#WE SHOULDN'T BE HAVING VIOLENCE OVER THIS ISSUE!!!!

[dead-flight]

⌖ in some other universe, nothing changes. / one-shot in which simon loses everything.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . dead-flight .ᐟ masterlist

cw: gore, guns, knives, violence, blood

The first time Simon held your hand, he'd tugged you through a crowded alleyway. "Just so y'don't get lost," he defended, like the whole team couldn't tell that he had a desperate attraction to you.

He just didn't know how to express it. Didn't know how to tell you that he loved you.

"Aye, shit, Lt. Ask the damn lass out, ey?" Soap had once begged him, having watched Simon give you puppy eyes from across the gym.

So he did. Not that he would ever tell Johnny that his words were actually helpful. When he asked you out, to his surprise, you said yes.

Kissed his cheek, through his mask, promised him a date.

It might have been the best night of Simon's life. Secondary to your wedding, of course--he'd never forget how pretty you looked. The wedding was small. Simon didn't have many people he wanted to invite, and you didn't have many you wanted to see.

Both of you were running from lives you needed to forget. What would be better than starting a new one... together?

That night, Simon promised you a better life. That one day, when you both got out of military, you'd settle down, find somewhere quiet where no one could find you, and die old and happy.

Simon held your hand that night too, promised you that it'd be five more years. Five more years 'til the both of you saved up enough to live comfortably for the rest of your lives, until you could both live happy, forever.

For once, Simon was sure of his future.

The next time Simon held your hand was on the helicopter. Pulled up his balaclava just enough to kiss you, whisper in your ear that this was the last time. That this was the last mission the both of you were going to take before leaving.

Before running off into your new lives, permanently.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . ︻デ┳═ー ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ·

"Keep an eye out for me, mh?"

"Roger, Lt. I got you," you mutter into comms, your eyes trained on the scope of the gun in front of you.

"How many? M'gonna need their positions," he asks, and you can see them, small specks amongst the desert sand, hidden as they take position behind crumbling wall.

"Four of 'em sitting in a humvee to your left, twenty metres. You've got another seven in the building, over," you say, tilting your head to get a better view of the scene. They're infiltrating a near dilapidated building, somewhere in the middle of fuck knows where--you can feel the sand in your boots.

"Armed?"

"Affirmative," you say, "I won't be able to line up a shot, Sir."

"That isn't an issue," he grits, "Just keep watch. 'S all we need, out."

The rest is a blur. Four men rush into the building, and it's easy, easy to watch from here. You cut in at times to inform them of extra soldiers, but the four men have it locked down. These militia men, the ones they're eliminating--aren't nearly armed enough to put up too hard of a fight.

You can't wait to go home. Your position has your legs falling asleep, pins and needles pricking at the skin. "Fucking hell," you mutter, shifting where you are, and that small shift, the tiny moment you have to turn your head and move into a different position, the glint of a scope catches the light. You shouldn't have moved.

You're not quite fast enough. The moment you see it, it's too late. The bullet whips through your skin, shatters through bone and grinds to a halt deep in your stomach. "Shit!"

You don't have a chance to fight back. Two of them, heads covered, advance on you, one of them withdrawing a knife. Your hand, reaching for your own gun, is stopped, a gunshot rippling through the air and cutting through the muscles of your arm. The one who stands over you shot your arm. You can't feel it anymore, nothing but the pounding rush of adrenaline and the men's thick accents reaching your head.

A knife finds its way to your chest. The man is crouched over you, digging the metal into you--the last thing you feel are fingers tugging off the ring from your hand, a thick accent following, "Could sell this. Need the money."

It takes fifteen minutes for the team to notice your silence. "Status check, Sergeant Riley?"

The radio reaches nobody. No one but the blood pooling slowly over the sand, clumping the dirt in dark-brown stains.

By the time Simon gets to you, there is nothing to do. The Lieutenant's free hand moves to your neck, finding nothing but silence. He doesn't realise he's crying until he struggles to breathe, his lungs emptying of air.

The last time Simon Riley held your hand, you weren't there to see it.

[kvietka]

I wanted to reblog this article about what happened on my alma mater's campus, without obnoxious anti-Semitic commentary.

[complainblogforthevoid]

I've finally figured out an argument that convinces coding tech-bros that AI art is bad.

Got into a discussion today (actually a discussion, we were both very reasonable and calm even through I felt like committing violence) with a tech-bro-coded lady who claimed that people use AI in coding all the time so she didn't see why it mattered if people used AI in art.

Obviously I repressed the surge of violence because that would accomplish nothing. Plus, this lady is very articulate, the type who makes claims and you sit there thinking no that's wrong it must be but she said it so well you're kind of just waffling going but, no, wait-- so I knew I had to get this right if I was gonna come out of this unscathed.

The usual arguments about it being about the soul of it and creation fell flat, in fact she was adamant that anyone who believed that was in fact looking down at coding as an art form as she insisted it is. Which, sure, you can totally express yourself through coding. There's a lot more nuance as to the differences but clearly I was not going to win this one.

The other people I was with (literally 8 people anti-ai against her, but you can't change the mind of someone who doesn't want to listen and she just kept accusing us of devaluing coding as an art) took over for I kid you not 15 minutes while I tried desperately to come up with a clear and articulate way to explain the difference to her. They tried so many reasonable arguments, coding being for a function ("what, art doesn't serve a function?") coding being many discrete building blocks that you put together differently, and the AI simply provides the blocks and you put it together yourself ("isn't that what prompt building is") that it's bad for the environment ("but not if it's used for capitalism, hm?" "Yeah literally that's how capitalism works it doesn't care about the environment" she didn't like that response)

But I finally got it.

And the answer is: It's not about what you do, it's about what you claim to be.

Imagine that someone asks an AI to write a code and, by some miracle, it works perfectly without them having to tweak it---which is great because they couldn't tell you what a single solitary thing in that code means.

Now imagine this person, with their code that they don't know how it works, goes and applies to be a coder somewhere, presenting this AI code as proof that they're qualified.

Should they be hired?

She was horrified, of course. Of course they shouldn't be. They're not qualified. They can't actually code, and even if by some miracle they did have an AI successfully write a flawless code for every issue they came across that wouldn't be their code, you could hire any shmuck on the street to do that, no reason to pay someone like they're creating something.

When actual engineers use AI what they do is get some kind of base, which they then go though and check for problems and then if they find any they fix them, and add on to the base code with their own knowledge instead of just trying different prompt after prompt until they randomly come across one that works.

People who generate code like this don't usually call themselves engineers. They're people who needed a bit of code and didn't have the knowledge to generate it, and so used a resource.

And there you go. There are people who have none of the skills of artists, they don't practice, they don't create for themselves. When they feed the prompt to the AI they then don't just use the resulting image as a reference point for their own personal masterpiece, and if they don't like it they don't have the skills to change it---they simply try another prompt, and do that until they get something they like.

These people are calling themselves artists.

Not only that, these people are bringing the AI generated thing to interviews, and they are getting hired, leaving people who slave over their craft out of the job.

And that is the difference, for the tech bros who think AI art isn't a big deal.

[muntitled]

Protecting His Investment

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one gets to hurt you except him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Implied Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Murder, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Voyeurism, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Blood Play, fingering, Massive Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Squirting, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

This can be read as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

“Shouldn't I be blindfolded?"

If it weren't for the silence simmering between you both, in this monotonous taxi drive, he might’ve not heard you at all and perhaps you should have been more careful with your choice of wording but you were feeling a tiny bit reckless this Wednesday afternoon. He hadn't ever offered to personally fetch you from campus, and you felt incredibly juvenile when you spotted him standing there like a dad, in his grown-up suit while his briefcase hung in his hands in front of him. You'd almost convinced yourself that you were imagining things. That somehow your obsession with the man who kidnaps you every Wednesday to fulfill all his messed up fantasies was truly taking a toll on your mental health.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he was real. And he had come to pick you up and you were feeling awfully giddy as he ushered you both into a taxi while a few of your peers stood and stared.

By now he would've blindfolded you. Keeping you completely clueless to the location he brings you to every Wednesday. See, your Salesman had myriad deep rooted issues. Mania. Sociopathy. Sadism. But the issue that irked you the very most was his inability to trust. Before you know it, you're pouting up a storm as you ask him. "Why aren't we using the blindfold today?"

He slowly removes his gaze from the window, where he had been pondering like the old man he is. He quirks up an eyebrow, letting the intensity of his attention wash completely over you.

"Would you like to be blindfolded?" He asks playfully. His eyes are sparkling with amusement and his lips are quirked up like it usually is when he's being sardonic. Still, you remain cautious as you lean forward. You send one quick glance to the taxi driver, wondering if you were being led in some kind of hearse on the road to your death.

"A-Are you going to kill me?" For the first time, cold, white fear ices the warm blood rushing through your veins. Come to think of it, he did seem far chirpier than usual. Perhaps that should have been your first warning. The flags were blood red but you were wearing rose-tinted glasses.

He only snickers before placing a heavy hand on your head, patting it down.

He doesn't answer you for the duration of the taxi drive, causing you to slip more and more into your thoughts of morbidity and despair. Why else wouldn't he blindfold you if not to end your life once you got there? It seemed dreadfully logical and so on-brand for him. He'd get bored of you sooner or later and then he'd dispose of you. There'd be no need to blindfold you any longer while he took you to his place because you'd soon become a corpse and-

"Doll." The voice cuts through the chatter filling your brain. All at once, the car has stopped, and warm air rushes into the interior as he holds the door open for you. "Get out of the nice man's car." He jests politely, quickly prompting you to unbuckle your seatbelt and scramble out of the taxi.

The second you're out he walks ahead of you. The building that comes into focus before you have your brows crinkling.

You quickly catch up to him, gazing up at his monotonous face. "Why are we here? You never come to my house."

He doesn't respond as you both walk into the foyer. He walks briskly and powerfully, like a man on the move while you send a small wave to the security manning the front desk. You both enter an empty elevator and he presses a button without you ever having to tell him which floor.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

He lowers his gaze to you, one eyebrow quirked up.

"You only die when you disappoint me and as of late," he stares directly ahead, "You haven't disappointed me."

The elevator dings and he steps out. You follow him like a puppy without a leash. "In fact I'd say your work ethic as of late has been-" he blows out a long sigh as he makes it your apartment door- recalling all the weeks you two have spent together in vivid kaleidoscopic images. All the pain you let him inflict on you and pleasure he'd offer as a reward.

"-nothing short of stellar. I'm proud of you." He punches in the code to your apartment and you both enter. The curtains are drawn shut because your roommate hates sunlight. You preferred it but there was no communicating with something like her.

He kicks off his shoes at the door.

"What are we doing here?" You ask nervously, "My roommate will be back soon and she isn't very nice."

"We won't be playing at my place today." He says finally meeting your wild and nervous eyes. He seems so lax and so in control. "We'll be playing here."

"B-But my roommate."

"Is that why you were crying?" His gaze keeps you rooted to the floors, unable to move even if you wanted to, "Because of your roommate?"

"Crying? I wasn't crying-"

"Back at the university," he says, casually removing a microscopic piece of lint from his grey blazer, "Your head was beant and you looked up at me with bloodshot eyes." His eyes shine with amusement as he says, "Usually with our sessions, the crying only comes later on." Then he quirks his head and asks, "What happened?" There's a bang somewhere in the apartment and your head snaps forward. Your eyes scan over the adjoining living room and kitchen but he seems unfazed.

"It's stupid-" you shake your head, "Like who even still gets bullied in uni?"

You laugh pitifully, leaning against the nearest wall. He stands tall before you. A brick wall.

"Your roommate's threatening to kick you out of this apartment to move her boyfriend in?" He asks before adding, "Again."

Your head snaps up to him, "H-How-"

In that moment, he turns rather robotically, making his way deeper into your home. It's clean. Thank God.

"You don't realize how chatty you get when you're about to orgasm." He says before stopping right outside your closed bedroom door.

"My roommate- she... decided last night that- well- she would really like her boyfriend to live here instead-"

"Without consulting you first?" He clarifies, staring blankly ahead at the door, listening very attentively.

"Y-Yes without consulting me." You bring your hand to the doorknob, on your way to open it but he stops you with an iron grip around your wrist. You wince.

“Continue talking.” He says and you do.

"This morning they both kinda sprung on me that they'd like to be living here now. She went behind my back and already placed the deposit down our landlord, well," you clear your throat. "I might be homeless soon." You laugh but then swallow very thickly as the gravity of the situation falls onto your shoulders.

"And still you decided to have our sessions today?"

"If you'll have me," you nod.

"Remarkable." He replies. "Well I've never been very fond of my things or my toys getting dirty." He begins mysteriously as he places his hand directly over yours on the doorknob.

"Pardon?"

"I can't have my favorite toy living out on the street. Who knows what kind of animals would try to rape you or drug you or fucking stick their slimey dicks inside you-" he turns the doorknob, clicking your room open.

You're not even sure when this started happening. These 'private sessions' with your Salesman that quickly bled into something much more concerning. Before you knew it, he was seeping into your brain, polluting you with obsession. There had never ever been anyone else involved.

"What the hell did you do?" You ask, slowly entering your room to find two chairs placed directly in front of your bed. As soon as you enter, you hear the blood curdling, muffled screams being ripped from the throat of the two people strapped to those chairs.

"I'm protecting my investment," Says your Salesman as he pushes the door closed behind you.

Your feet feel like lead as you watch them and their panic-stricken eyes. There in front of you, they sit opposite one another, both with a haggard countenance and tears streaming down their cheeks.

At the sight of you, your roommate screams something horrid but it's muffled by the gag placed in her mouth, a gag the shape of a dog bone.

He's there too. The boyfriend. He's not as loud or as frantic as she is but he's significantly startled. His eyes are wild and vacant. The same gag.

"Oh my god-" you begin but he cuts in front of you, making his way to the couple seated across from each other.

"We're all gonna play a game- a quick one," He says, "Can't play for too long because I've been dying to get inside you since I saw those pretty little bloodshot eyes."

"Sir- I"

If you knew his name you might've screamed it in this moment. 'Sir' is your only point of reference to address the manic man in front of you.

This isn't right.

Right?

You're so confused, you barely register than you've thought out loud. It hits you as he slowly shrugs his blazer off.

"What isn't right is them thinking they can rape this apartment from underneath you." He says, folding it and placing it meticulously over your desk.

"I- have neighbors!?" You begin but he has a plan for that too.

"I had your room soundproofed since our first session." You're pushed into even more confusion.

"WHAT!? When did you even-"

"While you were at school-" he says before uncovering a handgun from his briefcase. A handgun and a silencer.

"Point is, Doll, I'm going to need you to play a game for me, ok?"

"DOLL!?" Comes your roommates' mortified and muffled cries.

"I need you to make one tiny decision for me." He says, screwing on the silencer onto the barrel of the revolver. It strikes you then that even when the mask is off, and the worst workings of his personality are on display for all to gaze upon, you still find him breathtakingly attractive.

"If-" tears burn the back of your throat, "If this room is soundproof why-why do you need a silencer?"

"I'm nothing if not a cautious man, you know this." Then his expression turns very grave and very dark as he says. "Don't you?"

“Yes, Sir,” you reply almost automatically. Like your need to respond to him- to please him, greatly overpowered your moral compass. “You're extremely cautious.”

Your roommate releases a shrill noise from the very back of her throat, her eyes pleading with the humanity she desperately tries to find in yours.

“Out of these two, he's my least favourite,” Your Salesman says, standing beside you. Eyes wild as he points his gun to the boyfriend's head.

“But this isn't about me,” he turns to face you, slowly dragging you gaze away from the victims that had once been your tormentors. You look up at him with a broken sob slipping through your lips. “I need you to choose.”

There it is.

His words seem to detonate what little fate you had in his humanity. There is nothing in his eyes except hedonism and violence.

"I'm going to have you to choose very quickly, baby-”

You're already shaking your head as frazzled braids tickle your shoulders. Your eyes find theirs and you immediately say, “I'm not going to do it.”

When you look at him again, you're almost horrified to find the smile that had once been on his face, completely wiped away. His face is a shadow and it strikes you way more than anything ever has. Something in you scolds you. It gnaws at you to make things right.

“Don't do that.” He says darkly. “Don't disappoint me.”

His hands -one still holding a gun- moves to cup both your cheeks. He cranes your neck further back, gazing deeply. “I can't have you living on the street.”

“You don't have to kill anyone-”

His jaw ticks, “Pick.”

“Sir…”

“You're disappointing me.”

All it takes is those three words to have your world crashing to the floor. Tears blur your vision as you raise a trembling finger.

“Him. I pick him.”

It's the first time you realized that you were brimming with codependency

Or stupidity.

Or maybe both

“That's a good girl.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The father you never had.

He lets his eyes meet that of the boyfriend who is shaking and writhing in seat.

“What a good fucking girl I have, wouldn't you agree?” He asks the boyfriend yet he only cries and cries and cries. Meanwhile, you're bathing in the warm, milky words of praise.

"I suppose you wouldn't be able to agree to much in a second-"

He raises the gun.

Wait-" but the trigger is already pulled, and the bullet slices through the air and the deed is done.

It's remarkable how fast it travels. The speed of the bullet. Like it's competing with light itself. One moment his head is there and his brain is inside it, functioning like usual and the next moment, it's splattered all across my bedroom wall, coating your stuffed animals and drenching your pink bedding.

“You killed someone…”

“We killed someone, and you did such a good job. Now we're real rich people-”

You shake your head.

“Oh my fucking god we killed someone-”

It's stupid, but the first thought that comes to mind is-

“How- How am I gonna get the stain out!?”

“I'll get you new sheets, Doll, I promise…”

Meanwhile the roommate is crying and screaming her throat hoarse. You watch gravely as vomit soaks her gag.

“That's fucking disgusting.” He says before turning back to you. A spray of blood scatters across the side of his handsome face. He'd just committed murder and yet you still describe him as handsome.

“You're not disgusting at all.” He says, “You're so clean and beautiful.” His large hands rub over your face. “And now this apartment's yours. Ours. Maybe.”

Ours.

That word somehow affects you more than the murder you'd just lay witness to. It has you staring up at him with grateful, love-filled eyes. You're still scared but, you were his. And that was a powerful feeling. You'd never belonged to anyone before. Certainly not any man as handsome or smart as this. This isn't rose-tinted glasses anymore, it's rose-tinted vision.

“We killed someone.” You say. Solidifying the fact that you were a couple.

Your heart rages in its cage when his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck yes we did,” he moans before smashing his lips down onto yours. Confusion and discomfort wage a terrific and bloody war inside you as he kisses you absolutely dizzy. Your insides are swirling and your stomach is turning at the sight of the blood drenching your walls.

he tips your head up, forcing his tongue in and he moans when you let him. Your tongues touch and coax and he pulls you in close.

“You know how good you looked when I picked you up earlier, Doll? I loved seeing those bloodshot eyes of yours.” He mumbles, “I just hated not being the one to make you cry.”

You sob something awful. The sound escapes you while your lips are still plastered to his.

“But this is all me,” he says proudly, gazing down at your watery eyes as he pins you up against the wall. “This is all me.”

Your roommate sits in a daze. Over his wide shoulder, her eyes stare blankly into yours and you almost find yourself mouthing the words 'I'm sorry'.

Almost. But you never do.

Your brain is too clouded by feelings of fear, regret, pleasure and… satisfaction. In your defense her boyfriend really fucking sucked.

"Take this off." He groans, lowering his large build to the floor to shove your shorts and underwear down. Undressing you almost formally as he lifts your one leg out followed by the other.

Your eyes are still on her.

Every vile word she's said to you. Every occasion she'd bring her equally cruel friends over and they'd gossip about you loud enough for their words to carry through the walls.

You realize very gravely that your care is waning.

That humanity that was still left inside you is thinning.

And he's pressing wet kisses against your legs, worshipping the soft cellulite at your thighs.

A man in a suit at his knees for you and she's forced to watch.

It makes you feel so-

"Fucking beautiful, fuck." He groans.

The more riled up he is, the less care he gives to how crass his language becomes. As if trapped in a daze, with your eyes still on your tormentor -your bully- you hook your fingers into his hair. Parting your legs you lead his mouth to your exposed cunt and he slurps you up for all your worth.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he eats you out with vigor. He flattens his tongue and suctions his mouth against your clit, causing a deep and guttural moan to spill from your lips.

He pulls back, breathing raggedly, "Fuck my face," he commands, before placing both hands on your ass, enough to have your cunt riding his open mouth. It feels so fucking good your eyes are stinging with tears. You let them fall because you'd know he'd appreciate it. He appreciates every tear in your confidence. Every waver in your air-tight judgement. It undoes him completely to see you so fucking pathetic.

He looks up at you while you're riding him. Those morally black eyes are urging you to hump his face and you do.

At the sight of your tears falling his nails dig into your ass and you moan more. All the sounds you're able to make are in intelligible sounds of pleasure. But you force yourself to come to your senses. Just long enough to whisper

"Th-Thank you, Sir,"

He stills. Completely stunned.

You come. It crashes down on you all while your roommate tries to squeeze her crying eyes shut, shaking her head as if trying to delude herself into believing none of this is real.

"You are fucking fire, you know that?" He croaks, slowly rising. You're breathing oh so quickly and it only speeds up at the sight of your arousal casting his jaw.

“I wanna fucking hurt you so bad. I wanna eat you. I wanna fuck you. I wanna do so many unspeakable things to you- you're so perfect.”

He throws one more gaze over his shoulder. His almond eyes scan over the body, then the girl and he groans, furiously undoing his belt.

"How the fuck did I get so lucky?” he says, almost to himself.

"Answer me." He presses his body firmly against yours, until your spine is straight against the wall. "Fucking answer me when I talk to you."

He growls before bringing a hand up to your chin. It's painful the way he grabs you, but you're so used to pain. It lives here now. Between you both.

"I-I- don't know-" you really don't know and he melts at that.

"I'll tell you how, Princess. " he wraps your leg around his waist, "People like me- people we call crazy and evil-” His eyes are so wide, his smile too. -we get nice things. And people like that-" he quirks his head backwards, “The weak? Those people on the streets, they die.” He says, grinding his cock agaisnt your cunt, “And we don't die, yeah?"

"Oh fuck." You're seeing stars when his cock sinks into your cunt. It's hard and raging and he's already doing multiple shallow thrusts to force it deeper. "S-So big-" you can't talk, you hardly ever can when he's like this. Fucking you into an absolute frenzy.

"You gonna squirt for me, Doll?” he grits his teeth, hips stuttering as he ravages you against the wall. "F-Fuck." Some

“She's a really good squirter-” he turns his head to watch your roommate over his shoulder. Her head is slumped forward, she's fainted perhaps.

After weeks of trying to impress him, to show him that you were not the weak little thing he had first kidnapped- you realize it's paid off. He caveman grunts as he fucks you deeper and harder and a cry rips itself from your throat.

“Y-You want me?” You ask with trembling lips.

“Baby,” he breathes directly into your mouth. “I need you.”

"F-Fuck-" your orgasm sneaks up on you and he watches with immense gratification as you come undone on his cock.

“You're making a mess on my cock-” clear liquid streams out of hou, threatinging tk lush his cock out but he fucks you through it.

“Gonna fucking cum inside you, baby. You're gonna take it, aren't you? My good girl's gonna fucking take it,” he throws his head back as his eyes flutter closed and soon he's fucking spurts of warm cum into you.

It fills you completely until the mess is coating your thighs. Through your wave of endless euphoria you see stars, the planets and him in the very centre of it all, guiding you and coaxing you through the bountiful high.

Even when he's done, his cock is still nestled deep inside you, pushing you over the brink of stimulation.

"You're very promising.” He admits, “Always have been.”

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[irisintheafterglow]

kid megumi starts a fight. you and satoru finish it.

being fresh out of high school while simultaneously taking care of a second grader was an interesting experience, to say the least. today was no different.

"oh my god; he what? i'll be there in a second, fucking hell," you sputter as you all but shoot upward from your desk, sweeping the post-mission paperwork to the side and grabbing your car keys from the bedside table. the car makes strained vrooms while you impatiently pump the gas pedal, accelerating down the street like a bat out of hell. swerving into the nearest parking space you could find, you forcefully swing open the door to the front office to find satoru waiting in a plastic chair. he mutters an exasperated oh, thank god under his breath before standing and taking your hand, leading you down the hall to the principal's office.

"is he okay?"

"he's fine, i promise." you look at him skeptically, remembering all the times megumi was "fine" yet had scrapes that satoru didn't know how to clean up. "i'm serious. i saw it myself. the nurse cleaned up his nose and iced the hit on his face."

"he got hit in the fucking face?" your jaw drops in shock and you quiet your voice to a hushed whisper outside the principal's office door. "what the fuck happened that he got punched in the-"

"fushiguro's guardians, please come in. we're ready for you," an irritatingly nasally voice calls from inside and it takes all of your willpower not to blast the door open until it's shredded to pieces. megumi's principal sits behind an obtrusively large wooden desk, with the boy sitting by one end and two empty chairs at the other. you immediately drag one of the chairs over to sit by his side, but a wrinkled hand stops you. "please sit across from him, not beside him. he must receive proper punishment and that begins with accounting for his own actions," the principal instructs you and you catch satoru's jaw clench in restrained anger. he wanted to tear the principal's head off for telling you what to do, especially since it was regarding megumi.

"i'll decide where i want to sit, thank you," you reply with forced politeness, sliding the chair next to a defeated megumi. he scoots as close to you as he can and links his pinky finger in yours. it's small, but you know he's trying to manage his anxiety along with yours. satoru shrugs indifferently at the principal but shoots you a proud wink when no one is looking. "they cleaned you up, yeah?" you ask megumi softly and he nods, wincing slightly when your knuckles lightly brush the bruise on his cheek. "i'm sorry, baby-"

"fushiguro instigated a fight with three sixth grade students, all of them older than him. we believe he may have developed issues dealing with his emotions, specifically anger," the principal informs you and you make a great deal of effort to wipe the glower from your face. "student witnesses say that he struck first, and-"

"do you know why he started the fight in the first place?" your eyes narrow on the scrawny, shriveled man behind the oversized desk and he shrinks away slightly.

"no, b-but we believe that violence should not be-"

"violence or not, shouldn't you be responsible for understanding why this occurred outright?" your voice is strained and tense, slightly shaky with repressed anger. you stare daggers into the old man's sunken eyes and catch satoru watching the whole scene with pride. here was a man who knew nothing about a child you considered your own, trying to argue that he started a fight for no reason when you knew megumi would never harm a bee, even if it stung him. before you're able to start a physical fight with the idiot school official that probably saw more board meetings than actual students, satoru's voice cuts in.

"forgive me, but i don't appreciate your tone-"

"we'll be sure to properly discipline him at home, sir," he states emotionlessly, and you wordlessly thank him for wrapping the meeting up quickly. after a few more glares and aggressive signatures on paperwork waiving the school of any responsibility for megumi's injuries, you walk out of the office with satoru's arm around your shoulders and megumi's hand grasping yours. "alright, firecracker. you fizzled out yet or do we need to take you to a kickboxing class real quick?" he presses a tender kiss to the side of your head, clearly unbothered by the way you barreled through that ridiculous meeting.

"put me in an empty field away from people, and i'll make a kickboxing class look like a fucking knitting circle," you mutter vengefully as satoru chuckles under his breath.

"alright, megs. you gonna tell us what happened or are we actually going to need to get you a therapist?" megumi glances off to the side, irritated, but you squeeze his hand once in reassurance that, no matter what happened, you'd figure it out together.

"they were hurting tsumiki," he says quietly and both you and satoru freeze, looking at each other in careful understanding. "she was saying it was just a joke, but i caught her crying while we were walking home."

"so, you decided the best option was to fight them," you say slowly. satoru's hand rubs loving circles on your shoulder and you ask the question you've been holding onto since he called. "well, did you beat them?"

"i did, and that's why everyone is so angry," the boy shrugs and you huff a tired exhale. "are you mad at me?"

"no, megs. i'm glad you defended your sister, but i wish you'd told us what was going on before acting on your own."

"yeah, we could have helped you," your boyfriend whispers and you elbow his stomach lightly. not yet, you mouth to him. let's drop him off first.

"the kids said they were going to get my parents involved. is that why you're here?"

"yes and no," satoru says, opening the car door for you as you slide into the passenger seat. he could have warped back to the school, but he'd silently indicated that he wanted to drive all three of you back. "yeah, we're here to come get you; but, unfortunately for those shithead kids-" you turn to face him in the backseat, a conniving smile creeping onto your face.

"we're not your parents, and we're gonna need those kids' names."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[hussyknee]

Wonder how far I can prod libs into finishing their full thought bubble behind all this "harm reduction" "genocide is a single issue" "you don't care about marginalized people in the US" "dyou want fascism WITH genocide???" screeching.

Okay, class, say it with me: "I don't want to live in a third world country like the ones we keep destroying."

Because you know. The countries your war criminal leaders keep bombing and starving and destabilising and leeching dry? We don't have trans or gay rights or women's rights or disability benefits or environmental or labour protections. No one would want to live in our countries obviously. You'd kill yourselves before you had to live like we do. Sure, we're only like this because you keep us trapped in poverty and violence and we still have full, happy lives worth living despite it but that's because we're used to it! We don't know any better! Not like you! You know what you deserve and you shouldn't have to lose anything as a consequence of your own political choices! Your government is supposed to happen to other people! Not you! So like, yeah, it's bad that the poors are being massacred wholesale or whatever, but like. That doesn't mean you gotta die with them, y'know? And by "death" you don't mean actual genocide like what's happening over here but "death" as in "having to live like we do".

The trolley problem metaphor is so goddamn attractive to you because you see yourself outside the tracks, objectively assessing the situation and making the "tough" "moral" choice for the collective good. It's imperialist horseshit. You don't have a democracy and it's not a trolley. What you have is an imperial death machine running on an apartheid system that decides who gets fed to it and who gets fed by it. That's your "two tracks"— the colonized and the colonizer, the core and the periphery, the white and the coloured. "Harm reduction"? Have you counted how many fucking millions in and around the world your death machine eats to keep how many of you "safe"? But our losses are a foregone conclusion, a matter of course, a regrettable necessity. The only variable is yours.

Every political choice in 200 years of your settler colony has been "genocide AND". "Genocide AND women's rights". "Genocide AND workers rights". "Genocide AND fascism". "Genocide AND democracy". The difference is that for the first time in your history you're now watching it livestreamed to the entire world in real time 24/7, exactly as your colony is about to capsize under the weight of its own bloodlust. A sea change from when your parents threw parties watching bombs dropping on Baghdad and then spent twenty years watching movies about sad it made the soldiers.

How do you count the victims when we are numbers and you are people? You scream about trans rights in the US while Palestinian trans children don't have the right to reach puberty. OSHA for you but Congolese children have to die in mines. Reproductive rights for the US while Sudanese women are raped in millions. Yes, but it's always been "genocide AND" no matter what, right? Do we want to sabotage the party that has never fucking cared about us and don't now even with half their own country screaming at them on the off-chance they might possibly maybe one day do?? Why are we acting so mad like it's YOUR fault that you're fighting for your quality of life over our corpses?? Do we want YOU to lose your rights over it??

Yes, actually. We do. We want you to have a taste of the reality that generations on generations of your illegal illegitimate white supremacist occupation has inflicted on us just so your worthless hide can sit there and call our genocides a single fucking issue. And let's be real: that's what you're so fucking afraid of.

[traumadumpwriter]

JJ Maybank X Reader ~ Relapse and a Half

Summary: The Pogues feel betrayed by the readers sudden relapse into drugs, but they're unable to be angry at her for too long as something terrible leaves her needing their support more than ever.

Trigger warning for: drugs (obviously), guns, explicit sexual assault, violence

Masterlist - Part Four

Word Count: 5.2k

Part Three:

After the confrontation at your house a night prior, JJ had only been able to see red, quickly pacing past your mum before making his way to the Chateau, kicking over some bins and verbally abusing some kids on his way.

He couldn't believe that you liked him. That you wanted to be with him. The thought stressed him out and made him regret doing whatever he'd done to get you to fall for him.

It wasn't that he didn't like you back. In fact it was quite the opposite - he'd been entirely obsessed with you ever since you'd arrived in the Outer Banks. His issue was that he'd seen up close just how damaged you were, just how sweet and kind you could be, just how much you deserved the world and everything in it - but not him. He wasn't good enough; not cool enough, not smart enough, not clean enough.

"Why him?" He thought. "Of everyone on this island, why him?"

You could've gone for Pope or John B or even one of the Kooks, at least they would treat you right. It might've killed him inside to see, but it would've been better than the pain he was feeling now, knowing that he'd been unintentionally hurting you this whole time, knowing that he was the one who bore the responsibility of your heart.

He stormed into John B's without stopping, going straight for the blunt in the ashtray and then storming back outside. From his behaviour, the Pogues feared for the worst and Kie's eyes were quickly tearing up, panic settling into her chest.

"She's okay, isn't she?" She followed JJ outside in a pleading tone, shortly followed by Pope and John B. "Please say she's okay."

JJ didn't answer, angrily sucking on the blunt and staring out at the sea, his mind racing.

"Answer me JJ! What's happened?" Kie demanded.

"Is she alright? Was she at home?" Pope questioned.

"JJ- fucking answer us man! Is she at the hospital? Is she- is she okay?" John B shouted.

JJ took another sharp drag on the blunt before solemnly answering.

"She's fine. I mean, she's not, but she's alive."

Kie shoved him with some frustration, her tears quickly drying up but her teeth gritting.

"Why the hell would you scare us like that? What happened?"

"We had an argument... I- You were right Kie. It is my fault."

She blinked incredulously, double taking as she tried to suss out what was wrong with the boy.

"What are you talking about?" She hissed.

He took another sharp drag, even sharper this time, ran his hand through his hair and then turned to the Pogues with exasperation.

"Y/N likes me! And I've been a fucking idiot to not see it. I shouldn't have rubbed all those girls in her face. I didn't think she cared, but.. I guess she did."

"So you're saying that like it's a bad thing. I thought you liked her too." John B proclaimed in a confused tone, shooting a look to Pope who had also been aware of JJ's crush.

Kie was kicking herself for not picking up on that, wishing she’d known and she could’ve told you weeks ago - before you even had the chance to get depressed and pick up a pill again. But she didn’t focus on that thought for too long, more focused on your current wellbeing.

"I do, I just- We all know I'm a piece of shit, okay? I don't deserve someone like her. Hopefully she sees that now." JJ tutted, his eyes darting between each of the Pogues.

The uncertainty of his statement made them all nervous. 'Hopefully she sees that now' - what the hell did that mean?

"What do you mean? What did you do?" Kie hissed, her heart in her throat.

"Nothing! I was just rude. I guess I rejected her. Called her a junkie-"

Kie hit him again, seething with the boy at that point.

"What is wrong with you? Why the fuck would you do that?" She snapped, grabbing the blunt from his hand and throwing it onto the floor. "Go back there now and tell her you love her! She's probably crying her heart out right now."

JJ shook his head, thinking about picking up the blunt from the ground but not bothering. Weed wasn't strong enough to make him feel better anyway. He wanted to follow Kie's instruction, he wanted to hold you and tell you his truth, but he could think of too many reasons why not to - too many reasons why you were better off without him. The rejection may hurt now but you would get over it. You had plenty of other options. You would get sober again and you would be fine. His issue was that whether he was sober or not, he was never fine.

"Being with me would only fuck up her life more and you all know that! You should just convince her to like someone else, someone whose good for her. I can't do this." JJ protested.

"You're not a bad guy, man. Come on." John B said but JJ just shook his head again, walking towards his motorbike.

"So you're just gonna leave?" Pope scoffed as JJ got onto the bike.

"I told her to turn on her phone. Try calling again." He said numbly before kick starting the bike and speeding off.

Kie groaned, unsurprised that when she called your phone moments later it didn't go through. She sat melancholically next to Pope, leaning on his shoulder whilst John B stressfully kicked a stick around.

"Well that's not what I was expecting." Pope sighed and then turned to Kie. "How long has Y/N been crushing on JJ exactly?"

She shrugged and shook her head.

"I don't know. Forever. But that doesn't matter anyway. I'm worried. It must've taken a lot for her to admit that she likes him, so she's either really manic or.."

"Really high." John B finished her sentence, not looking up from the ground.

"How much do you want to bet it's the second one?" Pope groaned.

"I just don't get why she didn't talk to me if JJ was upsetting her this much. She promised us she'd never use again. She's never broken a promise before." Kie sighed and then stood up. "I'm gonna go to hers. I'm annoyed but.. I'm more worried than anything. I wonder if her mum has clocked on yet… I’ll see you guys tomorrow."

"Love that woman but she's clueless so I doubt it." John B scoffed dryly. "See you tomorrow Kie."

Kie picked up her bike and rode it to your house, her mind racing with all the possibilities of what you could be doing.

"Most likely passed out or crying." She thought, her chest aching as she thought of your pain. You'd been through a lot together, and though she was beyond frustrated with your relapse, she wouldn't stop being your friend because of it.

When Kie eventually knocked on your door, your mum was surprised to open it to her.

"Isn't Y/N at yours? That's where she said she was going. JJ upset her quite a bit earlier." Your mum questioned and Kie was quick to catch on to the lie.

"Oh yeah- yeah she is. She's just so upset right now. She forgot some stuff and I said I would come and get it for her."

"You're so lovely Kie. What would she do without you?" Your mum smiled, letting her in.

When Kie went up to your bedroom and picked up a bag to strengthen her lie, she was concerned to see that your phone was still on your bed. Wherever you'd gone, you hadn't brought it. She turned on the phone in hope that it would give some clue as to where you could be, but all that came through were the missed calls and messages from the Pogues.

Kie couldn't let herself panic though. You were grown enough to look after yourself.

"Maybe she just went on a walk. Or a bike ride even. That's most likely. She probably just went to clear her head. I'll try again tomorrow." Kie thought to herself, but she took the phone anyway, hoping that when you came back you would have to come get it off her. She scrawled a note onto your mirror with an eyeliner from the side; "Got ur phone. P4L. - K"

The next day, Kie waited until the afternoon to leave her house, waiting for your knock on the door that never came. She decided that she would go back to your house and confront you there, but when she arrived there was no one inside. Your mum would be at work - that made sense - but after pounding on your door loud enough to wake you up from whatever slumber you might be in and getting no answer, she started to panic.

All of the worst possibilities sprung into her head - a horrific vision of you overdosed and alone, bent over the toilet and throwing up uncontrollably or even passed out and foaming at the mouth - so she quickly rushed to find the spare key under one of the many plant pots and slammed it into the door. She ran up the stairs, loudly repeating your name as she did, and paced into your room.

"Y/N, please be okay." She said before opening the door, her heart dropping when you weren't in the bed.

Nothing in the room had moved, not the crumpled up bedding, the pile of clothes in the corner nor the note on the mirror. You hadn't come back.

"Shit. Where the fuck is she?" She muttered to herself before pacing around the house, desperately searching for you but finding nothing. "Need to find her."

Now her mind raced to even darker corners. Perhaps you'd fallen into one of the many bodies of water on the island, high and uncoordinated, and drowned. Or maybe you'd crashed your bike into an oncoming vehicle. Maybe you'd passed out somewhere and someone had called an ambulance, or maybe you’d put yourself in danger without even realising it. She had no idea how spot on she was with the last prediction.

Kie had told Pope of her plan to force you to come to hers by keeping your phone, and all of the boys had assumed that the confrontation had been over and done with by that point, so they were confused when she turned up at the Chateau without you.

"Did you speak to YN?" JJ asked, springing up from his seat as soon as he spotted Kie.

He'd hardly slept, tossing around in his bed all night as he thought of all the things he wanted to say to you but couldn't. "It was better this way." He tried to convince himself "She's better off thinking I don't want her. Maybe she didn't even mean what she said. Maybe she was just high." He couldn't push the image of him holding you and loving you from his head though.

"No. She never came to mine." Kie huffed, wheeling her bike over with furrowed brows. "And before you ask - yes I went to hers, she's not there. Doesn't look like she's been home at all since I went there last night."

"So where is she?" John B questioned, his posture tightening.

"Do I look like I know?" Kie snapped. "I'm seriously worried."

"Shit." JJ hissed, instantly jumping into a panic. He was quick and erratic. "Okay. We should all split up and look for her. I'll check the marsh and the forest, Kie you should check figure eight, Pope you check town, and John B you take the boat and check the waters. Report back here in two hours."

He rushed towards his motorbike before anyone could even answer, but stopped in his tracks when Pope suggested a disheartening idea. It was an idea that had occurred to both John B and Kie as soon as JJ had announced his plan, though it didn’t surprise them that he didn’t think of it. He was someone who always lived in a somewhat state of denial.

"Don't you think one of us should check the hospital too? You know, just in case."

JJ swallowed, catching the lump in his throat before it could properly form, and nodded.

"Y-Yeah. You do that." He said without turning around. He wanted to argue - to say that the idea was ridiculous and a waste of time - but he couldn't find it in himself to do so. Pope might be right, and if he was... JJ had to cut his thoughts off before they got too hard to bare. He jumped onto his bike and sped off, heading straight to the marshes.

His search was obviously fruitless. He waded through knee high mud and lifted up heavy logs. He dug through thick bushes and climbed up trees. He shouted your name at the top of his lungs and prayed to God that you would appear.

But none of it worked.

By time the two hour mark had hit, he'd searched miles of forestry and worked up quite a sweat. Still, he wouldn't stop until he knew you were safe.

"Maybe one of the others have found her." He thought desperately to himself, jumping on his bike and heading back to the Chateau. They'd all tried to convince themselves with the same hopeful thought and been sorely disappointed when they eventually returned to their friends. JJ was the last to arrive.

"Any luck?" He shouted from his bike before he'd even got off it, springing across the lawn.

The rest of the Pogues were stood in a circle, also damp with sweat and breathing heavily. They looked upset which was understandable given the situation, but JJ felt his heart jump into his throat as he worried that the unimaginable had happened.

"Pope! She wasn't in the hospital, was she?" He asked with urgency, pacing over to the boy.

Pope was breathing heavily, still catching his breath from the run back to the Chateau.

"Pope!" JJ repeated in an almost shout, shaking his friends shoulders.

"No- No." Pope panted out.

"Chill, JJ. None of us had any luck." John B patted him on the back with a sympathetic look.

It didn't calm him down though. Instead he started to anxiously pace, running his hands through his hair and repeating to himself "Think, JJ. Think!"

"She might just be at someone's house. Who knows, she could be having a great time right now while we're thinking the worst." John B suggested which Kie rolled her eyes at.

"The only people she’d ever hang out with other than us are druggie degenerates, so it's not exactly great if she's with them either. Those people wouldn't care if she was on the floor foaming at the mouth."

"Well I don't know what you want me to suggest, Kie! We've looked everywhere else. Should we start banging on the doors of every junkie we know? Because that could take a while!"

As John B and Kie bickered, JJ continued his pacing, racking his mind for ideas until one shot into his head like a bullet.

"Wait-Wait. What did you just say?" He turned to his arguing friends.

"That she's probably with some drugged up degenerate?" John B answered in a sarcastic tone.

"That's it! She's probably at her dealers house. And I know only one scum bag who sells that prescription shit."

JJ ran back to his bike without saying another word, ignoring the questions from the Pogues as he kick started it and sped off - some hope finally in his mind though it was still mostly clouded by worry.

"Should we follow him?" Pope asked.

"Probably." Kie answered, heading towards the Twinkie with a sigh.

It was ten minutes later that JJ pulled up by Barry's home, carefully parking his bike around the corner so that the dealer wouldn't see him. They'd had their fair share of arguments already about JJ's dad and due to this JJ knew that he had a gun. It wouldn't do him any good to get caught on his property.

The blonde paced through the overgrown front lawn and almost jumped for joy when he saw your bike strewn lazily into one of the bushes - the signature ugly green paint instantly catching his eye. You would just be sat on the sofa smoking a joint or something. He could knock on the door, distract Barry without getting shot somehow and get you out of there in no time.

Then the sound of a large vehicle coming towards the house reached his ears, and he quickly ducked around the corner and crouched under one of the windows, anxious to not be caught by one of Barry's customers either. They typically weren't the most reasonable people after all. He was relieved with his decision when Rafe Cameron jumped out of the truck, music blaring and obnoxiously announcing himself as he knocked loudly on the front door.

JJ's ear pricked as he heard Barry's voice from inside, not having realised that the window on the wall above his head was open.

"Shit." The dealer tutted, followed by the sound of a zip. "Why now?"

Barry's breathing was heavy, like he'd been doing exercise, and it peaked JJ's curiosity. Was he working out whilst you watched from the sofa? That would be fucking weird. There was no way you would be lifting weights with him.

JJ listened carefully, waiting for the sound of the front door to open and the start of a passive aggressive conversation between the two men before he stood up and looked in the window. If either of them caught him, that would be a lot of trouble.

He wasn't at all prepared for what he saw through the glass though.

The sound of the zip suddenly made sense, and the heavy breathing.

You were there, lying in an unmade bed, stripped naked and seemingly asleep. Lifeless, like some twisted Snow White in a glass coffin of smoke.

Even unconscious your face looked so sad; old makeup smudged around your eyes and your bitten lips downturned. Your body looked tired too; thin, with random bruises scattered about your limbs and dirty looking hickies on your chest.

Had you let Barry do this? You wouldn’t even let JJ give you hickies… Surely you hadn’t chosen this. Surely you had more self respect than that.

The thought of any other man touching you was enough to make JJ feel upset, let alone a scumbag dealer that he knew you would never have feelings for. In fact, it would surprise him if you’d wanted to fuck Barry at all.

But then it dawned onto him - that if you hadn't wanted Barry to have sex with you, that didn't make it any better. In fact, it made it a whole lot worse.

It meant that... you'd been tricked or forced or coerced in some way. It meant that you'd been raped. And maybe you didn't even know it.

JJ’s jaw tightened as his thoughts suddenly spiralled into all the terrible possibilities of what could’ve happened. His blood boiled, so much so that he felt himself getting physically hotter. Maybe you were so knocked out that you would have no idea what Barry had done. Maybe he had drugged you on purpose so that he could do it.

With a clenched fist, he tapped on the window, hoping to get a response from you, but you stayed stiff and still, your eyes closed and your breathing shallow.

How much had you taken? Had he given you something too strong? Did the dealer even know if you were on the boundary of never waking up? Did he care?

Whatever the answer was, it became clear to JJ that there was no way you could've rightfully consented to doing anything with anyone. Not when you were out cold like this - resembling a corpse.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." JJ hissed to himself, trying to quickly brainstorm a way to get you out of there without getting killed by Rafe or Barry.

He pulled out his phone and went to text John B before remembering that he'd ran out of data, cursing himself for not paying his bill once again. Impulsively, he decided to creep around the back and listen in on the dealer through another window, hoping that he'd overhear something to help with his plan. He didn’t know what he expected to hear, but his heart was racing as his brain desperately scrambled for the right thing to do. All that he heard didn't serve to help though, in fact it made his rage all the more fiery and his brain even less able to come up with a good idea. The desperation was becoming torturous.

"Where's Y/L/N then? I can see her ugly ass bike out the front." Rafe had asked in a mocking tone, JJ’s teeth grinding in response to just hearing him say your name.

"She's in bed, sleeping. What's it to you country club?" Barry answered.

Rafe scoffed. "I caught you mid fuck didn't I? Sorry for being a cock block bro. Can't say I'm not jealous. Bet she's a total freak in the sheets."

JJ could practically hear the smug smirk on Barry's face. It made him feel sick.

"Yeah, tits like you've never seen. And pussy like a vice grip. You wanna come take a look? She's out cold."

"You already know my answer to that, bro." Rafe chuckled.

JJ's eyes widened, an even deeper panic settling into his chest. You would be mortified to know that Rafe Cameron’s vicious eyes had been ogling your exposed form, let alone the potential that Barry might actually let him touch you. His predatory hands wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you either - JJ knew that.

The blonde ran back around to the bedroom window and banged on it one more time in the hope of waking you up before quickly ducking down again just as the two men entered the room. He couldn't stay down and listen to their crass remarks this time, he couldn't bare it. If he heard one more foul remark from either of their mouths, he was going to storm in there and he be up getting himself killed - and potentially get you in trouble too. No, he couldn’t do that. He had to cause a distraction.

With a sudden rush of desperate inspiration, he picked up a rock and lobbed it at Rafe's truck, creating a loud thud as it dented the exterior. The two degenerates quickly stormed outside at that and JJ heard the sound of a gun clicking.

"What the fuck was that?" Barry muttered whilst Rafe angrily proclaimed "Something dented my ride!"

"If there's anybody out there, you better come out now!" He shouted, his voice echoing around the vacant lot of overgrown swampland.

Then right on cue, the Twinkie pulled around the corner, a very confused looking John B in the drivers seat with Kie and Pope sat behind him. They’d just managed to catch up with the tire tracks that JJ’s bike had left in the dusty roads and were all disheartened to have found themselves following Rafe’s truck at a distance, praying that the two volatile lads hadn’t ended up at the same place but somehow knowing that they had. Why else would Rafe Cameron be on that side of the island, after all?

Upon spotting the Pogues, Rafe scoffed something offensive before stomping over to the van, knocking so hard on the window that he was almost punching it.

"You dented my fucking car. Get the fuck out here!" Rafe demanded as Kie slid open the door, pacing at him with a scowl.

"We didn't do shit to your car. Now where the fuck is Y/N?"

JJ would've been relieved for his friends arrival if not for the pistol in Barry's hand.

"Didn't do shit? Look at the dent! You're paying for this Kie - since I know you're the only one of these losers with any money."

"I'm not paying for something I didn't do. Now tell me where my friend is. I can see her bike there and I swear to god if either of you have hurt her-" She thinned her eyes at Barry too, but Rafe cut her off, stepping so that he was inches from her face.

"What are you gonna do? Huh?" He scoffed with an intimidating smirk. "You can't do shit."

Kie naturally backed away, his imposing frame having a repelling effect to her, though she did lift her arm, seemingly ready to throw a punch. Pope jumped out of the van and quickly got in between them, his nostrils flaring as he eyed the sociopath. John B quickly jumped out too, but before he could open his mouth to say anything Barry had cocked the gun and pointed it at the trio.

"Y/N ain't here. She bought her pills and wondered off into the marsh. Left her bike behind. Now if you want to find her before the gators do, you lot best be on your way."

No one moved an inch, horrified by the revelation of Barry's statement.

"And you just let her go? What is wrong with you? She could be dead!" Pope hissed, an unexpected, aggressive volume to his voice.

JJ could no longer sit and silently listen knowing that his friends were about to embark on another wild goose chase. You were there, mere feet away. This was their best opportunity to do something before anything else could happen to you.

Feeling that the dealer was sufficiently distracted, JJ decided to fully open the window and climb inside, struggling slightly with the old frame as he pushed it up. The room felt even dirtier inside than it looked, and as soon as his feet were on the grubby carpet he rushed to your side, gently shaking your shoulder in an attempt to wake you up again. He didn’t know why in the moment, but that fact that your skin was warm against his fingertips shocked him. You’d appeared so corpse like. He’d supposed that he’d mentally prepared himself to touch cold flesh.

"Y/N it's me. We've got to go." JJ whispered, only getting a groan back from you. Still, he continued to gently shake you, trying to wake you up.

“Y/N. Come on.” He repeated, continuing to only gain weak groans from your chest, no conscious movement.

His heart was beating in his head like a timer, thinking of the confrontation outside. But when he finally took a good look at your face, he paused for a second. Your hair was splayed messily around your face like the petals of a flower, making him think to the mornings he'd spent with you in the past. How he'd woken up beside you after a night of drinking and wanted to kiss you, but held himself back in fear that you would find it weird. That you would remind him that you were only friends with the occasional benefit. That you'd laugh in his face.

If only he'd known how wrong he was.

Perhaps he didn't deserve you, but if being by yourself meant that you were going to do this to yourself... then he would have to fight until the end of the earth to be with you.

In that moment, he regretted so many of his past actions. From the random girls he'd fucked at the Chateau to his recent brutal rejection of you, he knew that once you were safe and awake he would do anything and everything to take it all back.

You would be his.

No one else's... This could never happen again. No one other than him would touch you.

He wouldn't allow it.

With the sound of a shouted insult from outside, he snapped from his trail of thoughts and began to look around the room in a panic. He picked up your t-shirt from the floor and lifted your head so that he could pull it over your body, wanting to afford you at least some modesty if he was going to have to charge into the Twinkie with you in his arms. Your body weight was resisting his actions though, dead and heavy, and it served to make him panic more, wondering just how much you’d taken and of what. But then he found your underwear and started to pull them up your legs and you finally flinched awake - even if it was only slightly.

"No Barry. Not again." You mumbled, weakly lifting your foot to kick him away.

JJ’s teeth gritted, uncertain by what was more disturbing to him - your words or the placid tone you’d delivered them with. Still, he was glad to hear your voice and spoke in the softest tone that he could muster.

"It's me, it’s JJ. We're gonna get you out of here."

Your eyes shot open at the sound of him, your heart jumping into your throat.

"JJ?" You whimpered, struggling to keep your eyes open. He was pulling your panties up your legs and though you knew that his touch was safe, you still felt scared. In your haze you weren’t even sure if JJ was real. Maybe his appearance was just a distasteful addition to the already twisted dream.

"It's me baby. It's me." He repeated in a hushed tone, lifting you into his arms bridal style. "You're safe now."

Then he heard the sound of the Twinkie starting outside and knew that he had to be faster. What was he going to do? Could he just run out there with you in his arms? He thought of the trigger-happy drug dealer outside and decided not to do that. Instead, he looked around the room for a weapon and was pleased when he spotted a shotgun leant against the wardrobe, an idea springing into his head. Just as you’d started to accept the reality of his touch, feeling a strange safeness from it despite being quite unaware of the actual danger you’d put yourself in, JJ quickly put you back down on the bed.

"No. No. Don't leave me." You choked out, your breathing becoming rapid with panic.

JJ felt sick at the words. Had they been secretly intertwined between the angry things you’d said to him the night prior? Perhaps not, but he shouldn’t have left you anyway.

"I'll be two seconds. I promise you'll be okay." He mustered the gentlest tone that he could in his shaking state, stroking your face and placing a delicate kiss on your forehead before picking up the gun and charging out of the room.

Like magic, as soon as you were out of his sight all softness left him - his bubbling anger returned. No longer would he be able to put on a calm front. That time had ran out. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his skin went hot again, thinking of the vile words he'd overheard from Rafe and Barry. Barry’s heavy breathing as he’d ducked under the window.

JJ pumped the gun one time, making sure it was loaded, and then slammed open the front door, quickly drawing the attention of the bickering degenerates outside. John B immediately noticed his friend too, quickly stopping the Twinkie from reversing and jumping out again as he watched the blonde in disbelief, uncertain of where he’d came from.

“What the fuck-” Barry begun, but then the scene moved so quickly that no one was able to immediately process it. Not Rafe or the Pogues.

With a cry of anger, JJ lifted the gun above his shoulder and then slammed the butt of it as hard as he could into Barry's head, knocking him out instantly. The dealer fell to the ground and dropped his own gun, and before Rafe could reach for it, JJ pressed the barrel to his chest. Rafe held his hands up in nervous surrender, though it didn't mean much.

"I should fucking kill you both!" JJ shouted. "You fucking piece of shit. You like girls when they're passed out? Huh? You like girls that can't say no?"

"Woah man. Chill. I didn't touch her." Rafe tried to calm him down, his eyes wide with fright. "It was all Barry. I just got here!"

At the realisation of what JJ had alluded to, the three other Pogues ran to join in the confrontation again. They felt sick at the idea that you might've been hurt - especially by two such unsavoury characters.

"Where is she?" Kie shouted, throwing frustrated punches into Rafe's side whilst Pope picked up Barry's pistol from the floor and kicked his ribs a few times with uncharacteristic aggression.

"Inside." JJ answered through gritted teeth, staring Rafe down and struggling to not pull the trigger. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you."

Rafe stumbled for a moment, swallowing before he collected himself and answered confidently "I didn't even touch her. Kill me and you’re going away for life! There’s not gonna be any of my DNA on Y/N, I can promise that! I’m not into passed out chicks. That’s all Barry!”

JJ didn’t move for a second, thinking on the boys words before lowering the gun slightly. He wanted to kill Rafe - so, so badly, but he decided that he would make him suffer another time. In that moment, Barry deserved his attention much more.

“I didn’t touch her man!” Rafe continued, unsettled by the fire in Pogue’s eyes and the power that he had over him in that moment.

JJ stared him down for a few seconds longer, his finger hovering on the trigger, before eventually hissing "Get the fuck out of here."

Rafe did exactly that, backing away quickly to his truck and speeding off, not daring to stop and taunt any of them whilst JJ still had a gun in his hand. Everyone’s attention turned to Barry now, who was groaning as he slowly arose from the ground. John B had disappeared into the den, finding you quickly and carrying you out whilst JJ had bent down to Barry’s level, his fists clenched so tightly that there would certainly be crescent shaped marks from his nails in his palm afterwards.

There was a moment of hesitation, allowing Barry to regain more consciousness, before JJ started to mercilessly throw punches. He was completely blinded by fury and bloodlust. Barry’s nose cracked first, then his cheekbone, then his eye socket.

“How’d you like that - you piece of shit.” JJ hissed between gritted teeth, incapable of even slowing himself down to hear an answer.

He didn't know how long he'd been attacking him for when he felt John B's touch on his shoulder and heard his voice in his ear. The brunette had positioned you comfortably inside the Twinkie during JJ’s raging, and then stood and watched his friend for a short while, enjoying the sight of Barry’s karma. He wasn’t entirely certain of what had happened, but judging from the state he’d just found you in, it would’ve been easy to come to that conclusion that it was something pretty bad - even if he hadn’t heard JJ’s earlier words. Eventually, he decided to try to stop his friend’s punches though, worried about your welfare more than revenge.

"Come on JJ, that's enough." He said softly.

JJ didn’t seem to notice the words at all. Barry's face was an unrecognisable bloody mess, but he couldn't stop.

"Jay, you're gonna kill him."

That didn't matter. Death was a fair punishment for the likes of him.

"We need to get Y/N out of here. Let's go!" John B spoke firmer now, an edge of urgency to his voice.

The sound of your name did halt JJ for a moment, allowing his body to catch up with the adrenaline. His knuckles were bloody and his chest was heaving.

"He raped her, John B. She was passed out in there and naked when I found her!" He turned to his friend with a desperate expression. "We need to kill him. We have to.”

"I know, I know. But he's not worth the prison sentence, Jay." John B struggled to keep back his own bile but managed to do so, speaking in a calm tone as he tried to reason with his friend. "We'll make him suffer, don't you worry. But right now we need to go. Think about Y/N.”

It took a few seconds for the words to fully resonate, some more punches being thrown as JJ struggled to decide. Eventually, he finally nodded in agreement and withdrew his arms, standing up with hesitancy and then spitting on the bloodied man. He was slightly dizzy from all the adrenaline and his steps fumbled as he paced to the Twinkie. Once he saw you inside, your half dressed body curled up on Kie's lap and vibrating with each cry, all of the guilt came back to him in an agonising gut punch.

“It doesn’t matter how much I beat Barry’s ass, I’ve caused this. I’m the reason Y/N is here right now.” He thought, his brain suddenly becoming just as much of an enemy as Barry had just been. “From the relapse to her even being here. This is all my fault. I’ve fucked her up without even trying.”

He ignored his friends shouts as he paced back to his bike and said nothing as he rode off, deciding that he would go to a bar and drink his thoughts away for the night, unable to bare looking at you again whilst knowing that Barry and Rafe were still alive. As John B had said; they weren’t worth getting a prison sentence for murder, but that didn't mean he couldn't find some other random people to fight.

And so that’s what he did, uncertain if he was being driven by rage or guilt, but needing to see blood either way.

Hiiii I hope y’all enjoyed. I might make a part 4 depending on feedback. Stay safe!!

[wisteriasymphony]

when I think of a felix-and-mylene dynamic, I mainly consider it based on Mylene's unshakeable faith in humanity versus Felix's unshakeable lack of faith in it? Mylene wants to change the system via protest and reform while Felix wants to destroy it entirely and build anew.

She's hoping to build a better world through advocacy and diplomacy meanwhile Felix is in full-on revolution, bring out the guillotine, we HAVE to kill the elite capitalist abusers there is no other choice. For Mylene, peace and respect have to be part of that path to a better future; Felix is very Frankenstein's Creature-esque in his belief that if your oppressors don't show you any respect and don't see your life as having value, then you shouldn't have to play nice with them at all.

Like. She is so certain that their voices will be heard and Felix is so certain that they will always fall upon deaf ears. idk.

THIS IS IT!!! LITERALLY!!! PERFECT INCREDIBLE BEAUTIFUL NO NOTES!!!! some notes. but it's added notes cause you said such good things.

I (and Silu) think the issue is that they're both leftist, but Felix is so misanthropic so it's a very anti-humanist/anti-natalist/anti-life outlook. Communism is just another way for him to be a little rebel bad boy and see the system as something evil and unfixable and awful. Mylene isn't like that, she believes in what she believes because she holds ideas like the inherent good of humanity and an inherent obligation to help your follow man close to her heart.

Felix is, to a T, the kind of communist that Disco Elysium refers to as a "very, very smart boy with something like a university degree in Truth" that was "fucked over" by Marx's socio-economic theory.

No, he's not gonna try and make the world better, that's stupid, He's just gonna get all mad at the suckery of it all and maybe do a magic terrorism genocide about it but not actually something productive. No! He likes the violence, he got it from his daddy, and he's gonna wield it the way it was wielded on him but better and more justified this time. "The world is bad and it will be bad forever, but I'm gonna start doing the bad in the other direction for once." Et cetera, et cetera.

There's also the idea that his communist views are very influenced by his aristocratic upbringing, making him a little hypocritical in a way. Mylene at least isn't literally related to royalty to even if she was all revolutionary about it there wouldn't be any irony to it.

But if my Claudrien stuff demonstrates anything, it's that I do love a good, fraught, dysfunctional pessimism x optimism dynamic, and Mylix does that super well.

[mrs-bluemarine]

Hey, so remember that cyber bullying is lame as fuck and we don't like people who do that? *edited with more information

*Second edit to this post. Rot uses she/it pronouns. I know this now, but during making this post I was unaware, so below the cut I referred to her with they/them, before correcting myself in my first edit. I do apologize for misgendering her, as that was not my intention. I hope you can understand, thank you for reading

Content warning for talk of bullying, body shaming, threats of harm, joking about sexual trauma, and like, manipulation?

So the tl;dr is there's a person who I've been recently warned about that's rejoined the selfship community. They've hurt two people I know personally and care deeply for. I'm making this post because they don't wish for the attention to be on them, which I completely understand

I don't have any personal connection to this person, however I value the words of these two people (who I will call Mutual-A and Mutual-B) and I only wish for their safety and comfort. I do not want any harm or rude things sent to this blog, simply block and move on

Reblogs would be appreciated, and I ask for people to at least skim over what I talk about under the read more. I don't feel comfortable knowing that my other mutuals interact with a person who's harmed people that I care for

^ their new user name, since I don't want to type here and accidentally find this places where it shouldn't be. I do believe they had a different selfship blog here, that has since disappeared, I think they deleted it, since I had the original blocked and this one wasn't.

Now like mentioned previously, I have no ties to this person and the only "interaction" I've had with them was seeing the incredibly rude and disgusting things they've said about Mutual-A. As a nonsharer myself and someone who fights with my mental issues, I don't think shaming someone's body and outright wishing physical violence on people who share your comfort characters is a sane or normal thing to do. If these screenshots look familiar it's because they've been taken from a post about this person in the past, when this was originally happening

Again, talk of body shaming and wishes of harm (which no matter how silly is still a threat)

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As for this second person, Mutual-B, what they've been through with them was some time ago. While Mutual-B wasn't a victim of harassment to as big of scale as Mutual-A, I still think their feelings on the matter are important to highlight. I don't have screenshots of these ordeals in particular, only word of mouth, but I trust this person deeply, and never before have they tried to bad mouth anyone without reason. On multiple occasions with this person Mutual-B has told me they threatened to call out B as a p.ro.shipper, something THEY ARE NOT, simply for reblogging or interacting with posts with tags they didn't already have filtered out. I've know B for a while now and I can tell you that it's simply not true

Warning for jokes of sexual trauma/SA and manipulation

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That's all. Once again reminding to NOT attack this person, just block and move on. For a community built on self love and comfort I don't find any of this shit to be acceptable to have in it

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EDIT, because apparently we're not done here.

Since making this post, this person (will be referring to them/her as Rot) has since made a post addressing the situation. I'm also adding on more screenshots found by myself and others (apologize for the quality of some, as they're taken from my computer due to the picture limit) Going to go ahead and add another content warning for talk of SA/a character who has committed it, will add more warnings if needed

First thing Rot talks about in her post is how her interaction with Moot-A was a year and a half ago, which isn't true, right now it's been barely over a year and two months ago. I feel like this is a way to try to paint us badly by "Bringing up stuff from way back in the past", I understand a few months difference isn't much, this is a tiny nitpick I'm sure but it still didn't settle right with me. I can also understand if this was just plain misremembering.

Second point, as for the warning above, Rot makes it clear that she ships herself with a canonical rapist, J.immy from the game Mouthwashing. The fact he assaulted his coworker is incredibly important to the story of the game, there is no denying it or any chance that this could be some gross misinterpretation. Not that Rot tries to deny this. She understands who Jimmy is. She just choices to ignore it.

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And I find that really fucking disturbing. Considering how she assures people she doesn't condone his actions and how she says she takes SA seriously, then why the fuck would you even ship with him in the first place? Would also like to point out that if you do choose to ignore the worst flaw of his character... there's still so much more to him that's simply bad. But that's irrelevant/personal opinion. J.immy is a well written character and villain, I can agree, however he is a man who should not be touched with a ten foot pole

Considering a lot of her harassment towards A was about how bad A was for "mischaracterizing" a shared F/o and how A diverged from canon, and how much she disliked A for it, I find it very hypocritical for her to ignore J.immy's biggest flaw. The fact she doesn't mention his actions in game isn't something I didn't notice either, whether that's intentional or not I'm not sure, but it still feels gross

She and others also mention the character K.enjaku. However, I have not watched/read J.J.K. so I have no comment on that.

My final note on this is simply. I don't care if you ship with villains, I myself have multiple characters that are villains or bad people that I hold dearly. (this is a reason why i'm hesitant to talk about this in particular) however. There's just some things and characters you shouldn't fucking touch.

The last thing I will add to this edit is her stance on pro.shipp.ing. She's reprimanded past friends for reblogging posts from pro.shippers, she's threatened to call them out as pro.ship for it. She also pointblank puts on her blog that she doesn't want that part of the community to interact with her. Except she still continues to reblog posts with the pro tags. People make mistakes, but the fact she's scolded and threatened people for doing the same while these posts get to stay on her blog upsets me

**I've also been given screenshots of dark content she's reblogged. Now I do agree with the statement that dabbling in darker themes with ships is fine (there's some big scary ""n*ance"" in that comment). I won't shame someone for enjoying fucking idk kidnapping or unhealthy relationship dynamics. Again, I don't think I'm the right person to play holier than thou on a high horse, but I feel it's worth mentioning since someone went as far as to send me those screenshots.

Warning for allusions to SA in the 3rd/nonfiltered post

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^^ last screenshot is added simply because nonsharervents has a "bad rep" because OP is neutral to/allows pro.shippers to interact

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[writinginatree]

All the Blood that You Still Owe

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson & sibling!reader

Summary: An unpleasant surprise awaits on Hedotis, and you react with far less composure than your brother.

Warnings: Spoilers for Onyx Storm (set during chapters 33/34), canon divergence, mommy issues, implied daddy issues, anger issues, self-worth issues, we got all the issues baby!, unresolved childhood trauma, meltdowns, self-harm tendencies if you squint, graphic description of blood and violence, violence against children, murder, dissociation, self-hatred, vaguely suicidal thoughts

Title from MCR's song "I Don't Love You", go listen for some extra angst!

Landing on the rocky shore near the capital of Hedotis, you immediately dislike the place. You can't pinpoint why — on the surface, it seems like a beautiful, peaceful place. Nonetheless there's something about it that makes you uneasy in a way none of the other isles did. It's not just the lack of magic, either; uncomfortable as that is, you're starting to get used to it.

Observing the city — Vidirys, Violet had said it's called — it seems wrong somehow, with all those identical houses. It feels like looking at the background of a painting someone didn't want to put much effort into, just copying the same view over and over to create the illusion of a real place. Creepy, somehow, despite the superficial serenity.

The rest of the squad are all gathered a little farther up the beach, but you hang back, reluctant to part from your dragon.

The contrast of Dioghal's blood-red scales against the pale landscape only amplifies the lack of color around her, and you can't help but think what easy targets you make like this. Not that it should matter — according to Vi's handy guidebook, the people of Hedotis are supposedly peaceful. That doesn't make them trustworthy in your eyes, though. You're naturally suspicious of people who remain neutral in any and all conflicts happening around them, and you'd be willing to bet they do have weapons, possibly aimed at you this very moment from some hidden spot.

With these things in mind, you tense when you notice the group of locals stepping onto the wooden walkway that connects this piece of beach with what looks to be a market just outside the city.

Though you can't see any weapons on them, and they're all dressed in light tunics and gowns entirely unfit for combat, you double-check that all of your own weapons are where they belong before you give Dioghal's leg another pat and hurry after your squad, who are already going toward the locals.

Xaden raises a brow at you when you fall into step beside him, a wordless scolding for falling behind. Guess he doesn't quite trust the purported peace, either.

You're glad you aren't the only one who finds the place a little unsettling, because it really shouldn't be. But try as you might, you cannot shake the unease. Even the welcoming committee — if that's what it is — doesn't sit right with you. They should be wary of armed strangers on dragons showing up on their shore, but the way they're strolling toward you looks perfectly relaxed and casual. Almost like your visit doesn't surprise them.

No, you definitely do not like this. But these people could have the answers you're looking for, so if this is a trap, you're just going to have to deal with it. To calm your nerves, you remind yourself that Dioghal will be watching over you from afar. She won't let anything happen to you.

As you draw near, you notice a tall woman in the group of Hedotians — or is it Hedotics? — You should ask Violet later, she'll know what they're called — who seems strangely familiar.

Your discomfort intensifies, but you force yourself to keep walking, staring at the pale wooden boards beneath your feet as your group reaches theirs and greetings are exchanged. When the man from the triumvirate — he introduced himself, but you were only half listening — beckons his wife forward you glance up, and your heart stops, only to double it's speed.

It's the familiar-looking woman, and up close, you know why she's so familiar.

"Xaden," she says. Then her gaze jumps to you, frozen in place half a step behind your brother and a little to the side.

You barely hear her saying your name over the rushing in your ears, only vaguely register Xaden acknowledging her as he pulls Violet closer to his side. On the inside you're seven again, abandoned, confused, and fucking furious.

But unlike back then, you're armed now.

The metallic sound of your sword coming out of its sheath draws everyone's attention, and Garrick grabs you around the waist before you can take more than a single step toward your so-called mother.

"Let me go," you demand in a low growl barely loud enough for those nearest to hear. You can't seem to get enough air to speak any louder.

Instead of letting you go, Garrick forces your sword-arm down and pins it to your side. Despite the endless hours of training you've put in, you're no match for his strength — you might as well still be that seven-year-old you were when your mother left, so effortlessly does he restrain you.

"Calm down," he has the audacity to whisper into your ear. "We have a mission, remember? Don't fuck this up because of her."

He's right, you know that. It's just hard to care when so suddenly being faced with the woman you've missed and hated for the last thirteen — no, almost fourteen — years. Years you've spent imagining seeing her again — at first, it had been a happy, tearful reunion you'd pictured, back when you couldn't fully believe she had left for good. You'd thought you would apologize for whatever you had done to drive her away and all would be well. Then, as you'd grown older and understood she really had abandoned you, you imagined her looking at you full of regret and apologies, begging for forgiveness you would deny her. Later still, after your father had died and you were left alone under the care of some Navarrian loyalist, soaking up the world's cruelty like a fine handkerchief dropped into a pool of blood, you started dreaming of revenge. Your mother, Navarrian leadership, everyone. In your dreams you made them all pay for the hurt they'd inflicted on you and your brother, knowing you'd never be able to do so in reality.

But now you're here, and so is Talia. It would be so easy. So gratifying to make her see what pain she caused you and give it back to her tenfold.

Garrick's words echo in your ears as you notice the rest of the squad watching you with varying degrees of confusion and disapproval. Don't fuck this up. No, you can't afford to ruin this mission the way you do everything else. You've got to keep your shit together. For Xaden's sake, if not for that of everyone else on the Continent.

With that thought, you force your muscles to relax, and let Garrick guide your sword back into its sheath. His hold on you eases, but he hovers right behind you, ready to grab you again should you make it necessary.

You won't. Won't disappoint your brother and friends, won't ruin the mission, won't make things more difficult for them. You just have to hold in this burning rage. You can do that, have been doing it all your life. Calm. You have to be calm. If Xaden manages not to throw a fit at the sight of your mother, surely you'll manage not to do so either. Be calm.

Forcing yourself to take slow, measured breaths (nice and calm, nice and calm, nice and calm) you look anywhere except at Talia.

Someone starts making excuses for you, claiming that in your exhausted state you had merely gotten startled by Talia's suddenly stepping forward and overreacted. You meant no harm, they say. You're perfectly safe to be around, they say. It won't happen again, they say. Lies, all of it.

But no. It mustn't happen again. You can't ruin the mission. Keep it together. You have to keep it together somehow.

The man from the triumvirate — your mother's new husband — who observed your outburst with cold disapproval looks like he doesn't believe a word, but doesn't withdraw his invitation, either.

You really, really don't want to go to his house, though.

"Garrick," you mumble, since he's still standing closest to you, "I want to leave."

This is how it always went when you got overwhelmed while stuck at some stupid event as kids; you'd tug on the sleeve of whichever of the boys was closest to you and he'd sneak you out while the other two distracted the adults that wanted to keep you there before eventually joining you. But this is not a boring ball or dinner party, and you are no longer a child. You are here on a mission, and there's too much at stake to just blow it off, you know that even as you ask to leave.

"We can't, not before we find out if they have some answers for us," Garrick whispers back. He rubs his hand up and down your arm, trying to soothe you. "I know it's hard, but just remember that we're doing this for Xaden."

He's right. Gods, you know he's right, but every second in your mother's presence feeds the hatred burning inside you. Soon it will consume you whole. You don't know how you're supposed to keep it in much longer, if you can keep it in.

But you have to try. For Xaden. For your brother's sake, you might manage. If he can look at Talia without bursting into tears or punching something, then so can you. But of course Xaden has always had much better self control than you, a different kind of anger. Where your own anger burns like a raging fire, demanding to be let out, Xaden's turns his veins to ice, freezing his voice and eyes, a mask of deadly quiet.

You're not even sure if he is angry at your mother, or just disappointed, sad, whatever. Your rage is more than enough for both of you, anyway.

Talia's husband clears his throat. "Shall we?"

"Of course," Aaric says, stepping forward to take control of the situation, since neither Xaden nor Violet make any move to reply. The sideways glance he gives you in doing so says to get your godsdamned shit together. "Thank you for the invitation."

"You don't have to come," Xaden mutters to you, hanging back while the group slowly starts toward the city. You can tell he's upset too, but unlike you, he keeps it all on the inside. If only you were capable of the same. "Stay with the dragons if you want."

As much as you want to do so, it feels wrong, like you're failing both Xaden and the whole squad. What's the point of being part of this quest if all you do is lag behind?

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You can always still join us later, if you feel up to it."

Us. That means Xaden intends to go with them. Of course. He's more important to the mission, and if both of you stayed behind, the man from the triumvirate might take offense. You should care about that. He's important here, and that means his opinion could decide whether or not these people will help you. But all you can think about is that all this time, your mother has been here, with that man. Had she left specifically to be with him, or did they meet later? Does it even make a difference? No, you decide. You hate both of them either way. And no matter how much you tell yourself you should, you just can't go with them to their house, where you'd probably have to sit in a stiff reception room and make pleasant conversation while the anger continues to eat you alive. You can't.

"Go. It's fine," Xaden encourages again. Nothing is fine. Not to you, and certainly not to him, either, but he's good at pretending things are fine when they're not. "You can do a sweep of the area if Dioghal isn't too tired, see if you spot the irids."

"I doubt they're here."

They aren't; you feel that in your bones. Hedotis is not a place dragons would like. Or are you just biased because you don't like the place?

"Yeah, me too. But we have to make sure, and it'll give you something else to focus on."

"Okay. I'll see you later then."

Xaden nods and follows the others, catching up with Violet, who walkes at the back, waiting for him, in a few long strides.

For a moment you look after them, feeling like a failure. They're almost out of earshot already, so you could break down now, scream and cry like the turmoil inside you demands.

You don't. Instead you turn, walking back down the beach to where Dioghal waits.

You wish your brother could have remained behind with you. Or better yet, that you could all leave this whole fucking place already. Selfish reasons aside, you also don't like the thought of leaving Xaden to deal with your mother alone. Her absence was just as hard for him as for you. Harder, maybe. But he won't really be alone, he has Violet and Garrick to take care of him, so you suppose it's alright. It makes no matter, anyway. Wishes won't get you anywhere; that's a lesson you learned the hard way. Xaden will bury his feelings and fulfill his duty the way he always does, while you will fight the urge to cry and scream for as long as you can and eventually break down, the way you always do.

Dioghal lowers her head when you reach her, chuffing in a way that sounds vaguely worried.

You curse the lack of magic in this place, desperately missing the mental connection to your dragon. She watched the interaction, but you don't know if she was close enough to hear, to understand what exactly made you so upset.

"That— That woman," you explain out loud, almost choking on the words, "that was my mother."

Dioghal croons, a blast of steam parting your hair. Her head swivels around to look after the group with narrowed eyes, like she's contemplating to follow them and show Talia exactly what happens to people who upset Dioghal's rider — death, usually.

"Can we just fly, please? Xay asked that we look around for the irids while the others talk to the triumvirate."

Dioghal lets out a low growl, and for a moment, you think she'll ignore you and go after your mother. Unlike you, she doesn't have anyone to grab her and talk some sense into her. You almost want her to do it. That way, you'd get the revenge you've dreamed of for so long without being directly responsible for ruining the mission. But then Dioghal straightens, averting her piercing gaze, and you know she's decided to let Talia live for now.

That should be a good thing, but it doesn't feel like one.

As you scale Dioghal's leg and get seated, you picture her claws sinking into your mother's flesh, her strong jaws closing around her, the resulting spray of blood as red as her scales. There's so many ways she could go about killing her. Biting her head clean off or slowly ripping her limb from limb, snapping her in half or clawing her guts out. Burning her, like the traitor she is. She could stab her with the poisonous bulb of her tail, make it slow and painful.

Gods, what the fuck is wrong with you? It can't be normal to wish these things upon your own mother, no matter what she did to deserve it. She may have abandoned you, but the fact remains that she's your mother. You're pretty sure that's supposed to mean something to you, even now, so why doesn't it?

If Dioghal could talk to you here, she would tell you it doesn't matter, that this hatred doesn't mean you're broken somehow. She understands your overwhelming anger better than anyone else ever has. You're one and the same in that way, quick to lash out for the smallest reasons, unable to let go of the big reasons, no matter how much time passes. Sometimes you wonder if that's why she chose you, because you're as unforgiving as she is, with a temper to match her own. And other times, you wonder if this similarity might be a bad thing, if maybe you would have been better off with a more reasonable dragon — say, a green, like your cousin's — that would teach you control over your emotions, instead of encouraging you to act on your rage like Dioghal tends to do. She forgets that you're human, that unlike dragons, you're supposed to have morals, a conscience.

If Dioghal ever caught those thoughts, she would probably eat you alive for doubting her.

She leaps into the air, and you wish you could leave the feelings plaguing you behind just like the ground, quickly shrinking with distance, but it's never that simple.

You can blame the stinging in your eyes on the wind, having foregone your goggles in your hurry to get off the beach, but there's no denying the sob that works it's way up your throat. Another follows, and another, and now your cheeks are stained wet, and with your eyes closed, you can pretend you've flown into a cloud and that's where the wetness comes from, but you know that if you open them, you won't be in the clouds. It would make no sense to fly that high, not when you're supposed to survey the isle for signs of the irids.

Bending at the waist, you press your face against Dioghal's warm scales and try to pretend your distress away. When that doesn't work, you allow yourself another sob, two. You have to stop. Dioghal may understand your anger, but she doesn't have much patience for tears. You squeeze your eyes shut, gnawing at your lip until blood floods your mouth. It's a reassuring taste. The pain in your lip isn't enough to distract you from your emotional hurt, but it gives you the strength to push past it and straighten in the seat.

Far below you, Hedotis's capital sprawles into the distance in it's orderly rows of identical pale houses. You can't deny there's a sort of beauty to it, but the city does not look alive the way Aretia or even Basgiath's small village of Chantara do. This kind of orderliness isn't natural.

It's hard to wrap your head around the fact that this is where your mother must have come from, that your ancestors lived here — maybe not in this very city, but in one like it somewhere on this isle. These are your roots. Talia's home, that she abandoned you to return to.

You hate it.

For hours, you fly along the coast, steering clear of any human dwellings and searching for signs of dragons in the less populated spots. As expected, you find nothing.

Despite how hungry Dioghal must be, she shows no intention to land and find something to eat. You know it's your obvious distress that keeps her in the air; she's protective of you to a fault, like— You flinch at the thought. Like a doting mother. Your eyes burn. Your mother abandoned you, but at least you now have a dragon to play the role she didn't want. Not that you'd ever say that to Dioghal's face. She has a habit of waving that poison-dripping scorpiontail of hers in your face when you call her out on her overprotective behavior, and she would take even more offense to being called a mother hen, no matter how true it is.

Guilt nags at you for keeping her from her well-deserved meal. She has to be tired, too. The flight to Hedotis had taken all night, and thanks to your meltdown, Dioghal has been circling overhead for another four hours or so while the others rested and fed themselves. Without magic to give them strength, the dragons tire faster than they're used to.

"Maybe we should land," you yell over the wind. It's not just lonely being unable to talk through your mental link, but also terribly inconvenient. "I've calmed down now. Honest."

Her head swings around, golden eyes scrutinizing you in that way that makes you feel like she can see through you, straight to your soul. Apparently Dioghal is satisfied with what she sees, because she makes a turn for the northeastern shore, where you can make out Tairn and Sgaeyl's looming forms once you get closer, and slowly descends to land on a colorless beach near a colorless house.

Talia's colorless house, you realize, spotting Xaden and Violet on it's veranda. The distance is too big for you to hear them, but from the look of it, your brother is arguing with Sgaeyl. Amazing how he manages that even without being able to talk to her.

She roars something in his face, maybe Don't tell me what to do or Behave until I'm back, and turns, making a slightly friendlier sounding noise at Dioghal before flying off, Tairn and Andarna close behind her. Dioghal nudges you toward the house and turns to follow the small riot. You assume the sound must have been an invitation to eat together. Dragon relations are a mystery to you, but as far as you can tell, Dioghal is something like Sgaeyl's cool aunt.

Not wanting to go into or even near the house, you're contemplating whether you should just make yourself comfortable in the sand or maybe go for a swim, when you notice two dark-haired boys watching you. They hadn't been there when you'd scanned the area from the air, which means they must have come from inside the house, probably attracted by Sgaeyl's roar. That in turn raises the question of whose children these are. You don't want to think about it, but... It's your mother's house. Of course it's possible someone else lives there with her and her husband, maybe a widowed sister or something. Or maybe the kids belong to someone who works for them; you just have to look at the place to know they have a whole army of staff. And yet the most painful conclusion also is the most obvious, the most likely — if Talia has a new life with a new husband, why shouldn't she have new children, too?

The thought makes you feel like crying again, so you turn to stare out over the water and do your best to ignore the boys. You don't want to know who they are.

And yet, when you hear voices a moment later, you turn to look again. You blame it on the self-preservation instincts Basgiath has instilled in you, edging on paranoia. Even before that, you never liked having something happening behind your back, but now it positively makes your skin crawl to be facing away from potential danger. What you see doesn't seem very dangerous, though. The boys are still there, and a woman fusses over the pair of them — some kind of maid, judging from the look of her.

Maybe that is their mother. Or maybe it's her job to look after them. What do you care?

But you do. You trail them with your eyes as they start back toward the house. Just as you're about to lose interest and turn away, Talia rushes from the house, straight toward the boys.

Your throat constricts. No. You don't want them to be hers.

But as you watch on, it's obvious they are. You don't understand what they're saying, since it's all in Hedotic and you're almost out of earshot, anyway, but you don't have to. It's all over Talia's face, in her tone, in every gesture and touch she makes. So loving, so tender.

Your heart aches as you watch her run her hands over their hair like she'd done yours when you were little. When she'd still loved you. Or pretended like she did, anyway. You're not sure which it was, and it doesn't really make a difference. Those times are long gone.

Your shaking hands curl into fists as the hatred inside you grows, demanding an outlet.

Not enough that she abandoned you. No, she fucking replaced you. With these boys, who no doubt are nicer, better behaved, less prone to meltdowns. You'd always known you weren't good enough, too difficult to be considered worthy of her love.

Xaden spent years trying to convince you it hadn't been your fault she left. He and Dad loved you despite your faults, wasn't that proof enough that you weren't unlovable like you thought? Sometimes, you almost believed him. After all, your mother had abandoned not only you, but Xaden, too — flawless Xaden, who you'd always been aware was your parents' favorite, who always had to serve as your good example when you acted out. Not even he had been enough to make her stay, so you'd let him convince you that maybe the problem really wasn't you. Maybe there was something wrong with her. It was easy enough to pretend so; she was gone, and memories blurred with time.

But now here she is, playing the loving mother for these boys, so it must have been your fault after all.

You stalk closer, unsure what you'll do when you reach them. It won't be pretty, that's all you know. You feel like a predator advancing on its unsuspecting prey.

Just a handful of steps and you'll be right behind them, and they still haven't noticed you.

Mom. The word is on the tip of your tongue, but you can't get it out. It feels too wrong. She will always be your mother, there's nothing you can do about that, but she stopped being your mom the moment she disappeared into the night without so much as a goodbye.

You still remember how you'd woken up that morning, happy and unsuspecting. You remember Xaden, who'd been awake earlier than you, sitting over his untouched breakfast — chocolate cake, left over from his birthday the day before. You knew something was wrong then, and that it had to be serious. There wasn't much that could kill Xaden's appetite, especially when it came to cake. You remember how you hesitated, slowly walking to the table and sitting down, not sure you wanted to know. Finally, you gathered your courage and asked what had happened.

"Mom is gone," Xaden had responded glumly, shoving his untouched plate of cake to you and rising from the table.

"Gone?" you'd asked, briefly wondering if he meant gone as in dead. Adults sometimes talked that way, but you didn't think Xaden would. "Gone where?"

"Away."

Xaden had stomped off to his room — to cry, presumably — and you dug into the cake he'd spurned, vaguely angry with Talia for making your big brother so sad, but still thinking that surely she would come back after a few days at most.

Her absence hadn't sunken in for you right away the way it did for Xaden. You missed her, sure, and you were upset, yes, but that was mostly because Xaden was upset.

Your mother had always been there, so it made no sense to you that she shouldn't be anymore. That she should have abandoned you seemed as absurd as the idea of water not being wet, or fire being cold. Children and their parents belonged together, that had always been a simple fact to you. Therefore, it wasn't until a few weeks had gone by that you were able to believe that she wasn't coming back.

Then you started to wonder why, and it didn't take long to come to the conclusion that it must have been your fault somehow. It always was. When she was unhappy, or tired, or had a headache, when something broke or there were chocolate smudges on the window; it was always because you had thrown a tantrum or refused to go to bed, because you had been too loud, too clumsy and careless. In your parents' eyes, you could never do anything right. Talia especially had always seen right through all your attempts of being good, of being like Xaden, straight to your rotten core. For as long as you remember, you always felt that something was fundamentally wrong with you, and your mother knew it, too. She never said so, tried not to show it, but she must have felt it, or she wouldn't have left.

And it's true, there has to be something wrong with you. Otherwise, you wouldn't be slinking toward the wholesome little group like a wolf amongst sheep, mind racing with bloody scenarios. You should be happy to see her, not want to throttle her.

You're close now, a step or two more and you'd be close enough to reach out and touch your mother's back, should you want to. You still have no idea what you want to say or do when she notices you, if you'll even be able to get any words out or if the rage will take over like it did this morning.

You hesitate. It might be better to turn away now, before it's too late.

That's when one of the boys notices you, tapping his mother's — your mother's — arm and saying something in Hedotic, wide eyes on you.

You can only imagine what you must look like to these people, who have only ever known peace. The raised scar running along your collar bone that Dioghal gave you at Threshing is on full display with your flight jacket unbuttoned, the array of weapons strapped to your body glinting in the sunlight. You wonder if the boys have ever seen a blade before, kitchen knives aside. You don't think so. Not with the way Talia and the maid were fussing over them, like they're precious little treasures that need to be wrapped in silk and kept safe. So unlike you and Xaden, discarded to be forged into deadly weapons in the fire of war.

Talia turns, gasping in surprise to see it's you standing there, you, who she'd certainly noticed separating from the group that morning.

A tentative smile touches her lips. She takes a step toward you, hand raised as if to cup your cheek, but falters at your hard expression. Still smiling, but less so. She's nervous, probably struggling to see the pathetic child you were in the soldier before her.

"How nice that you could join us after all. Xaden's girlfriend said you wouldn't, that you had to monitor the area. I'm so glad—"

"I didn't," you cut her rambling short. It's only half a lie. Xaden sent you patrolling mainly to distract you, so it wasn't like you'd had to do it. "I just didn't want to see you."

You thank Dunne that the words come out just as coldly as you intended them to, despite the tears wanting break free again.

Your mother flinches, and the smile falls.

Good. How dare she talk like that, after being gone for almost two thirds of your life? Is she really that ignorant of what pain she caused you, or does she simply believe she's entitled to your forgiveness? Whichever it is, she'll know better soon.

"You abandoned me," you say before she can recover from the shock of your words, which should not have shocked her at all — wouldn't have, if she'd ever cared enough to truly know you. You've always held onto your grudges, clung to them, really. "Abandoned us. Does that mean nothing to you?"

You assume the whelps don't understand the common language — it's only common to the Continent, after all. A shame, really. You want them to know their mommy isn't as perfect and loving as they probably think, to know she's already left a pair of her children behind without looking back once and there's nothing stopping her from doing the same to them.

"Of course it does," Talia exclaims, "but you have to understand—"

"I don't have to understand shit!"

Dragons don't listen to sheep, that's what Dioghal would say.

"I didn't want to leave you behind, but I couldn't take you with me," Talia continues to defend herself. "Xaden was the heir, and you..."

You're the spare, that's what she's too cowardly to say. She should have thought about that sooner. Of course she couldn't take either of you from Tyrrendor, that would have defeated the point of your very existence. She knew her children would have to grow up in Aretia when she married your father. Was she planning to abandon you even then, years before you were born?

"I couldn't bring you!" she repeats.

The tear that runs down her cheek only make you angrier. What right does she have to cry?! It's your and Xaden's lives she ruined, while she was here playing house with her oh so lovely new family. It makes you want to turn the whole place to rubble. To climb onto Dioghal and torch it all, force Talia to watch her neat little house burn the way you'd had to watch Aretia burn. To take away the happiness she'd found while you were suffering.

"You could have stayed!" You meet Talia's eyes for the first and last time and repeat yourself more quietly, "You could have stayed."

Then, faster than Talia could ever hope to comprehend, you grab the younger boy by the shoulder, ripping him away from her and setting a dagger at his throat in the span of a second.

"No! Gaius!" she shrieks, color draining from her face. "Don't hurt him!"

Her fear is both gratifying and infuriating. If someone had done the same to you, would she have cared as much? You almost laugh at the thought. No, if it had been you in that boy's stead, she wouldn't have given a damn.

Talia pushes the other boy behind herself, hand clasped so tightly around his arm he winces in pain. She doesn't notice, gaze fixed on her youngest. At least you think he's her youngest. For all you know she could have more children hidden inside the house.

The maid shuffles backwards with tiny steps, as if you won't notice what she's doing that way. She's still well within knife-throwing range when she turns and makes a run for the house, but you let her go. It's not her you care about, and any help she might return with will come too late. The blade is already nicking the boy's skin; one wrong move from anyone and he'll be dead.

"Please," your mother cries, "let him go! We'll do anything you want. My husband is part of the triumvirate, he can give you whatever information you want, just don't hurt our boy!"

She thinks you're doing this for information? Things must've not gone well for the others so far, then, a realization that only adds fuel to the burning rage inside you. Doesn't she care at all what happens to you and Xaden, not even enough to put in a good word with her husband?

You shake your head, lips curling in disgust. Does she have no spine or dignity at all?

"The only thing I want is for you to suffer. And since you seem so attached to these boys, killing them will be a good start. You think I'm just taking this one hostage?" You laugh, the resulting sound harsh and ugly in a way that sounds foreign to your ears, not like you at all. "No. I'll make you watch me slit both their throats just for fun."

"They're children!"

"So were we!" you scream, voice breaking as you finally lose control of the tears you've been wrestling with for hours. "We were just children too when you decided you didn't want us anymore and fucked off without a word! You think that doesn't do anything to a child, being abandoned like that?!"

"You had your father!"

"Until we didn't," you bite out. "But that's not even the point! The point is that you pretended to love us while you had to put up with us, and then as soon as you could, you ran away behind our backs like the coward you are. Would it have killed you to tell us you were leaving, to give us a chance to say goodbye?!"

As you speak, you give the boy in your hands a shake, your dagger scraping his skin ever so slightly. He cries out for your mother, who is staring at the blade against his neck with such intense concentration you doubt she heard a single word you said. You don't know why you even bothered.

She says something to the boy in Hedotic — hopefully to calm him. She would have to be an even bigger fool than you thought to believe he could escape you.

"Please don't hurt him," she sobs again. "Do what you want to me, but let Gaius go!"

As if. Killing your mother is still on the table, but for now, watching her fear for her son's life is much more satisfying than the brief pleasure of putting a knife into her would be.

If only you could stop crying. Talia is not worth your tears, and you hate letting her see you cry, hate giving her that power over you. Crying in front of people has always felt humiliating, like a display of your lacking self-control. And crying in front of your mother now, after all the time that's gone by since she left, really ruins the picture of the cold-blooded soldier you want her to see. You want the thought of what the innocent child she left behind has become to haunt her — a futile hope, probably. If she cared, you wouldn't be in this situation.

Shouts from the direction of the house alert you that others have become aware of what's happening, but your eyes never stray from your mother's panicked form. For better or worse, she has your undivided attention.

You should do it now. Drag it out much longer, and whoever is coming from the house might manage to stop you. Peaceful place or not, they would be fools not to have some sort of security personnel. You could probably take them on, but that would mean letting the boys go, and that is not happening. They're the ticket to Talia's personal hell.

From the corner of your eye, you see Xaden approach. He moves carefully, the way you would around a corned animal, and stops a dragon's length away.

He calls your name, so softly you almost miss it, and cautions, "Don't do something you'll regret, baby."

"What difference does it make? She's always looked at me like I'm some sort of monster, so I might as well prove her right."

It's stupid to be acting like this, you know. It's Xaden who will turn into an actual monster if you don't find a way to cure him. You're not going to get any closer to doing that by throwing pointless tantrums about things no one can change. But you've never been good at regulating your emotions. Even when you were little, your anger always consumed you. You thought you'd gotten better — you'd had to. All the power that comes with being a rider is dangerous in the hands of someone with the emotional stability of a toddler, so you'd worked hard on learning better self-control. Using sparring sessions to work through your feelings, you now usually manage to avoid the violent outbursts you were prone to as a child. But there is no coping mechanism strong enough to save you from the sheer hatred for your mother that has festered inside you for almost fourteen years, the embers of the despaired rage from when she'd left reignited into the burning flames they'd been when the pain of her departure was still fresh. The moment you saw her, the rage overwhelmed you the way it always had.

"It's not about her," Xaden reasons. Can't he see you're beyond reasoning? "It's about how you will feel once you've calmed down."

"Better, that's how I'll feel!"

But even in your frenzy, the tiny part of you still capable of rational thought knows that's not true. Never once have you actually felt better after one of your outbursts. You always think you'll feel better after you let it out, but every time you're left drained and ashamed instead, picking up the pieces.

One time — you must have been about eleven — you'd broken Xaden's snow globe, which had been a gift from your mother, in a rage. You'd felt horrible afterwards, and not just because he refused to speak to you for more than a week. After that, you'd promised yourself you wouldn't lose control of yourself like that ever again. Keeping that promise had been impossible, but the memory almost makes you halt. It's never too late to change, right?

But then your gaze falls back onto your mother — the same mother who'd thrown you away like an old toy she no longer wanted, never looking back, never caring what became of you in the rebellion or the impending war, now so keen on protecting these boys — and the hatred wins out.

"What makes them worthy of the love she denied us?" you demand of Xaden, not really wanting an answer. If she ever loved you at all, she has long stopped doing so. If there is a reason for it, it doesn't matter. "Why does she get to be happy with a new family while we had to suffer and fight for our lives every day for years?"

Without waiting for a response, you turn your dagger so that instead of the edge of the blade being lined up with the boy's throat, it's the tip that presses against his fragile skin.

For a moment you stare at your mother and wonder how it has come to this. Her desperate pleas mix with the boys' crying and the frantic voices of your squad, fading into the background until all you can hear is the racing of your own heart.

Then the dagger pierces skin. You sink it in to the hilt and yank sideways, slitting his throat wide open in a move you've practiced hundreds of times on the mats of Basgiath's gym. Never would you have thought that this would be how you'd come to use it for real.

Talia wails, lurching forward, and you shove the body into her outstretched arms. A fountain of blood sprays over your hands and your mother.

She cradles the boy to her chest, crying and blubbering words you're too far gone too understand. Maybe it's Hedotic. She's focused entirely on the life you already took, and that's her mistake. She doesn't notice you sidestepping her to get to the other boy, who stands frozen in terror, until it's too late.

He screams in fear as you advance on him, lifting his arms in an attempt to fight you off, but of course he doesn't stand a chance. If he'd ran while you were killing his brother he might have made it into the house. As it is, they're about to be reunited.

Talia screams again, even louder than before. "Simeon!"

She gets to her feet just as you stab the boy straight into the heart. Through the haze of your own tears, you watch as she catches his falling body and sinks to the ground with him, wailing all the while.

There's a blur of movement, and then someone's arms are around you, pulling you back against a strong chest. He holds you tightly, like he expects you to resist, squeezing your arms against your ribcage in a way that would be painful if you weren't so detached from your own body. Someone else takes your bloodstained hand into their own, prying your fingers apart to take away your blade.

You let it all happen, numb to the world.

People are shouting, hectically buzzing around. None of it registers. Your vision blurs, not with tears this time, but simply going unfocused. You barely feel the hands turning you to face away from it all. Now that your anger has run it's course and is wearing off, there's nothing left in you but the deep underlying despair you've long gotten used to.

You vaguely realize it was Xaden holding you as he lets go, stepping to your side and wordlessly leading you toward the ocean, where the dragons are waiting. You hadn't even noticed them returning.

As you walk, your head starts to clear, and you slowly become aware of yourself and your surroundings again. The way the sand shifts under your boots with every step. Warm blood dripping from your fingers, the heavy smell of it mixing with that of the sea. Your brother's hand, strong and steady against your back.

You're glad he doesn't take it away, even when you reach the dragons. If he did, you might just crumble under the weight of what you have done.

You keep your eyes trained on the sand beneath your feet, not wanting to see the horrified looks on everyone's faces. There can be no doubt they are horrified, after what they just witnessed. Even you are disturbed by your own actions. The uncontrollable anger might have been an almost constant companion for most of your life, but never before had it driven you to kill someone.

In the heat of the moment, you'd only seen the boys as tools to hurt your mother, but now it sinks in that they'd been people of their own. Children. Innocent. It hadn't been their fault that Talia replaced you with them. Now they're gone, and you can't take it back. You're not sure you want to, and that scares you most of all.

You look back only once. When you do, Talia still kneels in the blood-soaked sand where you left her, sobbing over the bodies of her youngest sons. Part of you thinks you should have finished the job and killed her too, but another, crueler part buried deep inside you whispers it's just right this way. This way, she'll suffer far more, for far longer. Then, viciously, you wonder if that's true. It was so easy for her to replace you and Xaden with these boys, who's to say she won't replace them just as easily? She probably is not yet too old to get pregnant again. Well, let her. No matter what she does, she'll have to live with the memory of their deaths, of her own helplessness in the face of your righteous fury. You hope it haunts her till the end of her days.

When Xaden stops walking, you do, too. Some of the others are rushing back into the house to get their things, but Xaden doesn't leave your side. Taking your rucksack from you, he digs through it until he finds a towel, and leads you to the edge of the water to clean the worst of the blood off you. Neither of you speaks a word while he does so.

You just stand there, staring into space while the past hours replay in your mind over and over again. The bloodshed could have been avoided, you think numbly, if only you had stayed in the air a few minutes longer. If you hadn't landed just when Sgaeyl roared, the boys would have been safely inside the house, and you would've never even known about them.

Finally you drag your gaze up from the ground to look at your brother. You're not sure what you expect to see on his face — disappointment, anger, horror... some sort of negative reaction to the atrocity you just committed, certainly. But you find neither. Instead, he's gazing at you with affection and worry you do not deserve. The look he gives you is almost like he understands, like he might have done the same. But that's absurd. Xaden would never throw a fit like that, would never let his anger out on innocents. He's the sane one of you two, the responsible one. He never would have risked the mission— Oh gods, the mission!

"I'm sorry," you whimper. "I ruined everything."

He shrugs, like it's not a big deal. As though you broke a tea cup or maybe a window, not ruined international relations forever by murdering innocent children. "They weren't going to be much help anyway."

"What if they know something that could help us and now we'll never know? It'll be my fault if— if—"

...if Xaden fully succumbs to the dark, is what you mean, but can't say so when you're not sure who might hear. As the isle of wisdom, Hedotis is the most likely to know a cure, isn't it? But thanks to you, there's no way any of you will be welcome here again, no way of being given access to their collected knowledge.

Your brother shakes his head, brushing a tear off your cheek. "They don't have magic here, so it's unlikely they know anything that would help us. Even if they did, they didn't give the impression of wanting to share their knowledge, regardless of your behavior. And they don't have an army they could aid us with, either."

He's just saying that to make you feel better.

They don't need to have magic to have information about magic. And information is something the people of Hedotis surely hoard. Aaric, Violet and Xaden are good at this whole diplomacy thing. They would have managed to make some kind of bargain and learn something useful if you hadn't fucked everything up.

They should have left you at home, never let you near anything or anyone important. Your mother was right, you're nothing but trouble. It would've been better for everyone around you if you'd never been born.

"I didn't want to hurt anyone," you whisper. At least you don't think you did. You certainly hadn't wanted to want to hurt anyone, which basically comes down to the same thing... doesn't it? "I just— I was so mad at her, and— They were right there and all defenselessness and—"

"I know," Xaden soothes, running a hand over your hair. "I know, baby. You don't have to explain yourself. I'm not judging you."

"You should, though! I— I'm—"

By now you're crying too hard to continue speaking.

"Shh, it's alright. You're not a monster," he says, somehow guessing what it is you'd meant to say. "You're just upset."

You certainly are, but that doesn't excuse what you've done.

Despite what he might think, Xaden's lack of concern about the matter is far from reassuring. Not that you want him to be mad at you, but his complete disregard for the lives you took makes you wonder if maybe he's already lost more of his humanity than you knew. But no. Surely he's just pretending not to care to your benefit. How could he be a soulless venin when he's looking at you so gently, soothing you just like he had so often when you were children and your parents didn't have the patience to deal with you? Venin or not, he's still a better person than you have ever been.

"Mom was right," you say, and immediately cry harder. Now you've done it, now you've called her that after all. "She always knew something was wrong with me."

"Nonsense," Xaden starts, but you don't let him speak. Now that you've started talking, the words just keep pouring out.

"I shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't be so mad at her, because it was my own fault she left. She never would have left if it wasn't for me. You were perfect even as a child. All I ever did was throw tantrums and cry." You manage a self-depreciating laugh between sobs. "Still do, apparently. I can't even blame her for wanting to get away from me, I'm just sorry you had to suffer for it, too."

Xaden takes your face between both hands, forcing you to look at him, though it's hard to make out his expression through the tears blurring your vision.

Shaking you for emphasis, he says, "It was not your fault. We've been through that a thousand times after she left, baby. There is nothing wrong with you for being emotional."

Calling you emotional is a severe understatement. For as long as you can remember, you've always been too much. Too clingy, too loud, too easily overwhelmed, too quick to cry and rage. Needy and out of control, a disgrace to your family line. Xaden can say it's not true all he wants; you know it is. And now you're a murderer too, on top of all that.

"And for k-killing those kids? Is there nothing wrong with me for that, either?" you ask angrily.

Xaden sighs. "You made a mistake. It happens. If you didn't feel bad about it I'd worry something's wrong with you, but you clearly do. It's okay. We're all capable of bad things."

You don't know what to say to that, so you don't respond.

For a few minutes, Xaden simply lets you cry. He doesn't try to calm you, doesn't scold you for breaking down. He just holds you, providing an anchor in reality and making the occasional soothing sound.

Then, someone says something. You can't make out the words over the sound of your own sobs, but the voice sounds like Violet's, and there's a note of urgency to it that gets your attention. You feel Xaden nod, and then he takes your hands, gently removing them from the death grip you're clutching the back of his shirt with, and holds you at arms length so he can look you in the face.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I need you to calm down, now. At least enough to get on Diogahl and fly. I know you're upset, and you can cry all you want later, but we really need to go. Okay? Think you can do that for me?"

You nod, even though you're not at all sure you'll be able to mount your dragon, let alone keep your seat once you're in the air. You can barely breathe.

Maybe that's okay. Maybe it would be better for everyone if you lose your seat and plummet into the sea. At least then you wouldn't hurt anyone anymore, wouldn't destroy everything you touch, wouldn't constantly disappoint those you love. Maybe they'd be better off without you. Your mother definitely was — or would have been, if you hadn't come back into her life.

"Hey," your brother's gentle voice pierces through the mess of your thoughts. "Breathe, baby. It's okay. If you can't fly—"

"I can," you croak, wiping your face with your sleeve. More tears are still falling, but you manage to trap the sobs inside, at least.

A glance toward your mother's house shows what brought on the hurry to leave: guards are coming. You knew they had to have some, but there's no triumph in being right. Forcing a deep breath, you swing your rucksack onto your back and tighten the straps with shaking hands. Meltdown or no meltdown, you can fly. You have to. You refuse to be responsible for even more bloodshed.

"That's the spirit," Xaden praises, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "Try not to think too much about what happened. Just remember there's more to you than that anger, and that I love you, even if Mom doesn't. You're not evil."

"Okay. I'll try." The guards are getting close; you really have to hurry now if you want to avoid them. "Love you too."

Xaden waits until you've made it up Dioghal's leg; only then does he run to Sgaeyl, taking his seat as the others climb into the air. You get away just in time, and with your brother's words in mind, you hold on tight and don't look back.

[key0-m0ve-al0ng]

It's sad to me that if the Milgram cases were Real with ALL the character traits/situational factors being the Same and we analyzed the people the same way we do the characters, we'd all be mocked and degraded for humanizing these "muderers" (except MAYBE Shidou and Yuno but that's not even beginning to touch the other end of the spectrum; some of the patronizing the fans do of characters reflect their real-life sense of "pity" etc.)

Like obviously people are gonna be wary about actions that lead to Death but tbh ALL THESE MURDERS WERE PREVENTABLE WITH BETTER SOCIETAL STRUCTURES

this wasn't supposed to be a long post but fuck it

Haruka needed a caretaker and a care team who understood his emotional and physical needs; he was neglected and compared instead, left to cope with intensely painful emotions alone.

Yuno is highly isolated and seeks feelings of warmth and closeness in quick gratification, because giving your heart to someone else in a selfish world is dangerous; she needed honesty and realness, and also an economy that doesn't make men's objectification of her an ideal career choice.

Fuuta is also highly isolated and has extremely punitive views; his "community" was built on vitriol instead of good faith.

Muu is a neglected teen who lashed out as a result of the social structures she and her friends perpetuated; a culture of perfectionism and hierarchal notions make desperation to stay "on top" explosive.

Shidou shouldn't live in a world where he has to "deceive" people to help transplant patients, or suffer with guilt over his own family; a culture of death acceptance and genorosity would help him overcome these horrible feelings.

Mahiru had her mind fixated on a highly commercialized/mainstream idea of "love" and "romance," wrapping her self-worth in it to the point where she pulled another down; had her partner been honest with her, in a world where saving face and repression wasn't more important than communicating, they could have been at peace with or without each other.

Kazui was forced by the expectations of others to play a role he never wanted to, and another human's hopes and dreams were wrapped up in this role; his "failure" to be a husband to her as a straight man would not have even been an issue in a world where everyone can explore themselves without shame.

Amane was raised with cult ideology and shown immense levels of violence for a child to comprehend; she should have been protected, and a world where safety is more important than ideology would have saved their whole family.

Mikoto was heavily abused to the point where "survive by any means necessary" is on the table; everyone involved in his "murder" would have been better off showing a lot more compassion to others AND themselves.

Kotoko, though no "tragic backstory" that we know of, has always known that this world and that people in it can be violent and cruel; giving them a taste of their own medicine wouldn't be so bad if the medicine weren't so horrible to begin with.

If this world sought understanding before judgement, Es would not have the weight of 10+ worlds on their shoulders.

But if the world wasn't this way, we wouldn't have Milgram.

So it goes.

[miniwheat77]

Alibi. (141 x Reader HC’s.)

You guys see those edits floating around tik tok with that Alibi song? (you know what I’m talking about.) so here’s a fic inspired by it. !nsfw, violence, mental health issues, death, blood, mentions of suicide, NO MINORS!

Can you remember when the last time was you felt safe in the dark?

All of the ways reader is valuable to 141, more than just as a soldier.

When I’m out of breath, she’s my vitals.

His heart is thudding in his chest. He can’t seem to calm down. Blood rushes from the knife wound in his side and he’s stressed. He knows he shouldn't have taken it out. He knew better and still did it. He doesn't know what he was thinking. He’s taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. He’s alone, his radio is broken and he can’t call for help. He can’t walk because he can’t stop his racing heart.

Just when he thinks he’s going to die alone, you come running. “I got you.” You breathe. Skidding to a stop, lowering yourself onto your knees in front of him. He’s sitting up against a building. You shove his shirt up, grasping his hand and forcing him to hold it over his wound. “Look at me, you’re bleeding too much because you’re too stressed.” You cup his face, forcing him to look at you. “You’re gonna be alright Gaz, look at me. Breathe with me okay?” You take in a deep breath, your imitation tactics will work on him. He stares back.

He takes in a deep breath, the feeling of your hands on him. Knowing that if he dies right now, he won’t die alone. It already calms him.

After a few deep breaths, he’s calming down. His heart has settled a bit more in his chest. You move his hand, seeing that he’s still bleeding but not nearly as bad. “Keep breathing like that Gaz, I’m gonna patch you up the best I can.” He nods his head, keeping the steady intake of oxygen. Medivac was on their way.

You look up at him. Smiling. "It's not happening today. Not like this." He laughs. Wincing slightly. "How are y-you always there ah?" He laughs. You look at him confused. "Anytime anyone is hurt you always know and you always come running." He laughs.

"I just do. You're my brothers. I'll always come running. I got you.” You breathe. “Keep breathing for me. Medivac is coming. I’ll be by your side no matter what alright?”

When I need to rev, she’s my ride or die.

Your teeth are gritted as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. The new recruit doesn't know you're there and she's been a total bitch to him since she started, but would only do it when no one else was around. When he brought it up, she called him a liar. She didn't know you were here and neither did he. "You know you're the weakest link of this entire task force? I mean really? I don't even know why they keep you around." She snorts. You let her dig her own grave but you can see him and he's fuming. Getting more and more angry as she keeps going. You're worried he might actually explode. You need the perfect moment to show yourself.

"You know I could say you hit me and they would kick you off of this base so fast because no one would believe you."

That was your last straw. You start walking into the room, your footsteps can be heard. The moment she sees you, she's got that same look on her face. The crocodile tears start. "Y/N thank god. He was just threatening me." She cries. Making her way toward you. "Is that true?" You look at him. He says nothing. Expecting you to take her side. You've always been ride or die for everyone and he doesn't know what so suddenly changed when she came around. He is clearly pissed.

"Look. Maybe we can talk this out. In private. Let's go outside and talk." You mumble. He rolls his eyes but knows he has no choice. The both of them follow you outside and the moment the door is closed, you grasp her shoulder and spin her around. Before she has time to react you’re punching her in the gut as hard as you can. His eyes widen. "Jesus!" He mumbles. You clamp a hand over her mouth before she can yell out. Backing her into the wall. "Not a word or I'll put a bullet in your fucking head and than there will only be one side to this story." You growl. He's standing off to the side. Surprised at how quickly this had escalated. "Everyone on this task force. Even him. They are my brothers and if you fuck with them, you fuck with me." You have her pinned. Right in the blind spot where cameras don't see it, which now he realizes was your plan all along.

You take another swing at her, busting her nose. Blood rushes from it. "Go to your room and clean up and if you say a fucking word I'll have your head. Understand?" You seethe. She nods her head.

She rushes away from you.

"You knew?" He asks. You snort. "Of course I knew Johnny." You laugh. Shaking the pain from your fist. "I always know."

"Thank god." He sighs. "Not just my word against hers anymore." He sighs. "Nah, we'll talk to Price and get her out of here. Let's go get a drink, calm you down." You rest your hand on his lower back, seeing the weight has clearly been lifted off his shoulders.

When I’m out of faith, she’s my idol.

It's times like this he wishes he hadn't taken on the responsibility of being a Captain in the military. He has to be someone these people look up to. But he doesn't feel worthy. He feels like he means nothing, sometimes he feels he leads them in the wrong directions. Sometimes going as far as getting them injured or killed. He doesn't know how to combat these feelings.

Some days he wants to give up. Wants to call it quits and leave this all behind. But he knows he has people relying on him. Even if he thinks they'd be better off without him. He sighs. Taking a drink of the flask he had in his hand. He's got the gun in his waistband. He shouldn't be having these thoughts. For some reason, his mind keeps travelling to you. Your smiling face despite being in the worst situations known to man. How you always seem to be so happy and keeping a good attitude. He wishes he could be that positive all of the time. He wishes he could be like you in a lot of ways but doesn't understand it.

He hears footsteps and quickly tries to hide the flask until he sees it's Gaz. "Garrick." He nods. "Cap. Something going on?"

"Ah. Same old. Wish I could change things I can't." He snorts. "Feel you there. Y/N asked if I could come find you, says she needs to ask you something." He nods his head. He wonders what you could possibly want this late. He stands up. "That girl. Swear. No matter what she's always so happy." He laughs. "Yeah you got me. I don't know how she does it all of the time." Captain Price laughs. "Wish I could be like her in a lot of ways."

"That's funny. She says the same things about you." He laughs. "Really?" He asks. He nods. "Yeah. When you're not around she tells stories. Talks about how you're basically her hero. Tells everyone all kinds of cool stuff you've done. Swears up and down that you're the best superior she's ever worked for in the military. Says she doesn't know what she'd do if something happened to you." Captain Price laughs. Shocked at hearing that you've said such kind things about him. "Such a sweet girl." He shakes his head. "Thanks Gaz. I'll see you tomorrow morning." He nods. He's going to go find you.

Right after he returns this gun to his nightstand.

I just killed a man, she’s my alibi.

Ghost sits in his house. His hands shake violently. He fucked up. He fucked up bad this time. He doesn't know how he'll talk his way out of this one. The man had gotten slick with him at the bar after what he’d done. He shouldn't have went in the first place. He should've stayed home. He doesn't know who to call, but you're the closest person to him. He's got no other choice.

You come running at the tone in his voice. He's clearly scared about something. When you arrive, you walk right into his house. "Simon?" You ask. He looks up. "What's going on?" He asks.

You had an idea of what it was. You'd seen the news this morning.

"A man was found dead in the back alley of a bar this morning, footage showed a man wearing a skull mask."

"I.. I don't know what got into me. He..." he trails off. "He corned this girl back there and I didn't know what to do. I just hit him. I couldn't stop."

You press your hand to your lips. Silencing him. "Listen to me-" A knock at the door is what startles you. "Go answer it and don't say a word about where you were until I'm down there okay?" You force him to look at you. You grasp the mask on his face and pull it off of him. He nods. Listening. He makes his way to the front door.

You look around the room, you know what you're looking for. You look across his boots and other shoes that he might've been wearing but they're all clean. Everything is all clean until you spot the gloves in his bathroom. You quickly shove them in your pockets and make your way to him. He's let the officer in. "I really was just wondering where you were last night?" He's got a little note pad in his hand and a pencil in the other. "Is something wrong?" You ask. Stepping into the room. "Oh uh.. just routine questions. Nothing serious ma'am." He smiles. "Oh.. we just got back from a black ops mission a few hours ago, did something happen?" You ask. "Uh.. well we're just investigating a death at a bar last night. Folks say they saw a man wearing a skull mask and we heard from around that you sometimes wear them." He looks at Ghost.

"Oh.. uh. I usually only wear those when I'm on missions to hide my identity. Don't want people knowing who I am and retaliating against my family." Simon explains. The officer explains. "Do you guys have a superior I can follow this up with? Just to double check?" He asks. You nod your head. "Yeah of course. I have his phone number right here." You nod. Drawing your phone out of your pocket. You relay the number and Ghost only hopes Captain Price will cover for the both of you. "You mind if I take a peek around?" He asks. "No. Course not." You answer, seeing the fear rise in Simon's eyes.

The officer disappears for a few minutes before coming back. "It doesn't look like I'll have to follow up after all. Someone made report that he had attacked a female and the person acted in defense for her. However we would like them to come forward anyways. So if you happen to hear about any of this, please give me a call." He passes a card to you and you take it. "Thanks officer." You smile. When he leaves, you lock the door behind him. Tugging the gloves out of your pocket. How fast you had acted.

How fast you were willing to cover for a murderer? What other lengths would you go to. To defend the task force?

"You owe me, Riley."

[nquesoxlies]

The whole discourse about Bobby and Chim doing similar things to Buck got me thinking, because on the surface, sure they seem like similar transgressions that weren't seen as nearly as bad/forgiven more easily. However after some thought - in my head at least - they are vastly different situations. Here are some thoughts I had (sorry if it gets long, i've been stewing lol).

Lets take Chim punching Buck first. One of the reasons this was so shocking when audiences first watch it is because this is TOTALLY out of character for Chimney. Chimney is rarely an agressor, and him letting go and wailing on Buck was a one time event that showed just how devastated he was at his partner (who is suffering from post partum depression/psychosis) being missing. We don't see it on screen but I am a firm believer that when Chim got back, he and Buck had a conversation offscreen that included an apology on both ends. Obviously Buck didn't deserve violence, and he's definitely always going to side with Maddie, but he also wasn't totally innocent in the whole situation. In the end I think they worked it out between the two of them and it can definitely be classed as a one off incident that isn't going to happen agagin.

Now Bobby. A little less violent than Chim, but more along the lines of what happened with Eddie. Here is where I feel they differ. The Bobby that shoved Buck in season 1 is a VASTLY different person/character than the Bobby we grew to love over 8 seasons of 911. The first half of the first season we see Bobby grow and evolve from a suicidal, compartmentalized, loner - to the father figure he became to Buck. Buck was being an asshole kid and Bobby (pre-opening up to everyone Bobby) was an ass back. Did he need to shove him? No, and again violence is never ok. But is this something that he grew out of as he allowed himself to open up, love again and forgive himself? Yes. He grew as a character and thats why we love him so much. This growth starts in the begins episodes and continues through season 1 (and even more so, though to a smaller degree in the rest of the series). As a side note this is also why fans of BuckTommy are happy to "forgive" Tommy for any of his transgressions in the begins episodes. Because his character learned and showed growth.

Now... lets take Eddie. This incident of shoving Buck and almost hitting him is NOT a one off incident. This is just a latest incident in a pattern of behavior that goes back 7 seasons. This is "fight club" Eddie, this is "tell Bobby to fuck off" Eddie, this is "punch walls while my 10 year old is in the other room scared out of his mind" Eddie. Eddie has had anger management issues from very early on and he's never taken responsibility for them and he's not grown at all. He shirks responsibility at every turn, when it comes to relationships (romantic and friendships), family and Chris. He's more importantly for this example shown a long standing pattern of being a shit friend to Buck who is consistently putting him down and taking advantage of his friendship. And to cap it all off - while again violence is never an answer and shouldn't be excused - in this case Buck did ABSOLUTLEY nothing wrong. He literally has been sad because Bobby died and is trying to support his friends. And then he was also sad because his best friend didn't tell him a) he got a job in el paso and b) he was going back to el paso. Neither of those things in any way should have resulted in Eddie tearing him apart with his words and then shoving him and almost hitting him. And the argument has been made that "Eddie is grieving too". Yes he is - but that still is no reason to resort to violence. It was a totally over the top reaction, both his words (which were super abusive too) and his physical actions. And then to top it all off he does what Eddie always does - he doesn't take responsibility. He calls in Chris and Pepa to clean up his mess and he can go back to being Bucks "best friend" whithout so much as an "I'm sorry". And you know what? Its going to happen again.

Lastly - from the fandom side of things - everyone condemned the first two things when they happened as fucked up. (Well at least the Chimney one, I imagine we can all look back at the Bobby one since it was super early on and upon rewatch say that its definitely out of character). Thats one of the reasons they stick out so much - because everyone was like "damn, that was crazy". For at least half the fandom today all I've seen is some people totally excusing Eddie's behavior!! I love Chim to death but I don't think he was justified in hitting Buck and I'm glad they moved past it and it didn't become a regular occurrence. If Chim was out there punching people left and right every season I'd like his character a lot less too.

All of this to say - I'm done with Eddie Diaz. I'm upset that it looks like he may be back next season, but I will just deal and enjoy the other storylines. But for me his character doesn't get to come back from this, it was the final straw in a long history of being an ass. If you got this far thanks for reading and hopefully I'm not clogging your ask box with this insanely long read!!!

Yes! I love this! Thank you for sharing your thoughts ❤️

[daryldove]

Mommy Issues

kinktober #8: bondage

nsfw, sub!daryl x fem!reader, mommy kink

Stepping into the cold, damp room, your prisoner looks up at you through his hair. 

“Daryl. That's your name, right?” He doesn't even blink. You return his silence with an exasperated sigh before motioning for your guards to leave. Only once the door clicks shut do you approach him, the echo of your steps slicing through the silence.

Not wanting to immediately resort to violence, you crouch in front of him. “Where are you from, Daryl? Got a camp nearby? A group, maybe?” Still nothing. You didn't exactly have anything wrong with him or his people existing nearby, but you at least wanted to know about it, so his refusal to cooperate only pisses you off. 

“If you don't work with me, things aren't going to be easy.” You stand up after still receiving no answer. There's a small table shoved in the corner of the room lined with tools that you peer at. You didn't exactly want to hurt him, but you didn't have a choice if it's the only way to get him to cooperate. Maybe scaring him would be enough. You wrap your fingers around the handle of a small knife and bring it over to him. 

Daryl's eyes are glued onto the weapon as you stand inches away from him, his expression remains stoic. “Talk to me, before I'm forced to do something we both won't like.” His gaze flicks up to yours, eyes almost challenging your bluff. The knife tip falls to his thigh, barely even pressing against him. You stare at each other for what feels like minutes. When you finally speak again, your tone is as authoritative as you can force it to be. “Talk.” 

You add pressure against his thigh as he doesn't answer, only pulling a very slight grimace from him that you would've missed if you weren't assessing him so carefully. This whole situation was really starting to irritate you, never before had you met someone so stubborn. You look down to press the blade against him harder when something else catches your eye, making you immediately freeze. Daryl's cheeks grow red once he realises where you're looking. You stand there for what feels like minutes, completely speechless as you stare in surprise at the prominent bulge in his jeans. That's… Very unexpected. 

You swallow. In embarrassment? Discomfort? You're not completely sure. But you're not disgusted. Pulling the knife away from his thigh, you step back to observe him. From his ashamed expression to his broad shoulders, the way he barely has room to even twitch in the tight bindings. His lap is perfectly on display for you. He's gorgeous, something you didn't allow yourself to linger on that. Until now. The knife is returned to its place on the table. Your thoughts are running wild, despite how you know they shouldn't. Everything about this is far from right. 

Daryl's cheeks turn a shade darker when you grab his chin, forcing him to look up, a gentle hand brushing the hair from his eyes. You were curious about what exactly caused the bulge in his jeans, eventually forming the courage to push the question out your lips. “What was it? The knife?” He shakes his head reluctantly, his jaw clenching as if its taking everything he has to hold back. Still shy, then. Your fingers trace down his thigh and over the small cut you made earlier. Maybe you didn't need violence at all. 

“Will you cooperate if I... touch you?” There's a heavy look in your eyes, almost like he's glaring. But it's deeper than that, you realise. A guttural desperation. He looks like a man who's been starved of pleasure his whole life. Of attention. His breathing quickens slightly as your hand lingers over his belt, before finally unbuckling it painfully slowly. 

“Please…” It's so quiet you almost miss it. Daryl's voice is strained and raspy. Hesitant. He tenses with anticipation, a breathy whine forcibly escaping his lips as you pull his cock free. Your gaze switches between watching his expression and watching how good your hand looks wrapped around him.

He grunts as you squeeze before pumping him all the way to the tip. “That's it…” You whisper, admieing the look of pure pleasure on his face has you enamoured and craving more. You kneel between his thighs, bringing your tongue to lap up the precum dripping down the head of his dick. You can feel the way his breathing hitches, how his wrists yank against the bindings and his thigh clenches beneath for palm. It's been so long since he's been touched like this, and something about you has him unable to hold back.

“F-Fuck, mommy…” You narrowly stop yourself from reacting, focusing on taking more of him into your mouth as your thoughts race. You never imagined you would like that as much as you do. And he barely seems to register he's said it.

Daryl is a mess under you, trying—failing—to thrust up into your mouth. His whines and grunts are breathy and desperate, sending waves of chills up your spine. “So close… Please mommy, let me come.” His raspy voice shakes as he begs, head falling back in ecstasy as his climax builds fast. You lift your mouth off him, admiring the way he whimpers pathetically in response. He's trying to hold himself back, but how can he when he's already crumbled so far. He’s been pent up for too long, and although he wishes it could last, he can't stop chasing it.

“Calm down, sweet boy, I got you.” You rub your thumb reassuringly over the inside of his thigh before dragging your tongue over his cock again. You feel it twitch your hand where it's wrapped around the base. Any previous plan to interrogate him is long gone, now all you want see Daryl completely melt. To give all the power to you. 

You lower your mouth inch by inch until you take all of him, humming in approval as he tenses. You already know you've pushed him over. The last of the dam breaks, his orgasm so overwhelming he can only release choked whispers. “Please, mommy… plea- please…” He releases into your mouth with a guttural grunt, practically sobbing as you pull off him once more. The sight of him— body strained, head rolled back and so exposed—ignites something in you.

You don't waste a second to climb onto Daryl’s lap, a knuckle grazing over his cheek as he tries to recover. Your eagerness to soothe him doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated. But he still can't push down the lingering distress he feels from being so vulnerable, despite how confusingly right it also feels. You comb your fingers through his hair as he buries his head into your neck. Neither of you move for a while after.

[rei-ismyname]

Havok and Cyclops dysfunction part 1

Hellions was a bit of a goldmine for Summers family drama. Alex had a bit of an episode and reverted to his AXIS inversion persona (not sure if that's the right word, but it seems to have triggered ongoing mental health issues, primarily violent disassociation.) He would have killed a bunch of humans if LOGAN didn't stop him.

Scott turns on big brother mode immediately, which is understandable, and the first time we see any hint of him standing against the Quiet Council. It's a little problematic - what makes Alex exempt from the same treatment as any other mutant? Scott implies he'd violently prevent the council from putting him in the pit if he killed people. He's right to object, as this is a complex issue, a health issue. That applies to everyone else in the dock too, though. For now, he's only willing to stand against injustice that affects those he loves nepotistically. Then fucking Sinister speaks up.

It's so very obvious that Sinister is arguing in bad faith. He already has too much power and any proposal giving him power over the vulnerable is indefensible. Everyone here should be aware of how much trauma this piece of shit has inflicted on Scott, Alex, and many more. Alex kinda thinks he deserves it, though he'll waver on that. Everyone on the council knows exactly what Sinister is, and I think not being more proactive with minimising the harm he could cause and making him redundant were massive failures. They need him for his genetic database and they'd prefer to not have him as an enemy, but he was given too much rope.

Sinister's proposal is The Hellions - the problem children of Krakoa sent on missions that reward their antisocial violence. After Greycrow executes Empath for messing with their heads, Havok argues he shouldn't be here. Kwannon disagrees and flags Alex's 'demons' - despite him coping okay with being at ground zero of Summers brother trauma. His 'demons' disagree too.

In a scenario practically designed to destabilise Alex, Maddie Pryor is there effectively utilising girl power. It's hard to tell how much of a factor magic is here but Alex slips into the role of Goblin Prince quickly. Maddie is pissed off - at Krakoa, at Scott, at Jean, at Sinister most of all. Angry at being used and discarded while her tormentor is rewarded, angry that they made a mutant nation for everyone except her. She plans to take Alex's head and throw it at their feet before overrunning Krakoa with an army of demons and cloned Marauders. Sadly, she gets shot, again.

Alex takes her words to heart and advocates for her resurrection. It's not the only reason, but the point is moot because the council votes no. Scott tried as well, though we only have his word to go off. I like to think he would, but he's not very supportive of Alex here. It's a far cry from his willingness to fight the council on his behalf. I guess a soldier will find violence easier than emotional labour. Honestly, it's difficult to tell where Scott is at here. He's incredibly family oriented in other books, but the good times are always easier than the bad times. This tracks with my experience of needing support from people and not getting it.

A good while later, Mastermind traps the Hellions in illusions of their deepest fantasies and desires. Alex's is ... interesting. Fantasy Maddie is nothing like RL Maddie, but she wants him and only him. That he's about to fuck a robot is grimly humorous and a little sad.

That illusion doesn't last, as it was only there to be yanked away and inverted. I'm skeptical that Alex would find this unpleasant, but it says something that fantasy Maddie is pliable and easygoing. 'Nightmare' Maddie has all the power and is an explicit callback to Inferno.

The illusion starts to break down which Alex interprets as Maddie punishing him by leaving. He practically shouts his insecurities and anxieties at Kwannon and Greycrow. They're not judging him, but he's not fooling anyone. Alex isn't scared of being alone and has no thoughts about being a budget Scott Summers. Totally.

Alex still thinks he doesn't belong in the Hellions, and he's right. Nobody does. However, he's ashamed to be associated with them in public. After all they've been through it's a dick move. Orphan Maker and Greycrow are definitely talking about themselves, but their comments fit Alex pretty well too.

This last one isn't really on theme - I just think it's hilarious. She did indeed eat his hands and him apologising for it is perfect.

I didn't really plan to explore Scott and Alex's relationship here, I just started off with Havok scans I found interesting. As I was thinking of a title, some theme that links these moments, it occurred to me that their relationship gets a lot of focus on Krakoa. It's spread out over half a dozen books or so, but that's for part two. They definitely have issues though - oh yes, and being around Sinister doesn't help.

[mendessi]

things i say when you sleep | chapter six

multi chapter bodhi durran x fem!oc

word count: 3.5k

summary: Ania crosses the Parapet into the Riders Quadrant, and finally meets with the marked children of those who got her parents and brother killed. Bodhi Durran is quick to remind her that she's marked too.

tags: slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, mentions of death, she falls first he falls harder, majority canon compliant, some canon deviance, eventual smut, angst with a happy ending, additional tags to be added

AO3 masterlist

four | five | six | seven | eight

Things turned strange very quickly after Threshing. 

Between Violet's assassination attempt and Liam being moved into our squad (which I don't mind), everyone is growing testy as signets start manifesting amongst the first years.

"Until you control your anger, I will not channel," Gleigeal tells me. He's not wrong and I can't blame him. Every time I feel like I'm making any sort of progress, something sets me back and I have to start all over again. 

From my observations, there's also something peculiar happening between Violet and Xaden that doesn't have to do with their dragons being mated. I can't pinpoint exactly what, but I trust myself to figure it out soon. 

Training continues with Bodhi, and occasionally Liam when I end up in the gym at the same time as him and Violet. There's hardly any time for the mat anymore which is slightly disappointing. It's nice having him closer and despite Violet's temper tantrum over having him shadow her, he's fitting into our squad quite nicely. 

Things between Bodhi and I remain strictly professional. I meet him in the gym, we beat the ever-loving shit out of each other and don't speak except for when he lectures me on how to be better. Something in me still resents him for what he said to me the day after Threshing. 

You don't exactly make it easy to care about you.

He knows he shouldn't have said it and respects my right to be pissed by not trying to make me let him in anymore. 

Until he and Xaden decide to stop keeping me in the dark, then there will forever be a wall placed between them and my ability to trust them. 

Challenges resume and Ridoc and I are sitting next to each other on the bench when Jack finally challenges Violet. My stomach drops and I look at Liam as he goes pale. 

"Absolutely not," I'm quick to my feet. 

"No fucking way," Ridoc says as he rises to his feet. 

The three of us flank Violet as we accompany her to the mat and my heart is racing. It's no secret that Jack wants her dead, but the fact that this challenge was approved? 

"Tell me I can break the promise," Liam says to Violet and my eyes widen as I look at him.

"You knew?" My jaw hangs open slightly. 

Liam sighs and looks away from me and back to Violet. I'm shocked that he hadn't alerted Xaden considering if she dies on that mat so will he. The idea of Xaden dying makes my heart pound with anxiety. 

Ridoc and I share the same anxious glance as Liam sprints out of the gym with Violet's approval.

"I consider you a friend now, Violet. Do me a favor and don't make me grieve you," I say to her as she steps onto the mat. 

"A friend huh?" She looks back at me with a small smile, "How many months did that take?"

As the match begins, I'm hopeful that Violet will win. She's quick, and he's nothing but angry. He looks like how I feel, and the longer I watch, the more I see myself in Jack Barlowe. The thought makes me grimace, but it's slightly true. The only difference between him and me is that I put strategy behind each blow. He's just thrashing around, hoping he lands his hits. He has no plan, just one end game: kill Violet.

Your anger issues will get you killed.

I see the truth behind that statement at this moment. 

Anger can be a tool strategically used in battle, but it cannot be the key to winning. I'd been using it incorrectly. Letting it take over every inch of my being, so much so that sometimes I'd see red or blackout and not be aware of my actions til after the match. Anger is deadly if you let it consume you. 

Ridoc, Emetterio, and I all run to the mat in an attempt to tear Jack off of Violet. He's using his power and Violet looks as if she's about to pass out, but I'm sure if she passes out she'll die. Ridoc and Emetterio yank their hands back but I'm already on the move. The thought of Violet dying at the hands of Jack has me enraged and I grab his shoulder despite seeing Ridoc and Emetterio pull away in pain. I grab Jack's arm and pull back just as they had.

The pain is instant and I pull away, my arm vibrating with a throbbing power. I fall backward, but I'm back to my knees just as he releases Violet, his hands flying to his throat. Once he falls to the mat, I crawl to Violet, resting my hands on her shoulders. I can still feel the power lightly thrumming through her but I don't let go. 

"Breathe, Sorrengail, breathe," Ridoc says once he reaches us. 

I fall back onto my hands with a sigh of relief as Xaden and Liam burst into the gym. His eyes meet mine and I simply nod as he scoops her up into his arms and carries her out.

Two days later, I'm stretching on the mat in the gym waiting for Bodhi. He's annoyingly late which isn't typical for him.

"My time is valuable," I say when I hear the door open. When I look up I see Xaden.

I take a deep breath and stand up, placing my hands on my hips. 

"Good to see you, little Alistair," He says and my eyes follow his figure from the door to the edge of the mat. "Let's go for a walk." 

"Wingleader," I greet, the formality strange, "Where's Bodhi."

I'd barely seen or encountered Xaden in the past couple of months. I don't doubt that Bodhi updated him on my well-being since our training started. It made sense to me that Bodhi was my Liam. 

"Busy," He lies. "Let's go." 

This isn't a battle I'm winning so I don't bother arguing. I walk at his side as he leads me through the corridors of the main campus and eventually outside into the cold. It stings my cheeks and I have to clench my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. We cross the courtyard and head toward the dorms. 

He opens the door to his room after unwarding and steps to the side to let me in. I stop in the hallway and give him a puzzled look.

"Why?" I question.

"Just get in the room, Ania." He sighs and again, I don't argue. 

His room is so much bigger than mine and rightfully so, he is a wingleader after all. He nods his head to the table in the corner and doesn't say anything as I sit in one of the chairs. He sits next to me and takes a deep breath.

"Why am I here, Xaden?" I ask, folding my hands in my lap. 

"I've been preoccupied with a lot of things and haven't done my best to be there for you," He says and I can tell it's hard for him to release the words. 

"I don't need you to be there for me," I sigh. "I thought we were past this. We're not kids anymore, I don't need you guys looking out for me." 

"I'm responsible for you," His hands are folded in front of him as he speaks. "Between you and Sorrengail, I'm stretched thin."

Liam and Bodhi had both told me that the scars on Xaden's back were his liability for all one hundred and seven of the Marked ones, including myself. It was hard to hate him after that, even harder when I remember what a huge chunk of my life he'd been a part of.

"I know that, but I'm not gonna betray Navarre or anything," I say. "If you get that impression from me then-"

"I swore to Beckett," He cuts me off, sitting up in his chair. "While he died in my arms, I swore to him that I'd keep you safe. I didn't know what that meant then, but it's different now. I am responsible for you and I've done a shit job at holding up my promise. I'm sorry." 

"That wasn't fair of Beckett to make you promise that while he was dying," I say and my eyes threaten to water. I never knew that Xaden had held him while he died. They were only sixteen, I can't imagine how traumatic that must've been. 

"He didn't make me do anything," Xaden sighs, "I made that promise. I made it because you are the closest thing I have to a sister and I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you." 

His words sit on my shoulders and I look down at my hands as I try to process them. It takes everything in me to fight the tears.

"You showed up and I was thankful that you were here. That I could look after you now. But you'd developed this hard exterior and made it so hard. You're upset and you blame us for what happened that day, and I can't be mad at you for that," His eyebrows furrow and he leans back in his chair again, "We've thought about it a lot and it's not fair for you to be in the dark anymore." 

You don't exactly make it easy to care about you.

The promises Xaden made, he meant to Beckett. To take care of me and make sure I lived. I'd done nothing but act like a brat since crossing the Parapet when all he and Bodhi were trying to do was care.

"Xaden," My voice comes out as a whisper and I shake my head, "I'm sorry."

"You have no reason to be sorry," He says firmly. "You were just a kid, we all were."

"The wingleader is correct," Gleigeal says, "Your grief overcame everything else. You should not feel sorry for behaving in a way you believed to be right."

"The next meeting, you will be at. Promise." He says and I nod slowly.

"Meeting?" I'm confused. 

"Bodhi will touch more on it," He says. 

Xaden and I sit in his room for at least another hour just... talking. He asks about the family I was fostered with and if they treated me right. He questions me on just about everything from the day we were separated to the day he saw me cross the Parapet. I fill him in on the last six years and we even talk for a moment about a shared memory from Aretia. It's nice. It's like how we used to be, just grown up. I wonder what the younger versions of ourselves would think if they could see us now. 

Xaden walks me back to my room and stops in front of the door. 

"Thank you for talking with me Ania," He says and I nod holding my arm out. 

"I should be the one thanking you," I reply with a small smile as he grips my forearm. I do the same to him and a small smile tugs at his lips. The first one I've seen since coming here. 

As I lie in bed with my thoughts, everything seems so much clearer. Now, I just need to talk to Bodhi. I take a deep breath and look up at the ceiling.

"You learned valuable lessons this week, Ania," Gleigeal says and I nod knowing that he's right.

"Isn't that the truth," I sigh.

"You're ready," He replies. 

Squad Battles approaches quickly and I feel just about useless without a signet. Just about everyone has manifested their signets except for Violet and I. 

I'm impatient as ever, wondering when my signet will manifest and if it doesn't will I die a brutal death like the other first years. There's one week until the first day of Squad Battles and all I can think about how nice it would be to participate with a signet. 

Bodhi has been busy helping prepare his own squad for Squad Battles, so our time has been limited. I admire his dedication from afar, I would never be fit for leadership. 

Ridoc and Liam just left the gym and I'm finishing up my stretching when Bodhi enters the gym. 

"You have time for me now?" I tease as I stand up, "I was about to leave." 

"You're in a good mood," Bodhi says as he approaches me. 

The usual anger I'd feel towards seeing him is nothing but a distant feeling. Ever since my talk with Xaden, it feels like there's a weight off my shoulders. 

I shrug my shoulders in response, "I can go one more round." 

He pauses like he's waiting for me to start an argument with him, "Really?"

"Yeah, why not? We haven't had time to talk recently," I pull my right arm across my chest to stretch my shoulder. Liam had me in a hold with my arm placed between my shoulder blades and it was still sore. 

"You want to talk?" He stretches his own arms out, getting ready for our mini-match. 

I get into position with my hands up as he does the same, "Would you rather argue?" 

"Who are you and what have you done with Ani Alistair?" He laughs as he steps onto the mat. 

We're on round three and I've put him onto his back each time. 

He's bouncing on his feet, taking a deep breath when I get into position again. 

"Do you remember those stories that Xaden's dad used to tell us?" He asks as he swings at me. 

"About the venin?" I almost laugh but duck under another one of his swings. I charge at him, my arms wrapping around his torso as I try to take him down. He shoves me off of him easily and I stumble backward. "They're why I was scared of the dark forever. You really wanna bring that up right now?"

"What do you think the world would look like if they were real?" He moves in on me this time and when I swing, he grabs my arm, spinning me around so my back is to his chest. His forearm crosses my chest as he holds me in place, the other on top of my head. He has me in a headlock and is standing still so I can get my way out of it. 

My hands grip his forearm and I maneuver my feet to try and free myself, "I don't know? Ugly and gray, probably." 

There was a time when I was convinced venin were real, but until now I honestly forgot about those stories. I believed in them because I had been wholly convinced that I'd heard my father say so at one of the secret meetings we'd caught our parents at. As I grew up, I realized that that was just a coping mechanism and I wasn't remembering the memory correctly. So many of my memories felt faded and foggy and I had a hard time dissecting what was real and what wasn't. 

"Why are you asking me this?" I manage to get my feet behind him and elbow him three times in the ribs. I grab his thigh and pull his leg out from under him, he's still got me in a hold so we both go down. He lets go of me and I sit up, one leg on either side of his waist as I pin his arms to the ground above his head.

"What did I tell you about this position?" He asks. 

"It's vulnerable, I know." I blow the hair out of my face as I look down at him. "Why are you asking me about venin?"

My brows furrow as I study his features. He always had a hard time lying to me when we were kids. One time I couldn't find Beckett and all I had to do was pout and bat my eyelashes and he told me that he was out hooking up with a girl. 

He sighs and lets his head hit the mat, "Fuck, Ani." 

"Tell me," I say insistently as I let go of his hands.

We're not kids anymore and I know that batting my eyelashes won't get any answers out of him. 

"I was just asking," He says and I glance down at where his hands rest lightly against the sides of my thighs. My breath hitches but I force myself to focus. 

I have reasons for the way I handle things when it comes to you, Ani.

I replay his words in my head and understanding is on the tip of my brain. His bringing venin up was intentional. 

"Think harder," Gleigeal says and it's the final push I need. 

All of the secret meetings, the dangers beyond the border, Navarre withholding information from the public. The reason Aretia wanted to secede. It's all in front of me now, clear as day. 

Fen Riorson was trying to warn everyone. My dad was trying to be on the right side of history and my mother would've rather let innocent people die. 

"Is it true? Did you know?" I ask down my bond. 

"That is something the Colonel and I disagreed on," He says and I feel nauseous.

My grandmother was a fucking traitor. 

She knew. Everyone in charge here knows. And they razed Aretia and killed our parents just so they couldn't share the truth. 

The attacks that we've been going over in Battle Brief.

"Oh my Gods," I whisper as I climb off Bodhi. I climb to my feet brushing the sweat off my palms on my pants as I take deep breaths. 

"Ani, wait. Let's talk about this," Bodhi reaches for my arm and I pull away from him, running a hand through my hair. 

"Talk about what? What is there to talk about? You're telling me that dark wielders are across the borders and there's nothing we can do about it?" I place my hands on my hips, trying to control my anxiety. I hadn't had an anxiety attack in so long, not since the first year after my parents died, but it was looming right now. 

"Keep your voice down," He says stepping closer to me. He puts his hand over my mouth and looks around to ensure we're alone in the gym. It's reaching curfew so we're the only ones left in here. "Come to my room, we'll talk there where it's safe." 

"No!" I scream and pull away when he reaches for me again. Anxiety crackles in my chest and my breathing picks up more. "They're all dead because-" 

The feeling slowly spreads from my chest, through my shoulders, and down to my fingertips and I realize it's not anxiety it's power. 

"Now is not the time to lose your control, Ania," Gleigeal says sharply but the panic fills me regardless. 

This is officially where my power backlashes and I am in no way ready for it. The mage lights behind Bodhi flicker but I hardly notice as I make my way back to the floor. I sit on my knees and close my eyes as my hands vibrate with power.

"Ani, no," Bodhi is on his knees next to me and he cups my face in his hands, "Breathe. You have to ground." 

I haven't cried since the day my dad died, but when his hands touch my cheeks I'm made aware of the stream of tears. 

Everything is a lie. We were sent off to this college as a punishment for our parents trying to expose the truth. And we were expected to graduate and go out there and fight this war and keep up the lie. Beckett is dead. My parents are dead. Venin are real. 

"Ground, Ani," Bodhi holds my face in front of his and forces me to look at him, "Focus. I'm right here." 

"You have to go," I whisper frantically as my hands wrap around his wrists.

I witnessed Ridoc almost get frozen to death when another first-year's power backlashed, I will not be the reason Bodhi gets hurt or dies.

"I'm right where I need to be," He says calmly, but I can see the worry behind his eyes. 

The power rattles my body as I cry out, my hands clinging to his tunic. 

"I'm right here, Ani," He says, one of his hands brushing the hair from my face. 

I see the strings of Gleigeal's power flickering in and out of my vision and I do my best to grasp them. I try to shape them into something, anything. The flickering of Gleigeal's power is slowly burning brighter and brighter and I fight to contain it. 

"It will be okay," He says down my bond but I can feel his worry, "Don't fight it." 

I follow Bodhi's breathing and ignore the glass shattering behind us. Bodhi pulls me to his chest, using his body to shield mine from what I'm not sure, but I hold onto him tightly, like he's the only thing that can save me from what's about to happen. 

It pounds against my skin and I stop fighting it allowing it to crawl its way out with a primal scream ripping through my chest.

Every mage light in the room shatters all at once. 

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