true that she would have any interest in him in the slightest.

“No actually, I have a case I’ve been working on privately and I need some help. I asked my dad but he said you’d be able to help me the best. I agree,” she corrected him softly. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was a big fan of yours. When I would sit in and watch his lectures, before he knew I was his kid, you would always step in at the best parts, adding the smallest details to the story that the average person would forget. It’s magnificent.”

He laughed slightly, tugging at his collar as she complimented him. “Thank you, you’re quite magnificent as well,” he replied with a blush and a smile

She didn’t look like Gideon, probably because she smiled so much. Like sunshine on legs, she beamed, all but blinding him with her smile as she stared at him, “do you want to get lunch and go over this case with me?”

“I’d love to.”

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