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#the vibes! the inappropriate emotions

thefudge · 2 years

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foot fetish session with ser larys and private meeting with her dad who tells her how much she reminds him of her mom??? alicent is surrounded by hot creeps and i love that for her and me

#otto x alicent #larycent #hotd #the otto/alicent scene was the true mvp for me! when she said i only ever wanted what you wanted!!! when he said he made her queen!!!#the vibes! the inappropriate emotions

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turtletaubwrites · 2 months

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Misty Eyes ~ Part 2

Thank you so much @pinejayyfor this delicious request!!

Pairings: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader, Doflamingo x Fem!Reader (Past)

Word Count: 3377

Misty Eyes Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Summary: Law can't trust you yet, so you do everything you can to prove yourself. Will your memories help or hurt you?

Author's Note: I'm really enjoying writing Law in multiple fics, so I can slap different vibes on him like he's trying on different shades of eyeliner 😅

THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Devil Fruit User Reader, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Angst, Pet Names, Degradation, Punishment, Emotional Abuse, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Grooming, Trauma, Past Sexual Abuse, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent, Donquixote Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Bondage, Other Additional Tags to be Added, Dissociation, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers

!!! SPOILERS !!! This story begins during the 2 year timeskip before the Punk Hazard Arc, and there will also be spoilers for the Dressrosa Arc for backstory lore

~🦩🦩🦩~

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do, young master! You–”

“Now, now, Y/N. What did I tell you? You’re my pretty little thing now, so you get to call me Doffy, alright?”

His large hand cupped your face, warming your cheek that was already warm from his attention.

He’s smiling at me now. I’m special to him. I mean something to him, finally.

“Well? Are you going to answer my question properly?”

Doffy’s hand traveled down to your neck, long fingers circling your vulnerable flesh as he waited for you to obey him.

“Yes. I love you, Doffy.”

~🦩🦩🦩~

“Y/N?”

Law repeated your name softly until you returned, finding yourself in that metal room, a shrine dedicated to his hatred and rage.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you this,” Law rasped, dipping his face to meet your eyes. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through all these years…”

His brows pinched together when he caught your grimace, and his shoulders slumped.

Guilt pulled at his features, while you tried to understand which of the emotions inside you were worth focusing on.

“I shouldn’t have asked you that–”

“I don’t know,” you confessed. Your voice was empty, as if a machine were spilling truths instead of your own lips.

“I did love him. I know I did,” you continued, staring a hole through Law’s wooden desk. “I’ve been… feeling guilty for a while. Why am I not feeling that anymore?”

Your misty eyes looked up, almost pleading with him for an answer.

“Loving Doffy is the only thing I’m good at. The only reason he needs me. What use am I–”

“You are worth more than what he takes from you,” he growled, your eyes widening until the mist turned to tears.

Law relaxed his shoulders again, releasing a breath. Those tattooed hands cupped your cheeks, and you sighed as his thumbs wiped away your show of weakness.

“Y/N,” he soothed, his lips quirking before he continued. He dropped his hands away, and you missed their warmth, especially as those golden eyes hardened again.

“I don’t want to keep you prisoner, but as much as I'd like to, I can’t trust you yet.”

Nodding, you tried not to shake as fear rolled back over you.

“I can’t risk this mission. It’s not safe for me to leave you somewhere on your own. But if I let you roam the Polar Tang, interact with my crew… Especially when you can sneak into any room you like–”

“I would never,” you choked out, reaching for one of his hands on the desk. “Please, Law. I won’t betray you, I swear.”

He squeezed your hand in return, but shook his head.

“I want to believe you, Y/N. But we both know the power he has over people. You might not think you’d betray me now, but he’s been in your head your whole life.”

The weight of loneliness pressed your body down, your hand going limp in his. He squeezed it a few more times until you looked up again.

“If you're willing to trust me,” he started, his eyes a bit wide, “I have a way to make sure that I can trust you. It won’t hurt–”

“Hurt,” you whispered, wetting your dry lips as you waited for whatever he wanted to do to you.

“I can remove your heart,” he explained, pulling a key from his pocket to unlock the large bottom drawer of his desk.

With all of the gruesome things you’d seen in your life, you were surprised at the gasp you let out. Law had pulled something from the drawer, holding it up so that you could take a look.

It was a strange cube, almost glowing with blueish pink light. It looked squishy, and you reached out to touch it before you noticed the steady pulse. It was a beating heart.

“So that story is true,” you breathed as you watched it in fascination, “you really did steal all of those pirate’s hearts.”

“I did,” he nodded grimly, tucking that heart back into the drawer. “I’ve done a lot of things to prepare for this goal.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You–”

“Take my heart. It’s not helping me out anyway, it might be good to have a break,” you laughed, trying to cover the hollow sound in your words.

Law stood, and you followed suit, his powerful voice vibrating through you.

“Room.”

You watched in awe as he created a blue sphere of light to fill the space before coming toward you with his sword.

“This is just a precaution,” he explained, his breath going heavy. “I won’t hurt you, Y/N. I'll protect you.”

“I trust you,” you admitted before you held your breath.

You couldn’t follow all of the emotions that crossed his face, until he drained them all away. He looked at you as if you were just a problem to be solved. A loose end to tie up to make sure his plan would succeed.

His sunny eyes were as cold and distant as the vacuum of space when he held the tip of his blade to your chest.

“Scalpel.”

You couldn’t remember the last time a weapon had hurt you. There was no need to worry about being injured in battle when you hadn’t left the castle in so long.

Doffy was the only one that could hurt you, besides the sea and its stone.

Nothing could cut through mist.

Law was so confident in his ability that you hadn’t questioned him. Instead, you tried to cooperate, somehow willing your body to stay solid so he could rip you open.

But the blade at your chest seemed as weak as your own abilities.

Until it pierced your flesh.

“You’re okay,” Law assured you as he pressed further, your gasping breaths slowing as you realized there was no pain.

“Would you like to hold it?”

Such a strange feeling, gazing at your own beating heart. The very core of your being, the thing that keeps you alive.

Sitting in the palm of your hand like a piece of fruit.

“What happens if I squeeze it?”

“It would hurt very– Y/N, stop!”

Law pulled your heart from your grasp as you fell to your knees. The pain was indescribable, radiating from your chest through your whole body, as if your veins were on fire. Nausea came as the pain burned through you, and you leaned your forehead against his desk as he knelt beside you.

“Why would you do that,” he questioned, almost scolding you like he would when you were kids.

“Most things can’t hurt me,” you choked out, tilting your head up to see his grumpy face. “I was just curious.”

He frowned before sitting on the floor beside you, pushing the chair out of his way as he looked you over.

“How are you feeling, Y/N? Have you been having thoughts of harming yourself?”

“What? No,” you exclaimed, sitting straight as the pain started to fade. “I promise, I just… I don’t know. I’ve never been handed my own fucking heart before. It was like an impulse.”

“You’ll tell me if you start having thoughts like that,” he requested after a pause, making you squirm with embarrassment.

“I promise, I’m sorry. I was stupid.”

Law helped you to your feet, then gripped your shoulder until you were caught in his serious glare.

“That was a stupid thing to do, but you are not stupid.”

You scrunched your face up, and sat down, itching to forget everything that happened in the last hour.

“This is just a precaution,” he repeated, locking your heart in that bottom drawer. You tried not to stare as he tucked the key into his pocket, but a sick taste of guilt hit your tongue.

I wouldn't need a key to steal my heart back. I could just mist into the drawer, and absorb it.

You gulped down the pressure to confess, to tell him to hide it somewhere else.

I’m not gonna steal it back, but I don’t know him anymore. I should be careful.

“Now,” Law cleared his throat, picking up his notepad again, “do you know anything about Doflamingo’s dealings with Kaidou?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell him. Everything just felt blank.

“I don’t… I’m not important enough to know anything,” you explained, the words burning your throat on the way out. “I’m sorry, I probably won’t be able to help much.”

Law sat back in his chair, tapping his pen against his lips while he assessed you.

I’m still fucking useless.

‘Can’t do anything on your own, huh? Just listen to Doffy, you’ll be the perfect little doll for me, alright?’

“Were you with him a lot?”

“What,” you coughed, your skin flushing to the tips of your ears.

“No, I– that’s not what I…” Law sighed, shaking his head to clear his own words away. “Did he have you with him throughout the day? During meals, maybe while he took calls or meetings?”

“Oh,” you said softly, noticing yourself going fuzzy again, staring into nothing as you tried to recall.

~🦩🦩🦩~

“I mean no offense, Joker, but shouldn’t we be discussing this in private?”

“Oh, don’t mind her, Caesar,” Doffy laughed, rubbing his hand over your back as you lounged in his lap. “She can’t do any harm.”

The scientist frowned at you for a moment. You couldn’t tell if he was wearing makeup, or if his skin really was that pale, his lips almost purple. He met your eyes before shifting his own away from you, and away from Doffy’s fingers that trailed over your thighs, your neck.

Doffy always touched you so gently when visitors were around, and you melted into him.

If not for Caesar’s grating laugh, you might have drifted off. Instead, you jolted now and then, Doffy’s hands clutching a little tighter.

~🦩🦩🦩~

“Are you al–”

“I remember something. Doffy sent Monet with a scientist, this weird guy with–”

“Caesar Clown,” he prompted, his brow arching a bit.

“Yeah. And I guess you wouldn’t know Monet, she joined after you…”

Law pointed to a picture on the wall, your gaze slow in following the gesture.

“I know of her.”

Your eyes were drawn to a shot of Monet, her wings curled around her as she read a book with those odd, hypnotizing glasses of hers. Memories of her disapproval hit you, a sigh escaping your lips as you tried to rid yourself of her judgments.

“She’s even more loyal to Doffy than the rest of– than everyone else. She’s almost obsessive. That’s probably why he sent her.”

Law’s body had gone taut, like electricity was running through him as he set his pen to the paper.

“Please, Y/N, tell me everything you can remember. Even if it doesn’t seem important.”

Your brain felt like a wet rag, with Law wringing out every detail of every call or meeting you could think of.

It seemed strange how much you could recall from your quiet perch on his lap. You were always so bored, but had to fight yourself not to space out or yawn.

Doffy’s possessive fingers along your skin were wonderful, your revealing clothing giving him so much access. As bored as you could get, those teasing touches in front of visitors prepared your body for what came later.

It was a relief to wet his thigh with slick before he dismissed the guests. He rarely had the patience to prep you any other way.

You’d spaced out on those memories, Law’s face pinching in concern as he watched your nails digging into your arms.

“Are you hungry? We can continue tomorrow.”

Groaning at the thought, you followed Law back to the galley. He didn’t have much luck in calming his crew this time. They surrounded the two of you until Law begrudgingly introduced you, and your hand was shaken by many greasy, steamy hands pulled out of gloves, and one bear’s paw that you were very hesitant to touch.

“I’m sorry about what I said before,” Bepo drawled, true sadness seeming to drip from his voice. “I just really love our cap–”

“Bepo,” Law scolded, and you turned to scold him back as the bear scurried off.

“How could you be so mean, did you see his–”

“Don’t fall for his sad bear eyes,” Law bristled, and you held in your smile at his discomfort.

“Is that something you’ve learned from experience,” you teased, earning you a scowl.

Law tucked into his meal, not meeting your eyes as he replied.

“I know my crew.”

“Oh yeah? They all seem to think you’re the most wonderful man in the world. Could the Surgeon of Death be a big softie?”

If looks could kill.

“Okay, sorry,” you teased between bites, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You do realize that I could take away your tongue if I wanted to,” he threatened, with what looked like the barest touch of pink gracing his cheeks.

“Oh, I’m sure you’d enjoy some alone time with it.”

Law raised his brows as you clamped your hand over your mouth, your face going hot. He looked too smug, his lips curling as if trying not to laugh.

“Shut up,” you choked out, putting your misty hands in your lap.

“I’m not the one whose tongue keeps wagging,” he taunted, somehow keeping that stoic air about him, just a hint of playfulness showing through.

You stuck that tongue out at him before focusing on your meal, and the low chuckle he let escape was hardly noticeable over the nearby conversations of his crew.

But you noticed it.

Warmth tingled through your body, and your face was still burning by the time he led you to your room.

“Will you be alright in here,” he checked in, standing outside the door to the small room he’d set up for you in the barracks. “The crew are on rotating shifts, so there will always be someone sleeping or getting ready nearby if you need anything.”

“Okay,” you said in a small voice. The realization that you were about to be alone in a cramped, metal room made your skin crawl.

“Are you o—“

“I’ll be fine. Thank you,” you lied with a smile. You were good at lying with smiles.

“Okay,” he nodded, clearing his throat. “I’ll, uh… I’ll come wake you in the morning, alright? We can have breakfast before we continue going over what you remember.”

“Sounds good,” you chirped. Your cheeks started to hurt as you waved him out, letting your muscles relax after he’d closed that heavy door.

Quiet.

Not completely. Clanging sounds of the sub interrupted the stillness. Soft voices floated in the hallway beyond that door.

But now that you were alone…

Thoughts. Memories. Fear. Shame. Guilt.

Falling back on the single bed, you choked out silent sobs, the flood of emotions slamming into you. You had left your world, dove off the edge of a waterfall, but now you were caught beneath the crashing water, drowning while your body was ripped apart.

What have I done? How could I leave the family? How could I betray Doffy?

I’m nothing but scum. Useless my whole life, and now I’m a traitor.

Your mind went in endless loops. Gratitude for Law taking you away. Guilt for betraying the family. Relief that you weren’t stuck in that mindless existence anymore. Terror that Doffy would find and kill you both slowly.

It hurt. Your whole body hurt, your head pounding like the clanging metal of the submarine.

And you couldn’t understand how you could feel your heart breaking and burning in your chest when it was locked up in Law’s office.

“Y/N, can I come in?”

His knock had sent you to the ceiling, your body spread into cowardly mist while you tried to calm down.

“Y/N,” he checked again, concern staining his voice.

“Just a second,” you stalled, going solid in front of the door. You shook yourself, wiped your tears, and took a few quiet breaths before opening the door with another beaming smile.

“What’s up?”

Law didn’t look at you like an old friend, an enemy, or a captain on a mission.

He looked at you like a doctor, and you tried not to squirm.

“What’s that,” you pointed to the lump of shiny fabric he held under one arm.

He coughed, looking down at his shoes before returning your gaze, seeming to rebuild that doctor persona.

“You’ve been through an intense amount of trauma, and the shock of… If you would feel comfortable, I’d like to sleep on the floor in here tonight, just to make sure you’re okay. I could sleep outside the door if you prefer, I just—“

He glanced down at your clenched fists, and you tried to relax them as he continued.

“I want you to feel safe.”

I’ll never be safe. I’m a traitor. I’m weak. I’ll be tortured before they kill me.

Doffy will…

The lump in your throat burned, and you filled the room with thick mist so he wouldn’t see you shatter, sinking to the floor as you clawed at your empty chest.

Law closed the door, calling your name as he moved blindly toward you. You could feel him in your mist, and you could have avoided him. You could have let yourself expand into tiny droplets of water, keeping yourself away from any care or comfort he could try to provide.

But you couldn’t think. Just heave silent sobs, and struggle through breaths that took in more mist than oxygen.

“Y/N– fuck,” he cursed, stubbing his toe on the bed as he waved his arms around slowly.

The mist told you that he’d gone to his knees, crawling close to you in the small space, but you couldn’t do anything with that knowledge.

Warm fingers found your arm, pressing lightly along to figure out what he was feeling.

“I’m sorry I’m touching you, I just need to make sure you’re alright,” he breathed, tracing along your shaking body until he found your neck. His fingers almost burned your clammy skin as he took your pulse before gripping your shoulder gently.

The way that you could see through your eyes was different than how you could see as mist, or through the mist you create, but you had no way to describe the difference. Through the mist, you saw him lean close, his head above yours as if he could see through the mist too.

“I’m here. I’m right here with you, Y/N.”

Time was impossible to track as you alternated between crying and dissociating, Law’s calm presence never wavering. Eventually, your mist cleared up, from exhaustion instead of choice.

He lifted your limp body, tucking you into the small bed before rolling out his sleeping bag.

“You don’t have to sta–”

Law interrupted your slurred words with a harsh glare, but sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

His eyes seemed brighter in this dim room, his voice too soft, yet firm.

Staring into nothing, you felt numbness trying to take you again, but words jumped out of you before you drifted away.

“Why does it still hurt,” you accused, tapping against your chest with angry fingers, desperate to rip these feelings out. “You took my heart, Law. Why does it still hurt so bad?”

Somehow, more hot tears fell, your body too weak to keep tearing at the hole inside.

Law’s eyes trailed away, gone to some other time, some other place. When he came back to you, he took your hand in his, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“If I could cure a broken heart, I wouldn’t be able to complete my mission.”

His words felt as hollow as your chest. You managed to squeeze his hand, pulling in his distant eyes.

“So we can be broken together then,” you asked, your voice still hoarse as your lips lifted into a weak smile.

Law huffed a laugh, lifting your fingers to his lips before kissing his promise onto your skin.

“Broken together.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I knew I was going to go crazy when I started writing for Law, and I was correct. I'm obsessed with this emotionally wrecked man 🖤

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel | @nothing-but-brass

Part 3

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

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millzieraa · 10 months

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Hii so this is more than 100% very basic BUT still yk the song Yummy by Ayesha erotica hear me out f!reader sings this song at her concert right? But how would Tokio hotel react to like “yeah he loves me but he fucks me like he hates my guts” part of the song and yeah idk if it makes sense cuz I suck ass at explaining

˚₊‧꒰ა HE LOVES ME BUT HE FUCKS ME LIKE HE HATES MY GUTS ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Summary: tokio hotels reactions to hearing you say “yeah he loves me but he fucks me like he hates my guts”

A/N: RAHHH I LOVE THIS REQUEST!! I still have a ton of requests to write so expect more!!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

BILL KAULITZ

✮ “Yeah he loves me but he fucks me like he hates my guts!” You sang as you walk around the stage

✮ bill was SO FLUSTERED at your words!!

✮ looks at you like (,,o//o,,)

✮ everyone looks over to him like ‘ayoo??’

✮ his whole face is red bruh he’s like a fucking tomato

✮ when he sees you smirking at him, he’d have to put his hands over his pants ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶ iykyk

TOM KAULITZ

✮ “yeah he loves me but he fucks me like he hates my guts” you sang into the mic

✮ he just smirks

✮ he loves hearing you say that y’all

✮ Debby Ryan face activated ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)

✮ LOOKING YOU UP AND DOWN AND SHIII

✮playing with his fingers and his dreads and just watching you intently

✮ honestly he’s just vibing, cuz he knows what’s gonna happen when y’all are alone •⌄•

GUSTAV SCHÄFER

✮ “yeah he loves me but he fucks me like he hates my guts” you sang as you swayed your hips

✮ sweet boy can’t handle it

✮ SWEET BOY CANT HANDLE ITTTT (∩˃ω˂∩)

✮ the boys are teasing him SO HARDDD

✮ “didn’t know you had it in you gustav”

✮ hides his face in his hands and smiles so wide

✮ every time his face leaves in his hands and he sees you he’s just like, breathing?! What’s that

✮ if you smile at him.. that’s it, he’s dead

GEORG LISTING

✮ “yeah he loves me but he fucks me like he hates my guts” you sing as you wink at you boyfriend, Georg

✮ eyes: widened

✮ jaw: dropped

✮ something: inappropriate to say

✮ BRO IS FLABBERGASTED YALLL (´𓋰`)

✮ but also horny

✮ he’s just looking at you with like mixed emotions

✮ like he’s both shell shocked and excited

✮ ANYWAYS…. He proves the song lyrics👩‍🦽

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #georg listing #georg listing x reader #gustav schafer x reader #gustav schäfer #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader

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cer-rata · 1 month

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An incomplete but very angry diatribe about the missed potential of the Star Sapphires

So back in the day Geoff Johns and co decided to open up the Green Lantern mythos and add some more flavor and expand the concept of sci-fi tech powered by elemental emotion to more than just willpower. Which yes, is not an emotion, we ignore it and move on.

Anyway we got some really cool stuff! A rage tyrant fueled by experiencing incredible injustice on a personal and cosmic scale, whose vendetta twisted him into something terrible. An avatar of greed who was never allowed to have anything, not freedom, not family, not safety, who takes and takes and takes to fill a void that can never be satisfied. A priest who lost everything but presses on through his unshakable hope that the future can and will be better. It's a lot of fun stuff!

So in this great creative re-imagining, they had to do something clever and fun with the idea of an all female corps powered by love right? They took the opportunity to move past the purely romantic, sexual idea of love and the obsessed femme fatale archetype, because they had the chance to really explore different types of affection now that there were a bunch of different avatars with different stories to pull from right?

Right?

Nope! The only Sapphires we ever learn about are heartbroken over a cursed romance like Carol, grieving a dead fiance like Miri Riam, forcibly mind controlled to be one like Fatality, or just Miss Bloss who...kind of said she wanted to join up? No clue what her deal is, as far as I'm aware that's never really explained. And then we just never learn about anyone else, and still haven't. The hell is "The Lost Sapphire"? No idea, we'll likely never know.

It's frustrating because not only is this a glaring example of the depth of plotlines offered to women in comics compared to their male counterparts, but also a wild lack of imagination. Love is one of the most complicated emotions we experience. Fear, anger, hope, all pretty easy to quickly define. Love is multifaceted, cultural, incredibly contextual and a factor in so many different kinds of relationship. Just thinking logically it should be much easier to flesh out the motivations of a group pulling from such a nuanced source of power, versus something as clear-cut as rage. But no, the red lanterns got so many varied reasons for their rage, the male ones especially: Bleez being the woman was of course given the SA narrative, which I don't think is inappropriate on its own, that's an incredibly valid reason to be angry, but as the ONLY truly prominent female Red Lantern it's like...c'mon guys. But still, at least she and Atrocitus had different reasons for becoming what they are, and that variation was played for plot and drama.

But there's not a single Star Sapphire that personally champions something other than romantic love. And before you shoot me, it is explicitly mentioned that they DO protect other forms of love, so there's no reason for them to all be sexy and obsessed with kissing people. There are no Sapphires that are driven by:

The love of their children and families, even in a tragic sense, like Atrocitus and Saint Walker and Larfleez are...

Their love of their people, or their culture. It would have been interesting if Fatality was inducted BECAUSE of her pain at losing her world, but no, they just...replaced her anger with lovey vibes and called it a day.

Their love for nature. Not everyone is social, but social love isn't the only way to strongly experience the emotion.

Their love for themselves. Where is the fun narcissistic ass who loves their own self image to the point of getting powers? It would have been a fun twist and a cool way to get another villainous Sapphire if you wanted to.

Their platonic love of ANYTHING really. Are ace/aro people just...not capable of love then? It doesn't mean anything to be willing to drive cross country to help a friend move just because they needed it and you care? No? You need to be fucking for it to count?

It's like...fascinating if you really think about it. In this vast fantasy universe full of alien races with wildly different perceptions and life cycles, and where the other corps have plenty of non-human, truly alien looking members, that the women's only love corps is full of only hot hot scantily clad baddies. Most love that people experience in their lives isn't even romantic! You will have far more experiences with friends and family members and even loving strangers than you will have with romantic partners.

Like the reason is clearly sexism, duh, but we know sexism is bad, that's obvious, what I really want to make clear is how much this blatant, unexplored sexism just completely desecrated the potential of the worldbuilding here.

From another angle even: Let's say this this WAS the sex and romance all the time corps. Let's say that you wanted to keep it all women. I hate the idea that women are capable of love in a way that men aren't, that's such a bad take and just regressive and unhelpful, but let's just play ball for a moment. They're not even hot? Their designs are such ridiculously narrow versions of feminine attractiveness that they're not even successful at really being mass appeal sexy. I haven't even reached the point of complaining about the fatphobia and criminal lack of different body types yet, I'm still just saying that from the standpoint of fantasy sexy it's not even good at being stereotypical offensive fantasy sexy. It's just boring! They're all so visually boring! You can be scantily clad and still have an interesting and coherent character design! But that is not what they gave these women! They actually redesigned the classic Star Sapphire costume and made it MORE sexist and boring:

Yeah it was cheesy but it was also cute and fun? The design is playful classic sci-fi girl and this is when she was still a dangerous unhinged villain. Its fun to look at and feels tonally coherent next to Green Lantern.

And then they just...

No actually, I will not explain this one, you have eyes.

And yeah they fixed her costume finally,

But! She's still stuck as Hal Jordan's romantic punching bag, and has not gotten to have any new adventures on her own.

So.

What I'm saying is it's a flop all around. 2/10, and only because despite everything Fatality STILL managed to serve. I actually think that all of the corps have been poorly used since blackest night, even the greens actually, but they never even gave the Sapphires a chance. They last showed up in...a WW annual I think? During the whole dark gods event, they needed Diana to help them fight the evil god of love, and there was a guy in the corp finally, and they talked about sisterhood and then we haven't heard a peep from them since. I think Carol might be due to get her ring back in the GL ongoing but she's not really been treated well so far, so I'm not hopeful for anything fresh and well reasoned.

So my lovely ladies (and that one unnamed guy), until they let you get it together it may be time to

#dc comics #comics meta #hal jordan #green lantern #star sapphire #carol ferris #fatality #atrocitus #larfleeze #saint walker #sexism #shut up cerata #dc editorial answer for your crimes

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mybelovedwoo · 1 year

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partying with ateez - headcanon

how would a party look like with ateez members

headcanon, romance, fluff, a little spicy in some parts

gn!reader x bf!atz

wc. ~0.8k

an: this goes so well with the new wanteez episode, I wrote this even before it was announced though. you can request headcanons if you want to!! if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

masterlist

hongjoong

-doesn't really want to go out in the first place, but doesn't want you to go without him either

-so in the end he'll end up going with you to keep an eye on you

-matching outfits, that don't really match (if that makes sense)

-he says that he can handle alcohol, but he can't, so he will be the first to get drunk

-like a weird drunk?? he does things he normally wouldn't do, like dance like a crackhead in the middle of the crowd

-when someone is looking at you, his scorpio is coming out, he places his hands somewhere on your body, usually on your hips, so everybody can see you are his

seonghwa

-that one person everybody likes to be around and dance with

-he always wants to pay, but you agreed to take turns on paying for the drinks

-knows the actual choreos for the songs, and having a full-on concert

-very light-weighted, cute tipsy type, just gets tired very quickly

-even there, he tries to take care of you, makes sure you don't drink too much or don't feel uncomfortable

-always accompanies you to the bathroom, he can't let you go alone anywhere

-he definitely is the best dressed there, no doubt

yunho

-ohh the life of the party, it's not even a party until he doesn't arrive

-dances all night long, with you, with friends, with strangers, with everybody

-becomes friends with the DJ, and has his own little part at the party, when he plays songs

-dances on the table with you, holds you tight, so you don't fall off

-handles alcohol very well, you can't even tell the difference between his real personality and when he's drunk

-can hardly be dragged home, you have to at least tell him you want to leave 30 minutes earlier, so he can say goodbye to all the people

yeosang

-this boy is so adorable, he couldn't say no to you when you invited him to a party

-but he hates it, when you arrive, he feels so uncomfortable, you have to buy him like 3 drinks at least, so he can feel better

-you ask him if he wants to go home, but it's too late now, the drinks kicked in, and he's feeling himself

-dancing with you in the crowd, doesn't care about anyone else, like really tiny dance

-you've never seen him like this before, or anybody, he talks a lot when he is drunk

-the next time he is the one asking if you want to go out because last time he had so much fun

san

-he was excited to go out with you, to see you all dressed up and having fun

-he stays at the bar staring at you while you are dancing and having the time of your life

-gets you a drink every now and then, he brings it to you and leaves a peck on your cheeks with it

-claimed that he is very good at drinking (he is not)

-dead stares everyone whos looking at you inappropriately, acts immediately if someone is trying to dance with you

-watching you for so long, he can't control himself, pulls you aside to the bathroom and...(you know)

mingi

-he can't handle alcohol at all, he says he can, but everyone can tell if he had even one drink

-wants to buy a drink for everybody at the club, and thinks he is friends with everyone

-just vibing to the music, might break dance if he had a little too much to drink

-feels the urge to tell everyone you are his beautiful girlfriend/boyfriend, and talking about how much he loves and adores you, istg it's so embarrassing

-might cry at the end, because looking at your face made him emotional

-that's when you call the taxi

wooyoung

-social butterfly, somehow already knows everybody, introduces you to his friends as "the love of my life"

-having a drink with every friend he met there while having a quick convo, you can't even tell that he's been drinking

-you need to beg him to finally go dancing, he is such a tease, even when he dances with you

-places one of his hands on your neck, and makes you look straight into his eyes while you dance, he knows exactly what he's doing

-you wanted to kiss him multiple times, but he never let you do it, always pulled his head away, and smirked

-on the way home, a full-on make-out session in the car, from the build-up tension

jongho

-you've never seen him this hyped, he is all smiley (I love his smile so much ㅠㅠ)

-having really good party tricks you never knew about, he's showing off for sure, but he only cares about your reaction and nobody else's

-keeping you close to him, either holding your hands or having his arms around your shoulders

-protecting your drink while you have a toilet break

-when you try to pay for a drink he gets sulky because he wants to pay for everything, so in the end of course you can't say no to him

-carrying you home on his back, because your feet hurt from dancing too much

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wangxianficfinder · 6 months

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Fic finder

~*~

1. There is a fic that I don’t remember the name of but it was wangxian arranged marriage with heavy angst and unhappy WWX. I remember it had a line going “Being married to me is killing him” so if anyone knows it I will be forever grateful 🥰 @kanrax-blog

FOUND! Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

~*~

2. hello im looking for a fic where lotus pier is home to a bunch of eldritch horrors so our jiang trio have darker vibes. thank you so much for your help

FOUND? Monster in Human Skin Series by Nika_Raven_Celeste (T/M, 20k, WCZ/CSSR/JFM, NiecestXu, QHJ/WWX, WRH/WWX, Dark Jiāngs, dark au, grey morality, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Happy Murder Family, Dehumanization, Dark NHS, Dark NMJ, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-human characters, Morally Gray WWX, Gūsū Lán Elders Bashing, Dark Gūsū Lán Sect, Solitary Confinement, Touch-Starved, Gaslighting, Victim Blaming, Mental Health Issues, Emotional Manipulation, Mind Break, Mental Coercion, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Age Difference, no WangXian, Literal monster in human skin, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Imprisonment, Mind Manipulation, Verbal Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Incest, Stockholm Syndrome, Power Imbalance, Captivity, spoil of war, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Conditioning, Master/Pet, Fairytale elements, Eldritch) It's about JFM/WCZ/CSSR though

~*~

3. i was hoping you could also help with finding a fic and since i don’t want to flood the inbox, i wanted to put my request here.

i’m looking for a fic/series where wei wuxian and lan wangji are both actors that work on a project together that involves them being intimate. the catch is that wwx thought lwj hated him and so there’s tension there. there’s also a continuation of when they’re happily together where wwx finds a shrine/treasure room dedicated to himself when visiting lwj’s house. it’s one of the first fics i ever read and it’s so deeply buried that I can’t seem to find the bookmark for it and was hoping for help. thank you in advance and i wish you all well.

FOUND! Feel My Love by Leffy (E, 5k, wangxian, modern, Actors, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Rimming, Anal Sex, inappropriate use of light sticks), of Blooming into the Color of Love series. shout out to asker and their brain cooperating with the details of the fic cause it made it easy to find !

~*~

4. I'd love some help finding a fic! it's a short-ish smut modern au, with gnc lwj who wears skirts and does makeup for football/soccer player wwx, but it's very much canon dynamics! i think wwx has some but not a lot of comphet in it, wwx is very amenable to getting railed by lwj after he learns that this is a thing that could happen. i really enjoyed the characterization

I know I've read 4 but I can't find it/remember what it's called argh. The Twin Jades were child stars and LQR taught them that they had to have other avenues so LXC is a philanthropist (??) And LWJ moonlights in fashion design. He overheard footballer!WWX admitting he would have sex with LWJ and with Mianmian (???)'s help he made it happen. I think the end is a fast forward years later still together/happy.

FOUND! wear me out by plonk (Not Rated, 7k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fashion & Couture, Football | Soccer, Not!Fic)

~*~

5. hi! trying my luck hunting down this fic which i sadly don't remember much of except for one scene. what i rmb is wwx seeing a comb that he wants to get for lwj in caiyi town, and not buying it the first time due to budget issues. when he eventually returns to the stall again, it turns out the seller kept it for him: wwx learns about this from the seller's husband, who is the one at the stall this time, and wwx is surprised to learn about the acceptance of cutsleeve relationships in gusu. thank you very much!!!

FOUND! 🔒 Unstoppable by Netrixie (T, 149k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Eventual Happy Ending, Unreliable Narrator, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Wolf-shifter WWX, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, Fix-It, Werewolf, Shapeshifters)

~*~

6. Hello, I would like some help?? I’m looking for a fic but I completely forgot the name 🥲

it was a MDZS/TGCF crossover: Xie Lian joined the juniors on their nighthunt and Jingyi spends most of the time suspicious of him. At one point they all thought Xie Lian died but Lan Zichen appeared and performed cpr on him and he was fine. At the end WWX recognized him and called him grand uncle and tells the kids Xie Lian’s a god (and when they ask ‘why didn’t you say anything?’, Xie Lian’s only response was ‘you didn’t ask’)

That’s all I remember, I’m loosing my mind trying to look for it please help me 🥺🥺 I’m sorry if it’s a pain @cullen-blue23

FOUND! Lan Jingyi and the Adventure of the Immortal Cultivator by litbynosun (T, 5k, the junior quartet, TGCF/MDZS, Crossover, Just a Fun Little Romp, Minor Injuries, Canon-Typical Violence, Ghosts, postcanon, (for both books), Friendship, A Pack Of Teens Roaming The Countryside With Swords)

~*~

7. Hello! Excuse me but could you please help me with the title of the Wangxian fic that's a Gawain and the Green Knight AU? Where Lan Wangji plays the role of Gawain and enters into a weird sex game with the Yiling Laozu and Wei Wuxian not knowing they're the same person until the duel? Please? @kaitou-cure-prism12

FOUND! rare the man who'll hold to faith by Fahye (M, 13k, wangxian, canon au, Identity Porn, With Apologies To The Chivalric Romantic Tradition)

~*~

8. Fic finder request please! 🙂

Wangxian was in an arranged marriage au and WWX, in trying to get to know LWJ, hangs onto his arm or something and gets pushed into a pond (by accident fromLwJ), but WWX thinks it was on purpose and he decides to be just as rude back. I can’t remember anything else about it, but I think it had a happy ending and that LWJ had to grovel a bit. I swear I’ve read it a few months ago and can’t find it anywhere! 😭😭

FOUND! i won’t say i’m in love by kazzywx (E, 12k, wangxian, rape/non-con, A/B/O, Arranged Marriage, Miscommunication, Angst with a Happy Ending, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, skippable NSFW scenes, wwx’s is basically meg from hercules with his “i wont say im in love” shtick, Hurt WWX, Boypussy, WWX Has a Vulva, Intersex WWX, Dubious Consent, Feminization, Mating Bites, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Mpreg, WWX & WQ Friendship, WWX & WN Friendship, Possessive LWJ, WIP)

~*~

9. Hi, nice ppl! I'm looking for a fic (Modern AU). LWJ is a rich lonely businessman who finds erotic model WWX online (he doesn't do it for pleasure but to pay JC's medical treatment) & falls for him. No explicit sex, WWX just shows his body (only HALF of his face to keep anonymity) & sends private set of pix to clients after paying a lot of money. LWJ becomes the best client instantly, getting more pix & phone calls, which seems to be enough 4 him (he's in love). WWX doesn't trust him, he thinks he could be a psycho, so they didn't meet YET (the fic wasn't finished & now I cannot find it). One day, WWX is in a photo session w/erotic lingery in a building room near LWJ's office, who 'feels' smth but, as he gets to the place, it's already empty & the staff + WWX gone. He founds a piece of his costume & keeps it. Sorry I have no more to add, only that WWX really needs the money for JC's health & asks LWJ to make the payments to his own bank acc, not to the agency (perhaps that lil' info helps). LXC notices a positive change in his brother's mood but LWJ doesn't tell anything to him. TYSM!xo @einherjermineord

~*~

10. Hello this is a long shot but my history and bookmarks crashed on AO3 and there was a fanfic I was reading it was about LZ meeting WY as children one of the two save the other from dogs, LZ gave WY his drum rattle, in a Yilin alley, it was cold and the thin clothed WY got a coat from LZ the author described the coat or cape as embroidery and elegant, then when the uncle and brother came to him, he turn and WY left with the drum rattle but not the coat/cape, years later they are married have children WY pulls out drum rattles and then the old one (which he used as design for the other ones) and is there where they realized are them in the childhood encounter ... I know it's a long shot but do you know what fic I am talking about? Oh and I think it has the tones of mpreg hence the children, but I can't remember much, if you could help me please and thank you

PS there is an author that used a similar encounter in "A Matter of Time" but that is not it I am so sorry to bother you about this, this author told me about you so here I am 😁

Sincerely @mysticalyunique

FOUND! As if you were on fire from within by jalpari (E, 30k, WangXian, Dragon LWJ/Fox WWX, Canon Universe, Getting Together, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Pregnant LWJ)

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11. Hello!! I'm looking for either one or 2 fics here. I might have read them at the same time and they blurred together, or it is the same fic. Anyway, one of them has mo xuanyu and nie huaisang working together and mxy is a fashion designer that insists on dressing wwx. And then the other has a scene where wwx is at some fancy party and escapes lwj through like a sky light. It's a cat-and-mouse fic where lwj is trying to capture wwx.

Thanks for your help and all the hard work yall do 🖤🖤🖤

FOUND! To lurk, to lie in wait by trippednfell (M, 124k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Huli Jing, strangers to co-parents to lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Dragons, Kid Fic, teenage juniors, background NieLan, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Fox Spirit WWX, Dragon LWJ, Blood and Injury, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

FOUND!🔒🧡 Rule Number One: Never get attached. by KizuKatana (E, 130k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O, Criminal underworld AU, Fluff and angst, Crime boss LWJ, Rouge criminal genius WWX, Explicit Sex) #11b with the cat and mouse game sounds like kitzukanas "rule #1 don't get attached"

~*~

12. Hello again. First off I'd like to thank you for all your hard work and help. This blog means alot to me.

I need help finding a fic. It's a modern au. WWX is a hacker. I forgot what LWJ does. It's not something he likes. He doesn't like his life/work. Doing it just for family. There was a part in the fic where LQR said/asked? If LWJ was happy and LWJ said no.

If you do find this fic, would you also recommend something in this similar theme? LWJ doing things for family and not being happy and LQR finds out and regrets his actions? @lailan-rosie

FOUND? Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 107k, WangXian, Modern AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

~*~

13. Hi, Help me find this fic🙏

Lwj is in a hostage/courtesan/concubine situation and the ones who owns him are either wens or jins. Lxc is free and about, knows lwj's situation yet does nothing/can't do nothing because of sect politics.

WWX meets lwj, a stranger at lwj's institution/lodgings and is appalled at lxc for his inaction. Wwx fights/duels lxc saying hes a bad brother. @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

NOT FOUND! The Last Concubine by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 13k, WangXian, Royalty, Emperor WWX, Concubine LWJ, LWJ Whump, Forced Marriage, Starvation, Non-physical spousal abuse, Fluff and Angst, Doing the Wrong Thing for the Right Reasons, Happy Ending, WWX Takes Care of LWJ)

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14. Hi! I’m looking for a fic where rogue!wwx(?) meets LWJ who came down from the mountain just to collect books and bring knowledge back to the cloud recesses. It’s like a right of passage thing? They travel together a long time and then LWJ gets called home. I think he gives WWX a way to contact him even though he shouldn’t? And WWX ends up bringing the Wen remnants to CR.

FOUND? my rivers tilt towards you by perfectlyrose (T, 26k, WangXian, Canon, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Fairy Tale Elements, dragonji, mentions of, Madam Yu's A+ Parenting, First Meetings, Romance, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort)

~*~

15. hi ! this is for fic finder, i think i asked before but i don’t believe it was found: wangxian modern au, they reunite after a gap bc lan zhan gets into an accident (he’s fine, but it was going to be on the news because he’s a bit famous (i think it was as a tv baker) so lan xichen comes over to tell him). they get closer again and i think near the end it’s revealed that lan sizhui is lan yuan, a patient wei ying grew attached to that lan zhan adopted a few yrs after wei ying disappeared @willesnelson

FOUND? Lifelong Confidant by saved (E, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff and Angst, Past Character Death, Families of Choice, Explicit Sexual Content, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, Oblivious WWX, playing fast and loose with basic real life things, references to past alcoholism/substance abuse, Alcohol)

~*~

16. Hello! Hoping to find a fic where Meng Yao I think is the main character. Modern AU, the ensemble are nurses/doctors. Meng Yao is a nurse, but like the head or charge nurse - he points out you can tell bc he's wearing a particular color of scrubs (yellow?). The plot had to do with people actually protecting him for once and his father trying to pin his own mal practice (or possibly Jin Zixun's) on Meng Yao. But Nie Huisang manages to save the day by "stumbling across" records that proved it was Jin Guangshan/Zixun at fault.

Thanks so much for all your hard work mods! @somevariationofgay

FOUND! No Drug Like Me by Justkeeptrekkin (E, 32k, XiYao, Modern AU, Hospital, They're all doctors and nurses, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut, Fluff)

~*~

17. hii, I hope you're doing well, I'm looking for fic whose description was smth like "yuan watches some man try take away his xian-gege" it isn't accurate, and I think it's a humorous fic from a-yuan's pov where lwj is around wwx and yuan is annoyed. Thank u for ur work!!! @mercurygirlwt28

FOUND! as i stumble homewards by the_pretzel (T, 27k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death - WWX, Found Family, Food Issues, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, sizhui pov, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff) lmao I found it myself. thank you sm for ur time!!!!!

~*~

18. Hi I’m looking for a fic where Wei Ying wears Gusu Lan robes and no one recognizes him?

I think (and don’t quote me lol) that it is after the temple scenes and he lives in Gusu land now. @kyuubikuroba

FOUND? Wei Wuxian is Definitely Not Possessed by CursedBlessing (T, 20k, wangxian, JC & WWX, Misunderstandings, Is it exorcism if there's nothing to exorcise?, General Dumbassery, Humor) maybe chapter 3 of this one? Some people recognize wwx but some don't

FOUND? How Odd by bedheadrat (M, 35k, WIP, Case Fic, Fluff and Smut, BAMF WWX, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Rich LWJ, Genius WWX, Separation, Anxiety, Evil Plans, Touch-Starved, LWJ 's white robes kink, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Seduction, Misunderstandings, Not Cheating, Threats, Vandalism, Stealing, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon)

~*~

19. hello! i am looking for a fic, if you don’t mind helping me ☺️

i believe in the fic wwx and lwj used to know each other well (or were together? i cant remember), and wwx came back to lwj’s life with baby sizhui. the baby is also lwj’s i think? but lwj didnt know prior to wwx’s return. the fic is set in modern times, so lwj is a rich boss running a company and wants to provide wwx and baby sizhui everything they need. theres this one scene where lwj gets overwhelmed about the whole situation, so he starts making lists: schools for sizhui, putting wwx on lwj’s uber plan, etc etc.

i’ve been looking for this fic for a very long time but my hands still come up empty. thank you very much!

FOUND? Family Pictures (Or: “Mark Rothko is very, very dead, Wei Ying.”) by belleweather (M, 37k, WangXian, Kid Fic, Post Mpreg, Modern AU, Cindarella Story, Mistaken Identity, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, art conservator lwj, idiot WWX, (he gets better slowly), shockingly little actual sex omg what happened to me, fake/mistaken cheating, no actual infidelity)

~*~

20. Hey, I'm losing my mind looking for this fic where wy fall in love with 3 different people he meets(like gamer id, chat id, irl id) but they're all lwj.

Any idea which fic this is? @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

#20 it's not duo with you.

Actually I'm currently reading duo with you and that's is when i remembered about the 3 identity fic i can't find.

Duo with you is very nice to read, thanks

NOT FOUND! The Best Gift by Lan_Wangjoe (E, 45k, wangxian, Modern, Mistaken Identity, Miscommunication, Fluff, Family Dynamics, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Dorks in Love, Nice LQR, Meet the Family, Nerdiness, Science Boyfriends, Science Experiments, Fake Science, Science Husbands, Geeks, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s), Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adopted Children, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Marriage, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Stupidity, Himbo LXC, Lan Himbos, Lán Family Feels, Making fun of the Lan's again, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Good Parents JFM & YZY, Genius WWX) Wwx is a "true genius" that was obsessed with books written by lqr. He's fav character is hgj, online frenemy is lwj, and irl genius rival is lz

NOT FOUND! Duo With You by Nyatci (T, 48k, wangxian, JFM/YZY, JYL/JZX, modern, College/University, , Gamers WàngXiànCasual Gaming, enemies to lovers (sorta), Secret Identity vibes, they play league of legends, Kinda Crack but treated very seriously, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Comedy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Abusive Jiāng Family, Eventual Happy Ending, Ga(y)mers WangXian, now with fanart, WIP)

~*~

#wangxian #wangxianficfinder #wangxian fic search #wangxian fic finder #the untamed #long post #mdzs

120 notes · View notes

gasolinerainbowpuddles · 3 months

Text

'Til Death Do Us Part║ ⓛⓘⓜⓘⓣⓔⓓ ⓢⓔⓡⓘⓔⓢ

| 'Til Death Do Us Part | fourth and final part of the Whistle in the Dark limited series ║ series masterlist ║ main masterlist ║ | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x married!fem!OC

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 20.2k 👀 | CONTENT: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, deranged Horny Demon Hours shit, cuckolding!, erotic gore, feticide/miscarriage, acts of service: extreme mode, bodily fluids in places they shouldn’t be, torture, brutality, inappropriate use of handheld tools, mental manipulation through violence, menstruation-centered erotic acts, cumplay?, kidnapping, the vibe of the pottery wheel scene from Ghost except violent, discussions of verbal/emotional/physical abuse, so much blood from multiple people, bloodplay, lots of things with a knife, WHAT!TOWN?!Joel

| SYNOPSIS: The tangled web of Matthew's deceit and manipulation have ensnared you and crafted a dismal end.

Please be aware that this installment in particular might be potentially triggering for SA/DV survivors who have dealt with the legal system and its many, many failings for the most vulnerable populations. Please read with care. 💜

You hear the dull rumblings of voices. The cadences vary from deep to soft to rushed and even some hazy amalgamation of all those things. Your head is pounding. Everything sounds like you’re underwater. Your lungs hurt like you’re underwater, too, like you’ve been submerged too long and haven’t taken a proper breath in ages. You’re stiff. You’re sore.

You’re alive.

The voices are becoming clearer - or maybe just louder - as they try to speak over one another. You can make out the sound of someone’s pitched, anxious whispering before a flurry of responses –

“ —don’t give a flyin’ FUCK what any of ‘em hafta say.” “—protocol that can’t just be ignored.” “—obviously not what’s goin’ on here, Joel.”

Your head is throbbing with indecision over whether or not you want to try moving a limb. You manage a twitch of your fingers on your nondominant hand. That goes okay, so you chance some movement from the wrist up. Instant stiffness and discomfort. You whimper. The voices continue.

“—takin’ the law into your own hands–”

“—fuckin’ makeshift town at the end of the world. Ain’t no fuckin’ laws anymore, Tommy.”

“—always been a weak spot for you, Joel.”

The overhead lights sear your vision when you finally work up the strength to open your eyes. The blinding rush acts as some sort of sensory accelerant, a deluge of sensations hitting you from all sides at once now. Almost all of it is painful and prickling. Your eyes snap shut. You’re hyper aware of the fabric laying against your skin, rubbing and gritting against you even though you are still. The dull, tired thrum of your heart beats in time to some lost song. The escalating volume and tension of the argument happening at the end of your bed – what you assume is a bed, anyway – makes your head feel worse.

Sound comes easier and clearer from one side of your head, the side that Matthew didn’t pummel.

Matthew.

Nebulous recollections leap into your consciousness, sharp and clear. The memory of him striking you makes you jerk. His taunts, his promises of your death and possibly his own if things didn’t go his way…

Matthew was going to kill you and then probably himself, all while Joel watched. The stimulus to cry comes over you, but no tears come. Exhaustion won’t allow it.

You hear a voice directly above you. “Baby?” It’s Joel, but he sounds off. He sounds worried. But Joel didn’t worry. That wasn’t like him. He just handled whatever came his way and moved on. This antsy, apprehensive voice belonged to a different Joel.

The sticky accumulation of grime and dried spit made it hard to move your mouth to respond. You wince at something wet and warm being gently dabbed against your lips.

“Hold still, honey. Just a minute now,” he soothes.

You peel your eyes open with immense effort and wait for the blurred shapes to come into focus.

Tommy. Maria. Joel.

Hushed, sniping whispers shoot back and forth. You blink away the haze and take in your surroundings. It looks like the clinic. If you had any energy left for humor, you’d laugh at the irony of it all. The last time you were here was when you and Joel were treated for injuries you sustained on patrol together. It was the same day you’d walked home after being patched up only to discover Matthew and Natalie together in your bed. Your thoughts turn to ruminations of how this could’ve been avoided if you’d just told everyone the truth about Matthew right then and there. Maybe none of this would’ve happened. Maybe you wouldn’t have put people’s lives in danger.

“M’sorry,” you wheeze. It hurts to talk. You wonder how long you’ve been out.

“Don’t you dare,” Joel warns, stern and unwavering.

“Take it easy,” Maria calmly suggests. You aren’t sure if she means you or Joel. Probably both.

“Been through the wringer,” Tommy adds quietly. “No need to push yourself too much.”

You move your moistened lips back and forth a few times to prime yourself for speaking. “Where is he?”

The room is quiet as if they were all hoping it would take longer for you to arrive at that question.

“He can’t hurt you,” Joel insists. “Locked up. Can’t hurt nobody. Not anymore.”

“He’s being held at the correctional center until a clear narrative of what happened can be established,” Maria supplies, sounding almost clumsy in her terse delivery.

“He-He came into—was too fast–couldn’t–”

Your explanation is cut off with a cough. Your mouth is scratchy and dry. Joel helps you to sit up straighter, drawing a hissing groan of pain from you, and tilts a cup of what you assume is water onto your lips. You gently sip in small increments.

“How long?” Your voice is thick with sleep and pain.

“Been here a few days is all,” Tommy answers. “Been comin’ and goin’ but mostly just sleepin’. Got you some medicine onboard to help with it all. Been worried. ‘Specially this one.” He juts his chin towards Joel, who scowls in their general direction.

You’d grimace if you could stand the discomfort of it. You’d roped Joel into your bullshit just like you’d dreaded. Your mind warpspeed shifts to Ellie. Ellie. You startle in your weakened state. Joel seems to understand.

“She’s okay. Knew somethin’ was up before she even made it through the door. Smart kid.”

A heavy sigh of relief escapes you. With the situation as dire as it had been - and still is - Matthew only managing to harm you was the best case scenario. You maintain a neutral face as Joel fills in the blank spots in your memory. How Ellie had come back home to gather some clothes for her sleepover. How she’d felt something was off when she sensed the unnatural stillness of the house. How she spotted Matthew hovering over your unconscious body and thought he’d killed you.

Your heart wrenches at the thought of her seeing you like that. Ellie didn’t deserve this. She didn’t ask for this. You’d brought pain onto her and Joel both. As Joel recounts how she’d run to Tommy’s for help, your lungs feel like they’ve shrunk. Apparently Matthew had been taken by surprise at her appearance, forgetting that she even lived there.

Leaders in the community spoke with Tommy. Spoke with Ellie. Even spoke with Joel and Natalie’s dad, after it came to light that Joel had sparked something in this entire collapse. Matthew had scrambled like a coward once Ellie outpaced him and went running for help. He was apprehended within the hour, and you were whisked away to the clinic even sooner.

Ellie showing up to get those clothes had probably saved your life. Your stomach gnaws and shreds itself with that piece of knowledge. This is exactly the sort of thing you’d wanted to avoid, and here you’d put so many through so much unnecessary hurt in such a short span of time.

Your stomach only felt all the more gutted as you listened to Tommy and Maria explain that interviews had been going on all while you’d been unconscious and Matthew had been in a retaining cell. Several of Matthew’s “conquests” had heard of all the news with his newly pregnant partner and the inappropriate conduct with a minor. They’d been called upon to share their testimony as to whether or not Matthew had ever suggested or carried out violent and abusive behavior towards them. They all truthfully attested that he had never been anything of the sort.

Joel shot Maria a nasty look when she volunteered the information about a few of them floating the idea that you had probably injured yourself and somehow lured Matthew to talk with you so that you could claim he’d done all this damage to you.

An idea that you were so desperate for revenge and to ruin his life that you would concoct an elaborate sort of story where such a thing would’ve happened. It was just the natural outflow of the groundwork he’d laid over the weeks about how you were supposedly physically aggressive, how you’d put hands on him before, how you weren’t the same person behind closed doors, how he’d finally put his foot down and left you.

It wasn’t just the town gossip Angelica that had been feasting on the morsels of lies that Matthew had been steadily feeding to sources that were sure to pass along such salacious information. Unfortunately for you, Matthew had always been a manipulative smooth talker, always ten steps ahead of you. He’d been setting the stage for this sort of situation, smart enough to assume at least a few of his past lover’s responses to the questions would lean towards this bastardization of events. So before anyone had even testified yet, he’d already fed the story to the leadership council. He fabricated some story about how you’d asked him to talk, and he felt sorry enough for you to agree to it.

Joel tries to shut the conversation down when he sees the tears brimming along your lashline, but you shake your head and insist on hearing it all. You have to know what you’re up against, and as Maria continues, you realize just how much of a monster you’re facing.

As it stands, his account of events is the sole firsthand statement on the situation, and it’s just as pernicious and artful as you would anticipate from a man like him. By his version of things, you’d begged him to talk to him, and he’d pitied you enough to oblige, meeting at Joel’s house as planned. When he came upstairs to find you, he discovered your intentional, self-inflicted injuries along with an already disrupted room, all meant to signal a struggle had taken place. You’d taunted him for walking right into your trap, insisting that Joel would be home soon and would react to protect you once he saw the scene you’d created. You’d laughed in his face about Joel fighting for your honor, willing to kill to protect you. All of it an elaborate ruse you’d arranged just so you could physically assault him and threaten his life.

He’d enacted just enough self-defense to prevent you from fatally attacking him, avoiding your blows whenever possible because he didn’t want to fight back and hurt you somehow in the process even though it would’ve been in his right to do so. Ellie’s surprise appearance was “an intervention from the Lord above,” or so he’d thought at the time. When she discovered him standing calmly over your unmoving body, he realized she’d fallen right into your plan as well, running off thinking he’d been the perpetrator in all of this. Fearing that she was running to find Joel and bring him back to the house - just what your masterplan had been all along - he’d fled.

He didn’t deny the large kitchen knife he’d had on his person in the house, claiming he’d gone to grab it at some point when he’d finally managed to subdue your attacks. It was the only self-defense he had if you woke up and started attacking him again. His entire narrative was one of self-defense, of fearing for his life, of fleeing on foot once he feared either Joel or his brother Tommy were going to return with Ellie and retaliate for the perceived attack.

You feel frozen to the spot as you listen. The icy sense of dread crept through your veins as it all sunk in.

The boxes from unpacking had been strewn about and a mess as you’d tried to work through them. Coupled with the upturned items in the bedroom, it presented a space in disarray. It backed up his version of events.

His body was riddled with defensive wounds from his fight with Natalie’s dad. Even with the word from John that he had in fact had a physical altercation with Matthew, it made it impossible to determine when and where his injuries had been sustained since no one else had seen Matthew between that encounter and his encounter with you. It backed up his version of events.

For all the ways he’d wronged you, he’d shown love and tenderness to a constellation of lovers, all of whom had truthfully testified that he had never once laid a hand on them, been verbally aggressive, or shown a hint of a temper. It backed up his version of events.

Your history of coming from a violent upbringing, of how you’d grown up in a world where it was normalized, was perhaps the source of your “continuation of that cycle” simply because “you’d never known anything else.” It was a particularly cold-hearted blow, and it backed up his version of events.

The knife in his hand, the weapon for his own protection if he were put in a dire spot because of your insistence on physically assaulting him, could’ve easily been used to murder you. But he didn’t. He’d had plenty of time to do it if that had been his intent, so why was he instead just “hanging around”? Why, if he had gone there to assault and murder you, hadn’t he just done it? It backed up his version of events.

He was not striking you, harming you, or aggressively engaging with you in any way when Ellie came home. She’d only seen him calmly waiting with your unconscious form. Her insistence that “it obviously didn’t seem right” fell on deaf ears. She’d only been telling the truth when she testified that she didn’t personally witness any attacks from either party. It backed up his version of events.

With a “beautiful baby on the way” and the path to “finally making decisions for a better life,” the legitimacy of his motive was questionable at best. You on the other hand had been left “bitter and jilted” by his decision to break things off and move on with someone else. He had everything to live for, everything going for him. You’d lost everything and been “left behind.” It backed up his version of events.

Each intricate, sinister lie entwined delicately into the next, so well explained and proactively contradicting to your version of events - the truth. Each fictitious strand clung to the next until a tapestry of deception had been woven, blanketing any hope you’d ever have in refuting each of the claims. He’d gotten ahead of the narrative, all because you were drifting in and out of consciousness from the battered state he’d put you into, no less.

He’d already won. He’d already won, and you hadn’t even had a chance to speak a word of truth.

The strict orders from medical staff to “take it slow” were laughable. A handful of residents were calling for your own stint in a retaining cell until all the investigation had been completed. That handful grew over the next several days while the council continued gathering all the information about the situation, getting witness accounts starting from when you got back from the patrol trip. It was a lot of information to go through and determine what was true and what wasn’t, what was embellished or glossed over.

You never strayed from the truth when you gave your piece to the Council, but it felt like it didn’t even matter. It had already been whittled down to a “he said, she said” situation. You wanted so badly to keep the faith that Council was simply doing their due diligence in getting all the facts prior to making such a huge decision as whether or not Matthew would be asked to leave Jackson…. or perhaps you. After you’d been placed on house arrest in lieu of a retaining cell - thanks to Maria’s shrewd intervention - you knew you’d truly lost.

It didn’t matter that Maria had convinced them – lied on your behalf — that you weren’t medically stable enough for the holding cells and would require frequent medical supervision. It didn’t matter that she’d gently coached you on the importance of delivering your official testimony without the visual of Joel next to you. It didn’t matter how she’d pressed the importance of not reacting to anything too abruptly unless you wanted to paint yourself as the violent, volatile assailant that Matthew had claimed you were.

None of it mattered. You’d been abused for so long. You’d been through hell with Matthew. You’d lost so much. He humiliated you. He beat you. He intended to take your life that day. And yet, here you were, sat in the same room with said man who looked deceptively forlorn and stressed. You had to watch and calculate every action and reaction of yours today so that you were a believable victim, a credible picture of a woman wronged, the embodiment of the innocent hostage to an opportunistic man. Nevermind the fact that the man in question had nearly killed you and would attempt it again if given the right opportunity and was only a glance away from you this very moment.

There wasn't a large number of people present for the hearings. The town Council. Founding residents. Longtime respected pillars within the community. All were called upon to hear your official testimonies of your version of events. Matthew went first. He tucked his body into itself, looking smaller and more unsure. He didn’t look at you. You couldn’t look away.

“I-I was trying to do the right thing, is wh-what I thought. Ya know, talk to her even though I knew she wasn’t too happy about me ending our relationship,” he sniffs pathetically. “I just.. I didn’t think, even after all she’d done to me, I didn’t think she’d do this. I mean, the whole set up. Framing me? Trying to trap me into a place where I’d lose everything because - I don’t even know - I guess that’s what she felt I’d done to her?”

He shakes his head and laughs humorlessly at his hands that he fidgets back and forth nonstop. All a carefully curated and executed display from a master manipulator.

“I’m not gonna sit here and say I’m proud for all my actions. I know messing around with somebody who’s close to 18 doesn’t mean they’re an adult yet. She was the only one I’d ever — I never went after somebody just because they were younger. It was a stupid, stupid decision. I was just– I was just so lonely.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, mouth opening and closing like he can’t quite believe things had “gone this far.” When he shifts in his seat, you notice several others in the room readjust their own posture, maybe out of discomfort or maybe just subconsciously mirroring Matthew’s body language. You keep your teeth clamped together to stop from worrying your lip so hard it bleeds.

“After all the constant verbal takedowns and abuse from her—” he glances your direction for only a moment, just long enough for others to follow his line of sight and see he is talking about you, to you “—I was just broken. I-I wasn’t even myself anymore. I started making choices that aren’t me. I started getting with any woman who’d have my company. I was desperate for it. Desperate for anything other than the hell that was waiting for me at home.”

He shakes his head again, producing big tears to gather and fall down his face. He hitches his breath and sniffs louder now.

“I made bad choices, and I own up to those. But the idea that after finally being man enough to leave that type of situation…. To finally make a home and start a family with somebody who loves me and cares for me… It just doesn’t make sense. Why would I throw all that away? What, because she was with someone else? Of course not!” he laughs in that same humorless way again.

“I just only hoped he wasn’t gonna get it bad like I did all those years. I hoped and prayed she’d find peace with him - with anyone. If she could find some peace, maybe she wouldn’t need to do all of that, you know? To find whatever it is that she’s looking for, because god knows I’m not it.”

He pauses to wipe the palm of his hand roughly against his cheeks to clear away his tears. “I wished for so long to be able to be the guy to help her. I didn’t know why I wasn’t enough, I just knew that I never was.” He hangs his head in his hands for a moment before looking upward as though seeking divine guidance.

“I just ask that the council please take into consideration her upbringing. The day I met her, she was getting beat to death by her own damn flesh and bone. Her father and brother were set to kill her. Can you even imagine that? That type of evil? How can someone coming from that know any better? She needs help. She doesn’t need to be kicked out of this place. I know what she’s done is horrible, but please, if there’s anything that can be done to-to, I don’t know- to rehabilitate her or therapy or something. Please don’t send her out those gates to die. Please. I may have decided to break things off with her, but I still care for that woman so deeply. Please.”

You feel close to retching. He’s made a strong case for himself all while casting a shadow of doubt and fault in your direction. You can feel the eyes of every Jackson resident called to attend the hearing falling squarely on you, but you can’t bring yourself to look at them anymore. What if you don’t convey the right emotion? What if your efforts to not empty the contents of your stomach onto the floor right now somehow read as guilt or remorse? What if your nerves and body language and facial expression and sounds and posture are interpreted as some admission of wrongdoing?

You can’t stare at your hands any longer if you want to avoid appearing like you’re hanging your head in defeat or regret or fault, so you settle for pushing through the queasiness and scanning the faces of the Council in front of you. A few faces remain stony or neutral, but just as many if not more have softened or, worse, looked away from Matthew at the discomfort of seeing a grown man weeping so openly. If it isn’t seen as an authentic act, that would have to mean he was some brutal, manipulative monster to fake such a moving display of grief and pain - a monster they’d allowed to live right under their noses this whole entire time. Admitting that’s who he really was would be in part admitting their own fault at not keeping Jackson safe.

The lie is working.

Midday break is called, and the air in the room feels like every particle of oxygen is dampened and weighted with the inevitability of your downfall. Matthew was going to walk away from this situation unscathed, and then he was going to kill you.

You just have to sit and wait for him to kill you.

The tremble in your hands is such that you can’t get a firm enough grip on the doorknob to get into the private adjunct room where you’d be spending break. Ellie reaches around you and turns it quickly, giving you a gentle nudge inside with Joel following closely behind. The door is no sooner shut than you double over a bin and start heaving. Joel doesn’t make a face or comment on the odor. He just helps you get straightened up before taking out the soiled container. The smell of your ruination lingers as you collapse into a nearby chair and break into sobs.

Joel returns with food you can’t imagine stomaching and water you reluctantly sip. He doesn’t speak, just pulls you close against him.

“He’s gonna kill me, Joel,” you shake out. “They believe him. He’s gonna walk away from this, and then he’s gonna kill me.” The last few words dissipate into a hitched octave, full of fear and defeat.

“No he ain’t,” Joel corrects sternly. You can only shake your head and cry, at a loss for words in this surreal situation.

“They can’t actually be buying that story!” Ellie argues. “Nobody would believe that shit! Right, Joel?”

When Joel doesn’t rush to corroborate her assessment, Ellie seems to deflate a bit. “You-you’re not serious. People think he’s innocent?”

Her tone of comprehensive disbelief is as fitting now as ever. You can’t believe this is happening, but at the same time you also know deep down this was always the only way this would go.

“We know the truth, Ellie,” Joel sighs. “People are weak. If there’s anything I’ve learned in my life, it’s that you can’t count on people to do the right thing.” He finally pulls back to look at you. Your face crumples when you catch his apologetic expression. He’s as powerless in this situation as you are.

“But what about all those times she saved your life on patrol? And taking up for everybody’s shifts and covering people’s asses? How the fuck is that a bad person? Somebody that would plan something awful like that? Like, what? There’s no fucking way!” she sputters.

You blink unfocused at the floor, unsure of what to say or do. You want to comfort Ellie, but you don’t want to lie or get her hopes up. You know how this story ends.

“I don’t even give a shit if you did do something bad to him. Fuck it! I don’t believe him. I believe you. And he deserves every bit of what he gets, and then some!” Ellie asserts in a passionate appeal.

Despite everything, you smile to yourself. Ellie and Joel might not be blood, but they are certainly family in the way that it counts. And these two staunch supporters were in your corner, so you must be doing at least one thing right.

Joel cups your face in his hands and directs your attention to him, all fiery eyes and steely expression. “No one is going to hurt you. He’s not going to hurt you.”

He says it with such firmness and conviction, you want to believe him. You brush away the fat tears slipping down the curve of your cheek. It’s silent again in the room, and Joel goes back to just sitting with you and holding you. He’s quiet and a little detached. It’s probably for the best. If he starts distancing himself now, it might make it easier on everyone when this too good to be true dynamic comes to an end.

The end of break comes and goes without anyone arriving to collect you for the afternoon session. Ellie points it out, the first person to speak in what seems like forever. Just as Joel starts to get up to see what the delay is, Tommy scoots into the room. He gives you a sympathetic, curt bow of his head and glances at Joel.

“Listen, I think there’s some funny business goin’ on with Matthew. I don’t know exactly what the hold up is, but I’ve seen a few of the higher ups come and go outta his room.”

“What the fuck is that s’posed’ta–” Joel starts as the door opens again.

Maria and another Council member squeeze into the ever shrinking room. It’s one of the members who had looked away while Matthew forced himself to cry. The air feels thinner with all the crowding and news of Matthew’s odd behavior. Somehow you still hold enough space for worry that they will be able to smell the remnants of your vomit from earlier.

“Alright, folks, sorry for the delay. Looks like we’re gonna pick up tomorrow morning from where we left off today. The, uh, other party isn’t in much condition right now to carry on, so we’re gonna adjourn for right now,” the Council member explains.

You don’t even have to turn to Joel to know his nostrils are flared and fists clenched. No one says anything, and the palpable tension in the room hangs awkwardly in the space.

“He put forth a request for additional time to collect himself after the ‘emotionally draining’ testimony that was given this morning. Given his disposition we all saw and the fact that it’s not our intent to put anyone into a position of distress during this process, Council has granted his request on a one-time basis,” Maria adds.

You bite back a scathing remark. You have been nothing but distressed. You just didn’t have the luxury of letting your emotions run wild lest you portray yourself as some volatile, unstable person - the type of person who would do all the things Matthew has charged you with. You can’t afford the negative attention that a big show of emotion would likely garner, so you just do all that you can: keep it calm and keep it moving.

You wish that you’d been able to get the first word. You wish you’d been able to get ahead of the narrative so that it benefited you - benefitted the truth. You wish that you could also be seen as brave and raw and moving if you cried in front of everyone. But Matthew had got the drop on you and delivered his “authentic devastation” to a panel of sympathetic ears. His inability to control his emotions was not a point of instability or weakness in their consideration like it might be if the roles were reversed.

Maria catches your eye. Her frown morphs into a tight lipped line, like she wants to say something to you but can’t. She looks at Joel for a moment before focusing on her counterpart.

Tommy clears his throat to dispel some of the charged climate. “Alright. Thanks for lettin’ us know. You need any help gettin’ him back to the retainer, Cliff?”

The Council member shakes his head. “Appreciate you offering, but I think they got it handled. He’s pretty out of sorts at the moment. Don’t think it’ll be much trouble getting him back.”

Tommy nods an acknowledgment and turns to Maria. “I’ll see to it she gets back to the house.” He tips his head your direction. Maria gives a quick thanks and heads out behind the other Council member, giving a tepid, short goodbye.

The walk back to Joel’s house is a disjointed, hazy blur. You’re inside, although you don’t have a clear notion of when that happened. Joel helps you out of your jacket as you stare blankly ahead. You hear Tommy murmur something to Joel that sounds something like “she alright?”

“Hey.” Joel’s voice is grounding and firm. You blink a few times and lock eyes. He’s grasping your arms like he’s holding you up. He might be. You’re not entirely sure at the moment. Every ounce of energy has been zapped from you. It all feels like a waking nightmare.

Low words are exchanged, and Ellie leaves the three of you in the kitchen. You settle clumsily into one of the chairs at the table and rest your head in your propped up arms. Joel and Tommy continue a conversation you drift in and out of.

“Considering he’s goin’ back to a retaining cell, there’s not a whole lotta reason people are gonna find to assume he’s just fakin’ it all. Ain’t the most lavish of places ‘n all that. Council meeting space is a lot more comfortable than that, so ya can’t say he’d be in some big rush to get back there,” Tommy reasons.

“Piece of shit just wants everybody to sit with his bullshit statements from this mornin’. Sleep on it and get his lies all embedded in their heads,” Joel scoffs.

“I don’t doubt that,” Tommy agrees gently. “I’m just sayin’ that you gotta keep in mind how things look, is all.”

“Are they going to ask me about his testimony?” you rasp.

The two brothers turn to you in sync. Joel is the first to pull a chair up next to yours. Tommy opts to stand at the end of the table with one hand mindlessly picking at the tablecloth.

“What do you mean, honey?” Joel asks softly.

“He talked about stuff. Today. And if I’m supposed to… defend myself, or whatever, I just– I want to know what sort of questions they’re going to ask me,” you explain.

Tommy and Joel exchange a look. You lick your dry lips and force the words out.

“Am I– Do I have to talk about my–about my dad and brother?” you choke out in a whisper.

Tommy scratches the back of his neck and looks away in much the same way as others had done to Matthew this morning when the discomfiting outpouring was too much. “I, uh, I reckon they might wanna follow up on some of what he shared, yeah. To get your side of things.” His expression pinches into an uncomfortable frown.

Your face falls when he confirms what you already knew: you were going to have to speak publicly on the most horrendous times in your life, and for no reason other than Matthew had purposefully brought it into the fold. You wrap your arms around yourself and rest your forehead against the table as you begin to cry for the millionth time today.

A strong hand from either side rests on your shoulder and back. Joel rubs small circles while Tommy gives a supportive squeeze. The tears flow freely as your fate comes into the clear. You were never going to be able to pull off being more believable than Matthew. You were never going to be able to remain composed enough to make it through this. Matthew was going to win, and then he was going to kill you.

“We’re gonna figure somethin’ out. I promise you that,” Joel vows.

“I can have Maria come by later to get a better idea of what we’re workin’ with exactly come tomorrow mornin’,” Tommy adds.

Joel pulls you against his side and wraps his arms around you. “Do you trust me?”

You blubber that you do, but it’s a mess of tears and snot as you try to explain that you’ve underestimated Matthew too many times to not have learned your lesson by now.

“Not this time,” Joel disagrees. “We’re gonna stay a step ahead of him. No matter what.”

You let him herd you into the bedroom that he’s completely rearranged so you’re not reminded of what happened here not that long ago. You’re sure Matthew prides himself on leaving you with that particular mental scar, the sacred comfort of you and Joel’s shared bedroom now tainted with memories of one of the scariest moments of your life. Joel had offered to move you both into the guest bedroom across the hall, but you declined. It felt like giving in, giving Matthew another win.

Now you aren’t so sure it really matters.

You settle into the cold bed, trying your best to focus on the scent of Joel on the sheets, and let your eyes flutter shut when he presses small kisses to your temple before going back downstairs to talk with Tommy.

The mellow sunlight filtering through the window suggests you slept longer than intended. Your muscles are sore. Your movements are stiff. How long had you been asleep? The whole hearing process must’ve truly exhausted you. Surely Joel would’ve woken you up if Maria had already arrived.

The smell of eggs wafting up the stairs leads you to the curious sight of breakfast on the table. Panic sets in once you register that you not only slept through the afternoon and the entire night, but you’d also missed Maria’s visit and advice. You hadn’t prepped at all. Joel assures you he’s got it covered and asks you to just take a breath and eat something.

You aren’t sure you can eat, but he coaxes you into some bites. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept. He promises you that he talked with Tommy and Maria and feels confident he can lead you in the right direction. You have no choice but to trust him. Ellie stays home today at Joel’s request. You ask how he managed that given how passionate she was yesterday. He shrugs and gives a noncommittal answer. You don’t press him. In all truth, you’re grateful that she won’t be present for today’s proceedings.

Prying eyes follow your every step to the Council building on Main Street. You refuse to meet any of them. You’re ushered by a standoffish attendant into the same small room where you sat for break yesterday and wait to be called into the main room.

You mention to Joel how odd the attendant was acting. He agrees but doesn’t seem all that surprised. Just as you’re getting the sense that Joel isn’t saying everything on his mind, the same Council member from yesterday enters the room.

“Cliff,” Joel greets curtly.

Cliff nods back in lieu of social niceties. “So it seems that Matthew was going through something more than we realized. We have reason to believe that, uh, that he has left Jackson indefinitely.”

Your shock propels you out of your seat. “What?!”

Joel stands quickly beside you and echoes your disbelief. “Who the hell let him leave?!” he thunders.

Cliff puts his hands up, palm side out, as if to allay the sudden uproar. “We’re gathering information as quickly as we can. We were alerted just this morning about all of this.”

“He tried to fuckin’ MURDER HER, and you’re tellin’ me you don’t know where he is?!” Joel bellows at a slowly cowering Cliff.

“We are doing everything within our power to sort this out, and I assure you that you aren’t the only one who is invested in getting to the bottom of this!” Cliff asserts with a put-on bravado.

“How do you know he left? Who let him past the gates? Who saw him?” Joel demands, rounding on Cliff.

“I’m not able to answer every single question you have, Joel,” he sputters. “I already told you this is a fast developing situation, and we’ve only just started piecing things together. It’s best if everyone just keeps a level head, alright?”

Joel doesn’t look much satisfied with Cliff’s offerings. “Keep a level head? KEEP A LEVEL HEAD?”

“Joel!” Maria barks through the door as she rushes in and shuts it behind her. “Enough! You’re so loud I can hear you down the hall!”

“What kinda establishment you got here, huh? Fuckin’ would be murderers just waltzin’ outta their cells as they please and nobody is any the wiser?” he spits.

You wrap a hand around Joel’s arm, and it thankfully seems to calm him a little.

“Joel, she just brought the letter to us a few hours ago. We’re trying to keep a hold of the situation, and you going off isn’t helping,” she chides.

“What letter? Who?” you choke out. You cling to Joel’s arm to steady yourself as the realization that Matthew has escaped starts to sink in.

Maria’s face softens as she turns to you. “Rachel. Rachel Harmon. She discovered a letter on their kitchen table early this morning. It was addressed to her with a portion written to the Council.

“The dipshit stupid enough to get knocked up by that psychopath?” Joel snips.

You give his arm a gentle squeeze. He glances down at you. You give a small shake of your head. Not now. He understands and chews the inside of his cheek against his molars.

Maria shuts her eyes and sighs, exercising some self-control in the charge of Joel’s anger. “His pregnant partner, yes,” she firmly corrects. Her eyes shift back to you. “I know it has been a difficult process, but if you could look at the letter and possibly verify whether it is his handwriting…”

“You manage to fuck up the VERY SIMPLE TASK of not letting a fuckin’ wannabe murderer escape, and now you’re askin’ his latest victim to help you? I don’t fuckin’ think so!” Joel thunders. He puts himself between you and the others.

“With all due respect, Joel, that’s not your decision to make,” Maria snips back in the same level tone as before.

“I’ll look at it,” you agree. Everyone turns to look at you as you stand there, shaking and trying to hold it together. “I can tell you if it’s his or not.”

“No. The reason Rachel can’t verify his handwriting — the fuckin’ father of her baby — is because Rachel doesn’t fuckin’ know him. Nobody does in the entire godforsaken place,” he finishes with a scowl thrown towards Maria and Cliff. “She knows him better than anybody – and she’s been tryna tell y’all the truth about him – but y’all wanna play this pretend court of law bullshit where there’s supposedly some kinda due process. As if she didn’t end up black and blue from that prick. Y’all seemed to forget all about that with his little waterworks yesterday, huh?”

Cliff looks appropriately chastised. Maria fixes Joel with a stern frown. “If you’re done showing your ass, we have work to do.”

You tug at Joel to get his attention. His angry face meets yours and deciphers the resignation written into every frown and troubled wrinkle.

He huffs and glares at Cliff and Maria. “Bring the letter.”

Cliff volunteers himself to fetch the letter, probably in an effort to excuse himself from Joel’s wrath. Maria holds steady and suggests everyone take a seat and take a breather. You slump into the chair. Your adrenaline is shot. Your mind feels like all the crucial cogs have hit a rut and won’t turn the gears. All the backup machinery of your mind is trying to keep up with things well beyond its capacity. When Cliff returns with the letter, it takes a moment to focus on the document placed before you. Your eyes adjust to read its contents.

𝚁𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚕,

𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 "𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚢𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚠" 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎. 𝚆𝚎’𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎, 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚠𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜.

𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛��𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜. 𝙾𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢, 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎. 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎. 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑.

𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚠

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍. 𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚑 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝙰𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙸 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔. 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛, 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗.

𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎.

𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜, 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚠

Your stomach bottoms out as you scan the lines of text. “That’s his writing,” you confirm with a feeble shake of your head. You can’t understand how he escaped or why. It didn’t make any sense. This wasn’t like him. Your tongue feels thick and heavy as you try to find the words to express these concerns.

“Doesn’t explain how he managed to escape,” Joel clips.

“We believe his, uh, emotional difficulties yesterday were enough of a distraction to the attendants that they didn’t notice him taking the key off them,” Cliff explains with a notable pink flush on his cheeks.

“So you got swindled, and now a murderer is on the loose?” Joel sneers.

“Joel, if you can’t keep it civil, then I’m going to have to ask Tommy to see you out of here,” Maria warns.

“You want to keep things civil, but you can’t even keep one asshole in a cell?” he bites back. “You’re tellin’ me nobody noticed he was gone in the middle of the night? How in the fuck did that happen, huh? Somebody sleepin’ on the job?”

Cliff adjusts in his seat and sits a little taller. The rosy flush morphs into a deep red and spreads down his neck. “He, uh, he arranged his bedding to look like—”

“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Joel snorts in disbelief. “He bundled up some blankets to look like a body? Like in the fuckin’ movies? And you fell for it?”

Cliff clears his throat and can’t quite meet you or Joel’s eye. Maria huffs, clearly exasperated by Joel’s condescending ire.

“Sounds real fuckin’ convenient, doesn’t it? That he managed all this by himself?” Joel challenges in a low, dangerous voice.

“Watch it, Joel,” Maria cautions. “If you’re suggesting there’s some sort of foul play or outside help, you’re dead wrong, and I’d be careful going around making such bold, suggestive claims.”

Joel laughs without a trace of amusement and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. Maria’s jaw clenches tight with annoyance. Joel had told you before how his and Maria’s relationship was rocky at best, and this entire situation was just oxygen to a flame. You respected Maria greatly, but it felt good to have Joel stick up for you so fiercely.

“We’re done here. Until y’all get your shit together, don’t come botherin’ her. I’m walkin’ her home, and I’m gettin’ a rifle from the patrol station. You have my word if that asshole shows up, I’m shootin’ him dead on the spot.” Joel’s nostrils flare, hands slamming onto the table as he abruptly stands.

Much to your surprise, neither Cliff nor Maria take him to task on any of it.

“Come on, honey. Let’s go home,” Joel says softly to you, extending his hand for you to take.

True to his word, Joel obtained a firearm and made no attempt to downplay his intent to use it if necessary. He kept by your side, gun ready at all times, as the days pressed on. Tommy stopped by a few times a day, sometimes with updates and sometimes with nothing. By the time day three rolled around, you hadn’t learned anything that made sense of the ordeal.

Matthew had managed to steal his cell key from an attendant, leave his cell with a decoy blanket body in place, get into his and Rachel’s house to write and leave the letter, sneak into reserves and stables to gather up supplies and a horse, and, perhaps most daring of all, getting past the main gates. All without being seen or caught.

It wasn’t that he was incapable of such deceit. It’s that he left when he was already winning. That’s what bothered you the most. He was winning, and Matthew would never forfeit an opportunity to get the best of you and put you in your place. When you’d mentioned this to Joel and even Tommy, neither seemed too concerned with this crucial piece of the puzzle. Joel himself had said that you knew Matthew better than anybody, and it was starting to wear on you that even he wasn’t taking your concerns seriously. He insisted you just needed to keep a low profile and rest. Your pure exhaustion meant you didn’t put up much of a fight to his insistence.

Rachel gave her account to the Council regarding her and Matthew’s previous discussions around leaving Jackson. She tearfully recounted the few times he had spoken to her about “needing to get out of town in a hurry,” but she “never thought he meant like this.” You believed he’d had these talks with her, but not in the context of starting a new life somewhere else. You knew with every fiber of your being that he had spoken about leaving Jackson in a rush in reference to murdering you and either taking himself out with you or fleeing before facing the consequences, whichever came to be the right choice at the time.

It was coming up on five days since Matthew left. You provided your testimony yet again to the Council but didn’t share anything you hadn’t already. It was just under 15 minutes when they’d called everyone back into the room to announce you were considered absolved of any potential wrongdoings as it was impossible to confidently confirm which party had committed what actions. You were given a stern warning that any “untoward behavior” would result in immediate cause for dismissal from Jackson. You agreed to the terms, knowing that you had never been and never would be a problem.

Despite your partial exoneration, it felt like a hollow victory. You still fret to Joel about when Matthew returns and in what capacity. You’re worrying yourself sick with the looming fear of his return. If he was able to evade watchful eyes and escape, he was more than capable of getting back inside the settlement and doing god knows what. What if he didn’t find anything out there? What if he decides to come back and stay? What if he changes his mind and insists that you should be made to leave Jackson instead of him?

You sleep to get away from reality, but your dreams are plagued with nightmares of Matthew above you, choking the life out of you. You can hardly eat. Joel seems so calm somehow. You don’t know how he manages it. It might just be a show of strength to make you feel safer, but all it’s done is make you feel more frustrated. Why doesn’t he seem concerned? Why doesn’t he have the same energy about “staying one step ahead of Matthew” that was so fiery just a short time ago? A week out from your gift of grace from Council, you can’t take it any longer. Matthew has been gone for almost two weeks, and you want to tear your hair out.

“Why don’t you listen to me?” you whisper. Talking any louder guarantees you will break into a fit of tears. You’re afraid. You’re sleep deprived despite sleeping almost constantly. You’re hurt that Joel seems so detached and unbothered from the situation.

Joel’s head snaps up from his task. He frowns in confusion. “What do you mean, honey?” He sets his things aside and moves towards you.

You take a step away and hug yourself, shaking your head. “I-I keep telling you that something isn’t right, but you don’t seem bothered at all. I feel—I feel so alone, Joel.” So much for not crying. The hot pinch in your eyes spills over as you bury your head in your hands.

Joel is quick to snatch you up into a tight embrace. “No, baby. You’re not alone. You’re not alone.”

He rocks you side to side and shushes you. You can’t shake the feeling that he isn’t on the same page as you. A sickening thought tears through your mind, one you hadn’t felt since that day when Matthew gave his testimony.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “Are you… Do you want me to go?” Your eyes go wide in dismay. Of course. You’ve been so distracted with everything going on that you didn’t even stop to consider the obvious: Joel wants out. This is too much for him. Too much for Ellie. This isn’t what he signed up for, playing personal bodyguard to you 24/7. He wants his life back. You can’t even blame him. Why would he choose this? Why would he choose you?

You’ve already accepted it before Joel can reply. You feel completely numb. Matthew was right. All those times he tried to tell you that no one would want you, and you decided to believe otherwise.

“What?” Joel scoffs. “What the hell? No, I don’t want you to leave! What the hell are you— Why on earth would you—” He shakes his head like he’s offended you’d even suggest such a thing. He’s gobsmacked into silence as he searches your face for some sort of clarity.

“But you—you’ve been so distant with all this Matthew stuff. A-And I just, I know it’s too much–I’m too much, and—” You ramble and try to control the flood of tears cascading down your face and neck.

“No. No, honey,” he says flatly. He shakes his head again like he can’t understand how you’d come to that conclusion. He sits you on the couch and pushes himself between your legs. He cradles your face so that you’re eye to eye with each other.

“I’m in love with you,” he states with conviction. Not a hint of reluctance or hesitation is in his voice. You can’t understand it.

“What?” you choke.

“I said I’m in love with you. I love you. It scares the hell outta me, but I do. I love you. I don’t want you to leave, not ever,” he continues. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead to yours.

“You? You love me?” you repeat.

He nods firmly a few times and pulls back to look at you. “Yeah. I do. I really, really do.”

“I–Joel—” you break. “I-I love you, too, Joel. I love you so much. I’ve loved you for so much time now. It’s been so much time, Joel. I never said it. I thought I was going to die before I could tell you—thought he was going to kill me before I could—”

Joel cuts you off with a deep, biting kiss. Your breath comes ragged and frantic with the reciprocal admission and overwrought nerves. You can’t stop crying, and you’re not even sure you know why you’re crying or what you’re crying about at this point. Everything has come to a bottleneck, and there’s no stopping the outpouring deluge.

Joel draws back for a moment to catch his breath. He considers you with a contemplative gaze for a moment before speaking. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied that I wasn’t pickin’ up on how alone I was makin’ you feel.”

You swallow and ask a question you aren’t sure you want the answer to. “What’s b-been keeping your attention?”

Joel’s lips form a thin line. He holds your searching eye and finally nods. “I haven’t been honest with you. Been waitin’ until it was the right time. I guess now is the right time.”

Your mouth turns down at the vague explanation. “Joel, I don’t know what—”

“Tonight,” he interrupts. He sounds resolute, like he’s finally decided on something. “Tonight I’m gonna show you. Get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”

You aren’t sure how you’re supposed to sleep after all of that, but you try anyway.

You’re quiet as the horse carries you and Joel through the dense wooded areas outside the settlement. You’d exited through the cover of a passage at the edge of the barrier you didn’t even know existed, but you didn’t ask questions. You just sat quietly and waited to see what Joel was going to show you, what the answer to all your questions was going to be.

The moonlight slipped through the branches, the dapple of a dull glow lighting the path forward, wherever that may be. You hug close against Joel and rest your head on his shoulder as the horse meanders further, past the dam, past the typical patrol points. You hold on tighter at his instruction when he turns off into a steep, obscured ravine. It levels off at the bottom, and you’re beginning to wonder just how far into the outlands this clandestine destination is. Joel slows the horse to an ambling gait and veers into an overgrown pocket of woods.

“This is it,” he announces calmly as he dismounts. He assists you off the horse, and guides it into a concealed alcove already housing three other horses. The only indication that this is even frequented by travelers is a dug-out firepit some several yards away. You start to ask where you’re going now when he points out the telltale edge and turn of a man made structure in the compact stretch of greenery and woodlands. You’re almost a stone’s throw from the camouflaged house before you recognize it, hidden in the distance to anyone not already familiar. He holds firm onto your hand as if you’re one surprise away from being scared off completely. He guides you through the entrance of the house after brushing aside well-placed bits of facade and coverings.

You have a million and one questions, and a singular unknown has been halfway answered when your eyes adjust to the dimly lit interior. Two of the horses must belong to Tommy and Natalie’s father, John, who each sit on aging furniture in what you think was once a sort of living space. They offer a quick greeting, one that you’re too flummoxed to return. They don’t seem surprised at your unannounced arrival. You realize Joel must’ve already looped them in. You know it’s all in due time, but it’s difficult to not grow impatient and nervous as to when exactly all your questions will be answered.

“I’ll holler if we need anythin’,” Joel informs the pair before grabbing a flashlight from a crooked end table and leading you down a dark hallway to the left. He stops in the middle of it, checks over his shoulder that you’re out of earshot, and runs his eyes lazily over your features. “You doin’ okay?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I guess I’m alright. Just sort of feel, I dunno–” You aren’t sure why you’re whispering, but it feels appropriate for conversation in the mysterious, dark hallway of the secret, hidden house. “I trust you – I do – but I’m just getting more and more nervous with every—”

Joel grazes his thumb across your bottom lip. “You don’t need to feel nervous, pretty girl. Not anymore. Never again. I told you I got you, and I do. So now I’m gonna show you, okay? Can you let me do that? Just hold on for a little bit longer for me?”

You swallow down your fear and concede to his plea. “Yes. Okay. I can. I mean, I will.” A deep, grounding breath, and then, “ I’m ready. I trust you.”

Joel shoots you a lopsided grin. “There’s my girl. Pretty thing.” He leans down to give you a quick kiss, and you chase his lips when he draws back. “Plenty of time for that soon enough.”

He walks you to the end of the hallway and stops short of the solid paneled wall. He runs his hand down the edge of the decorative molding, stopping on some unseen point and pressing into it until a soft click sound is heard on the other side of the wall. “Hold onto my shoulder on the way down, okay? Don’t want you fallin’.” He nudges the bottom of the wall, and the entirety of it swings forward, revealing a small opening and staircase.

“Ready?”

Your eyes go a little wide, jaw a little slack, but you just nod and grab onto his jacket as you both descend into the murky space. You duck your head a few times whenever Joel does. He’s clearly been here many, many times to be so well-acquainted with every low hanging beam and jutted bit of framing. You reach the bottom and pause again. He raises a hand to the side, flicking some other out of sight thing, and a camping lantern washes light over the room.

The damp air fits the visual of the area, but it lacks the musk of an unused space. Evidence of human movement and activity are visible here and there despite it being mostly bare. “Hidden basement? Was it always here? This has always been here, or–?”

“Yeah. Came up on it by surprise a long time ago now. The work of some doomsdayer, probably. Took us a long time to find it. Got real good use out of it lately, too.”

You scan the room for some indication of what he could mean. A long folding table lines one wall, filled with random supplies and curiosities. Odd pieces of furniture are scattered here and there. A closed door leading to who knows what. Rolled work blankets, tarps, and crates lie in organized piles.

“Is it some secret outpost or something?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel fiddles with your hand in his. Buying himself some time before–

“Why’d you bring me down here?”

He continues across the space with you and hesitates outside the closed door near the back of the basement. He waits until you meet his gaze before saying anything. “Listen to me good now. We’re gonna go in there, and I need you to promise me if you need to get outta there you’ll say somethin’. No judgment from anybody if you do, alright?” His stare could bore holes into your head with the intensity of it.

“O-Okay,” you agree. You don’t know what’s inside that would potentially be too much for you, but you know he wouldn’t mention it if he didn’t think you needed the preemptive permission of an out. He nods, searches your face with an inscrutable look, and leans down into a soft kiss. He slots his mouth against yours in a slow rhythm, siphoning the jittery anticipation from you with each pass and pull of his tongue against yours. Your weight slowly gives way to his clutch, and you give and give and give your anxieties over until you feel significantly calmer.

He pulls away, appears content with your pacified demeanor, and rests his hand on the doorknob.

“I’ve got you, honey. Just remember that.”

He eases the door open, pushing it wide so you can see inside without having to enter. There’s already a few sources of light, but Joel flips something that powers a long row of bulbs. Matthew’s panicked eyes lock onto yours, a frenzied recognition taking over, and he strains against the rope bandings that hold him in place. He’s bound to a chair in much the same way as the first time Joel tied him up during your first time together. His muffled pleas and screams aren’t entirely intelligible past the wad of fabric shoved in his mouth. You let out a soft gasp at the sight of him, a little roughed up but mostly just looking terrified.

“This hopefully clears up why I wasn’t seemin’ too concerned with whether or not he was comin’ back to Jackson,” he supplies quietly.

“You-You mean…” You glance up at him, dumbfounded and at a loss for words.

He nods his head and watches you carefully, searching for some sort of upset or anger or disgust at seeing your ex-husband being held captive and worse for wear.

“But that day at the meeting! You were-You were so upset! You… was it all…..” You struggle to verbalize a logical train of thought. Joel had been pretending to be just as in the dark as you actually had been all this time. An apologetic frown pulls at the corners of his mouth.

“After that first day of the hearing, I knew we couldn’t count on those people to do the right thing. I told you I was gonna protect you. Keep you safe. I already failed you once. I wasn’t gonna fail you again.” He fixes you with a soft, remorseful look.

“Joel,” you choke. “You-You went and–after it— but, how?”

He takes a deep breath and steadies himself like he’s been waiting to finally tell you the truth, to impart this secret he’s been keeping from you for your own good. “He’s pissed off enough of the guys in Jackson that finding a few helping hands wasn’t too grand of a task,” comes his simple explanation. He glances over to Matthew with a look of pure disdain. “Had a few that owed me a major favor. Knocked his dumb ass out and took him out the back. Tommy already took the supplies, and I met him with the horse at the back passage. John lugged him on the horse here.”

You blink slowly, trying to absorb all this new information and connect it to what you already knew - or thought you already knew. You’re in such a state of shock that you don’t catch Matthew’s increasingly desperate, stifled calls for help. Joel rolls his eyes and shuts the door so the conversation can proceed in peace.

“But the letter,” you sputter. “How?”

Joel looks at the ground and knocks the toe of his boot against it a few times before looking back at you. “Might be for the best if we don’t get into that.”

“No, Joel,” you say with a tremble. “I want to know. I deserve to know.”

He shakes his head in agreement and reaches out for your hand, which you readily place in his. He hesitates a few times before speaking. “I- I don’t want you to be- I don’t want you to be afraid of me, honey.” His head lists back and forth, his eyes locked on where your hands are clasped together. “Done some bad things in my life. Not proud of all of it, but not really too sorry for it, either. I just… don’t want you thinkin’ I’m somebody you gotta be afraid of.”

With what seems to be a great amount of effort, he looks at you again. You hold his stare, a steady and unconditional hope and confidence meeting his look of insecurity. “I trust you,” you remind him firmly. You gather his hands together in yours and press them against your heart. “I trust you more than anything. I trust you with my life. I’m not afraid of you.”

He wavers for a moment before steeling himself. “I threatened to hurt Rachel and the baby. That’s how I got him to write that letter,” he admits. “Had to get him to talk, and quick, and I knew threatenin’ that would get him to write whatever I told him to.”

Your brow pinches together in an unasked question: how could you leverage something against him that he doesn’t actually care about?

“Yeah, it’s a little more’n what it sounds like. I–” he pauses for a beat before starting again, once more sounding uncertain of himself “–I don’t want you to see me different, when I tell you. Don’t think I could take you feelin’ scared of me or scared that I’d do anything to you – ever.”

You could understand his reluctance to bare these dark parts of himself. You’d spent most of your life in the long shadow of fear, the torrents of violence delivered by the mouths and hands of men you should’ve been able to trust. It was all too predictable that Joel would just become another perpetrator in the long line that existed before him, fitting into the established pattern.

Except Joel wasn’t like anyone you’d ever known, was unlike any man you’d shared space with. He jumped the circuit that had been assigned to you - the circular loop of pain and fear - and became the break in the sequence. The disruptor of the inevitable. The arm that links to yours instead of bending it backward until compliance is yielded. Joel had decided that the cycle of your suffering stopped here, and god help anyone who got in his way.

“Scared? Of you? Joel, the only thing that scares me is whether or not I can ever be for you what you’ve been for me.” The words slip out gently, like they aren’t all sharp edges patched together with threads of hope. He moves to cut the conversation from its trajectory, but you press on before he can stop your moment of timid confession. “I don’t want pieces of you, Joel. I want it all. Just like you say you want all of me. So– I’m asking you to-to trust me with the truth, the way I trust you with the truth.” You level a firm, probing gaze and watch as his reservations abate.

“I’m not stupid, Joel. I-I know what him being here– I know what it means.” You straighten taller, pushing and pressing yourself to show the faith you have in yourself and in Joel - in the two of you. “I know that he’s– I know he’s not going to-to live. I know he’s not going to survive this. He’s not going to walk out of here.”

“That ain’t up to anyone but you,” he corrects. Before you can ask what he could possibly mean, he clarifies. “Told ‘em it wasn’t anybody’s decision ‘bout what happens to him but yours. Weren’t too happy with me about it. Wanted to kill him the first night – especially John – but ain’t nothin’ gonna happen that you don’t want to happen.”

The weight of his words settles slowly, a viscid cloud that ripples and sweeps through you. Matthew’s far off, muted cries for help are the only sound other than the pounding pulse in your ears. He took your life and bent it to his will, and now he was at your mercy. His fate lies in the palm of your hand because Joel stopped others from taking that decision from you. Because Matthew had hurt you more than anyone. Because Matthew had taken the most from you, wanted to take everything from you, it should be you to decide what happens.

Because Joel wanted to give you something you’d never had before: the power to dictate your life.

Your lip quivers with the comprehension of it, the magnitude of the gift he’d gently laid at your feet, as if it weren’t the most profound gesture anyone had ever bestowed you. Your lungs pull for the inhale that will balloon your chest against the constricting cage of your ribs. You have to get it together. You have to let him know he can tell you anything, can tell you everything, all without the fear that it will be too much and be the reason you walk away.

“Because you love me.” It’s not a question. It’s an answer. An explanation of why this man in front of you would do all of this.

“Because I love you,” he echoes. His lips press into a tight line. Consideration. Resolution. And then–

“I said I would—” He falters again, searching your face for the fear he so dreads will take hold and fester in you, the fear of what he is capable of, even if it’s done with the intent to shield you from harm. You give his hand an encouraging squeeze. “I told him I’d drag her here, blow her brains out, and rip his kid from her stomach. Make him hold it until it didn’t move anymore. Kill off the future of him if he didn’t write what I told him to.”

You gulp back a gasp. “A-And would you have…? You would’ve done that?”

“Didn’t need to,” he replies instantly, skirting the question.

You press his hand firmer against your chest. “Would you have done that, Joel?”

“Yeah,” he finally admits. “If it meant gettin’ Matthew away from you, if it meant protectin’ you, then yeah, I would’ve.”

You gently nod, swallowing down the ebbing jolt of his confession, and bring his palms against your cheeks. You pivot to kiss them each in turn before looking up at him. “These hands are for– they’re for loving me. And protecting me.” You tilt towards him to emphasize your belief. His shoulders sag with relief, your sanction of his ill deeds loosening the tight nieve of guilt around him.

“And I know whatever happens in there–” an aside glance back at the door and back to Joel “–it’ll be okay. I’ll be okay, because you’re with me.”

He gives you a pointed nod and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I got you. I’ve always got you from here on out. I need you to understand, honey.”

“I do. I understand.”

“Then let’s get to it, sweet girl.”

With that, he opens the door again and drags in a heavy blanket from the other side of the basement. The distinct clink and clatter of metal can be heard even through the thick fabric. He motions for you to follow him into the room and close the door. You push it shut and watch as he hauls a cushioned chair from the corner of Matthew’s room and sets it up a few feet away from him, dead center.

Matthew’s eyes dart wildly between the two of you. You jump at the unexpected slap Joel lands against Matthew’s head. “Shut. The fuck. Up.” Matthew quiets down instantly and stills. “I’m gonna tell you this one time: do not speak unless spoken to. You will listen to her. You will answer whatever question she has. You will not lie to her. If you lie to her or start gettin’ outta line, I will gladly set you straight.”

He rips the fabric gag from Matthew’s mouth and throws it on the floor. His breathing is audible and strained without the obstruction. Joel wraps an arm around your middle and pulls you down onto his lap, sitting in the armchair he’d arranged directly across from Matthew.

He leans forward, hugging you against him. I’m here. You’re not alone. Take the power you should’ve always had. Get answers to the questions you deserve to have answered. His hands splay wide across your chest and belly, an anchor to him. He runs his nose along your neck and hairline, presses his lips gently against your ear. “Go on. I’ve got you.”

Matthew has been sitting silently as instructed, waiting on your permission to engage. Something turbulent and mirthful stirs in your gut. You can feel it spreading through you like a beast intent on carnage. It takes a few moments to recognize the feeling for what it is: power. The expression “drunk on power” finally made sense. The feeling of confidence, strength, and command makes your head buzz. It occurs to you that while this is your first time wielding such authority, it is likely Matthew’s first time experiencing the other side of things, not having any control over what’s going to happen next.

“How do you feel?”

Your question catches them both off guard, although Joel doesn’t show his surprise other than tensing for a split second underneath you. Matthew’s eyes squeeze shut, his frown deepening as he shakes his head side to side. He takes your line of questioning as a sign of possible mercy – all that understanding and patience you’ve been leached of your entire life.

“I’m fucking scared!” he croaks. His voice sounds weak and tired. “Every time they come down here I don’t know if it’s gonna be the time they kill me! Please just tell them to let me go! I’ll fucking go, I will! You’ll never see me again, I swear it.” He leans as far forward in his chair as he can manage, his desperation for your leniency coming off him in spates.

“What about Rachel? And the baby?”

Again, they both show their surprise at your choice of question. Matthew’s face flashes an answer before he can speak: what about them? Of course. Why should he care about the woman he’d impregnated out of spite? She was nothing more than collateral in this entire thing. His rooted seed in her belly nothing more than a guarantee of his lineage, a point of ego.

He works his expression into more of the calculated veneer he’s perfected over the years. “I-If you would– Listen, of course I care about them both, of course I want to take care of them both—”

You don’t bother listening to the rest. His words slacken to a halt as you turn your head towards Joel. “He’s lying to me, and you told him not to,” you say softly. Something eager and electric sparks in his eyes. “Yeah, I think he is, baby. I don’t like that one bit. What do you think?”

Matthew stutters but keeps himself from speaking, rightfully afraid of Joel’s correction.

You rest your hands atop his where he cradles you against him. “Do you remember in the cabin when you told me not to feel bad when bad people get what they deserve?”

He holds back a smirk. “I do.”

“Do you remember what I told you I liked seeing and wanted to see again?”

He doesn’t downplay the depraved grin spreading across his face. “I think I do, but I sure would love if you reminded me anyway.”

You turn to face Matthew and swallow down the delight at his anxious urgency to understand what is happening. Your expression is cold, unfeeling. “I liked it when you cried, Matthew, and I like it when Joel makes you cry—” you turn to Joel again, whose face has darkened and acidified, the drip of a lethal edge pooling at the verge “—so, I want you to do it again. I want you to make him cry, Joel. Make him cry for me.”

His smile is infectious. “Thought you’d never ask.” When he tilts you closer to his face and kisses you gently, it’s your turn to be surprised. “I love you.” A tender reminder, something free in the way he says it now that it’s already been said before. Like he wants to say it as many times as he can. Like you’ll understand how much he means it the more you hear him say it.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back.

You both ignore Matthew’s break in protocol as he rushes to explain his sincerity. Joel is in no hurry, knowing that his leisure only works Matthew into more of a frenzy. He walks calmly to the blanket he’d brought in earlier, unwraps it, and studies the contents for a moment. Opting to forgo anything in the selection, he saunters over to an ever distraught Matthew. The glint of a small blade from Joel’s back pocket catches the light.

“NO NO NO,” Matthew starts chanting, an octave higher reached with every utterance.

You flinch when Joel swings his arm up, barely stopping the momentum of it in enough time for the sharp edge of the blade to tamp directly against Matthew’s cheek. The room is quiet again. A slip of crimson trickles between the bulge of his flesh and the blade. His jaw trembles with the effort of keeping still so as to not deepen the cut.

“The only reason you ain’t laid out and bein’ beat to death right now is because of her, so I suggest you count your fuckin’ lucky stars that she’s the one callin’ the shots,” Joel growls. His fingertips are white from where he grips the hilt of the blade so tight you can practically see the itch to drive it further in.

Matthew’s eyes lock onto your face. Like the rabbit whose leg has been snapped in steel teeth, he feels the walls closing in around him. Something about your presence makes this all the more real somehow, you think. You drop your gaze, suddenly feeling uncertain if you only liked the idea of Matthew suffering and might not be fit to actually witness it. As if sensing your thoughts, Joel flicks the blade closed and returns it to his pocket.

“Now listen real close,” he drawls. Matthew’s face pouches out in little pockets of flesh between Joel’s stretched fingers where they grip his skull. The dig of Joel’s thumb into the new sliced divide of flesh triggers a string of pained gasps. “My girl wants to see you cry, so you’re gonna give her some tears. If ya can’t squeeze ‘em out during some heartfelt somethin’ or other, I’ll just hafta think of somethin’ to motivate ya.”

Joel watches you from the corner of his eye, waiting for you to take the lead when you’re ready. He senses your uncertainty at commanding the situation just yet and continues. A fractured cry pierces the air as Joel wedges his finger deeper into the cut. “Lucky for me, I’m feelin’ real creative today.”

Matthew shakes his head, although you’re not entirely sure which part of it he disagrees with. Joel doesn’t seem to notice or care and continues on. “So how about you start bein’ honest and start from day one. I wanna hear all the fuckin’ mistakes you made and all the shit you took for granted. And god help you if ya start lyin’ or fakin’ some crocodile tears.”

You find Matthew’s eyes again, settled with a defeated acceptance, and he looks scared enough that you think he might actually just tell the truth for once.

“W-When we met– the first time we met–” he sputters. He squeezes his eyes shut like he’s closing himself off from his current predicament, as if he can separate himself from the lies he’s told and his obligation to now recount the story in truth rather than through his lens of manipulation. “When I saw you, I just– I did think they were raiders. Your dad and brother. I did. But. I just thought– I knew I could catch them off guard and take them both out. I just–”

His eyes slip towards Joel, a mistake warranting censure. Joel grips his head in one hand and forces his focus towards you again. “You’re tellin’ her, not me. So keep your eyes on her when you’re talkin’.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to kill you, too, or see if maybe you could be useful to me in some way,” Matthew confesses in a bungled rush of words.

“What do you mean?” You swallow down a sick feeling and aren’t sure you want to know the answer. He’d been a liar since the very beginning, and it took you so long to see it. You’d been such a fool for so fucking long. Knowing the extent and depth of the deception only magnified the hurt stemming from this level of betrayal.

“He means he kept you around for a warm, wet hole to stick his dick in,” Joel snarls.

“It wasn’t just that!” Matthew pleads. His eyes nearly slip back to Joel, but he recovers at the last moment. “I swear! If-If it was just that I could’ve just raped you! You were already so beat down it wouldn’t have been hard!”

Your stomach sinks hearing him share this alternate version of events, something so perverse from what you’d always remembered it as. “Am I supposed to be flattered by that, Matthew?” Your voice breaks ever so slightly. You hate showing weakness, especially under the circumstances.

At least Matthew looks appropriately chastened. “I’m telling you the truth! You said you wanted the truth, and I’m doing that! PLEASE!” His lip trembles with unfettered panic. “Maybe I wasn’t some-some knight in shining armor like I had you believe, b-but if I didn’t actually want you I would’ve just dumped you sooner! You have to see that I’m telling the truth about that! I did like having you around!”

“Having me around for what?” you bite back. The look on Matthew’s face says Joel’s assertion about being a “warm, wet hole” wasn’t very far off. “So that’s really it then? Just somebody to use? Somebody to make you feel good? To be, I mean– to be, what? Forever in your debt? Someone who-who was so fucking–” you cut yourself off before the heat pinching in your eyes forms tears. You shake your head side to side to collect your resolve. “Someone who was so fucking grateful to be out of their situation that they wouldn’t even notice all the fucked up parts of their new one?”

Your voice has grown shaky and hoarse at the effort of holding back tears. Matthew’s face twists into something akin to an indignant sneer. “You can’t blame me for every little thing, you know. You didn’t have to follow me around like a lost puppy. You were plenty grown enough if you wanted to—”

The sneer morphs into a grotesque contortion of pain as Joel drives his knife straight into Matthew’s lower thigh and twists. The shocked scream erupting from him is almost as jarring as the brutal drive of the knife springing up blood through his pants.

“Let’s try that again,” Joel drawls. He yanks the blade from Matthew’s leg. The claret drips fall like a quiet rain against a window, and it makes you feel unfamiliar with yourself when you register the sort of calm it brings. The gentle pitter patter of rain against the pane. The soft spill of Matthew’s blood onto his clothes and the floor. Something contentious and changing, something ready to cleanse away the before.

You sit up straight on the edge of the chair and grip the arms, looking on in revulsion and enthusiasm. The ire churning in your gut unfurls into licking flames of white heat. “A lost puppy you were more than happy to keep on a leash,” you warble back. The edges of your vision blur in equal, indignant fever. You shove yourself up from the chair, legs shaking with the surge of emotion you no longer attempt to subdue. Hot bands of wet splinter over your cheeks, a fit pair with the jagged breaths you pull in. “How many?” you snap. “How many women were you with after you told me you loved me and cared about me?”

Matthew’s mouth hangs open as if it awaits the strangled sob in his throat to dislodge itself soon. “PLEASE,” a gasp of a prayer for your mercy.

“Ain’t a quick learner, are ya?” Joel laughs to himself, calm as ever while he jabs the flat side of his hand directly against Matthew’s windpipe.

He sputters and coughs before quickly choking out an answer. “I don’t–cough–I don’t know. I have to think!” He tilts his head back, his eyes chasing an answer along the ceiling somewhere. “I-I’m think–jesus christ I don’t know. It has to be….” He trails off with a small rocking motion as he tallies his indiscretions. “I think thirteen,” he finally decides.

“Can you even name them?” you challenge. He makes it through the first handful quickly, but his memory is hazy from when he’d finally given in to the practice of unabashed, serial infidelity. With a promise of “help” from Joel to remember the rest, Matthew manages to focus and list off names that amount to a grand total of seventeen. Seventeen others he’d sought out and prioritized over you, over his commitments and promises to you.

“Why?”

Matthew squeezes his eyes shut tight again in anticipation of the response to his truthful but less than palatable answer.

“Because I could.”

He waits for the strike or the blade to come and peels his eyes open when it doesn’t. You can see Joel’s entire frame taut beside him, fuming at the gall and arrogance. You signal for Matthew to continue answering.

“I-I knew you’d never do anything about it. I knew you were too scared no one would want you. I knew you wouldn’t ever think of crossing me.”

A physical pain roosts in your chest. He was right. You never did anything about it - not until Natalie. Even after Natalie, you remained boxed in by your own fears of having to present yourself as enough for somebody else, as if anyone would want you. You’d never crossed Matthew because he was something rather than the terrifying prospect of nothing. But none of that mattered when he made you feel so alone anyway. It didn’t matter when he isolated you from even knowing yourself.

“Joel, can I have your knife please?”

His eyebrows shoot up, hands deftly placing the weapon in your open palm. “Gonna show me some techniques, baby?” His smile falls a little when he sees the fearfulness pulling at you again. “Or are you gonna let me join ya?”

“Together,” you agree.

Matthew thrashes in his bindings. Pitiful calls for you to just wait and hold on a minute fall on deaf ears. Joel kicks his chair to the ground and gives a hard push with his boot to position him onto his back. You motion towards the gag, which Joel shoves back into place. You brace yourself over Matthew’s feet and remove his shoes and socks. The sinew of his muscle flexes as he tries in vain to get away from you. Joel kneels behind you and steadies you in his arms. Matthew’s neck is craning, eyes bulged with horror, as he watches helplessly.

“Can you…..?” you trail off, not sure how to ask what you want to ask.

Joel follows your line of sight to the arch of Matthew’s foot. He holds you in the cradle of his arms, back to chest, as he places his hands over yours and the knife clutched there. “I’m right here. You go on ahead, sweet girl.”

He guides your hands forward, releasing his grasp on one side to hold Matthew’s foot in place, and you hold your breath as you both plunge the blade into the soft bend of Matthew’s foot. His screams become clearer through the bunched fabric in his mouth. Your stomach turns at the high pitched agony. Joel frames your body closer to his and talks close to your ear. “You’ve got it, honey. You’re doin’ it. I’m right here. You just keep goin’. I’ve got you, sweet girl. I’ve got you.”

The glittery silver disappears into reddening, wet flesh. Before you can pull it back out, Joel turns your wrist to the side and slows the extraction to a brutal crawl of blade against bone. Your hands shake as you enact the most ruthless savagery you’ve ever rendered. Joel’s hushed whispers of encouragement feel nauseating and thrilling. When the blade finally works its way out completely, you release a hard, shaky exhale.

Matthew is sobbing and writhing, his torment discernible even through his restraints and gag. Joel is unphased, passing praising kisses against your neck and cheeks. “Did so good. So proud of you.”

“I did okay?” you shake out.

He leans forward so you can see each other’s faces fully. “Did perfect, sweet girl. Perfect.”

You take a deep breath and center yourself. “Can you help me do it again?”

Joel grins, a sort of fervid vestige of a bedlamite, and says of course he’ll help you do it again and adds that he’ll help as many times as you want, baby. After you repeat the same measured, excruciating puncture on Matthew’s opposite foot, Joel asks a question you’ve only just decided the answer to.

“How many times you wanna cut him, honey?” He nuzzles against your earlobe, ever patient and calming. You know if you said you wanted to stop all of this and just walk away, he’d do just that. It makes you want to do it even more.

“I-I think that, um,” you mumble hesitantly. You try to block out Matthew’s heaving shrieks. “I think that some smaller ones for the rest. I think, maybe, fifteen smaller ones should make it–”

“–seventeen,” Joel finishes with a sinister chuckle. “Knew I had me a clever one. You’re really somethin’ else, sweet girl.”

You almost chicken out as you start to feel ill inflicting your twisted punishment, a slice into his flesh for each time he strayed from you. Joel as always helps you through it and steadies the blade to create fifteen superficial but sizable slits across the expanse of Matthew’s body from bottom to top. By the final cut, his eyes are far off and fixed on a spot above your heads. Joel jerks the chair upright and wrenches him out of his dissociative escape.

“Wake up, prick,” he snaps. A smack of his palm against the side of Matthew’s head gets his eyes focused on you again. Somehow there’s still the resonance of hatred in his gaze, a burning, putrid animosity held for you. The vitriol that comes into the centrifuge of his sight on you makes goosebumps ripple over your skin.

What feels like hours has in reality only been minutes. The encumbrance of violence has tired you quickly, and you briefly wonder how on earth people can maintain rabid, cruel tendencies for years, even decades. How they aren’t shriveled into a heap after 5 minutes of it. Then you remember, some people thrive on it. For some, it’s the only thing that swells their blood. People like Matthew who can’t seem to stray far from it without it coming back tenfold in its consuming appetite for destruction.

Your stomach burns and clenches. This is not the path you are meant to travel. There’s something decidedly wrong about it all, and you wish you could focus more on Matthew finally getting what’s been a long time coming. Instead, you avert your eyes from his, away from the splinters of torn tissue you’d carved into him.

“Hey.” Joel’s soft voice calls you from your freefall. You look over to find him already watching you, carefully pinpointing each minutia of emotion you can’t keep from breaking through. “C’mere.”

You readily shrink into his middle, his arms coming up to cage you into him. A few deep breaths of him block out the heavy, stale air of the room that’s whirling with the metallic daub of fresh blood. You let him guide you to sit in the lounge chair in his lap. You slump against his warm, broad body. Your head lolls to the side. You feel like you could just shut down right now and sleep for four months straight.

“Lemme help you relax.” The words barely register until the paired action of his hand skimming underneath your waistband catches you up immediately. Your body tenses as you turn your head to look at him. A soft, playful smile graces his lips. His fingertips dip down lower. Your lids flutter closed. Why did this feel so good in such a gruesome environment? How did this feel so germane after all the atrocities you’d just committed against another human? Nevertheless, Joel’s touch is a calming weight, settling over you in an instant.

“Gonna take these off, honey.” The scratch of denim and cotton against your legs is the beginning of your body fully switching over into corporeal awareness instead of the tumultuous sea of your mind. A whiny choke gets caught in your throat when you feel Joel’s hands against your bare skin.

“I know, I know,” he soothes. He spreads your legs across his lap, knees hooked over his thighs. Your curiosity gets the better of you when you wonder what Matthew’s face looks like.

Cold. Callous. His eyes keep flashing to the cradle of your thighs, spread and displayed.

“Messy baby,” Joel hums with a spark of humor. You aren’t sure what he means until you see the bright blood on his fingertips. “I like you messy,” he grunts, cupping your pussy against his palm.

“Joel,” you start to protest. As you stare at the menstrual blood glistening on your inner thighs, you realize the gut cramping and sick feeling you’ve been experiencing over the past hour could only partially be blamed on all the torment you’d been inflicting on Matthew.

“Knock it off,” he warns, sounding stern and resolute, when you squirm against him. You whimper and give in immediately. There’s not much fight left in you when it comes to Joel, not with all the pinpricking blooms of revenge taking to you so steadfastly. He groans against you as he sinks his fingers inside your entrance. His other hand has skirts underneath your top, toying lazily with your hardening buds.

“Gonna let him watch just like that first time,” he husks. His excitement is palpable against you, seeping into you like an osmotic, erogenous stimulant. You can feel him thick and ready beneath you. You lift yourself higher for his fingers to go deeper. He wordlessly complies and drinks in your feeble moan.

“God do you remember how fuckin’ smug he was that day? Now look at him.”

You heed his invitation and focus your hazy attention on Matthew. His eyes are glossy and bloodshot. His nose is dripping. There are patches of bright new blood and auburn, oxidizing blood all over his body. There’s a mixture of dried and fresh tears streaking his face.

“Pathetic piece of shit,” Joel laughs under his breath. He hooks his fingers into you and moves his hand back and forth in quick motions, his palm pressing firmly against your clit. Your legs clamp together reflexively, but Joel pries them back open. You pin the weight of your shoulders against his chest, arching up from where you sit in his lap.

“Give it to me. Come on, baby. I can feel it. You’re right there–yeah, come on–there you go.”

A white heat scorches through your lower belly just as you reach your peak. You’re a writhing mess against Joel, who holds you loosely against his chest. A warm pool of wet gathers on his hand and fingers, bright red mixed in with your slick. Your chest feels hot and prickly as you catch your breath. Already so awash in your afterglow, you list to the side where Joel props you gently against the back of the chair.

The entire front of his pants are flecked in smudges of scarlet. He twists and turns his hand in the light, admiring the catch of it against the mixture of fluids. He smiles to himself, stands, and saunters to Matthew, whose eyes grow larger the closer Joel gets. Thick bright red blood coating his hand is all the more evident when he flexes it into a fist.

“Bet you thought so many times about seein’ blood pour outta her,” he muses in a dangerously calm voice. “Bet you wanted to be the one to make that happen. Crack her in the skull. Cut her open. Shoot her. Huh?”

Matthew is still as a statue. You find yourself hanging onto Joel’s every word as well, mesmerized and head crooked to the side to witness whatever was going to happen next. Dissatisfied with his question going unanswered, Joel takes his clean hand to grip around Matthew’s sweaty, grimy hair and yanks him to the side. “HM?”

“Yes!” Matthew coughs and begins to cry again. “Yes, I thought about it!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Joel's entire broad frame is rigid with fury. “You wanted her blood so bad, you can have it.” The high pitched impact of Joel’s drenched hand across Matthew’s cheek practically echoes in the enclosed space. Fresh tears carve a clean line through the smear of your blood on his face. Joel slaps him again. Again and again and so many times you lose count. His face is covered in you.

Matthew had wanted you dead. He’d wanted your blood on his hands. He felt that’s what you owed him. Joel saw to it that the “debt” was repaid, just not how Matthew had envisioned it. It was a due reward for what he’d craved, and it sent a surge of righteous anger through every nerve ending in your body. Joel pauses for a moment to check in on you.

You bend your head slowly in approval. “More,” you whisper.

The million kilowatt, manic grin that brightens Joel’s entire face makes you smile shyly in return. There was something akin to pride there, something that made him swell with it just from you taking control of the situation and taking ownership in this act of vengeance. He loosens some of the restraints binding Matthew to the chair and frees his arms and legs.

With every ounce of energy he has available, Matthew lunges at you, an ineffective movement with his injuries slowing him down. It’s a stumble and a longshot. You’re not even sure why he attempted it. Joel doesn’t look surprised in the slightest. In fact, he looks like he was hoping Matthew might do something so incredibly stupid just to have a reason to further maim him. He snatches him up and sends him flying into the closest wall, crumpling into a heap. Just when Matthew manages to brace himself against the wall and sit upright, Joel’s boot slams square into his back, knocking the air from his lungs.

He twitches and gasps for breath that doesn’t come. He still hasn’t caught his breath when Joel finishes stripping him bare, a constellation of slices and gashes and bruises across his body. Joel kicks him again into the middle of the room, pins him to the floor with a knee between the shoulders. The deft movement of his fingers is mesmerizing as they work over the freshly tied knots around Matthew’s elbows and wrists. Alleviation doesn’t come when Joel stands, fully clothed with a hard foot planted into Matthew’s naked back. Something about this exhibition sends a wave of heat between your thighs.

“If you try that shit again, I won’t be as patient. You understand?”

“Yes,” Matthew sputters against the ground.

“Now, keep your arms out in front of you just like that, and if I so much as see ‘em twitch I will get to flayin’ you with a blunt knife, startin’ from your fingertips.”

Matthew makes a noise that you think can only convey a distraught understanding. You inspect the loops and knots across his body, never truly trusting that it’s enough to keep him contained. Before you work yourself up with worry, Joel walks past you to the pile of tools, plucks one of them up, and returns to your side with it. A flash of light catches against the head of a hammer.

“Let’s show this bastard what puttin’ his hands ‘round your neck gets him.”

Just like he had with the knife, Joel braces himself against you and positions you over Matthew’s outstretched hands, cupping the handle of the tool in your grasp. A visible tremor shakes Matthew’s entire body, but he doesn’t dare move his arms despite knowing what’s coming. To his credit, he doesn’t scream too loud with the first several blows of the metal tool against the delicate bones in his fingers. They bend in unnatural contours after each strike, bits of stark white peeking through gnarled, ripped sinew and flesh.

The shrill din in your ears drowns out his suffocated gasps. Even when Joel helps you stand again, your knees stuck in a tremulous lock, you barely make out his instruction to drive your foot down as hard as you can. His arm curls insistently against your ribcage, holding you upright, coaxing you into delivering the violent stampede of your sole into Matthew’s already ruined appendages. The faint, sickening crunch with each strike, the soft gurgle of blood and liquid as his bone tears through where it hasn’t been crushed already. You start to feel lightheaded and sick when Joel finally pulls you away and sets you in the chair again.

Sound comes slowly back into focus, but you don’t hear what sorts of things Joel is saying to Matthew as he crouches over his pitiful, slumped body. You can only imagine it’s the adrenaline keeping him going right now. Your expression pinches when you see Joel free Matthew of all the ties he’d carefully formed not too long ago. Or maybe it had been longer than you thought. This entire room existed in a vacuum as far as your mind was concerned. It felt as though nothing existed outside these four walls. All that existed was here and now in this moment of wrath and retribution.

Joel’s hands are warm against your face. “Hey there,” he says softly, quietly, with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’s bent in front of you, eyes traveling across your expression and taking in every indication of your wellbeing. “Remember if it’s too much, we can–”

“No,” you grit out. The resolve to see this through gives another wind of life. “Keep going.”

Joel’s eyebrow ticks up. “You sure about that? You were lookin’ a little pale back there.”

You shrug. “Not used to this. That’s all.”

He gives you a sympathetic grin and rubs his hands along your bare thighs. You’d forgotten you were only half-dressed. “You promised you’d tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not if I’m with you.”

His whole face softens, tender and visceral in the way it reaches out to you and pulls you closer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You rest your hands over his where his thumbs rub small circles. “So tell me what we do next. Help me finish this.”

And with no pretense, he ushers you up from the seat and slowly over to where Matthew lays quietly on the floor. “You wanna know what I told him?” he breathes into your ear. The wet of Matthew’s eyes glisten from where he looks up at you. The fabric gag is in his mouth again, although he is entirely unbound. You wonder what it is that Joel said to have him not daring to move again. “Told him he had to come first or I’d start breakin’ the rest of him, piece by piece, bone by bone.”

“Come first? What do you–”

“Hold onto me,” is the only warning you get before Joel is crouched behind you, reaching a hand between your legs and pulling you backward against him. Your body naturally falls open, limbs askew, as you lean into him. His fingers are thick where they breach into your bloodied entrance, still wet with your earlier release.

You quickly figure out he’s working you at such an odd angle with a distinct purpose. The pleasant but unmistakable friction against your g-spot has your legs shaking in anticipation.

“Better get to work. She’s already gettin’ close,” Joel taunts.

To your horror, Matthew drags his mangled hands across the soft length between his thighs in some warped deference to Joel’s warning that he has to reach climax before you do. The gag in his mouth isn’t substantial enough to drown out his anguished sobs. A harsh pinch to your nipple snaps your attention back to Joel. “You focus right here, sweet girl,” he husks. “You show me how good I make you feel, huh?”

You squeak out a moan when he rolls your other nipple between his nimble touch. “Ohmygod,” you breathe.

“Mmmhhmmmm,” he chuckles low against your temple. “ Mmmhhmmm, yeah, there she is.”

His fingers work you faster and harder until you’re right on the cusp, closed off the rest of the world with just Joel’s voice goading you to finish. You come with a hard jerk and grab onto his solid forearm as he positions you over Matthew. It comes out of you in steady spurts, the debauched splash of your fluids landing onto Matthew’s bare body and into the valleys and gashes you’d carved into it.

He seizes up, eyes slipping into the back of his skull. You don’t have a moment to consider the acidity of it in his open wounds, how it must make it burn and aggravate the already sensitive gashes, before Joel’s hands are everywhere on you. His voice is urgent when he says he has to have you right now. You say yes because even though your body can’t take any more of it, you want whatever he’s willing to give. You want all of him, to be swallowed whole by his want, to cave into the summon of his body and his mind.

The metallic clink of his belt and rough shove of fabric. You’re practically floating. He lines himself up and pushes in, already panting and sounding close. You cling to him where you can as he begins thrusting. The split of him stings in all the best ways, and you welcome the anchoring sensation of it. “Feel so–hhngg god- feel so fuckin’ good,” he chokes.

Your feeble moan only encourages his steady pace, filling you and spreading you and molding you to him. “I want it inside,” you whimper.

Joel gives a pained groan at your request, his hips stuttering for a moment at the visual. “Yeah? Want me to come inside you again? You like that? Like being full of me?”

You make some unintelligible noise that you hope conveys your affirmation. His gravelly moan works you towards another climax, but the roll of his hips begins to falter. You know he’s close. His body drapes over yours and pushes you both closer to the ground, nearer to the strung out stare that Matthew has in between squeezing his eyes shut tight as they’ll go.

“Oh fuck, please, Joel.” You want to be marked by him, want to be hued by the color of him spilling over into you, the tones and shades of him bleeding into you and staining into one flush of congruency. “Please, I need you,” you cry out.

He empties into you with a ragged moan as you clutch to him and find purchase with your other hand against the erratic rise and fall of Matthew’s chest. The warmth of Joel surrounds you and spills out of you with each sloppy thrust until he’s laying a path of lax, wet kisses along the column of your throat. “Love you. I love you.” He says it over and over like a mantra, breathless and in reverence that you’re his.

And you love him back more fiercely than you might ever be able to put into words. You look down at the man who’d wronged you all the while feeling the protective presence of Joel behind you. This is how it was meant to turn out, you think. A bookend to the first time you and Joel came together. A thought about that first time strikes you.

“I wanna do it like that first time,” you whisper with a turn of your head.

Joel hums in approval and gathers you closer to him. His hand slips lower in silent understanding, cupping your sex as he drags himself out of you. The mixture of his cum, your slick, and your period blood rush out of your entrance and into his curved palm. Joel flicks it, and you watch as it lands with a wet slop against Matthew’s face. Far from the fearful retreat you’d dwelled in so long, a righteous indignation swells in your chest. You lean into it with Joel’s help, letting him guide you into this new side of yourself, one that’s safe to explore and execute with him by your side.

You don’t feel the need to slap Matthew more than once with the handful of fluids. Joel is only satisfied once he’s struck him several times more and spit in his face for good measure. You aren’t sure if Matthew has finally given up or if the blood loss is starting to catch up with him. His responses are coming shorter and weaker.

Joel gets himself situated again before helping you get dressed. You’re sure it’s a sight to see, all the blood and grime and fluids covering you and your clothes. When you tell him you want Matthew brought outside, Joel gives you a dubious look but doesn’t question it. You look on as Matthew hobbles naked up the stairway, down the hallway, and past a curious John and Tommy who follow along outside. You glance around for what you need, finding it on the most level table in the front living area, and head into the cool night air.

No one asks about you and Joel’s disheveled, bloodied state. All eyes are on you for direction. What happens to Matthew is your call, just like Joel said. He holds Matthew at gunpoint, almost comical in the level of overkill. He’s bleeding, naked, and struggling to stay upright. Even if everyone understands he’s not going to survive, you and Matthew both know that the last thing he can keep is his pride and die alone without anyone around to witness such a pathetic ending.

“I know that you are probably going to die out there.” You look up the side of the steep ravine and off to the side where darkness and wilderness lie in wait. Everyone shifts at the insinuation that you will give Matthew the gift of privacy in his defeated, lonely death. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t asked for my forgiveness. So, I’m offering you the chance to make that right.”

Matthew whimpers, not yet free to die alone and away from prying eyes.

“Beg,” Joel snaps – a singular, harsh warning.

Matthew meets your eye. He looks genuinely remorseful. “I never–I never deserved you.” You give him the time he needs to power through. He’s already lost enough blood to make just speaking and holding himself upright at the same time physically taxing. You can’t imagine the mental toll. “I know if you told them to kill me, they would.” He pauses to glance Joel’s direction. “I could’ve become a different person. A better person.” He sputters and coughs again. “ You could’ve done that for me - helped me get there.”

Tears flow. Real tears. Sincere tears from a monstrous man. A man who seems to have finally come to realize things could’ve been different if he wanted them to be. He sniffs and coughs and whimpers.

“I can’t ever change how I was—” he pauses to take a wheezing gulp of air “—I can’t go back and undo it. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, fat lines of tears splashing off his face.

“I know your heart is– it’s the biggest– you have so much love—”

He pauses again and steadies his labored breaths.

“If anyone had enough heart to forgive someone like me, I know it’s you.”

He holds your gaze, steady and unwavering. He means it.

“Please, please. Forgive me.”

You look at the brutalized, broken man before you, weeping and begging for your exoneration. You glance at Joel who is already watching you with a pensive expression. You look back down at Matthew. He hasn’t looked away from you as he awaits his fate.

“You haven’t earned my forgiveness, and you never will.”

Your scathing verdict hits colder than the nighttime air. Matthew’s eyes bug out, wide and terrified. You think you hear Tommy laugh. “Put him in the pit,” you command. You jerk your head towards the unlit firepit at the edge of the dense treeline.

John and Joel happily cart Matthew, flailing and fighting with the vigor that is somehow miraculously still fueling his will to live, as Tommy trains the gun on him. They heave him into the hollowed out recess and await your next decree. Matthew is screaming and clawing at the walls. You think if he weren’t so badly injured he would be able to easily get himself out. His current state, however, renders him confined to the small circular space. Your hands shake as you reach into your pocket for the item you grabbed on your way out. A silent mass butts up against your back and steadies your hand. Joel.

“I got you,” he reassures you quietly, softly.

He holds the package in place in your left hand and guides the match in your right hand across the raised pattern of the strike pad. A flash of white settles into a warm orange burn on the end of the match.

“I’ve got you, baby. Go ahead.”

You lean over the pit, over Matthew’s desperate calls for you to not do this, and drop the flame. John grabs something from the side and hands it to Joel. Accelerant. He concentrates the first few spurts onto Matthew’s body before dashing a smaller amount over your flame. He pulls you both back as the fire swirls and shoots and swells from the pit. You close your eyes and lean back into Joel as you all stand and listen to the agonized screams coming from the bottom of the cavity.

Joel pulls you closer to him, pulls you down with him to rest on the stump nearby. The sounds of Matthew’s demise come slower and slower as the blaze consumes him. You turn your body, cradling into Joel’s embrace, and nestle your head against the crook of his neck. It blocks out some of the noise. He dips his head and fills your mouth with the slip of his hot tongue. You drink him in, open wider for him, let him into whatever space of yours he wants. It’s all his. You’re both each other’s. The kiss slows until it’s just lips grazing back and forth. A quiet comfort. A soft soothing. A safe embrace.

“Did I do okay?” you ask in a hush. Joel hears what you’re really asking: Did I do the right thing?

“You did the best you could with what you had, darlin’.”

You nod, mulling over his sage take on your decision to end Matthew’s life. “And was my best good enough?” The last bit comes out in a sort of choke, your emotions getting the better of you.

“You are good enough,” Joel is quick to emphasize. “And it’s high time you started livin’ the life you deserve.”

“I only want that if it’s with you.”

“And I’m up for the challenge of makin’ up for lost time,” he replies with a soft smile.

The tortured cries have died away, lost into the high pitched sound of the wet spots being scorched from the insides of the logs.

“But what about Rachel and the baby?” You fiddle with the button on your shirt. Even though they were better off without Matthew, you still felt the guilt of leaving her with the burden of birthing and raising a child on her own. When he doesn’t respond right away, you turn to Joel. His body is tense with the knowledge of something, another hidden truth.

“Tell me,” you urge him in a hush. “We’ve made it this far. You won’t scare me. Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

He pulls you closer, some form of self-soothing perhaps, and relents more of the endless dedication he holds for you. “He has no business havin’ a bloodline.” He’s quiet for a moment, weighing something in his mind. Finding the right words. You wait for him, just like he always waits for you. “Won’t be too long now before she turns up to the clinic to find out she’s lost it.”

Lost it.

Lost it?

“You… what does—”

“She won’t know any different. Prolly chalk it up to the stress of everythin’. And she wasn’t hurt in the process, neither, so don’t go thinkin’ I’d–”

“Who did it?”

Joel finally looks at you. “Somebody in the greenhouses owed me. Got a knack for medicinal herb stuff.”

“So–So, what? They made her take something–”

“Nobody made her do anythin’,” he’s quick to correct. “It was mixed in with her food rations. Had the main dose of it prepared in a cafeteria meal she had, too, just in case.” He shrugs. “ Wanted to be sure.”

You swallow hard, not letting the mix of emotions bleed through to your expression. You don’t want Joel to think you don’t trust him, that you’re scared of him, scared of someone who was capable of such a thing - not after everything you’d been through.

“So, you– whoever it was, they gave her something to make the pregnancy fail?” You already know the answer, but you want him to say it.

“Yes.”

You nod, awash in your thoughts and mixed feelings over this splintered arm of a fucked up situation. Joel is unmoving beside you, waiting in anticipation of your blessing or reprimand.

“No part of him exists anymore,” you say. It’s a plain observation, but you both sit in the spoken impact of it. “No part of him exists anymore, and the world is better for it.”

Your body feels weak and raw, but it’s unlike the weight of stress and danger that’s been plaguing you for so long. No, it’s the fragile heap of newness, the tentative foray of new life. Joel holds you close, coddles you, as you both stare wordlessly into the blazing fire. He watches you from the corner of his eye, only shifting when you meet his gaze. Thoughtful. Quiet.

“You ready to go home?”

Home. You smile at the thought of it, the house you now share, but know that home is truly wherever you and Joel are together. He grins back in understanding.

“Yeah,” you softly sigh, content and sleepy. “Let’s go home, Joel.”

Thank you thank you thank you for all the love and patience with this series! I've poured so much into this to get it right and tell the sort of story I feel deserves to be told. I am so proud of it (and that I finally finished it!), and I hope that it can heal parts of you as it did for me when I was writing it.

Many thanks to @jupiter-soups and @ghoulettesinspace for beta'ing and helping see this story come to a close.

Thank you for reading. I love you all. 💜

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

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cont'd in comments

#fic: whistle in the dark #joel miller x oc #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #cuckolding is romantic #tlou #joel miller tlou

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luxe-pauvre · 1 year

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In fact, it could be argued that so-called ‘toxic positivity’ is more hazardous a phenomenon than the matter-of-fact attitude of negativity. In vogue as a psychological phenomenon, toxic positivity is essentially the idea that negative emotions are inherently ‘bad’ and that the most suitable response to emotional turmoil or pain is always a positive mindset (however inappropriate that may be.) Indeed, toxic positivity at large has become so ubiquitous as to represent something of an inculcated attitude in some people’s everyday interactions with one another. It is the (often unintentional) gaslighting platitudes desperately rendered in response to negativity. “Everything happens for a reason,” the terminally ill patient hears; “It could be worse,” someone bleats as another loses their job; or, “At least you have your health,” says the friend to a fresh divorcée. More explicitly, the cultural sensation of #goodvibesonly exhibits an almost cultist traction and boasts 12.8 million posts on Instagram. Predictably, the trend is one where social media influencers – preaching from the pulpit of the self-proclaimed life coach – evangelize an unhealthy denial of anything that might trouble the waters of their fragile world. Unimaginably utopian beach selfies are accompanied by the banal slogans of cultist optimism; while the good vibes may tell you that ‘you can do anything you set your mind to’, the untenable positivity is both unshielded and unsafe. In its stress-inducing suppression and dangerous infantilism, the almost dogmatic nature of toxic positivity inhibits raw human emotion and invalidates the necessary negative feelings we all have in life. The blindly optimistic lunge towards a meretricious idea of positivity is one deeply traced by the logic of 21st-century capitalism and its ceaseless drives for production. We should not police our emotions. Perpetual happiness is impossibly perilous and the attempt to suppress the lows of life can create deep-seated stress, which is detrimental to physical health and mental wellbeing.

Enis Yucekoralp, The Art of Negativity: On Rejecting Positive Thinking

#Enis Yucekoralp #The Art of Negativity: On Rejecting Positive Thinking

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satanwritesfanfiction · 6 months

Text

Farkas x f!reader •°• Under the influence <SMUT>

Title: under the influence

Rating: explicit, smut

Category: f/m

Fandom: skyrim

Relationship: farkas x f!reader

Characters: farkas, you

Tags/ triggers: intoxication, drinking, smut, p on v, low key werewolf vibes , more implied than stated, oral (female receiving), awkward dialogue, pwp,

Wordcount: 3900

a/n: Farkas is best boii

A soft glow blanketed the furniture wherever the fire could reach, laughter reverberating against the wooden walls as you held the tankard between your fingers. There was a certain blurriness at the edge of your vision, a certain childlike humour bubbling under the surface. You would wager, at this point, there might be a certain uncoordinated sway to your hips if you were to retreat to your room while Farkas showed no signs of stopping or faltering as he stood on the other side of the bar in his room, arms practically flailing as he tried to explain the size of his most recent kill, almost comical in his movements.

You felt the warmth of the situation, be it due to the drink or the company was up for debate. His usual set of armour stood lonely in the corner in favour of something a little more breathable in the social setting, just as you had done under the protection of the walls of Jorrvaskr.

His laughter died down a bit as he came to sit on the stool next to yours and you turned his way. Ever solid and muscular even without a shred of armour it was still apparent, more so even. The exact thought making your cheeks fire up slightly and eyes divert for a moment as you reprimanded yourself. He was your friend, your shield brother. It was inappropriate when he didn't feel something similar.

"It wasn't really that big, was it?" you teased, playfulness seeping through as you tried washing back the previous thoughts. There was no doubt that the man was telling the truth but not wanting the silence to linger around you without a similar tale of your own and staring at the wall of your own attraction was not something you'd want to get submerged in at the moment.

"I would never lie to you, (Y/n)." He stated, taking another swig of his drink. "You should join me sometime.." His finger tapped against the tankard as he continued. "We could… Maybe then you'll see for yourself."

"Yeah.. " you responded, worrying your bottom lip at the thought, not quite bothered by the danger it may pose but the inescapable truth that comes from it. Alone with him, several days and nights, watching him in action, drowning in his company. A slight heat rose at the apples of your cheeks. "Maybe I will."

You swallowed. "I should get to bed." You stated abruptly and stood, causing him to follow the action. You wobbled slightly as the blood suddenly rushed through the unused appendages, blood rushing to your brain when his hand on your shoulder steadied you which in truth hadn't been necessary and perhaps had the opposite effect when you looked up at the man. Stormy grey looking down at you, your own fantasies and feelings towards the man clouding your already questionable judgement, a mistake in the midst of the chaos within your chest, your eyes lingering on his lips a few moments too long.

And then it happened, like a prayer being answered or a dam breaking, lips pressed together and your body immediately melting into his. Perhaps a dream, an hallucination, didn't really matter in the moment. Seconds passed in an otherworldly state as your mind crawled back to you and before you could even fully react to the fact that the man you had been pining for had you in his arms, he broke the kiss.

"I'm so sorry. " he stated quickly, body retracting from yours and hands lifting in a show of surrender. I shouldn't have… You're… " He shook his head from side to side in an effort to clear the emotions swirling and find the words to make it right. "I don't know what came over me, you were.."

Your brows furrowed as he fell over the words. He was apologizing, the man was honest to god apologizing when the one prayer you believed would never get answered had taken its first steps.

"Farkas. "You stated softly, placing a hand on his arm to drag him back to reality. "It's okay." You felt your cheeks heat up, contemplating your next words. "I uh.. I don't mind it." You bit into your lower lip as you watched his expression change into a range of states in the span of 3 seconds.

"You don't… mind?" he lifted an eyebrow in question, the words feeling foreign as they fell from his lips but you could only respond with the nod of your head. You forced a small smile to your lips in spite of the anxiety boiling just beneath your skin.

"Ok.. Alright." he said, body relaxing a bit.

"Unless.. You regret it, then.." You swallowed thickly, feeling your cheeks flush impossibly warm. You looked down, brows furrowing as you collected yourself. "Then we can just forget it happened."

You heard a chuckle, odd sound in the moment as your eyes draw back to him. He shook his head slightly. "Regret it? Not in a million moons."

You felt your cheeks still burning, for an entirely different reason as a smile erupted on your lips. He stepped closer to you. His hand came to cup your cheek, eyes looking at your expression for any signs of discomfort before pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. Your hands pressed against his chest, lips parting when you pressed towards him again, an action full of desire and need that felt all too apparent but still rewarded when your arms slipped around his neck and the air that surrounded you both changed in a split second. Lips parting to move against each, turning your body ever so slightly so he could push you against his bar as your fingers ran through his hair.

He pulled away slightly to look down at you, slightly out of breath and sporting tinted cheeks. You bit into your lower lip under the scrutiny.

"Still want to retreat to bed?"

You frowned at the words before your mind drifted to earlier, chuckling you shook your head.

His eyes flicked to his own bed for a moments before a smirk threatened at the corner of his lips.

"I do have a bed for you." He offered, a certain glint in his eyes as his hands rested on your hips. "But if I had my way, I doubt you'd get much sleep. "

A heat spread throughout your body at the implication of the words, momentarily at a loss for words until that same glint spread to your eyes. You pushed closer to him, confidence strengthened by the flow of events. Looking up at him through your lashes as you spoke.

"And what would I be doing then, Farkas?" You tried your best to keep your voice even, keep the heat from reaching your cheeks, most of all, keep an innocent expression plastered on your face.

He swallowed as his mind ran away with him for a bit, images rapid firing within his mind that could be labelled in some instances as improper but definitely as explicit.

"I.. Uhm.." He struggled with the words for a bit between his dry throat, your hands on his chest and trying to remain chivalrous while those eyes were staring up at him..

You giggled at his response, light sound that settled his nerves a bit.

"Well, I do have a few ideas." You stated, pressing your lips to his. Your hands slipped around his neck once more, lips working against his.

Farkas held your hips, fingers lightly digging into the skin as he fought within himself, fought with himself. This was everything he had wanted, craved.. Was it not? You all to himself, he wanted to mark you, make you his. He just struggled to process the flow of events that could end with you pressed to his chest, lips parted and open to his ministrations. You wanted this, just as much as he, he lamented. You were the one to deepen the kiss, you were more than a willing participant. Why would he hesitate.

His hands gripped tightly as he lifted you onto the bar surface, breaking the kiss to look at you as he settled his body between your parted legs. You bit down on your lip as he looked at you, almost predatory look as his hands lingered on your thighs. He dipped his head to your pulse point, fragile skin under his lips when he pressed a chaste kiss to your skin, breathing in your scent and feeling your warmth beneath his lips.

It felt intoxicating. His teeth grazed against the skin between wet open mouthed kisses and soft murmurs. You closed your eyes, teeth now digging into your lip and fingers slipping through his hair. Simultaneously too much and not enough when it came to the movements, the need for him so full in your veins after months of wanting and wishing. Your legs wrapped around his hips and pulling him into you, the act eliciting what sounded like a growl from the man that settled at your lower abdomen, teeth digging into your skin ever so slightly as he took a moment to breath you in and steel himself.

He wanted so to be gentle, wanted to be slow and considerate but there was another part of him that needed you and needed you now, that wanted nothing more than to bend you over this very bar and push into you, hear you cry out his name for everyone to hear , to dig his teeth into you, mark you for everyone to see.

"Farkas…"your voice was soft, beckoning his attention away from the struggle he was having within. Your eyes stilled the tempest. The soft call of his name falling from your lips, soft blush on your cheeks as you looked at him, worrying your lower lip.

He wasn't quite prepared when the next action was you lifting your tunic over your head, new skin exposed to his darkened eyes. He licked his lips, hands at your side, feeling the skin under his fingertips and then you reached to untie the small material that still hid your breasts from him.

His throat felt impossibly dry, swallowing when he cupped you in his hands, rolling the small buds between his fingers, watching how you bit into your lip and pushed your chest into his hands. He could feel his cock straining against the rough material of his pants but let it be momentarily in favour of wrapping his lips over your nipple, teeth grazing ever so often and the other hand kneading and pulling against the neglected breast.

You closed your eyes at the sensation of his wet tongue lapping against your nipple, arching your back slightly while soft sounds slipped past your lips. It only took a few moments before he needed more, more of you, more sounds, more of you wrapped around him, more of the taste of you beneath his tongue.

He let you fall from his lips, a certain mischievous glint in his eye when he came to stand full height and his hand softly ran over your clothed core. The sensation had you sucking in a breath, legs falling open a little more which he took as an invitation. He looked into your eyes when his hand slipped into your pants, finger experimentally running through your folds.

His head dipped down, warm breath washing over your ear as he spoke. "You're wet." he commented, voice rough and playful as his finger dipped into you ever so slightly before rubbing circles over your clit. "This all for me, (Y/n)?"

You couldn't find it in yourself to answer, audible sound slipping from your lips and hips jerking as it searched for more friction.

Suddenly, his hand stopped moving, a frustrated whimper leaving your lips when he retracted his hand fully from your pants. He pressed his lips to yours, a chaste thing that annoyed you to an extent, a slow build as his hands worked to pull the rest of your clothing from your body. You helped as much as you could, lifting your hips but your brain was in a state of short circuiting, torn between giving attention to the kiss and getting free from the pants in hopes of the act that would follow.

He broke the kiss when your pants finally fell to the floor, eyes taking it in. You bare on top of his bar, wet and open to his view. It was truly something to behold.

He licked his lips as his eyes fell between your legs, lowering his body until his face was level with your cunt, warm breath wafting over you while his hands firmly gripped your thighs.

He looked up at you when he licked a stripe through your folds, a small taste of you on his tongue. A taste that would surely linger and follow him into his dreams. You looked down at him, truly obscene image before you that had your mind reeling, muscles constricting and your hand weaving into his hair as you sucked in a breathe. Your pleasure audible as you gave into it.

His grip on your thighs was firm, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he tried to keep you still. You were so close, you could already taste it. Pressure building in your thighs and lower abdomen, coiling tighter and tighter with every movement. Sweet ecstasy at the tip of your tongue only perpetrated by his mouth on you and then suddenly everything stopped.

Something akin to anger bubbled in the back of your throat when he stood, no explanation or apology for the absolute frustration that littered your cells. However, he did take hold of your thighs and pulled you roughly towards him, pulling you into his hold and carrying you in the direction of his bed. Only a few paces but still you felt the need build when you felt the friction on your bare cunt, feeling the slight press of his bulge briefly in the exchange.

Once again he felt frozen for a moment as he regarded you, now sharing his bed. You were a sight, you were ethereal. Intoxicating perfection. None of these things felt right to confess, however. It was funny in a way, he literally had his tongue in you moments ago and he couldn't just tell you that you made him feel like the happiest man alive in this very moment. He never was very good with words that didn't make him feel like he was making a fool of himself, especially when it came to you. Sometimes he'd linger on that fact, just basking in your laugh and smile but this, this was different.

A smirk played on his lips when he crawled back down your body, ample space for his hands to slip beneath your backside and settle between your thighs once more. He used the leverage he had on you to pull you towards him, eyes looking up at you when his tongue ran over your slit and beyond. A few experimental movements before he was sucking on you again, one hand leaving your thigh to push a digit into your accepting cunt. You easily took the digit, even the second, even greedily accepting the third despite the stretch. You moaned for him, haze lingering in front of your eyes as your body responded, trying its best to jerk into him as he curled his fingers.

"I'm close.." you cried at the familiar feeling coiling within you, hands gripping the bedding beneath you to ground you, whether it had the desired effect was up for debate. Your heels dug into his back, body accepting the onslaught of sensation greedily and readily until it could no more.

You fell from his lips when he took the moment to regard you, body starting to show the signs of perspiration, hips bucking against his hand, rapid breathing as your chest rose and fell, eyes clenched shut. On the precipice. Whatever happens from this moment forward, he would not forget this moment, your bliss. The absolute ecstasy of knowing he was the one to supply that very bliss.

"Give it to me." he beckoned, voice low as he pumped his fingers into you. "(Y/n), let me feel it."

You came a few moments later, mind lingering on the words like a lifeline, his encouragement fuelling your desires when your body clenched around his fingers, wetness leaking from you that he took upon himself to lick clean. The act elongating the feeling as his tongue took from you to the point of too much, body squirming in the onslaught.

You breathed heavy when he finally found his way back up your body, fingers gently pushing a few stray hairs from your face as he looked down at your expression. You opened your eyes, feeling heat erupt from your cheeks that soon turned to frustration when you noticed the man somehow was still fully clothed when you had already came, bare as the day you were born.

Your fingers moved to the hem of his tunic, sloppy motions that did little for accuracy and more for making your intentions known. He took over the motion, seeming to take pity on you and pulling the tunic from his body and throwing it carelessly over his shoulder.

Your fingers pressed against his warm chest, running across the expanse of muscle that defined him until your hands wandered lower, a certain glint playing in your eye when you set a new goal, lower and lower. You worried your lip as you cupped his erection, not missing the hiss and clench of jaw at the contact, eyes momentarily closing as he tried to ground himself.

"Farkas.." Your voice sounded sweet like honey against his ear, the way his name fell from your lips as your fingers ran over the length of him. "I need you inside me." Need rolled in ripples at the idea of being stretched over his cock, of him fucking his shape into you, of the lasting indentation of his hands digging into your body and maybe the indentation of teeth to remember the occasion by.

His eyes snapped open when the words fell from your lips like a siren call, quickly ridding himself of the only piece of clothing that kept him from being buried in your cunt the way he wanted to for the past few months since you walked up the stairs of Jorrvaskr.

He groaned when he slid his cock through your folds, soaking in your wetness, your previous ecstasy apparent even in the low light. Your legs opened a bit more as an invitation, soft sigh escaping your lips at the soft contact. He hovered over you, holding up his weight by the hand planted beside your head while the other was busy lining himself up to your cunt.

"Ready?" he asked, voice rough as he leisurely rubbed his cock through your folds, the epitome of patience it would seem if not for the clench of his jaw and the way he gripped the bedding from beside your head in an effort to keep himself from losing control to the feeling.

You nodded a response, fingers pressing to his chest and thighs spreading a little more for him. He didn't wait for a second invitation, pressing his cock into you inch by inch, the soft drag of him earning a gasp while he groaned at the wetness and tightness of you as he stretched to his goal.

The muscle strained when he was pressed to the hilt, fisting the bedding as he waited for your body to adjust to his size, unwilling to push you through the pressure. A small distraction when he pressed a heated kiss to your lips, almost too soft in the way they worked against yours while his cock stretched you.

When you felt the pressure lighten, you broke the kiss, moan lingering in the back of your throat at the promise.

"Please.. Farkas" you almost whimpered, fingers digging into his biceps with a need rushing through you, thighs lifting ever so slightly to press against his hips.

Farkas looked down at you, breathless at your expression and the sway of his name as it left your lips. It was too good to be true and yet, he was definitely buried into you. This wasn't something he could make up so vividly, he definitely couldn't dream the taste of you so sweet and the look and feel of you so bare and open to him.

His hips gave a shallow, experimental jerk that elicited a small sound, warmth blanketing him and he pulled away only to thrust into that warmth again, moan slipping past your lips at the fullness.

He quickly set a pace that tethered on a little too rough, holding onto your hips as he pushed forth in rapid succession, revelling in the way you sounded off against the walls of his room. You didn't seem to mind the pace, that idea punctuated by the way you would cry out to him, begging him not to stop, legs wrapping around him and your fingertips digging into his back.

A fleeting wave of guilt at the sound surely slipping past the walls of his room, quickly silenced by the bliss of his cock pressing into you with each and every thrust. You cried out his name, a mantra between his growls and groans, and the wet sound of him fucking into you. Your hands clawed at his back, hips meeting his in a perfect symphony of moans and groans, a moment you wished could last much longer.

The pleasure crept, bled into your vision and skin, eyes clenched shut. His head slipped down to your neck, teeth threatening the skin below it. He wanted the claim, the evidence on your skin but pulled back, digging his forehead in the space beside your head and clenched his jaw. So close, he could keep that control, he cannot take what was not given, what wasn't even understood.

Your body clenched around him, legs wrapping around his thrusting hips, try as you might, coherent words had forsaken you as you moaned and mumbled in his grip, nails digging into his flesh as you held onto him. The fire within bloomed and his thrusts softened a tad, still hammering but conscious of the shocks that wrecked your body as it shook against his.

The tightness of you was hard to contend with, the way it hugged him and pressed. You felt euphoric and he wasn't one to deny himself the simple pleasure of drowning in it. His fingers pressed into your soft flesh when he released, hot ropes of his seed pressed into you as he grunted your name.

He didn't pull away immediately, silence filtered into the room as you both breathed through the emotion and comedown. Your hand ran through his hair and down his back softly as he held onto you. Moments that felt like eternity that in reality was mere seconds. He lifted from you, pulling out of you and then promptly falling next to you.

Months of staring at his front and backside, of tales amongst tankards and the danger of not returning. All the times you sank away from expressing your feelings and not seeing his. All the turns leading to this moment, the anxiety and relief, the fear and anticipation. It felt like floating and you just hoped he wouldn't yank you back down.

After moments of breathing in, he reached out to you, pulling your body into his. He was warm against your back, a slow simmer in your abdomen when his arm stretched around you. He placed a kiss to your shoulder and breathed you in.

"I've changed my mind. " Farkas spoke softly and smiled against your skin. "I'm not sorry about the kiss."

#satanwritesfanfiction #pwp #smut #farkas #skyrim #farkas x reader

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spikes-left-eyebrow · 19 days

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Just watched the episode Angel last night and I'm so insane and not normal about it. Its so bad. Its so good. Its everything to me. Buffy asks Angel if he's been following her and why he would keep an eye on her. He says "Maybe I like you." She smiles and says "Maybe?" And girl I cant even blame her. If a person I was vaguely attracted to came into my home when I was 16 and told me they were watching me bc they like me i would have immediately been dtf. But can you tell me why at at 240!!!! Angel is saying insane shit like this?????? Image being an adult and some GUY is like "I was watching u bc i like you teehee" restraining order. IMMEDIATELY!!!

Angel also has so many goofy ass lines in this script I genuinely feel a little bad for David bc we all know hes a bad actor especially at the beginning but him saving Buffy from The Three with the line "Good dogs dont bite" ?????? what r u talking about bestie. what is that. I will however fault him for the fact that he will just smirk at the most inappropriate times. what the fuck is that. "No buffy I didnt read ur diary 😏 ok why tf would u say it like that?? or when he grins after saying the slur for romani?? like hello??

Also just the way that they intro his history is SO funny. Buffy shows up to kill him and he's like "why wouldn't I kill your mother I'm just a creature, right?" my brother in christ you are literally. the only single vampire in the entire goddamn world that has a soul. why would she. the vampire SLAYER. have any reason to believe that ur just a normal dude??? And the way he talks about the curse like so nonchalant with his little smirks.... personally I would have simply killed him based on the attitude. the vibes alone.

Then we have the absolute genius of this ep!! Darla with the guns?? *chefs kiss* are you kidding me thats SO funny. So effective. She clocked Buffy as being a bad ass slayer and despite 400 years of wrecking havoc consequence free she said hmm ok I cant take her but two (2) guns probably could. Thats why shes been alive so goddamn long. I love her.

And Willow's bravery?? Literally the shyest girl in school seeing Darla with the GUNS and still shouting to Buffy, to protect her from not only physical but emotional harm?? Obsessed!!

And finally, the last scene with the Bangel kiss. Listen. I am not a Bangel lover and we know this!!! But the way my man pressed into Buffy the whole time despite the cross burning into his chest??? I have been obsessed with that scene since day one. Whoever wrote that ate and left no crumbs I fear. Delicious.

#btvs #btvs meta #expect more single episode posts like this im in my obsessive era and people do not talk abt season 1 enough!!!#bangel

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inkdemonapologist · 2 months

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Ok. A hypothetical scenario if you'll indulge me. You are a casting director on the movie. You are familiar with the material and you are asked to present some actors to the crew- *besides JK Simmons who everybody thinks should play Joey I guess?* who do you suggest and for what role?

I don't know any actors other than The Guy With The Cool Lips Who Played Scarecrow That One Time, so setting me up as casting director would be a questionable decision! I feel like the very tiny amount we know about this movie also makes this difficult; like, am I casting Sammy in 1932, Sammy in 1946, Ink Sammy, all three?

So, rather than picking specific famous people, some broader thoughts on what elements to prioritise?? as hypothetical casting director. For sake of this exercise we're going to take this all very seriously and pretend that the writing for this movie is already great lmao.

Joey: Ironically for the first BatIM character to get a canon human appearance, I think Joey's acting chops are more important than his looks; as long as makeup can do a decent moustache and the voice is good, the energy is what will really sell him. Joey Drew is both VERY important to get right and also the most complex character in the Bendy Franchise, but he's also really really easy to turn into a stereotype, and I feel like this implication of "obviously he should be played by the guy who played J Jonah Jameson" kinda speaks to how easy it is to see just one side of him. Joey is simultaneously ruthless but also disarmingly charming, likeable but also punchable, confident but also pathetically insecure, genuine but also manipulative -- it seems like a tricky energy to nail. If he doesn't have a sharpness to him, that Curiosity Where Empathy Should Be element, you've erased a really important part of the man behind so many nightmares; if he's a cartoon evil capitalist, then everyone who believes in his dreams looks stupid for falling for something so obvious. Whoever plays him has to be able to get in his head AND ALSO convey that nuance. But if you have the luxury of nitpicking appearance after that, I think it's worth noting that Joey doesn't look the way he's trying to look. I keep saying I'm obsessed with his overbite in BatDR, but like:

See? Henry's the one with that aggressive strong jaw facial structure. Compared to him, even this less-aged Joey has facial structure more like mine, with a weaker chin that gives the impression of an overbite and a shorter face (which, to be clear, are attractive traits, but they are definitely not the Stereotypical Energy for this character archetype) -- he just knows how to carry himself to give off that j jonah jameson energy. I think attention to that kind of detail would also help him be his own fascinating character instead of just shoving him into an existing archetype.

Henry: If it's Ink Henry, his vibes are the most important. This character is famously non-emotive, often to an inappropriate extent, and frankly I think whoever plays him should keep that as part of his character. Henry strikes me as someone who wants to be kind but he's so, so tired, and just looking at this guy needs to sell that because Henry's actual behaviour and dialogue won't.

If it's Actually Worked In The Studio Henry, then I think his voice and appearance need to be SPOT. ON. so that they can play him a little differently and it still works rather than just not feeling like Henry. If he sounds like a perfect Henry but he has more energy, he's still quiet but he's more confident, he's not the follower Joey tried to sell him as... that would be such a neat thing to leave as an implied reveal for fans -- that the Henry we know is either a dishonest representation, or changed by his experiences, and is actually a bit different from the man Joey worked with.

Susie: they won't do this because they're cowards, but I personally think Susie would be such a good candidate for protagonist of a Bendy movie..... anyway if human Susie is in it, she doesn't have a canon appearance so you have a lot of freedom here. Most important thing is that She Has The Range; she needs to be able to be both believably naive and starry-eyed in a likeable way rather than coming across as desperate or annoying, and she ALSO needs to have a ruthless energy in her so that her later Womens Wrongs don't come out of nowhere. If Twisted Alice AND Susie both make appearances, I'm torn on whether they should be played by the same person... it could be cool if they were, since then you could see a lot of Susie in Alice even when she's behaving VERY DIFFERENTLY, which I think would humanise Alice in a good way (and also humanise Susie as more than just a Sweet Naive Girl Who Was Tricked)

Either way Twisted Alice NEEDS TO BE HOT. IM NOT JOKING I THINK THIS IS THE PRIORITY. Yes yes half her face is melting, but her vibes are UNIRONICALLY "hot and evil and wants to vivisect someone." Like, it would also be nice to get someone who can play her with dimension, with an implication that she has reason to be a cartoon evil sexy person who flies into a shrieking rage beyond just women be crazy (which is kind of what she is in the games), but also, she IS a cartoon evil sexy person and you CAN'T lose that; she needs to be able to pull off EVIL AND HOT with half her face gone without it feeling like a parody. Lesbians in the audience need to fan themselves. ITS VERY IMPORTANT.

I don't have a ton of thoughts about Allison. We have a pretty specific physical description of her human self. She needs to have enough ethereal poise to justify the lovesick way she is described in every novel lmao. Allison Angel, though, is where I would put a priority of Needs A Character Actor i think; she's a fairly major character but it's so hard to get a good handle on what she actually like..... wants or feels beyond Helping The Protagonist and Being A Good Person, but if she could really sell the bits and pieces so well you believe it, so that she really seems like she's been harshened by the brutal world she lives in but genuinely values a hope she won't let go of, it could make the character really good.

Sammy.............. Well, it's hard to not be biased. But human Sammy has no canon appearance, so I think you can't go wrong there as long as you pick someone who could conceivably be described as "pointy", and I PERSONALLY think based on the little crumbs of description we've gotten that a human Sammy should be fairly distinctive and intense, attractive in a Strange way - but I think the really really important thing for Sammy (ink or human) is his vocal performance. This is a character who took off in popularity in large part because of a couple of really compellingly delivered monologues; Sammy's voice NEEDS to be right, especially when he's speaking quietly. I think physicality in the sense of How He Moves is ALSO really important for him; Sammy's wiggle-fingers in game and constantly odd descriptions in the novels and complete lack of personal space in both all imply that he moves Strangely, and I do think he should have an unsettling Renfield energy, but it's also so easy for Character Who Is Losing His Mind to get portrayed so over-the-top that it becomes goofy or unbelievable or weird for the sake of being "creepy". Sammy's energy shouldn't be Insane Batman Villain, it should be Doomed Guy In A Lovecraft Story -- it's just that nobody but him is in a lovecraft story.

there are other characters but I think these are all the ones i have thoughts on

#also in an ideal world human sammy's actor would be autistic #its not important but sammys so defined by Not Fitting and Not Being Understood #that i think that insight could rly add some intangible humanity to him #anyway #i know you have questions you always do

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wisteriagoesvroom · 26 days

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can i just say, from the perspective of a writer, nothing will ever amuse me more than how the fanfics for F1 literally write themselves

half of them are childhood friends. the media painting them as rivals while they are actually friends. the whole legacy/ destiny vibe some of them have going. the old money/ rich kid energy. almost everyone has some kind of tragic backstory. and just the whole 'there are only 20 of them' bond.

oh absolutely. speak. the inbuilt dynamics of the grid are so fascinating to me and i think the wealth of raw material is just insane to witness as a newcomer to the fandom. so many toys in the box to play with. childhood friends to enemies? rivals to extremely inappropriate flirting on camera? teenaged teammates to possible rivals even if one doesn’t consider the other a true rival beyond moments of being intensely annoying? childhood friends to weirdly close and borderline questionable bond? idol worship of peer driver to now teammate? it’s ripe for brainrot. and who can blame all of us from picking the ball and just running with it, honestly.

i was also listening to a fated mates podcast on sports romance recently and they so hit the nail on the head when they said sports romance is compelling because there are already such excellent inbuilt stakes, and there is something really nice about men who take on the burden of emotional labour and relationships, in a queer context, etc etc etc. maybe more on that another time cus they made some really nice points!

#wiz.askbox #f1 rpf #it’s insane to me personally #and i will continue being insane about it to y’all #i could go on at length but I’ll try not to

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omegothic · 3 months

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allow me to introduce my bg3 team called

"wlw and mlm solidarity":

- tav: responsible for offensive magic and kissing karlach in the most inappropriate situations (the tadpole in her brain *being myself* gets bored sometimes)

- karlach: hits the hardest and has the best dance moves out of all companions. always on the team because wife

- astarion: not very useful in the combat because i suck at this game but he makes up for it with his personality. disapproves of the actions of my tav at least once every 30 minutes. karlach and tav affectionately call him their annoying little brother behind his back (yes they are 200 years younger than him). gets sent to the camp if the game wants me to have a certain character in the cutscene

- halsin: is here for healing, tanking the damage with his animal form + being an emotional support teddy bear. doesn't really get the vibe of the group but goes along with it. if the fight requires more healing, is usually replaced by shadowheart

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #tav #karlach #astarion #halsin

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billthedrake · 11 months

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(Heads up that this chapter is more hard core.)

TRAINING THE SALES GUY (PART FOUR)

I considered my weird fuckbuddy affair with Carson Wells to be done. I kicked myself a little bit for pushing too far and freaking him out. Then I was glad it happened. It was an inappropriate thing from the start and had no good end.

I hooked up with one guy a couple of times. I actually enjoyed fucking again. And kissing and making out. And the fun flirty vibe with another gay dude. As hot as Carson's blowjobs had been and as much as I'd enjoyed the naughty thrill of a finance bro who liked to suck dick, it wasn't a completely rewarding connection.

Maybe I should have gotten out there to date again, but I still wasn't ready for that. I still saw Rob, my ex. We'd run into each other in the neighborhood and decided to have lunch, to try out the civilized adult thing. It was good and not good at the same time. We promised to do it again, but I needed more time.

I was enjoying making a couple new friends. Some of my long-standing friends were more settled down now or had moved, while the mutual friends Rob and I had took his side mostly. But my social life was picking up and I was doing my best to squash my workaholic ways. I was never an athletic guy but joined one of the gay sports leagues in the city. It was a perfect mix of younger guys and older, single and coupled. I even got invited along on a beach trip in Mexico.

It was a Saturday night I got back from that trip in fact when I got a text from Carson Wells.

"Hey Bill sorry to bug you. Can we talk?"

"Yeah, when?" I typed back.

"Now?"

It was like 10:30. I'd had a long day and while my dick liked the idea of a booty call, this just felt like a strange way for Carson to start things back up. I knew the self-respecting thing would be to set boundaries and tell him I'd talk to him tomorrow.

"Sure," I wrote back. "Come over?" I was already settled in for the evening and not in the mood to go out. If Carson was so urgent, he could come over.

"All right," he replied.

He looked distraught when he finally showed up. He had almost that tech-bro look... black joggers, designer sneakers, gray hoodie with some logo on it. "Hey," he said softly as I let him in.

I showed him into the living area and had him sit on the sofa. I sat down too, though not right next to him. "What's up, Carson?" I asked.

He have me a wistful look. Gone was that perfect smile, but those green eyes were sexy as fuck. "Emily and I broke up tonight."

I felt bad, but also I was what the fuck? I didn't fucking know Emily. "Sorry, man," I said. But I couldn't be the guy to unload on. "But don't you have any buddies you can talk about this with?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I've been out with them." His voice got a little quieter. "But, fuck, Bill I need to suck a dick." He scooted closer to me and put his hand on my leg, running quickly up the bare leg and toward the him of my casual gym shorts.

"I don't know, Carson," I said, stopping his hand.

He looked hurt. "Oh. You seeing someone? I shoulda asked."

I shook my head. "Not seeing anyone. But well... you're pretty upset right now. I don't wanna..."

I was trying to respect him and not take advantage of his emotional state, but Carson laughed. There came thought pearly whites again. "What, Boss? You don't want your dick sucked?"

My dick was liking that idea all right. "When you put it that way," I replied, with a chuckle.

Carson placed his hand back on my leg, now teasingly running his fingers along my leg hair and my thigh muscle. I'd never seen this side of the guy. He still wasn't making the move to kiss or anything, but the sensuality of the touch was great. "I've been watching those videos you sent me... a lot actually."

"Yeah?" I asked. This was a surprise, all right. I spread my legs and let his hand travel up toward my crotch.

He nodded. He had a strange emotional vibe. Definitely distraught and wound up. Maybe I was taking advantage of his state. "They're wild as fuck, Boss. But keep thinking what it would be like to try that."

"Which one?" I asked.

"Both," he admitted. "The training one... and that other one... I've watched some others like it, too."

I was completely hard now. I pulled Carson's hand away only now so I could pull down my shorts and briefs. I let my dong ride up fully rigid and throbbing. And here I thought I was too tired even for a stroke session before bed.

The man grinned as he eyed up my phallus. "That's a great dick, Boss." He looked up at me, lust adding to the emotions on his phase. "Just go a little easier on me," he asked. "I've not anything like that those videos."

I nodded and grinned, pushing up my erection for his gaze. "Will do, Wells... though don't sell yourself shorts. You've done a lot of training already."

I reached up and ran my fingers along the side of his hair, moving further back on his head. Carson got the hit and leaned forward.

We'd never actually done it like this before, with me sitting down and Carson leaning over. But it was hot to see this hunk bend over to service me. I let him start, licking me and then sucking me in. Wells was great at this and his mood made him hungrier. He practically scarfed my hardon down to the root in three gos.

"Fuck yes, buddy," I growled. "Eat my fucking boner." I didn't want to go too Dom on Wells. Partly because he was the kind of cocksucker who'd easily spook if you didn't respect him. And partly because trash talking wasn't the biggest turn on for me. That deep throat action was.

I watched him work that deep spot in his throat with my cock, wildly bobbing on me and grunting deep sex grunts. He'd been thinking about this a lot, I know. Carson Wells was ready.

I held his neck tight and just started fucking his skull. Hard steady jabs. I'd only been with three guys who'd been up for this treatment before. My ex Rob wasn't one of them, and maybe I was ready for this too.

It took maybe six thrusts before I hit pay dirt. Carson's gullet seized up and he gagged. I stopped my thrusts but I held so he couldn't easily lift up. He was gonna retch but I talked him through it. "Swallow it back down, buddy... easy, man.... there ya go." I could see the tear stream from his eye and his face go red but Carson did it. And the second he got himself under control I pulled him up.

"FUCK!" he cried, eyes watery. But damned if the guy didn't have a wild, excited look on his face. "That was intense," he hissed, his mouth thick with mucus.

But not as thick as my cock was. Its length was covered with a good amount of Carson Wells' throat slime.

"That's some perfect slime, buddy!" I hissed, encouraging him or at least thanking him. This is the kind of extreme oral that turned me on all right. "How you feeling?"

He looked up. "Not as bad as I thought," he answered. "I think I was more scared of it to happen than anything."

"You up for another go?" I asked. Hopeful as hell, but I'd respect his boundaries.

He nodded. "I think so, yeah... So, Boss... how do you keep from, you know....?"

I knew the answer, but only as an oral top, not a cocksucker. Carson would have to find his own answer. But I did my best to explain. "You gotta know your body and learn how to control it. Lean into just the right amount of gag, then turn it off."

He took it all in. "What if I don't turn it off in time?" I could see the concern and knew where he was coming from.

I shrugged. "If it happens, it happens. But don't fear that. Tell yourself it's gonna be fine."

"All right," he said. Jesus, he clearly had been thinking about this a lot.

I applied some pressure on his neck again and I watched as Carson took me into his mouth again. I did the driving this time, using the residual thick saliva to ease my way into a slow steady deep throat fuck. After the previous activity, Carson was able to take me like a pro. One deep push after another. Six months ago this would have been enough to get me off big. It would be enough now, too, but I wanted more. I started a series of hard thrusts again.

Carson, to his credit, did better this time around. But pretty soon the gag kicked in, and the guy knew what to do. He let it happen, only to swallow it back down.

"Fuck yes," I hissed. I didn't have to go hard and deep now. I just let Carson do the sucking. Up and down on my bone, as that thick slime spilled out of his mouth and onto my balls. He was excited, maybe because of how thrilled I was. But this was hands down one the hottest things I'd seen. My hot business-bro coworker giving me some insanely sloppy head.

"Fuck, Cars... I'm gonna cum!" I growled. I could hear the slickness of the sticky spittle on his chin and lips and he worked me with steady mouth strokes. "FUUCK!" I grunted as I gave up a super heavy load.

Carson now moaned excitedly. He always liked when I came but he seemed even needier now.

He finally pulled back when my dick had enough. Even after a few months' break, the guy seemed to remember just how much stimulation I could take after a good nut.

"Goddamn," he growled as he pulled off. He looked up at me, his mind in some new state of head fuck but definitely turned on. "Damn, you're one kinky fucker," he gasped. The slime and spit was on his chin and all over his beard. It was crazy hot. My dick wasn't gonna go down soon.

I lifted my hand up and wiped some of the wetness of his beard. "You may be a little kinky, too, Wells," I said. Then I nodded down at his crotch. "Need to get off."

He sat up, showing that indeed he had an erection in his joggers. He slipped them over his boner and reached down. "I went soft but my hardon came back," he explained. I watched him started a stroke, then I stood up, letting my wet dong sway some in front of him.

"Too messy for ya?" I asked.

He shook his head no, and had that unmistakable look of need on his face. I stepped up and put my dick near his mouth. Carson leaned forward and started sucking me in again. A few strokes and the guy was cumming, hard.

I went to fetch some washcloths. We'd both need it.

I expected Carson to have some doubts now, but he seemed quiet in a relaxed way. "Thanks for helping me out, Bill. I needed that."

I found my shorts and slipped them back on. "I won't lie, Carson," I said. "I haven't had a scene that hot in, like, forever."

He gave me a sly grin. "I'm glad, Boss. It was kinda crazy hot for me, too." He looked at his phone, where I gathered he had some messages. "Look, I'm gonna go meet some buddies now. Talk to you later?"

"Anytime, Wells," I said.

And I meant it.

#drakestories

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butmakeitgayblog · 4 months

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Umm this burnt toast not fake dating au sounds ~incredible~

Thank you I've been thinking about for like a week while working on other things

It's just, I, ok. Listen. I've been talking about it my gc and like Nina said, it's the dubious morality that is the flavor. It is the vibe.

Especially Clarke. Because she thinks this stranger is her friend's girlfriend. She thinks oh wow ok so finally this girl, who has been so unlucky in love, has finally landed not only a girlfriend but an amazing girlfriend at that. But then it's also A Problem because holy fucking shit this woman is possibly the hottest woman Clarke has ever seen. And there's sparks. There is an honest to god actual emotional connection with her that just keeps getting stronger.

And the thing is, at any point they could stop it. They could. Clarke could stop ~accidentally~ seeking out those stolen moments with Lexa. She could stop going to investigate every late night noise that she knows damn good and well in the fluttering pit of her stomach is Lexa petering around the house. She could just go back to bed and be fine and happy-enough with her boyfriend of the month. She could and should absolutely stop listening to what very much sounds like this woman having filthy, intense sex in the next room over and imagining it was her getting so thoroughly fucked instead (it's literally just porn Lexa and the girl play on her laptop turned semi-down for realism, but no one neeeeeds to know that)

And Lexa. She could also shut this down. She could tell Clarke at any time that this is inappropriate because she has "a girlfriend". She could make her excuses and keep her eyes on her job instead of eyefucking every lowcut top Clarke decides to parade around in. She could very much not find ways to keep Clarke talking to her in the dead of night when everyone else is asleep. She could not follow Clarke into the bathroom and in a heated moment and tell her that it's all fake. She could not break this girl's trust and tell Clarke that they're not dating and never actually were. That she she just wants Clarke, only Clarke, so bad she can almost taste it. She could not push in closer, hands on Clarke's hips, foreheads pressed together as they both ache to cross all the boundaries they've spent the last week toeing around and just touch her the way she needs to. She could not fuck Clarke - several times - on their shared bathroom counter until they're both a sweaty and sated mess the night they get caught...

They both could've done a lot of things to stop everything that happens.

But they do it anyway, every single time.

#anon #burnt toast au #that's the name idk it's better than not fake dating au

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