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

[kvietka]

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

[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."

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[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

Part One

Part Two

Part Four

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 questioned angrily.

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 her 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 house, 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. Even unconscious your face looked so sad and your body looked tired; thin, with random bruises scattered about your limbs and dirty looking hickies on your chest.

Had you let Barry do this? Surely not. 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 any real feelings for. 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. 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.

JJ's blood boiled, so much so that he felt himself getting physically hotter, his teeth grinding and his fists clenching. 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? Either way, there was no way you could've rightfully consented to doing anything sexual with anyone. Not when you were clearly out cold.

"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. Then he decided to creep around the back and listen in through another window, hoping that he'd overhear something to help with his plan. 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 asked in a mocking tone.

"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.

"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, a deep panic settling into his chest. You would be mortified to know that Rafe Cameron had been ogling your exposed form, let alone the potential that Barry might actually let him sleep with you. He ran back around to the other window and banged on it one more time in hopes 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. He had to cause a distraction.

With a rush of 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 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. Rafe scoffed something bigoted about the Pogues before stamping over to the van, knocking so hard on the window that he was almost punching it. JJ would've been glad for his friends arrival if not for the pistol in Barry's hand.

"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?"

"Didn't do shit? Look at the dent! You're paying for this Kie - since I know you're the only one 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-"

"What are you gonna do? Huh?" Rafe cut her off with an intimidating smirk, stepping so that he was inches from her face. "You can't do shit."

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, though 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 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. Once he was in, he instantly rushed to your side, gently shaking your shoulder in an attempt to wake you up again.

"Y/N it's me. We've got to go." He whispered, only getting a groan back from you.

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... 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 kissed in front of you to his recent 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.

He looked around the room in a panic, picking up your shirt from the floor and lifting your head so that he could pull it over your body. Your body weight was resisting his actions, dead and heavy, but when he found your underwear and started to pull them up your legs, you finally flinched awake - even if it was only slightly.

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

"It's me - JJ. We're gonna get you out of here." He said quietly, pulling your panties up so that you were covered and then slipping his arms underneath you to hoist you up bridal style.

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

"JJ?" You whimpered, struggling to keep your eyes open.

"It's me baby. It's me." He repeated in a hushed tone. "You're safe now."

Then he heard the sound of the van starting outside and knew that he had to be faster. 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. He quickly put you back down on the bed.

"No. No. Don't leave me." You choked out, your breathing becoming rapid with panic. It broke JJ's heart to hear.

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

As soon as you were out of his sight, 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.

He 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 also quickly noticed his friend too, instantly stopping the Twinkie from reversing and jumping out again as he watched JJ in disbelief. The scene moved so quickly that none of the Pogue's were able to immediately process it.

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 punches into Rafe's side whilst Pope picked up Barry's pistol from the floor and kicked his body a few times.

"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 would make him suffer another time. In that moment, Barry deserved his attention much more.

"Get the fuck out of here." JJ eventually hissed.

Rafe did exactly that, backing away quickly to his truck and speeding off. The blonde turned his attention to Barry now, who was groaning as he slowly arose from the ground. Without hesitation, JJ bent down to his level and started to throw punches, blinded by fury and bloodlust. His nose cracked first, then his cheekbone, then his eye socket. JJ 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 found you in the house and lifted you into the Twinkie during JJ’s raging, stood and watched for a moment and then decided to stop his friend, worried for your welfare despite enjoying the show very much.

"Come on JJ, that's enough."

Barry's face was an unrecognisable bloody mess, but he couldn't stop.

"J, you're gonna kill him."

That didn't matter.

"We need to get Y/N out of here. Let's go!"

The sound of your name did halt him. His knuckles were bruised and his chest was panting.

"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."

"I know, I know. But he's not worth the prison sentence, J." John B struggled to bite back his own rage but managed to do so, speaking in a soft tone as he tried to calm his friend. "We'll make him suffer, don't you worry. But right now we need to go."

The blonde boy finally nodded in agreement, feeling somewhat dizzy from the adrenaline as he stood up and made his way to the Twinkie. Once he saw you inside, your half dressed body curled up on Kie's lap as you cried, the guilt came back to him in an agonising gut punch.

"This entire thing had been practically all his fault." Was all he could think. "From the relapse to this. He'd fucked you 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. As John B had said; it wasn't worth getting a prison sentence for murder, but that didn't mean he couldn't find some other random people to fight.

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

[blitz0hno]

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."

[hp-hcs]

violent stalker mattheo riddle.... each guy and girl readers ever spoken to? damn wdym they showed up beaten up the next day and they dont even know who did it ????

i feel like he'd also get violent with reader and ykw .... im so insane id let him beat me bloody .

"i'm doing this because you're not listening to me, sweetheart. how else am i supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn't do?"

hey uh, future requesters: giving me a line of dialogue or smth to build around means i’ll finish your request WAY faster. tysm anon 😭

requests open

prometheus — yandere! insane! stalker! mattheo riddle x gn! reader

wow! there’s a fuck ton of really fucking dark violence, murder, torture, manipulation, abduction, and horrific domestic abuse in this! please be careful if you choose to read this!

1.5k words!

i jokingly took a sociopathy test with a couple of friends earlier today and i scored like really high so uh dunno how to feel about that

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Am I…am I in trouble or something, Professor…?”

Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned and she looked at you over the rim of her glasses. She folded her hands together neatly where they rested on her desk before speaking. “Not for now, no. Relax a bit, dear. The law states that you’re innocent until proven guilty.”

“That’s not- that doesn’t really make me less nervous.”

The professor opened her mouth to speak again when a chime alerted her to an incoming floo call.

With a wave of her wand, the flames flared green and a genial-looking man stepped out of the fireplace. He brushed soot off of his robes and grinned brightly as soon as he caught sight of the professor.

“Minerva! Lovely to see you again. I’m afraid Quincy isn’t going to make it. Corbett is sick, poor thing, so he’s staying home with him today,” the man gushed, evidently quite close with the professor.

“Oh, send them both my well wishes, Hez, dear. Anyway, this is the student you asked to see, Y/n L/n,” she motioned towards you.

The man gave you a cheery grin—far too cheerful for this early in the morning—and held out his hand for you to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Mx. L/n. I’m Auror Hezekiah Ackerly. I’d just like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright?”

You dubiously shook his outstretched hand, a bit put off by his bright grin that never seemed to dim. “Sure.”

“Wonderful!” the Auror pulled the second office guest chair closer and sat down across from you. “Let’s get the easy questions out of the way. Do you have many friends? Or maybe a small, close-knit group of people you regularly hang out with?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. The fuck kind of question was this?

“Uh, I guess a close-knit group?”

Auror Ackerly summoned a notebook and quill, writing quickly. “Who belongs to this group?”

Seriously, this felt more like being at a psychiatrist’s office than being questioned by a government official.

“Er, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger? And sometimes Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood?”

Seriously, what was going on?

“And do you have any…romantic relationships? Any troubles or issues there?”

Your eyes narrow. “What’re you playing at?”

“Cormac McLaggen was found dead in the Forbidden Forest this morning,” Professor McGonagall cut to the chase, interrupting Auror Ackerly. “You were the last known person to have spoken to him, and several of your peers attest that they heard an argument break out between the two of you last night after dinner.”

Your eyebrows shot up and your jaw dropped. “Dead? Wh- how?”

“That’s what we at the Ministry would like to know,” Auror Ackerly interjected smoothly. “You’re not in trouble, Mx. L/n, but I am here to escort you to the Ministry for questioning.”

Your jaw dropped.

They thought you did this?

~~~

You sat at a table, alone in some room deep inside the Ministry building.

You huffed, folding yet another paper crane from the stack of sticky notes Ackerly had oh-so-thoughtfully left for you after your interrogation.

You set the finished bird on the table, the small pile of origami cranes you’ve made while waiting slowly getting larger.

Peeling off another sticky note, you started folding another when a nice-looking man in well-pressed robes entered the barren room and stopped in front of your table. He looked down at you with mild bafflement.

“L/n, I presume?”

“That’d be me,” you mumbled, adding your newest crane to the pile.

The man smiled gently before waving a hand over your paper birds and enchanting them to fly.

You tried to hide your awe as you look up at the cranes that floated and soared around the room.

The man smiled at your reaction. “It’s quite nice to finally meet you, Mx. L/n. You’ve been the topic of many a discussion today.”

“I’d imagine so, yes,” you said dryly. “Not many teenagers accused of murder coming through the department, huh?”

He grinned. “Not really, no.”

The man pulled out the other chair at the table, sitting down across from you and rifling through the thick manila folder he held.

“Are you here to interrogate me some more?” You asked suspiciously. “Ask Ackerly, man. I already told him everything I know.”

He laughed. “No, I’m not here to interrogate you. I’m your lawyer, Mx. L/n.”

You blink. “I don’t have a lawyer. My family can’t afford that.”

“You always have the right to an attorney, Mx. L/n,” he said kindly as he held out his hand to you. “Octavian Foxglove, Esquire.”

“Y/n L/n, but you already knew that,” you greet, shaking his hand.

He smiled again.

He was a very smiley man.

He laid out the manila folder and turned it around on the table so that you would be able to see it.

The first paper on top was a copy of your school records, with a bright red PRIMARY SUSPECT stamped over the top of your picture.

You grimaced.

Your lawyer nodded sympathetically. “There’s a photo underneath that page, by the way. Supposedly the last photo we have of McLaggen still alive and, uh…it’s not looking great for you, in all honesty.”

You moved your school records page aside, finding a standard moving photograph paperclipped to the inside of the file.

It showed, quite clearly, you speaking with Cormac McLaggen in a hallway. Picture-Cormac angrily threw his arms up in the air and silently yelled at picture-you, while your body language in the photo loudly screamed ��furious & upset’.

He was right. It wasn’t a great look.

“And there’s only one thing I need you to- oh, where is it?” He dug through the inside pockets of his robes, procuring a pen. “Aha! The next page has a simple contract. I just need a signature stating that you either accept me as your public defender, or would like to request someone else from the Ministry to handle your case.”

You nod, flipping the page to the contract he indicated. Mr. Foxglove smiled again and held the pen out to you.

As soon as your fingers made contact with the pen, you vanished.

~~~

You stumbled blindly, almost falling to the floor before a hand caught your elbow and steadied you.

“Easy, careful.”

You whirled around, surprised to see a different man in Mr. Foxglove’s clothes. He held his hands up in a non-threatening manner.

“Woah- slow down, kid. You’re fine.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m- was your lawyer,” he shrugged and smiled. “Augustus Rookwood, at your service.”

It dawned on you. “It was a portkey,” you breathed. “The pen. It was a portkey, wasn’t it?”

“Clever kid,” he sounded impressed. “Now c’mon. The boss wants to see you.”

You followed the man without complaint; half out of curiosity, half out of the knowledge that Augustus Rookwood was an Azkaban escapee charged with at least forty counts of first degree murder.

Pretty simple choice.

It looked like you were in a wealthy aristocrat’s house. Er, mansion, more accurately. The hallway you were walking down was old and stuffy and dusty, and the overall aura of Dark magic that permeated the very air of the house sent shivers down your spine.

Rookwood led you down a flight of rickety stairs to the first floor, and then down a narrow hallway and into a study, where he left you without another word.

The study itself was old. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust except for the pristine and polished bureau right in the center.

(Obviously, ‘the boss’ was sitting at this desk.)

((Villains tend to be predictable like that.))

However, you were surprised to see that ‘the boss’ was-

“Riddle?”

He looked up at the sound of your voice, a wide grin spreading across his face as he hurriedly got up from his desk.

“Y/n, darling, hello!” He gushed, practically skipping over towards you before pulling you into a very uncomfortable hug. “Sweetheart- oh, I’m so glad you’ve made it here safely! Rookwood really is my only competent assistant; I must be sure to give him a raise.”

You froze up at the unexpected hug, your arms remaining stiffly by your sides. He let go after a moment, but remained just a bit too close for comfort.

“Hopefully the Ministry didn’t give you too hard of a time,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a guilty grin. “I promise Ackerly’s a good man. When he’s, y’know, in control of his own body.”

Your eyes widen and you take a step back. “What?”

“Just a little Imperius, darling, no worries. Did you like your gift?”

You blinked, thrown off by his rapid changes in subjects. “Uh- gift?”

He smiled proudly. “McLaggen? He won’t bother you anymore, see?”

All the color drained from your face.

“You killed Cormac?”

He nods, grinning. “Uh-huh. I heard what McLaggen said to you last night in the hall, and I don’t like when other people look at what’s mine.”

“Yours?” You repeat, your lip curling in disgust. “You’d better not be referring to me.”

Mattheo paused, looking at you in confusion. “What else would I be talking about?”

You scoff in shock, shaking your head. “Yeah, nope, I’m out.”

You turned around without further preamble, marching out of the room and towards the front door that you’d passed earlier. Mattheo laughed and followed you out of the study at a leisurely pace, seemingly unworried.

“Where are you going to go, darling? As far as the general public is concerned, you’re on the run after brutally murdering a classmate. You’re Wanted with a capital W, sweetheart.”

“I’ll figure it out,” you snarled, storming towards the front door.

“Y/n…” He warned, drawing his wand and pointing it at you. “Get back here. Now.”

“Fuck off.” You spat over your shoulder, not sparing him another glance.

That was clearly not the thing to say. As if in slow motion, you heard a dreaded word fall from his lips.

“Crucio!”

You were struck with pain that was so overwhelming, so blinding, so agonizing, that you were sure you were going to die.

You were only half aware that you’d fallen to the floor at some point as wave after wave of unbearable pain crashed over you. You could feel your bones creaking and grinding together, your skin splitting apart only to knit itself back together just to be torn apart again, like you were some fucked up wixen version of fucking Prometheus.

You were only vaguely aware that you were speaking, pleading. Pleading not for the Unforgivable to be lifted, but for him to just end it, end you, entirely.

“K-kill me! Kill m-me…please!” You begged, blood trailing down from the corner of your mouth and smeared across your chin. You must’ve bit your tongue hard for it to bleed like that, and the sting from that wound while you speak is just too overwhelming when combined with the pain from the Cruciatus Curse.

Then all at once, it stops.

You gasp for air, your entire body trembling and numb as you lay sprawled across the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.

Mattheo kneeled down by your side and cupped your face in his hands with a kind of tender gentleness that felt deeply wrong coming from him.

“See, I’m doing this because you’re not listening to me, sweetheart. How else am I supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn’t do?” He cooed softly, gently wiping the blood from your chin with the sleeve of his shirt.

You flinched back at his touch. Your body—still wracked with uncontrollable quivers and trembles—tried in vain to crawl away from him.

“Oh no, honey- hey, honey- I promise it’s all over, okay? You were so so good for me. But you see now that you’ve got to stay with me, right?”

Your jaw quivered and your still-stinging tongue felt thick in your mouth, yet you managed to spit vicious hatred towards him.

“G-go to hell.”

A flurry of emotions crossed his face: surprise, anger, guilt, and disappointment; all of which were topped by the underlying aura of pure sadistic glee that exuded from him.

“Oh? Do you need another lesson or two before you learn?” He sighed and shook his head patronizingly. “Very well then, darling. Crucio!”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[cripplecharacters]

Hello, I have a question. In one of my projects, set in a vaguely 1600s fantasy pirate setting, one of my characters starts out as a burn survivor, with a large burn on her cheek.

She wears a scarf initially to protect the burn from the salt air as well as some self esteem issues, however I don’t want to fall into the masked burn survivor trope, or have a self-hating disabled character.

If it helps, over the course of the story she gets access to hydrating salves and stops needing the scarf as she grows to accept her facial difference.

Thank you for your time, and for all the help you give to us!

Hey!

I think protecting a burn scar from salt is smart. It also could help with the sun-related issues. However, the scarf should be of an appropriate material - a rough texture would only irritate and scratch it, which causes even more problems. If you mention that, or show the process of her choosing something that works for her from that angle, I think it would be much more of a "medical device" and less of a "hiding disability".

It's important to discuss why she has the self-esteem issues. Don't make it into a "duh, obviously someone with a facial difference would have low self-esteem, just look at them" which I constantly see.

Was she bullied or harassed over being disabled?

Is she traumatized from experiencing abuse or aggression? Does she fear that being visibly disabled will make her a target for violence again?

Was there a particular person who made her feel that way, like a parent or a "friend" that influenced her view of herself?

Was society around her lacking examples of happy burn survivors, so she assumed that she can't be happy either?

Make it clear why she feels that way, and don't make the narrative frame her facial difference as the root problem. The problem should be the thing that caused her to feel insecure. It's the same as the fact that mobility aids aren't a problem, inaccessibility is - at least that's how I look at it as someone who has an FD and uses a mobility aid.

This is by no means disability-specific, but look out for tragedy porn. Even if she has had bad experiences, I guarantee you that she had happy ones as well. In her case, maybe she met the funniest girl ever at the 1600s fantasy pirate burn unit, maybe the doctor who treated her helped her discover a new hobby while she was stuck in bed. Her backstory shouldn't boil down to "happy (abled) life, then the Accident, then horrible (disabled) life". That'd be a very hurtful message to send.

I do appreciate that she gets character development around her facial difference. I will say that this internal change often comes from seeing other disabled people thrive, being proud, shown as beautiful and valuable, etc. Representation is important in stories, even in-universe. This was certainly the case for me, and is the reason why now I'm so loud about including happy and positive people with facial differences everywhere. This stuff doesn't exist in a vacuum, you're affecting how people see themselves. It also leads me to my last, probably comically predictable point, which is...

Add more burn survivors, or at least characters with other facial differences, into the story. Preferably ones that have the low self-esteem either far behind them or haven't struggled with it in general (we exist). They don't have to be major characters but even just mentioned; e.g. your character thinking about other survivors she met in the place that treated her burns, or her seeing people with visible facial differences out and about and it making her think about why she even hides hers, etc. In short - don't make shame seem like the default reaction to having a facial difference, because it isn't.

I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[daryldove]

Mommy Issues

kinktober #8: bondage

nsfw, sub!daryl x fem!reader

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 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 a small knife, bringing 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 turn red once he realises where you're looking. You stand there for what feels like minutes, completely speechless as you stare in confusion 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, not like you'd assume. 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, but 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 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. 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. His breathing quickens slightly as your hands hover over his belt, unbuckling it painfully slowly. 

“Please…” It's so quiet you almost miss it. Daryl's voice is strained and raspy. He tenses with anticipation, a breathy whine escaping him 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. 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 feel the way his breathing hitches, how his wrists yank against the bindings. 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.

Daryl is a mess under you, trying - and 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 voice shakes as he begs, head falling back in ecstasy. 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 so long, 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. You can feel it twitch in the hand that's wrapped around the base. Any plan to interrogate him is long gone, all you want now is to 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 - 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 calm down. 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.

[genderkoolaid]

sorry if you've talked about it already, but what is it that makes KOSA's idea of online safety wrong? I don't know much about the bill, what does it intend to do?

What do you think is a good way to protect kids from things like online predators or just seeing things that they shouldn't be seeing? (By which I mean sex and graphic violence, things which you'd need to be 16+ to see in a movie theater so I think it makes sense to not want pre-teens to see it)

From stopkosa.com:

Why is KOSA a bad bill? KOSA uses two methods to “protect” kids, and both of them are awful. First, KOSA would incentivize social media platforms to erase content that could be deemed “inappropriate” for minors. The problem is: there is no consensus on what is inappropriate for minors. All across the country we are seeing how lawmakers are attacking young people’s access to gender affirming healthcare, sex education, birth control, and abortion. Online communities and resources that queer and trans youth depend on as lifelines should not be subject to the whims of the most rightwing extremist powers and we shouldn’t give them another tool to harm marginalized communities.  Second, KOSA would ramp up the online surveillance of all internet users by expanding the use of age verification and parental monitoring tools. Not only are these tools needlessly invasive, they’re a massive safety risk for young people who could be trying to escape domestic violence and abuse.

I’ve heard there’s a new version of KOSA. What’s the deal? The new version of KOSA makes some good changes: narrowing the ability of rightwing attorneys general to weaponize KOSA to target content they don’t like and limiting the problematic “duty of care. However, because the bill is still not content neutral, KOSA still invites the harms that civil rights advocates have warned about. As LGBTQ and reproductive rights groups have said for months, the fundamental problem with KOSA is that its “duty of care” covers content specific aspects of content recommendation systems, and the new changes fail to address that. In fact, personalized recommendation systems are explicitly listed under the definition of a design feature covered by the duty of care in the new version. This means that a future Federal Trade Commission (FTC) could still use KOSA to pressure platforms into automated filtering of important, but controversial topics like LGBTQ issues and abortion, by claiming that algorithmically recommending such content “causes” mental health outcomes that are covered by the duty of care like anxiety and depression. Bans on inclusive books, abortion, and gender affirming healthcare have been passed on exactly that kind of rhetoric in many states recently. And we know that already existing content filtering systems impact content from marginalized creators exponentially more, resulting in discrimination and censorship. It’s also important to remember that algorithmic recommendation includes, for example, showing a user a post from a friend that they follow, since most platforms do not show all users all posts, but curate them in some way. As long as KOSA’s duty of care isn’t content neutral, platforms will be likely to react the same way that they did to the broad liability imposed by SESTA/FOSTA: by engaging in aggressive filtering and suppression of important, and in some cases lifesaving, content.

Why it's bad:

The way it's written (even after being changed, which the website also goes over), it is still possible for this law to be used to restrict things like queer content, discussion of reproductive rights and resources, and sexual education.

It will restrict youth's ability to use the Internet independently, essentially cutting off life support to many vulnerable people who rely on the Internet to learn that they are queer, being abused, disabled, etc.

Better alternatives:

Stop relying on ageist ideas of purity and innocence. When we focus on protecting the "purity" of youth, we dehumanize them and it becomes more about soothing adult anxieties than actually improving the lives of children.

Making sure content (sexual, violent, etc.) is marked/tagged and made avoidable for anyone who doesn't want to engage with it.

Teach children why certain things may be upsetting and how best to avoid those things.

Teach children how to recognize grooming and abuse and empower them to stop it themselves.

Teach children how to recognize fear, discomfort, trauma, and how to cope with those experiences.

The Internet makes a great boogeyman. But the idea that it is uniquely corrupting the Pure Innocent Youth relies on the idea that all children are middle-class suburban White kids from otherwise happy homes. What about the children who see police brutality on their front lawns, against their family members? How are we protecting them from being traumatized? Or children who are seeing and experiencing physical and sexual violence in their own homes, by the parents who prevent them from realizing what's happening by restricting their Internet usage? How does strengthening parent's rights stop those kids from being groomed? Or the kids who grow up in evangelical Christian homes and are given graphic descriptions of the horrors of the Apocalypse and told if they ever question their parents, they'll be left behind?

Children live in the same world we do. There are children who are already intimately aware of violence and "adult" topics because of their lived experiences. Actually protecting children means being concerned about THEIR human rights, it means empowering them to save themselves, it means giving them the tools to understand their own feelings and traumas. KOSA is just another in a long line of attempts to "save the children!" by dehumanizing them and giving more power to the people most likely to abuse them. We need to stop trying to protect children's "innocence" and appreciate that children are already growing, changing people, learning to deal with discomfort and pain and the weight of the world the same as everyone else. What people often think keeps kids safe really just keeps them ignorant and quiet.

Another explanation as to why it's bad:

[hamliet]

Do you have any thoughts on how RWBY handled the white fang storyline?

Unpopular opinion: it's decent?

Now, now, before people come at me with pitchforks: yes, it's overly simplified. The entire story is a fairy tale, though, so that's not out of place. It also complements the rest of the story thematically, and manages to incorporate nuance and complexity in despite the simplification of issues.

I think it's a mistake to look at the White Fang as a 1=1 of the real life struggles of marginalized groups. That said, there obviously are parallels, and so people aren't mistaken to note those. I just think it's not meant to be an instructional manual and shouldn't necessarily be viewed as one, but rather a conversation starter in some ways. And yes, those conversations can and should include critiques.

So I'll go over the points that I think it did well and how those ties into real life, but also specifically how they work for RWBY's overall story. This does not negate criticisms, especially those by marginalized groups.

In contrast to some other fictional depictions, RWBY actually is better as well because it avoids the number one pitfall of such issues: the X-Men fallacy. I've talked about this in terms of Attack on Titan before, but essentially it's the idea that the problem with depicting discrimination against superpowered people is that, well, there is a logical reason for people to be concerned about superpowers; hence, it almost justifies that very discrimination it seeks to condemn. This isn't present in the faunus/human divide. They are both capable of superpowers.

It also doesn't fall into another common pitfall: the idea that people have to be perfect to be victims of discrimination. The White Fang... has senselessly and cruelly murdered people; doesn't mean faunus discrimination isn't also cruel and senseless and doesn't justify it. And this is something that we do see in real life too--people trying to either completely whitewash the actions of radical anti-oppression movements, which can do awful things, or trying to use these awful things as evidence that these people deserve discrimination when really it's a result of rage and desperation at a society that refuses to give them anything. That doesn't justify the pain of the victims of the awful things (see, Weiss) but nor does it negate the righteousness of that anger.

It does portray the faunus as a fairly diverse group too, when fiction often portrays marginalized groups as a monolith. That's not true. People from one group have very different ideas about what liberation looks like, and what they want to achieve. People in marginalized groups are people, and they can be motivated by a variety of selfless principles and egotistical validation, and neither negate the other. See, Sienna vs. Ghira vs. Adam.

Now, of course within RWBY Ghira's more nonviolent principles more or less win out. That's because RWBY is again a fairy tale where you have to fight to live, but that also doesn't endorse violence. If you expected otherwise, wrong genre. Of course the real world is far more complex, but it's not as if there is no real world basis for this either. Peacemakers exist, and nonviolence has accomplished a lot before. Whether or not that's the be-all-end-all of the faunus struggle in RWBY isn't even clear, so I don't think it's intended to be the be-all-end-all preached moral as it applies to the real world either.

Story-wise, the White Fang functions as a Jungian shadow of society. If you do not take charge of your own life, you are letting others decide for you. The faunus who disagree with the White Fang take it back, because they have to acknowledge it to move forward in society. They have to integrate with it, and accept their own humanity: capable of good and what they might rather deny.

This faction--the faunus who don't like the White Fang--are represented in Ghira, who becomes passive and steps back from aspects of the movement. However, when Blake arrives in Menagerie, this changes, because Blake's entire arc is about integration. Ghira then becomes active, working for the rights of the faunus and for the White Fang to be better rather than simply disavowing the White Fang in an attempt to be a good person, because doing nothing isn't exactly good.

On a more character level, the White Fang exists for Blake's arc. Her Jungian archetype is the Shadow. Like, it's literally her semblance's name. Hence, the idea of the shadow is gonna be important. If you want more on this, @aspoonofsugar has written a meta on it here and another here.

So, for Blake, on a personal level the White Fang (especially under Adam) represents the parts of herself she doesn't like. The part that ran from her family. The part that is violent. And yet, she cannot abandon it or simply disavow it. No, the answer is instead:

We’re not going to destroy the White Fang. We’re going to take it back.

She has to integrate with it, take the good--the righteous anger, the focus on justice and equality.

The White Fang also comments on the microcosm/macrocosm of alchemy.

For the unaware, RWBY is an alchemical story, and the principles of alchemy are represented in the symbol for the philosopher's stone, as seen above. Microcosm: the smaller circle enclosing two people in the center who come together (hence chemical weddings). The square is the four elements: water, earth, fire, air. The triangle is body, heart, and mind. The larger circle is the macrocosm.

The Shadows for Blake on a personal level--microcosm--is Adam. The Shadow on a worldwide, big picture scale--the macrocosm--is the White Fang. Integrating with the shadow isn't only an individualistic endeavor, but also one that benefits society as a whole and brings life to the entire world. The main point of alchemy's philosopher's stone, which Blake, along with the rest of RWBY, are symbolically being transformed into.

I think the main issue with the White Fang, by the way, is its handling of Adam. Typically you don't kill the shadow, though I do think Blake kinda had no choice. Still, I don't think the show fully explored him.

Yet what does work with what we have is that Yang has to face Adam, Blake's shadow, to be with Blake. Yang losing her arm to Adam parallels her being upset about losing Blake to fear, because symbolically Blake can hurt her deeply in the way only a lover can. Blake has to stop running from her shadow and allow herself ot be known and seen by Yang to be with her.

[thekirammanjinx]

Whenever i see antis yapping about how Caitlyn has no right to be angry and grieving over her mother’s death, it reminds me why so many societal issues go unsolved. It’s ironic that those very same people act like they are the pinnacle of social justice and progression; especially with it comes to class warfare. But their complete lack of empathy speaks volumes. And it shows their poor understanding of human psychology and the actual roots of many societal issues

I didn’t realize that wealth protects you from trauma (*rolls eyes*). It’s like they think that the only solution is to wipe out all of Piltover and its equivalents in the “name of Zaun”.

As much as some of the elite deserve to have their asses handed to them, the type of “justice” they are seeking will just continue the cycle. Hypothetically speaking, if Zaun took out all of Piltover, a new hierarchy would form - you know like it did under Silco. It’s like these idiots only watched 10% of the show

Oh because they truly do think the only solution is to wipe out piltover... and for Caitlyn to have ended up in some gutter begging at vi feet.

Caitlyn will say "innocents will be caught in the crossfire"

Caitlyn haters will say "all of piltover is guilty", like yall do see how your ideology doesn't even make sense?

Caitlyn is the innocent that got caught in jinx bullshit and we see what happened. Continuing the cycle of violence because you(jinx) want to blindly PUNISH everyone. For these people it never was about accountability for those at fault or a system at fault.

Jinx should be held just as accountable for her part she played as those in piltover.

They only watched 10% of the show and only have like 1% of real world knowledge when it comes to this kind of stuff, and it shows.

People cannot begin to talk about class warfare because they genuinely believe no one in zaun should face the consequences of their actions, even when their actions are equal to and worse than those of people in piltover.

Those people who constantly try and argue that the chembarons were not a harmful thing for zaun. Try and argue that they're innocent and shouldn't face consequences... like what??

[litnerdwrites]

"Rhysand had every right to be mad at Nesta for giving Bryce the mask. Cassian was right not to defend her."

Okay, so our issue isn't that Rhysand is mad at Nesta for giving up the mask. Logically speaking, giving up the mask was reckless and dangerous. She and the IC don't know Bryce like we, as readers, do. They don't know her story, motivations, or goals as we do. All they know, is that she has a power that their enemies are looking for, and if they let her go, their world as they know it may very well be destroyed. Especially after they saw the weapons that the Asteri/Daglan have. From a logical perspective, it makes sense that they don't trust her, so giving her the mask was too great a risk.

That's not the issue. It's never been the issue.

First, I think it's a little hypercritical for Rhysand to be so mad, since he, unapologetically, did the same thing to Tarquin. At least Bryce gave them assurances that she'd return the mask, assuming they'd succeed, through hostages. It would also be a way to make sure she wouldn't give in under torture, since that would mean opening the gate to where her family is and dooming them as well as Prythian. Meanwhile, Rhysand didn't even give the book back, or offer to make it up to Tarquin somehow.

That aside, however, Rhysand being mad makes sense. Rhys can be mad she's risked his people, his city and their world. Cassian can be mad that his home and family is in danger because of Nesta's reckless actions. That's fair.

What's not fair, is Rhysand threatened to kill her. What's not fair, is that Cassian let him.

No matter how angry he is, threatening his family/in law's (I'm not convinced he sees her as family at all tbh) with bodily harm. Especially when he's very capable, and (at this point) not proven that he's in any way unwilling to actually carry it out. He has no right to take it out on her in that way. That is verbal abuse. That is threat of bodily harm. He has no right to argue that females are safe in his city, because clearly, Nesta isn't safe in her own home above the city.

Cassian can be upset with Nesta for her decision. As a general, who's job it is to protect the NC, it makes sense he'd disagree with her choice and can be mad over it. However, standing back and letting someone threaten Nesta's life, in her own home, that's supposed to be her safe space, knowing damn well that said person could kill her if he felt like it.

It seems like common sense that once you get married or mated or whatever, your spouse becomes your family. While it's important to prioritise your other family, the safety, and comfort of your spouse should come first and foremost. Every relationship, and family, has their issues, granted, but resorting to abuse, and threats of violence to fix them, is wrong. Allowing others to resort to abuse is wrong.

It's not even the first time this has happened either. The last time he threatened to kill her, she was mentally broken and suicidal, and Cassian didn't stand up for her then either. Maybe Nesta shouldn't have said it the way that she did, but someone should've said it. The worst Rhys can be upset about, in that case, is her 'trying to upset Feyre' (but I've already made it clear a post or two ago how I don't think that was the case), and maybe about how she essentially broke into Amren's apartment, but both pale in comparison to what Rhys did, and should be put aside for a while.

Cassian needs to get his act together. Let Rhysand be mad at Nesta. Let him dock whatever salary I hope she's getting after the events of ACOSF. He's, unfortunately, technically, her employer, so he's free to cut her pay for a bit, suspend her from work for a while, or fire her from court matters, or even give her a few days worth boring paperwork to do. Those are normal, workplace punishments, and make sense, if he's really that mad (but we all know he won't since he needs to keep her and her powers under his thumb), but threatening to harm her when Cassian should draw the line.

The reason he's a terrible mate, isn't because he doesn't act like she's always right or take her side every time. It's because he lets other people (read Rhys) take things too far. Nobody has any reason to think that if Rhysand ordered Nesta to be killed the next morning, that he'd do anything to protect her. He may tried have stood up for her when she wasn't around once or twice in... The series (once in acofas, during that dinner, another time when they wanted her to find the trove, and once when he wanted her to be aware of the fact she can create a trove), but he backs down so easily, proving that if push comes to shove, he won't fight for her.

[makeyoumine69]

Till Death Do Us Part (Chapter Six)

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader; [no y/n]

SUMMARY: "If it ain't broke, don't fix it".

CONTAINS: Smut, masturbation (f&m), swearing, mild violence, abusive usage of phobias, obsessives & toxic behavior, sexual tension, love/hate, angst, gaslighting, mind manipulations.

WORDS: 5.2k

A/N: Hey guys! I'm still struggling with my health issues, but I'll try my best to keep up with the updates! I love you so much, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

Oh, great, now I have to explain everything to him.

You were taken aback by his sudden curiosity and accidentally burned your finger on the hot pan. Startled, you squealed and brought it to your lips to blow on it. "Uh, I..." You turned and noticed how close Bateman was standing to you—dangerously close. 

I should tell him everything, shouldn't I? 

You swallowed hard and went to the sink to put your finger under cold water. "When I got here after work to pack up my things..." You paused to take a deep breath. "The door was open, so that's how I got in. Then I saw a girl, who I think was a prostitute, going through your things. She had your Rolex and a few other things. I caught her in the act and asked her to leave your things and go away." As you talked, the line between Patrick's eyebrows became more and more visible. "After she left, I found you unconscious in your bedroom, naked and covered in...well, it looks like you had a good time with that girl." You tried to hide the sadness in your voice, but you were okay with failing if that's what it took. 

"You were teetering on the edge of life and death, Patrick. It was really lucky that I knew how to resuscitate people in that condition, but you scared me so much," and now you couldn't hold back the tears anymore. You were sobbing as you turned off the tap and grabbed a paper towel. "It's none of my business what you do with your life, especially now that our wedding is off. But I... I don't want you to..." you stammered, not daring to finish the sentence. "Never mind," you added, wiping away the tears. "I was just doing my job." With that, you opened the cupboard to get some plates for the pasta.

As you spoke, Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and furrowed his brows. "Christ, what a bitch..." He muttered to himself, trying to remember what the prostitute he'd picked up even looked like. The man let out a sigh. "Well, maybe, but I don't even remember how the sex was, so it must not have been that amazing." He gave a dismissive wave with his hands. Then he paused when you mentioned that he'd almost died. He swallowed hard and ran his hand over the back of his neck. "Oh..." Patrick closed his eyes to try to remember. He had a vague recollection of discovering a baggie of an unknown substance in his closet. He let out a groan and ran his hand over his face. "Oh my God..." "He mumbled quietly to himself, shaking his head slowly. He frowned and then noticed you were crying, squinting slightly. Bateman wasn't as bothered by your tears this time, but he didn't offer any comfort. He cleared his throat and glanced down. "Well, my mother said we can't cancel the wedding. We'd have to go through with it." He paused, then continued, "I don't know why I said that... It just came out before I could stop myself." Maybe it was how you seemed to care about him that softened him…or the fact that you saved him.

When Patrick announced that he couldn't cancel the wedding, you were so shocked that you dropped the plate and it shattered into pieces with a loud crack.

FUCK! He's gonna kill me! 

Shaking, you swore to yourself and immediately crouched down to pick up the pieces until one of them cut your finger quite deeply, a trail of blood running down your hand almost instantly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll buy you another plate," you apologized, wrapping your injured finger in a paper towel, which soaked up your blood too quickly, but you didn't notice. "My mom... I gave her a call to let her know that it was all over. She likely called your mother and convinced her not to cancel anything. This is such a mess!" You pressed a hand to your mouth to stop yourself from crying, knowing that Bateman couldn't stand that kind of behavior. "I'll take care of it." You promised and went back to picking up the broken glass, ignoring the pain and the fact that you were bleeding.

Paralyzed, Patrick watched you drop the plate and his face twitched a little. He recalled purchasing the plate from Pottery Barn. It cost $75. He then watched as you cut yourself, pursing his lips in a gesture of disapproval. The man suddenly burst out laughing, amused by the absurdity of the situation. Bateman shook his head and tapped your back with his foot. "Ah, you're such a fucking mess..." He chuckled, then bent down and grabbed your arm gently but firmly enough to pull you up to your feet. "Why don't you go clean up in the bathroom? I'll take care of this."  Patrick pointed to the broken plate. "But you owe me 75 dollars, okay?" He took the broom from the closet nearby and started sweeping up the pieces. "Just give your mother a call and let her know about the change of plans." He spoke in a calm, collected manner.

$75? For the fucking plate? 

Frowning, you walked across the living room to your large medical kit, still open from the last time you used it to save Patrick from death. With true professionalism, you quickly cleaned your wound and wrapped the bandage around your finger. Then you sneaked into his bedroom, avoiding his eyes because you were so embarrassed, and picked up the phone to call your mother. That conversation shocked you, because the things she told you were something you really didn't want to happen so soon. Hanging up the phone, you sighed and put it down before returning to the kitchen where Patrick was already eating pasta—the sight stirred something warm in your heart, but you shook it off almost immediately. Approaching the kitchen island, you placed the money next to the Bateman's plate. "Here, $75," you said, leaning against the wall. "I called my mom, she said that...that our families want us to hurry up with the wedding." Rebecca closed her eyes and hugged herself. "I don't want to, Patrick, I'm not ready..."

The man tensed when he heard your voice and turned to you, noodles still hanging from his mouth. He covered his mouth with his hand as he ate, a little embarrassed, before taking the money. "Uh, thanks..." Patrick was about to compliment your cooking, but stopped himself. He cleared his throat and scratched his neck, looking away. "Well..." Bateman thought for a moment, then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I...I can take some time off work and we can...I don't know...get to know each other better. "

You rubbed your eyes wearily, your heart skipping a beat at Bateman's suggestion that you spend some time together, as if it would help you get to know each other better. Although you were ready to refuse his offer, something stopped you, but you weren't sure what it was? Your true feelings for him? Or maybe you were so tired from your work at the hospital and your studies that you just wanted to relax a bit. "That's... that's not a bad idea," you finally said and went to the kitchen to get a plate, and this time you even managed not to break it. "Remember when we were kids, we used to hang out at your family's summer house in Newport?" you asked, opening the pot to get some spaghetti. "I wish I could spend some time there again, it's such a fascinating place," you considered sitting next to Bateman, but then changed your mind and decided to eat standing up. "I guess I could ask for some time off, but... I have exams coming up, so... I have to study anyway." You suddenly giggled and looked at him playfully. "Maybe you could help me? I mean, since I have already treated you."

The man quickly finished his plate and dabbed at his mouth with his silk napkin, monogrammed with his initials in the corner. Then he looked up at you and shook his head. "Uh, no...no, I can't say that I really... remember." Patrick mumbled slowly, closing his eyes as if he was trying to remember something about his childhood, but it was all blocked. When he tried to think about school, playing in the sand, running around, the only memories that came back to him were making reservations, going to the gym, and killing a prostitute—all things that happened days ago. Or was it weeks? Maybe a month. He sighed. "But Price has that vacation house in the Hamptons. I've been there... it's... nice..." He shrugged nonchalantly, hiding his jealousy. With a wry grin, Bateman stood and walked over to the sink, setting his plate down. "Uh..." He paused, then beamed back at you. "Of course I can help." The charming facade he maintained hid his fear. He didn't really know anything about the medical field, but he didn't want to admit it—he hated not being in control of a situation.

Three days later, you finally decided to go to the Hamptons, where Tim's vacation house was waiting for you. Even though you didn't understand why it was necessary to get a limousine for your trip, it gave you some time to think about things - the last few days, to be exact. In all those days Patrick hadn't touched you, not even once. And how many times did you end up crying in bed at night because Bateman was somewhere else and not with you? Well, you were pretty sure he was with Courtney, and even when he usually came back in the morning or at night, the man never bothered to notice your swollen eyes. But why should he have? It was obvious that you were just not hot enough for him, not perfect enough - nothing seemed to be perfect enough for him. As the car took you farther and farther away from New York, you turned to look at the man next to you listening to the music, his Walkman clasped tightly in his hands. "Are we going to be alone in the house... or... are you expecting someone to join us?" You didn't know why you asked, and for a moment you even hoped that Patrick wouldn't notice your question because of the music.

Opening his tired eyes, Bateman glanced down at you and slid the headset to his shoulder. "Alone. I mean.. most of the time, at least." He smiled as the limo rolled to a stop on a paved driveway. 

The house was four stories tall, the tallest story being a glass terrace with a bar, swimming pool, and other amenities inside. The house was white with marble accents and oddly shaped windows- a contemporary dream. Patrick grumbled, jealous of the luxuriousness of the house. He put a ten dollar bill in the driver's hand and grabbed all the luggage with ease. 

"Don't be too impressed...I heard Price just inherited it from his parents." The man was lying, but he didn't want you to compare his place to Tim's beach house. It embarrassed him a little. But he took some comfort in the fact that his body was slightly better than Tim's, and that his hair wasn't thinning at all, while Tim's was. Patrick opened the door with his foot and stepped out, his hands and arms full of suitcases and bags. He walked to the front door and stopped in front of it. Sighing, Bateman looked at you with an embarrassed look. "Uh, the key is in my back pocket if you want to get it." He turned his hips towards you, the black pants he was wearing stretching around his toned legs and backside. His white button-up was tucked inside the pants, showing off his perfectly muscled body. "Ladies first."

Rolling your eyes, you took a deep breath before reaching into the pocket of Bateman's tight pants, surely feeling the firm ass that made your face burn from shame. "I hope I can handle this." You commented after pulling out the keys and searching for the one that would open the front door, trying not to look at him as you grew more and more embarrassed. 

Thankfully, the lock clicked and you both stepped inside. A bit later, you allowed yourself to look around the house, although Patrick refused to go with you as he remained in the living room not far from the bar. Trying to cheer yourself up, you went upstairs and paused by one of the doors before opening it with sheer confidence. As you stepped inside, a beautiful large room came into your vision. 

What an amazing bedroom.

You thought, as you walked around, looking at the satin sheets that yearned to be touched. As you did so, the smooth fabric felt amazing under your fingers and your lewd fantasies occupied your mind faster than you could stop them. Closing your eyes, you pressed the palm of your hand to your mouth as you indulged in your dirtiest fantasy, where you was were out on the bed and Bateman worshiped every little part of your “imperfect” body before ravaging you until you were nothing but a whimpering wet mess. 

STOP IT! 

Annoyed, you gave yourself an imaginary slap before turning to leave the room, your cheeks burning from the inside. As soon as you opened the door and walked out, you bumped into something very hard. Only then did you realize it was Patrick, and the sound of splashing drink made your heart stop. "Oh my God! I'm sorry, I didn't hear you coming!" You wailed, looking up at his stained shirt and empty glass of something that smelled strong enough to be alcohol.

So that’s it. He’ll definitely kick me out of the house.

The alcohol made the stain on his shirt translucent, exposing his pecs and abs. The man stared at you for a second, inhaled sharply, and closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them again and shook his head. "It's-it's fine. I packed enough shirts for our time here. Really, it's fine.." He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, flexing his muscles slightly. "This shirt was on sale anyway... just, uh, be more careful next time..." He balled the shirt in his hands and tossed it into a nearby laundry basket. "Go unpack your things. You can have this room." Bateman pointed to the bedroom behind you.

Ashamed, you just nodded and hurried downstairs to get your bag, but when you came back Patrick was gone. 

Maybe it's for the best?

You hummed and went into the bedroom to unpack your things, noticing that everything in the bag looked so messy. Perplexed, you couldn't believe that Bateman could go through your things, he simply didn't find you interesting, so why would he waste his time on such things? Sighing sadly, you finished unpacking and grabbed a medical book, reassuring yourself that after your latest failure it was better to stay here and not bother him. All this time you had hoped the man would pay you a visit, but he didn't. 

Meanwhile, Patrick was upstairs, choosing his own room. The man put his clothes away and opened the other suitcase he had brought, which was full of his other... necessities. Inside were some porn tapes, magazines, a kitchen knife, a CZ-75 handgun, a bottle of lube, a pack of condoms, all his skin care products, and a pair of leather gloves. Humming, Bateman took off his black pants and wrapped himself in a silk robe. He grabbed one of the tapes and looked around his room, expecting a TV and VCR player. Frustrated, he huffed when he didn't find any.

That cheap bastard!

The man thought contemptuously and went downstairs when he saw that you weren't there. He sighed with relief and sat down on the couch in the living room and put the tape in. Then he untied his robe and pulled down his boxers, biting his lip as cold air hit his cock. The tape started playing, something he'd seen a hundred times before, but it still got him worked up. Thunder rumbled outside, shaking the house. He wondered for a moment if you were afraid of the thunder or if you were trying to sleep through it. Patrick shook the thought out of his head and focused on the screen, moving his hand up and down his now erect cock robotically, used to the now normal routine he was going through. He closed his eyes, blocking out any sounds other than the lewd moaning coming from the TV. He thought of Bethany, then Evelyn, then Courtney, then Bethany again, then... you. Moaning softly, Bateman thought of your ass, your tits, your face—it was almost enough to push him over the edge. The thought felt taboo to him, a forbidden attraction. Inflamed, he groaned and tilted his head back against the sofa, eyes closed, his jaw clenched in a face of pleasure as he moved his hand faster.

Unaware of what was happening downstairs, you read the book, lost track of time, and passed out on the bed for a few minutes, but soon your sleep was disturbed by the loud clap of thunder.

God, is this a monsoon season or something?  

You grumbled and got up to turn on the light, shaking with fear because you couldn't control yourself and you hated being alone during thunderstorms. Then you quickly regained your composure and left the room to go downstairs and maybe make a cup of green tea. As you entered the living room, you heard a lewd sound that turned out to be a woman's moaning. Embarrassed, you couldn't believe it - had Bateman really brought some of his chicks here on the very first day? Slowly you crept around the corner and spotted Patrick sitting on the black leather couch with his back to her, but from his twitching movements she could tell he was masturbating, watching porn on the big TV. Panting, you had to cover your mouth to avoid being noticed, but somehow you were sure Bateman heard her nervous gasps. Patrick's throaty groan sent shivers down your spine and you didn't know what to do as your mind screamed an alarm telling you to just come back to your room but you couldn't move as if you were stuck to that fucking wall. Breathlessly you felt your hard nipples brush against the thin fabric of your white top and you couldn't ignore the fire in your core any longer, letting your fingers slip into your panties soaked with your flavor. The moment you touched your swollen nub, you couldn't stop yourself from moaning, thinking that Patrick wouldn't be able to differentiate your moans from the lewd sounds of porn. Hot and bothered, you didn't notice that you were slowly sliding down the wall to the floor, your fingers continuing to rub your clit in unison with Bateman's guttural growl. "Mhmm, Patty..." you mewled out a little louder than you expected, and when you heard everything go silent, you stopped moving before carefully rising to your feet.

Suddenly, Bateman's eyes flew open at the sound of an unrecognizable moan, the sound breaking him from his reverie. He removed his hand from his cock and pursed his lips into a tight line, staring at the lewd scene before him. Then the man shifted so that he was sitting on his knees, the front of his body pressed against the back of the sofa so that he could get a better look at... you. As you stood up, he watched you with a penetrating gaze. "Rebecca... sweetheart, love of my life..." Patrick crooned softly, a smile creeping across his face. "Were you... spying on me again?" He raised an eyebrow at the sudden rush of confidence running through his veins. He stood up, staying behind the couch so as not to intimidate you with his naked form. "Rebecca..." He murmured slowly, his voice comforting yet unsettling. "If you are... attracted to me... you can say so. This is the second time I've caught you pleasuring yourself over me. Am I right? The second time?"

Breathing heavily, you closed your eyes and fixed your top and panties. "What will it change if I say that?" you suddenly rejoined, shuddering at the bright flash of lightning, your hands clawing at the nearby wall. 

Patrick tied the robe back around his waist, keeping his eyes on you, and put his hands on his hips, now annoyed. "Uh, a lot, actually." He sneered at you. "If you would just be honest with yourself, and me, then we can end this…this game of facades."

"No, it will change…nothing." As the word fell from your trembling lips, you walked away before Bateman could see the tears streaming down your sad, twitching face. 

Without looking back, you  hurried back upstairs to your room, where you curled up on the king-size bed, crying as you tucked yourself under the covers. 

Get out of my head, get fucking out!

Trembling, you closed your ears, but the pornographic moans continued to spin in your head along with Patrick’s growling as he jerked off, as if that was not enough, your mind decided to make you suffer even more by adding the picture of Courtney making out with Bateman as if it was happening right in front of your eyes. 

"Fucking bastard, I hate you!" You spat through your gritted teeth and clutched the pillow with all your might.

As you walked away, Patrick sighed, exasperated and annoyed. Women always annoyed him with their emotions. Cursing to himself, he followed you to your temporary room, pausing when he heard you scream at the door. Shaking off the urge to go into full violence mode, Bateman knocked on the door. "Rebecca, come out. You're hysterical." He kept his voice calm, even though he really wanted to yell at you - tell you how stupid you were. "Let's just... y'know, talk, okay?"

The moment you heard his voice, all of your insides clenched into a tight knot, forcing you to tremble under the covers. "Leave me..." you wanted to say something else but you paused suddenly, as if your inner nature was protesting and refusing to obey, not allowing you to finish what you were about to say. "Uh, fuck!" you cursed, pulling the blanket away before sauntering to the door to open it. 

Sobbing, you breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that Bateman was smart enough to put on a robe, at least he didn't make you suffer from seeing him naked. "You want to talk?" you asked, briefly wiping away your tears. "Let's talk. Have you hired a hooker yet? That's why you decided to warm up with porn?" You crossed your arms like him. "How did you get like this, Patrick? How could money and wealth change you so much?"

Bateman frowned at the accusation. "What? No, of course not. I don't even know any in this area." He closed his eyes tightly for a moment to stave off the impending headache before opening them again. "I just... I have needs, Rebecca. I'm a man with needs...and I didn't want to spend money on a hooker, and you...well, I don't know if you'd even..." He paused and sighed. "You're so...frustrating. You treat me like a monster, but then you jerk off to me!. I don't... it's hard to... you know... read you." His eyes widened slightly. "Change me? I can... assure you, nothing has changed." Bateman smiled, but inside he felt like a bundle of nerves ready to spring. Has he changed? If he had, he couldn't remember. "And I've always had money, in case you forgot!"

You’re worse than a monster.

You thought, biting your lower lip. "Speaking of needs," you leaned against the door, not noticing that your hard nipples were visible through the white top. "I have them too, especially when I'm ovulating, but I'm not driven by them! We're humans, not animals!" 

"Oh my God, oh my fucking God." Bateman muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not driven by them. I have a high sex drive, okay? If I want to spend the night with a hardbody, is that so wrong, Rebecca? Are you...jealous, huh? Is that the problem?" He was getting angry now, his jaw clenching as he spoke. "I know you're a virgin, so you could never understand, but I want to be distracted. My life is a living hell and I want to feel something. Do you understand?"

You scowled as the memory of the recent incident with the hooker flashed through your mind. "I remember when I came to your apartment and that prostitute was about to rob you...you were unconscious in your bedroom, covered in your...semen and completely wasted." With that you sighed and ran a hand over your face. "This is so wrong and disgusting, Patrick." Your voice was laced with pain and sadness, but you managed to keep your composure as you stepped back into the room. "If I lie on this fucking bed right now and tell you that you can do whatever you want to me... will that stop this madness?" You swallowed the fresh tears and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Just break my neck and tell your lawyer it was an accident so my family and you can get money from my life insurance. Come on! Do it!" You continued to taunt him fearlessly. "'Cause I'm...so fucking tired of this life...of my dearest family...I hate...I HATE YOU! ALL OF YOU!"

Patrick exhaled and then stepped back, watching you mentally collapse. Then he came closer, leaned down and slapped you hard with the palm of his hand. "Pull yourself together..." He said slowly, so you could hear every word. "I know you're a... you're a smart woman... but you're hysterical. If you keep this up, I... I don't know what I'm going to do. " Bateman murmured in a defeated tone, staring at you with an almost pleading look.

Once his heavy palm met your face, you could see stars in front of your eyes, but you didn't make a sound. You just touched your bleeding lower lip and looked at the blood on the outside of your hand. "Don't you dare..." you hissed and quickly stood up. "...to touch me again!" And then you slapped his face in return, your palm burning from the force of the blow. 

Shocked, Patrick stumbled to the side from the slap, holding his cheek. He stayed still, slowly bringing his hand to his lips. The man pulled his hand away, seeing a dot of blood on his finger. Rage overtook him.

"Not the face..."

"I'll call the cops and you will rot in jail, you fucking psycho!"  Scared to death, you were about to rush to the nearby bathroom, but you twisted your ankle and fell to the floor, frowning from the sharp pain. With a muffled whimper, you  attempted to crawl away from Bateman, knowing that he would probably kill you here and now.

Now…Everything will be finally over.

"Not the face..." He muttered again before whipping his body around just as you fell to the ground. "NOT THE FACE YOU BITCH! YOU- PIECE OF TRASH!" Bateman roared, stomping towards your trembling little frame. Infuriated, he tilted his head and stepped on your back, stopping your movements. He watched you through the red veil, his face contorted with rage. After a moment, his features softened. Under normal circumstances, he would kill you. No question about it. But these were no normal circumstances. Patrick reached down and grabbed your arm roughly, pulling you to the nearby bathroom and pushing you inside.

There were no windows, just a toilet, a sink and a mirror. "You... stay in here and think about what you just did." He said through his teeth, staring at you with intense anger. "I brought us here for you. I tried to do something nice for you. But you can't appreciate anything I do, can you? I am... trying my best here, Rebecca. But you treat me like some... monster. Just because I hire prostitutes? Is that it?" Bateman scoffed, then sighed. "When you're ready to apologize, you'll get an ice pack on your ankle. Until then... enjoy your solitude, I guess." Then he closed the door, took a key from the table and locked the door from the outside.

It was only when you heard the lock click and the light go out that you realized you were trapped in the dark bathroom...alone. And worst of all, you had a fear of the dark, Patrick probably forgot about this—just like all moments you shared in childhood. As you heard his distant footsteps, you spiraled more and more into the panic attack, feeling your lungs spasm painfully from your rapid breathing. 

Calm down, Rebecca! Calm down! It's just the darkness, there's no one here but you.

You tried to count to ten, but couldn't as your mind didn’t function, stuck on the horrifying images of being trapped here forever. 

What if he left me here to die? In this fucking bathroom?

Frightened, you sobbed, biting your lips to stifle your crying, not wanting to give Bateman the pleasure of hearing you. The metallic taste of the blood almost made you gag, along with the surrounding darkness that pressed down on you like a heavy press. Shaking, you slipped to the floor and hugged your knees, pressing them closer to your chest as you curled up on the cold floor like an embryo. 

I will not ask him to let me out...I will not! I...can...hold on...I'm strong enough to make it through!

Your cries barely audible, shaking violently as you were so fucking scared and broken, mentally and physically, that it seemed you would never see the light of day, locked here forever. How pathetic and stupid it would be to die like that…

At the same time, Patrick sighed and ran his hand over his face as he sat down on the bed. Frustrated, the man crossed his leg over the other, bouncing them slightly as he looked at the still image on the TV from the paused pornography. He drummed his fingers against the side of his head, raising an eyebrow as a memory came back to him like a freight train—you were scared of the dark and he forgot to turn the lights on in the bathroom. Bateman cursed himself, glancing back at the locked door. He didn't want to send you into hysterics, he wanted to do the opposite actually—give you time to think about how much you were overreacting. Patrick stared at the door for a few moments before standing up, walking back to it. He hesitated, the key hovering over the door knob. Then, the man swallowed his pride and unlocked it, opening the door a smidge and putting his hand against the bathroom wall, flicking on the light switch. He quickly closed the door again, not locking it this time as he pressed his body against the wall next to it. 

Closing his eyes, Bateman sighed softly, his chest movements slowing down. "What the hell is wrong with me?" 

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[cobaltperun]

Lost (7) - The Reason

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 5.5k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-And all the pain I put you through I wish that I could take it all away-

Sam mentally apologized to you. You’ve kept Tara safe, you gave her sister the love she deserved, yet here Sam was, in a car she stole from you, out of gas about a mile away from Amber’s house because she was so blinded by rage. At least she managed to park it so it wasn’t in the middle of the road, but she would still leave it in the middle of the forest. And there was a gas station just ten miles prior, but, again, she was too consumed by anger.

Well, she’d apologize is she made it out of this alive. What she was about to do was reckless, she knew that, but as far as she was concerned, she'd either have a backup or she'd get both killers at once. So, she called Richie.

"Sam!" he sounded relieved, but that didn't matter, Amber was kissing Tara, playing the part of the worried girlfriend when she was the one who hurt Tara. "Where are you? I was worried sick!"

"It doesn't matter. It's Amber, she's the Ghostface, I'm heading to her place now," she revealed.

"W-What? Who is the other one? Wait, that's not important! Why are you willingly going to the killer's house? Please tell me you brought that MMA fighter with you, or that you are at least armed," Richie's voice was filled with panic and worry. Sam still hadn't decided what he was worried about.

"I left Y/N to protect Tara. I'll figure out who the other one is soon enough," she chose to reveal some more information, she wouldn't mention the knife she had with her, or that she was already walking toward Amber’s house.

"Please wait until I get back there. I went back to Modesto thinking you'd be there," Richie told her and it only made her more suspicious.

"Fine," she told him and hung up. She wouldn't wait though, she stopped just for a moment to send a just-in-case kind of message to Tara. 'I love you, I'm sorry for hurting you, please stay safe.' she typed it but then changed her mind and sent it as a voice message.

Sam didn't intend to die, and if she did die, she'd take Amber with her, but if she did die at least Tara would have some closure, at least she could listen to the voice message when she missed Sam.

But Tara would get over it, she was the strongest person Sam knew, her brave little sister, her survivor, she would stay strong, pushing on even if Sam was no longer there. It would be hard for Tara, Sam knew that, but eventually Tara would be fine. Tara would have you; she’d be fine as long as you were by her side.

With that in her mind, she saw the house, big, but otherwise entirely normal, not in any way indicating that a heartless killer who’d turn on her girlfriend and try to kill her twice lived there. Sam approached the front door, a knife in her hand. She had her guard up as she entered the house, checking the dark corners, and being as quiet as she could. So far all she saw were remnants of a party. She saw 'For Wes' hanging in the air and her heart broke a bit. Wes didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to die because of some stupid legacy. No one did. To make it even more cruel the party was held in the house of the one who killed him, or at the very least worked with his killer.

The few moments she chose to spare to grieve were a blunder she shouldn't have allowed as she felt a knife stabbing her in the back,

"It's so nice of you to join us Sam," the Ghostface taunted her as she managed to stumble away from her attacker and pointed the knife at whoever it was, she guessed it was Amber, but she couldn't rule out the possibility that it was the other one.

"Amber," Sam still growled, clenching her teeth to push down the pain. If Tara could fight with several wounds like this one, then Sam could fight as well.

"Oh, great, you figured it out!" Amber took the mask off, revealing her swollen cheek.

"Y/N's doing?" Sam taunted hoping to rile Amber up and provoke an attack.

Amber opened her mouth wide, revealing two broken teeth. "You mean this? Yeah, Tara's fucking guard dog really doesn't hold back," Sam could see the desire to kill you in Amber's eyes. "Too bad you didn't bring her."

Sam smirked. "Why bother her? You've already proven you can't beat her fairly, even two-on-one," her taunting had the desired effect as Amber rushed her with a furious scream. It was exactly what Sam was waiting for. She stepped to the side, hoping to end the fight as quickly as possible. There was still a chance the other Ghostface was in the house. And then the realization hit her. Amber was already in her costume. The only question was, was Amber expecting her, or was she in the middle of attacking someone? And if she was in the middle of attacking someone else, who was it?

Sam slashed at Amber, just barely grazing the younger girl's shoulder. It wasn't enough though, as Amber cried out and slammed her shoulder into Sam. With the wind knocked out of her Sam dropped her knife and barely managed to avoid another stab. All hopes of getting the knife back vanished when Amber kicked the knife under the kitchen sink, so Sam ran, hoping to get some other weapon. She ran up the stairs, having no idea where she was heading in the unfamiliar house. With Amber hot on her heels, Sam only had the choice to rush into the first room she came across.

When she came in, she saw it all. The blood, the three bodies on the floor, the knife that was used, she saw it all, and she felt sick, she froze, and Amber just stopped behind her. "No... What have you done?! Mindy! Chad!" Sam cried out at the sight of the twins, tied up and bleeding out on the floor with a girl Sam didn't recognize.

"They were supposed to be the bait for you to come back, but you came to us before we could even take photos of them," the voice that spoke was the same voice she heard over the phone, the one from the voice changer. Sam realized too late the second Ghostface came up to her and stabbed her twice.

"I'm so glad I get to kill you," he spoke, and Sam knew who it was before he even took the mask off. It still hurt to see Richie taking the mask off. In the end her and Tara shared the same fate, both being betrayed by their lover. Only, Sam didn’t have anyone to come for her, Tara had you, and Sam, in her struggles, fears and self-doubt, never formed that kind of bond with anyone. Sam didn’t have her protector, or someone to protect that wasn’t her sister. "I know, it sucks that it's me, but it was the best option for the movie," he said, only infuriating her further, but with the knife in her stomach, she really didn't have anything she could do. The only reason she was still standing was because of her anger.

"This isn't a fucking movie," she still gasped, the pain and anger mixed together in her voice, yet Richie only snickered at that.

"Oh, but it will be, but we need a few more guests before we get to the grand finale," a blunt hit to her head knocked Sam out.

When she regained consciousness, she had no idea how much time had passed. She did, however, know her head was killing her, she was in pain from the stab wounds, and she had her wrists and ankles tied up.

Sam failed. She went alone and failed miserably. Now she was defenseless, bleeding out on the kitchen floor with Sidney and Gale in a similar situation.

"Fuck," she groaned and watched as Richie and Amber came back to the kitchen. What followed their arrival was the sickest tale she ever heard. A tale of two crazy fans taking a movie that was over two decades old at this point way too seriously. The pounding in her head made it difficult to focus on their sickening reasons, and then Richie approached her.

"It wasn't that hard for me to find you in Modesto. It wasn't that hard for me to fuck you, either. But I guess being a sexually available woman is supposed to be empowering these days," he could talk all he wanted, her anger was already past its peak when Tara first got attacked. "Speaking of sexually available women, it wasn't hard for Amber to fuck Tara either. I guess a bit of attention is all it takes when you get abandoned like she was," at that, Sam's anger went above boiling point, and she tried as hard as she could to get free. The tape only dug into her wrists, but it didn't hurt at all compared to the pain she felt when he mentioned Tara and what was done to her.

And then the phone rang and everybody, but Sidney froze.

"I'm guessing that's for you," Sidney smirked slightly as Richie picked up the phone.

~X~

You approached the front doors with your phone on speaker. From the corner of your eye, you could see blood on the grass. You just hoped whoever got hurt there was still alive. Someone picked up the phone and you spoke. "The resident guard dog on the phone. I have a bone to pick with you," you said and kicked the front doors open. It slammed against the wall, unhinged from the doorframe and making it loud and clear where you were.

You didn't even bother to be quiet. You couldn't be quiet. "Come on out Amber and whoever the other one is. Richie? Chad? My money is on Richie," you announced your presence quite loudly as you entered the living room. Still no one holding a knife or any other weapon in sight as you looked around Amber’s house. And then you saw Richie in the kitchen. With a gun. "Oh, it is you," you weren’t surprised, to be entirely honest.

Richie pointed the gun at someone you couldn't see. "Stay the fuck back Y/N or I'll blow Sam's brains out."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really now? I want you to reconsider that just for a moment," you took a step forward. "Think long and hard how about many bullets you have and how many it'll take to kill me. Four didn't, are you sure you'll have enough this time," even one bullet would be fine, if he aimed well, but you could see his nerves getting to him. You were standing there, bandage on your jaw off, any visible bandages off, spreading your arms and confidently standing there, not a single hint of pain or fatigue in your body language.

A shadow from your side made you abruptly step back and just as Amber went to stab you, you went behind her and grabbed her. You pushed her to her knees and tossed the knife out of her hands. Amber let out a scream of frustration as you put her in a chokehold. "Looks like we are at an impasse," the implications were rather clear, Richie shoots, you snap Amber's neck.

"Shoot her!" Amber growled, trying to scratch her way out of your grip.

"You sure his aim is that good?" You asked rhetorically and tightened your grip on the girl. She tried to reach your face or neck when digging her nails into your arms didn't do anything. "That's it, keep glaring. you're hardly even a challenge," you had to keep Amber's attention on you.

"Fucking, guard dog," she choked out, that really was her favorite name for you, wasn't it? You watched as Richie aimed his gun at you, but his hand trembled. He wouldn't shoot, he wouldn’t risk killing Amber, besides, as far as he was concerned the three of you really were at an impasse, so he was safe.

"What was it you used to say, Amber? Tara barks and I bite?" you taunted before turning to Richie. "Take a few steps back Richie," you ordered.

"What?" well, your demand was a bit unusual from his point of view.

"Now," to get the point across you tightened your grip enough to actually start choking Amber.

Amber gasped for air, her arms once again reaching for your forearm to try and get free, but it was a losing battle. At least now she knew how it felt to fight for air, how Tara felt. That thought alone made you squeeze even harder.

"Fine, fine!" Richie raised his hands up and stepped back once, then again, then the third time.

"Bark, bark, fucker," you smirked as a crutch slammed into the back of Richie's head. Sam gasped. Someone else gasped. Tara went ballistic on the now-crying Richie, and you tossed Amber over the sofa as she coughed and gasped for air.

The moment Tara saw you approaching the two of you nodded at one another and she stopped her assault on Richie to go and untie Sam. Richie stumbled back to his feet and tried to attack Tara from behind, only to be stopped by you grabbing his wrist.

"None of that," you warned, glaring furiously at him and dislocating his right shoulder. Just as the frosting on the cake you then landed several blows to his head. Someone running up the stairs caught your attention, but you figured you'd handle Amber after you dealt with Richie.

"Chad and Mindy are upstairs, they were stabbed!" Sam was struggling to get back up as she told you that.

Your eyes widened at the new information, and you glanced at Sam. She wasn't exactly ready to fight, but it would have to do. "He's all yours Sam," just in case you hit Richie again, knocking the air out of his lungs.

You ran after Amber, catching up to her at the top of the stairs. She had a knife, so you guessed she wanted to either take one of the twins hostage or finish them off. "No! No, stay back! I didn't mean to do this! I was radicalized! Please Y/N, I'm just a dumb kid!" she cried out when she realized she couldn't reach the twins in time. When she realized you were still more than capable of catching up to her and beating her, despite all the injuries you suffered.

"So?” you saw the gun before she could catch you by surprise again. "Come on now," you sighed, threw a feint, and grabbed the gun behind her back. You could see fear in Amber's eyes, fear so strong and overwhelming that she ran and jumped over the fence just to get away from you. She cried out in pain and clutched her ankle. Was it broken? It hardly mattered. You walked down the stairs as gunshots echoed, exactly three gunshots.

~X~

It was over. She killed Richie. She shot him. The nightmare would soon be over.

"Sam," Tara's voice, so small and on the verge of crying broke Sam out of her daze and she stumbled over to her younger sister. Tara hugged her as tightly as she could, crying into Sam's shirt. "Don't ever do that again, don't ever leave me like that again," Tara choked on her tears. “Do you have any idea how afraid I was? All I could think about was reaching you in time!” she desperately tried to hug her even tighter, to make sure Sam would never do anything nearly as reckless.

Sam hugged Tara just as tightly. Fearing Tara would slip from her grasp if she held even a bit weaker. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll never leave you again. I swear I'll never hurt you again," she tearfully promised. She had five, no, ten years’ worth of Tara's pain and loneliness to make up for and she'd do it. She'd turn her life around for Tara. She'd be better for Tara. She'd do anything she possibly could to make sure Tara was happy and taken care of. That was what Tara was to Sam, she was the reason Sam would get her life together.

~X~

You wanted to check on Tara, but you'd have to believe in her.

"Wait, wait Y/N! I killed Dewey, don't you think Gale and Sidney deserve a shot?" you didn't know if Amber was trying to distract you or if she actually thought that. It didn't matter.

"I don't care. You hurt Tara," you pointed the gun at Amber's head. Somehow your hand felt really heavy. Come on, just shoot... end this nightmare. Shoot! But you couldn’t…

Amber laughed when she saw the look on your face, your eyes gave you away. "You really are hopeless, Y/N!" she was trying to taunt you, but her voice barely registered in your head.

The image of your father's gun overlapped with the one in your hand. It wasn't about Amber, it was the act of firing the gun itself that was keeping your finger frozen on the trigger.

"What's left to love, hmm?! Tara will never be the same! Scars, doubts, paranoia, she could even turn out to be like her mother, a drunk. You can try all you want, but you'll never erase the mark I left on her," the maniacal grin, the satisfaction Amber felt due to what she did to Tara, it all fueled your anger.

Your finger still couldn't move.

Amber laughed and, perhaps seeing your inability to fire, lunged at you with a knife.

A gunshot echoed before she could reach you and you watched with wide eyes as Amber's body just dropped.

"You didn't leave a mark," Tara declared as she lowered the gun, Sam coming right behind her with Sidney and Gale.

You lowered the gun in your hand to the floor and without saying a word walked over to Tara. You reached her and took her hands, slowly separating her fingers from it as she shut her eyes. With the gun out of her hands you made sure it wouldn’t fire and gingerly placed it on the table. You hated that your hesitation, your inability to fire, made Tara do it. You made Tara kill. "It wasn't what she was saying. I just... spent years trying to prevent myself from pulling the trigger, so now that I should have, I just couldn't do it," you whispered barely loud enough for Tara to hear.

Tara seemed to deflate at those words as she stumbled into your arms. She glanced down at Amber's body and quickly looked away, burying her face in your chest and clutching the back of your shirt. You could feel a single tear dropping from her chin onto your shirt and you just held her, just pulled her closer.

"Come on, let's get out of here," you whispered gently and lifted her up, making sure she couldn't see the body. As you took the first step you heard police sirens approaching. That got you to raise an eyebrow and look at Tara who just forced a smile.

"Better safe than sorry," she said and for a moment you wondered why you didn’t just call the police in the first place.

Then you remembered how they left Tara at the hospital... 'Yeah, that's why,' you thought and took Tara outside.

~X~

Mindy and Chad would live, but Liv bled out before help could reach her. Before Sam even arrived actually. Overall, between new wounds and old wounds needing to be treated once again, every single one of you would need medical treatment.

You did have one question, so, as Sam watched over Tara you walked over to Sidney and Gale. "So, how did you get my number?"

Gale looked at you incredulously, as if silently asking 'Really? That's what you want to know?' you just shrugged; you were curious, so you asked. "You do know you're an MMA fighter and that I am an investigative journalist, right? It really wasn't that difficult," yeah, that made sense, you supposed.

"Right. I don't appreciate the tracker on my car, but I guess I owe you one for that," it didn't take much time to figure out Sam would be dead if that damn tracker wasn't on your car, or if Sidney called you even ten minutes later than she did. It was also lucky they called you when your car stopped in the middle of nowhere and you told them Amber’s address.

"Considering what happened inside, I'd say we're even," Sidney sighed and you raised your hands in surrender, if they thought you were even, you wouldn't argue. The last couple of days drained away your ability to argue.

"Right, take care," you stepped back and motioned toward Tara. "I'm going back to Tara," you said and went back to the ambulance Tara and Sam were in.

“Thanks for coming after me,” Sam gave you and Tara a small smile and judging by how Tara leaned a bit closer to her, you figured she already thanked Tara while you were with Gale and Sidney.

“Thanks for stealing my car,” you did not appreciate it being left on the side of the road.

Sam looked away and Tara turned to look at you as if she couldn’t believe what you just said. “Really?”

Your eye twitched at her reaction. “Sorry I don’t like my car being stolen,” you grumbled and then sighed, giving in when Tara kept looking at you with those doe eyes of hers. “Fine, but Sam is paying for the gas.”

~X~

Three days later Tara was finally getting released from the hospital, but there was an issue with that. She would be going back to her house. And no one went there since the night Tara was attacked. You could feel how anxious Tara was last night when she was told she would be released today, you could see it in her eyes as she frantically turned to look at you. If your apartment was any bigger you would have taken her there, but given the lack of space and her broken leg it just wouldn’t work, especially when it came to bathroom, and Tara refused to allow you to rent a bigger apartment.

So, here you were, in front of Tara’s house with a bag in your hand. It wasn’t the biggest house in Woodsboro, hell, Amber’s house was bigger, but it wasn’t a small house either. The grass needed to be cut soon, but it could wait a few more days, it was more important to handle what was inside. With a heavy feeling in your heart, you approached the front doors. Did Amber come in through the front doors? You didn’t know, you didn’t ask Tara anything about the attack, and she didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t want to remember it.

You opened the front doors and immediately stepped back. The stale air you could take, but the moment you smelt even a hint of blood you nearly threw up, consumed by what happened inside. And Tara was supposed to come back here. You hunched forward, gasping for air and then you saw them, a few red spots on the floor, dried up a long time ago, but clearly there.

Your legs shook. You’ve seen blood plenty of times before, drops just like those back in the octagon, but you still struggled to push forward to get inside the house. There wasn’t any more blood in the hall, so Amber likely didn’t come inside the moment she stabbed Tara there. Knowing Tara, she likely back away so that meant…

You looked down the hall, toward the kitchen and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you began, likely somewhat tracing Tara’s steps, you stopped at the wall, right next to the opening leading into the kitchen and the dining area and you leaned your forehead against it. “I should have been here,” you pressed your right palm on it, your fingers pressing harshly against the rough wall.

You had no idea how long you stayed there, but eventually you stepped back and walked into the kitchen and you felt your heart breaking into countless pieces. There was so much blood in front of you. A smudge on top of the counter, as if Tara was slammed against. A nick on the counter that wasn’t there before, likely from the knife hitting it. Stains on the floor from trying to escape.

You knew what you would see, but you still couldn’t stop shaking. You should have shot her, you should have used every single bullet in that gun and then you should have taken a knife. You clenched your jaw and opened the bag you brought. You had a lot of cleaning to do.

~X~

She was going back to her house. She didn’t want to, but she had to. She needed to get over the trauma, to learn how to feel safe even if she was alone. She grew so used to you being by her side almost all the time, and no matter what happened between the two of you that couldn’t be maintained, you couldn’t always be close to her.

And neither could Sam. There would be days when Tara would have to be without either of you, and the sooner she got over her trauma the better. She could not let three days define the rest of her life.

But first, going back to her house. She was standing on her own, using her crutches while she was waiting for her papers with Sam right next to her.

“I can wait, you should go and sit down,” Sam said, worriedly glancing at Tara’s broken leg.

Tara smiled, nudging her sister slightly. “I’m fine Sam,” and while she didn’t say it, a part of the reason she didn’t want to go and sit alone was how vulnerable she would feel surrounded by vaguely familiar people. And she didn’t want to leave Sam alone either. Sam got hurt as well when she was alone.

She glanced toward the main entrance, and the tension and anxiety that threatened to consume her faded away as she saw you walking in, looking around briefly before your eyes met. Sam must have noticed because she chuckled a bit and patted Tara’s shoulder. Tara blushed at that, Sam wasn’t even back for a week, and she was teasing her.

The moment you were close enough Tara leaned forward, letting you support her weight. Her eyes widened slightly when you wrapped your arms around her, your arms shaking slightly. She felt your shuddering breath against her neck, and she was reminded of that time in front of her house, right after you tried to… she didn’t want to think about that. You were with her now, and you’d stay with her for the rest of her life and as long as you wanted her in your life, she would never let you go.

“Tara,” she heard you whispering and hugged you, not caring that her crutches would drop to the floor. Sam must have caught them, because she didn’t hear them falling, or maybe she was just so focused on being in your arms that nothing else pierced through the bubble you two created.

She kissed your cheek, dug her fingers into your hair and pulled you closer. The feeling of your strong arms wrapped around her, the sensation as her lips pressed against your skin, her fingers in your hair, she never wanted to be without that.

“Thank you for surviving,” you told her so quietly she was sure only she could hear you, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to hear you if she was even a few inches further away from you. And she understood what was going through your mind.

You went to her house, you saw it all, didn’t you? “Y/N,” she pulled back a bit, just so she could press her forehead against yours. She felt as if she was about to melt at how softly you were looking at her eyes. “Thank you for staying by my side,” she could overcome this, all of this and even more, as long as she had you, she would be fine.

“That goes without saying,” you said as if you didn’t do what no one else did, you said it as if you didn’t stay by her side and protect her and she had to bite her lower lip just to stop herself from kissing you. “Do you want me to stay with you at your place?”

She wanted that, she wanted to make up for the lost time, to have you by her side, but she knew she also needed to spend some time alone. To once again start feeling safe on her own. “I’ll be fine, I promise,” she replied. “And I’ll call you if I need you,” she reassured you, though she would try her best not to call you.

“I don’t like interrupting, but we can go now,” Tara didn’t need to look at Sam to know she had a grin on her face.

“Right, up you go,” you lifted her up and smiled as she made herself comfortable in your arms, and you took her to your car.

~X~

It was her third night back in her house. She was afraid of her own shadow, alone in her house, since Sam had to go to Modesto to handle the life she was leaving behind. She was vulnerable, she needed time to get up, she couldn’t protect herself, or escape if she needed.

Her house was locked, she was safe, she was alone, no one could hurt her. Yet, as much as she kept repeating that mantra she couldn’t calm down. She couldn’t play any music, or watch a movie, fearing the noise would keep her from hearing if anyone was in her house, or if anyone was trying to break in. And she tried to fall asleep, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t handle being caught off guard.

She couldn’t do this. She made it through the first night alone, she couldn’t sleep the second night and only fell asleep when you came to her house in the morning. And now she once again couldn’t sleep. She took her phone for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few hours, once again looking at your name.

She called you, unable to stand the horror she felt. It was one in the morning, yet you answered mere seconds after she called.

“Tara?” you sounded like you were already getting up and getting dressed.

“Please come. I’m afraid,” she whispered, afraid that if she spoke louder someone other than you would hear her.

“I’m on my way, Love,” you didn’t even hesitate, and she vaguely heard you unlocking your doors and then seconds later locking them again. “Do you want to talk until I get there?”

She wanted that, but you would drive, and she wanted you to drive safely. “No, no just drive safely.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in five minutes,” you promised her and she nodded, for a moment forgetting you couldn’t hear her.

“Thank you,” she hung up when she heard you getting in your car. “I love you,” she whispered, counting seconds until you arrived. A bit less than five minutes later you sent her a message that you were about to come inside, but she still flinched when she heard ‘Systems disarmed’, her fingers twitched, and she nearly locked her house down once again.

“It’s me!” you yelled and locked her front door once again.

Tara smiled, listening to you running up her stairs. The door handle turned, and you entered her room and that fear vanished from her heart as she moved to the side and patted the spot next to her.

You closed the distance between the two of you and lied down, letting her rest her head on your chest. “I’m sorry, I had to call you,” she whispered, but you just rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. “Just sleep, I’ll be right here,” you told her, and she did just that, she was safe nothing could hurt her when she was with you. Nothing would ever again make her think you would ever abandon her. You were an exception in her life. So, she closed her eyes and fell asleep to the melody your hearts made.

A/N: And so Scream V ends. By the way, when it comes to what Sam and Tara showed in the movie, I think Tara is much more impressive. Sam is shown to be about as capable as one would expect from a woman who likely didn't have much, if any, martial arts training. Tara on the other hand moves with a broken leg, puts up one hell of a struggle in the opening scene, fights back even during the hospital attack, and on top of all that she has asthma.

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