#I just feel like there's this persistent narrative

[peppymintdreams]

isaac with a listener who had a toxic mother growing up?? hurt/comfort please, i've had a rough week :(

Ofcourse my child let mama peppy comfort you may I bless you with a better week

Shadows of the Past

Isaac Rhoades x Pickle

The rain fell steadily against the windows, a soft melody that filled the stillness of the room. You sat curled on the couch, lost in thought, your gaze unfocused on the faint glow of the television. Though Isaac had been in the room with you, you barely noticed when he disappeared into the kitchen. He returned moments later, a warm mug of tea in his hands.

Quietly, he set it down on the table before settling beside you, his movements deliberate and calming. His gaze, piercing yet tender, lingered on you for a moment before he spoke.

“You’re carrying something heavy,” he said softly. “I can see it in the way your shoulders curl, the way your hands tremble. What is it, my love?”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. Isaac always had a way of unearthing the thoughts you tried to bury, of coaxing them out into the light with his quiet persistence. But this... this was a pain so deeply ingrained, you weren’t sure how to put it into words.

“It’s nothing,” you murmured, the crack in your voice betraying you.

He moved closer, his hand resting gently on your knee. The touch grounded you, soft yet firm, like a tether keeping you from being swept away. “Don’t do that,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Don’t diminish what you’re feeling. You can tell me. Always.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you looked away, ashamed of your vulnerability. “I was thinking about my mom,” you finally admitted, your voice barely audible.

Isaac didn’t react immediately, but his hand stayed where it was, offering silent support. “Go on,” he urged, his tone a gentle nudge.

You drew a shaky breath, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “She wasn’t like most mothers. She was... controlling, cruel. She tore me down every chance she got, made me feel small, like nothing I did was ever good enough. And then, somehow, she’d twist it so I felt like I needed her approval just to exist.”

Isaac’s jaw tightened, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes, though his grip on your knee remained steady.

“She criticized everything,” you continued, the pain of each memory sharpening your voice. “My looks, my choices, my dreams. She’d compare me to other people, like I was a disappointment she had to endure. And if I ever tried to stand up for myself... she’d guilt me until I felt like the worst person alive.”

Isaac’s hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away a tear. When you met his gaze, you saw something that made your breath catch—a depth of emotion so profound, it was almost overwhelming.

“My love,” he began, his voice low and sonorous, each word chosen with precision, “it is an unspeakable cruelty to wound a soul as pure as yours. The torment she inflicted is not your burden to carry—it is a testament to her own inadequacies, her own failure to recognize the radiance you possess.”

The weight of his words settled over you, a soothing balm to the ache in your chest.

“She stole pieces of you, didn’t she?” he asked, his tone a mixture of sorrow and fury. “She took your confidence, your joy, and replaced them with doubt and pain. But hear me now, my love: you are whole. Even with the scars she left behind, you are whole, and you are extraordinary.”

You blinked rapidly, your tears flowing freely now, and Isaac cupped your face with both hands, as if shielding you from the shadows of the past.

“She sought to diminish you because your light outshone her fractured soul,” he continued, his voice soft yet commanding. “But you are brilliance personified. Every scar you bear is a testament to your strength. Every step you take away from her is a victory, a defiance of the narrative she tried to write for you.”

Your voice trembled as you whispered, “Sometimes I still hear her... telling me I’m not enough.”

Isaac’s jaw clenched, and he leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Then let my voice rise above hers,” he said, his words a tender vow. “Let me drown out her echoes with truths that are irrefutable: you are enough. More than enough. You are a symphony of grace and resilience, a masterpiece of heart and spirit.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you, filling the voids left by years of doubt and pain.

“You are the very dynamics of beauty and strength,” Isaac continued, his tone reverent. “And I, who have seen the depths of you, find myself in awe every single day. To me, you are not broken. You are radiant, my love. And no voice, not hers nor anyone else’s, can take that from you.”

You sobbed openly now, your face buried in his chest as his arms wrapped around you, holding you with the unwavering steadiness you so desperately needed.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words fragile yet fervent.

“And I you,” Isaac murmured against your hair, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “With a depth that words cannot fully capture, but I will try, again and again, for as long as you’ll allow me. You are safe here, my heart. Always.”

In his embrace, you felt the chains of your past loosen, the weight of your mother’s voice fading beneath the steady, unrelenting strength of Isaac’s love.

P.S. Hey… hey, you! 🫵🏾 Do you want more Sakuverse gay shit? Hit that follow button and send in a request! You’ll get notifications whenever I post new fics or Sakuverse Reimagined Twist of Fate, and maybe even a chance to have your OC featured in a story.

[mikkeneko]

You know that old joke about "you don't have to run faster than the bear, you just have to run faster than the other guy"? Was just thinking about how that's not necessarily true.

Because it depends on why the bear is chasing you.

If the bear is chasing you because it's hunting for food (which seems unlikely, unless it's a polar bear?) then yes, it'll stop after the first target it pulls down, because there's no point in the bear continuing to expend energy once it's got what it wants.

But if the bear is chasing you for some other reason -- say, you pissed it off by threatening its babies, or its territory -- then it will not stop with the first guy. It will continue coming until all of the threats are fled or dead. In which case, you do in fact still need to be able to run faster than the bear.

Not to overthink a metaphor, but I feel like there's a lesson here in how picking the callous path isn't necessarily any more guaranteed of success than choosing to keep faith. Now you have a bear mauling you and you're a dick. Maybe you should have stuck around to help the other guy.

[itstwoamandimcursingyourname]

thinking about how aleksander called Alina an apt pupil...and thinking about how Alina spent all of shadow and bone feeling stupid and kept belittling herself for being a slow learner when it came to all the grisha theory and controlling the light and how she carried that complex of thinking very little of her own intellectual capacity throughout the rest of the trilogy even though she made sm progress(up until the last battle)...and despite that or because of that perhaps, aleksander called her an apt pupil...

[hplonesomeart]

He found out he’s not the highest rated anymore….isn’t taking it too well <<

[seven-saffodils]

.

[honeytonedhottie]

lessons in protecting ur peace⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🛍️

after reading the book pyscho cybernetics something that rly stuck out to me was that literally EVERYTHING IS UR MIND. and duh, thats what i've primarily based my blog on…💬🎀

but i wanted to talk about the idea that everything that u experience is because of ur mind and that goes into how you interpret things as well. so lets talk about how u can protect ur peace through ur reactions.

CAN WE NOT? ;

first, lets remember that everyone experiences the world differently and reacts to things differently from each other. based on subconscious belief, self concept, upbringing, trauma etc. therefore everyones perception of things is shaped by their own unique brain.

for example lets imagine that theres a rly pretty girl and shes rly sweet. the people around her have an idea in their mind that pretty girls are stuck up and mean, so they look for reasons to categorize her and prove themselves right. they look for ways to make her fit into the narrative that they've fed themselves…💬🎀

i give this example to show that peoples judgement of u is based more on them and their subconscious beliefs more then it is about you. period. someone else's problem with u isnt ur business. when u persist in a belief whether its consciously or subconsciously your reality will prove you right. your literally manifesting a belief that doesnt serve you so can we not?

PROTECT UR PEACE BY NOT TAKING THINGS PERSONALLY ;

taking things personally means, misinterpreting someone's thoughts/actions and believing them to be targeted toward us personally…💬🎀

this is particularly dangerous to our peace because when u take things personally you'll start to adopt what other people tell u about urself as fact. if someone calls u dumb then ur gonna believe them and think that something is wrong with you when that isnt the case.

if u know that ur actually rly intelligent and someone tells u that ur dumb, you won't care because you know that ur smart and you know that they're just projecting their beliefs unto you. you make the facts about you. not others.

YOU DECIDE THE FACTS ;

for a fun journal exercise i want you to write down the facts about yourself (u can also write down new traits that you'd like to manifest and make fact about urself) so open ur diary to a fresh page and write an about-me page. fill the page with positive facts about urself and who you are. these are the facts and if someone tells u otherwise, fact check em.

BE GENEROUS ;

people spew some crazy shit when they dont like you or are envious of you and the best way to respond is to first, not respond at all because they dont even deserve to get a reaction out of you. but if ur lowkey petty, add onto their accusations to make them look dumber.

like if they try to clock you about something and accuse u of something, make the accusation WORSE. ofc with nuance but have some fun with it sometimes.

people can't shame you for made up accusations if u dont care and if ur living in ur truth and therefore their agenda to try and bring u down to make themselves feel better is ultimately squashed. dont waste ur energy arguing with people and just keep that peace protected.

[jupitersdescendant]

hello guys, i hope everyone is doing as good as possible!

todays topic: a prominent spirit guide in your life

close your eyes and let your intuition guide you while choosing a pile. you could feel drawn to more than one. only take what resonates. this is meant for entertainment purposes only.

art by Sydney Lawrence

Pile 1

💠about your guide💠

cards: butterfly (rx), elf, four of pentacles, king of pentacles (rx)

hi guys, so you’re guide has a difficult time getting through to you or to connect with you. they seem a little frustrated because of that. the have a more masculine energy to them. because the earth element is very present here i think, that even through their frustration they remain patient and grounded when it comes to you. they’re mainly here to spark a transformation in you and guide you through change but it does seem like you aren’t a hundred percent ready for their presence yet. the colours orange and red are prominent here, they want to light that fire inside you and inspire you. they also want to challenge you. they haven’t reached their full power hence their full impact on your life yet since you’re struggling to let them in. if you do though, you’ll feel their presence and their impact on your life strongly. when prominent, they aren’t easy to miss. they also seem a little stubborn so they’ll wait for you as long as it takes and will remain persistent.

💠messages from them💠

cards: emperor (rx), two of pentacles (rx), ten of swords

i think you carry some unhealthy masculine energy in you (mind you this has nothing to do with gender) which is really interesting and also makes a lot of sense as to why your spirit guide carries a more masculine energy themselves. they’re here to teach you how to use and embrace it in a natural and healthy way. you could very well struggle with an „my way are the highway“ attitude and refuse to budge. they want to teach you how to listen and think about how your actions might affect others. you have the choice, the power to decide how you’re gonna move forward. are you ready to let go of these negative patterns in your behaviour? they may seem more comfortable than facing yourself and the inevitable change but are they going to benefit you in the long run? its okay to be scared and insecure but that’s why your spirit guide is here. they`ll help you through your ego death because that is what you’re going to face. just know: if you succeed, those destructive thoughts and patterns will no longer hold you hostage. this cycle will finally be over and will lead to the new emergence of your soul, possibilities and a new narrative. the number four as well as animals with horns could be direct signs and symbols sent by them to you.

hope it resonates, stay safe!! 🖤

Pile 2

💠about your guide💠

cards: bat (rx), kraken (rx), nine of wans (rx), six of wands (rx),

hello pile 2! your guide has a very dark energy to them but that doesn’t mean they’re bad or anything like that. they seem to prefer the dark so maybe they’re most prominent after sundown and could appear in your dreams as well. they’re very attached to you and very protective. their energy feels very brooding but also fiery. the colours black, dark pink and red are most representing for them. their presence in your life is here because they want to help you to let go of the past. you seem to be clinging to what you know and what brings you a false sense of comfort and they’re here to help you through that. since you seem very afraid you’re blocking them out a lot. this could be another reason they mainly try to reach you at night/through your dreams. they have an adventurous personality and want to spark this within in you too. they’re not afraid to wander into the unknown,and rather thrive in it actually. with them by your side you’re urged to embrace fearlessness and to let go of what no longer serves you. rainbows are coming through as well, this represents what is waiting for you when you decide to trust and follow them into the uncertain. if some of you believe in gods or even deities, your guide could also function as some kind of messenger.

💠messages from them💠

cards: ace of pentacles (rx), queen of cups (rx), eight of wands (rx)

wow so just as before all your cards came out in reverse which isn’t necessarily a bad thing though in your case it’s not a good one. the three cards i pulled also flipped out all at once, couldn’t even really shuffle once. your guide is really desperate to talk to you and get their message across. dear people, i`m really not judging but by god you’re blocking yourself and your growth so damn hard and it truly leaves me a little speechless. man, i feel for your guide. you refuse to allow something natural and new to emerge. probably ignoring signs and omens as well. there’s basically this gateway of your desires and wishes waiting for you but you’re walking the other way. what hurts most to see though is how unhappy you actually are in your current situation and like i`m just the messenger, for your guide it must be brutal to watch. you seem to have some harsh emotional wounds. it looks like you think and feel like in order to „get rid of them“ you can’t move on to something completely alien to you but moving on and out of this energy is the only way to truly heal. not taking action is still an action. reflect and think: what holds you back? what action can you take? what intentions can you set right now? your guide also wants you to remember: what you put out into the world will return to you. i know this was probably hard to read but your guide really means well. you’re not alone, they’re just waiting for you to take and accept their hand and lead you through that magical gate with endless possibilities on the other side.

hope it resonates, stay safe!! 🖤

Pile 3

💠about your guide💠

cards: earthworm (rx), phoenix, three of wands (rx), five of cups

hello pile three! your guide is very careful in their way of connecting to you as they don’t want to overwhelm you. they have a very bright and colourful energy to them and seem to be very pleased by you. they’ve been by your side for a while and helped you through the hard times you recently had to face. many of you have dealt with a great loss and are still grieving. know that they grieve with you and that they try to give you as much comfort as possible. they care about you a lot. they don’t want to push or pressure you too much but they’re still a little impatient since they can’t wait to see you really flourish. your spirit is here to guide your through your big transformation, they aren’t represented by the phoenix for nothing. they have this special and all consuming spark to them that’ll infect everyone they’re connected to. their energy and influence are revitalising. it could be possible for you to see this spark reflect in your own eyes. they of course feel and share your anxiety of what’s to come but its more so out of excitement. they’re still very sure of themselves, as well as of you of course. accepting your past, then letting go and preparing your for your new set is their main purpose.

💠messages from them💠

cards: the sun, ace of wands (rx), four of pentacles

you’re still unsure of how to embrace this transformation. well, get comfortable darling because the universe has your back. the time to doubt yourself was yesterday, step into and embrace the confidence that waits to be unlocked. it might take some time to fully get used to this and its alright to be overwhelmed at times. your guide wants you to know that you have nothing to fear, nothing to hide. you’re unfolding who you are and what you’re capable of. growth and expansion are in store for you. you’ll see and experience your hearts desires unfolding. you’ll shine in the center of your universe. they’re saying that an eternal sun will warm you, obviously more so in a spiritual sense. they also want you to accept the help of others and to allow them to provide for you when you need it. always remember: what you need is at hand and even if you should lose sight of it, the universe is conspiring to help you. they’re also saying well done ;)

hope it resonates, stay safe!! 🖤

[burst-of-iridescent]

yall need to stop this “but katara choose aang!” nonsense because a) idk how she personally told you that when she doesn’t exist and b) even if katara were a real woman, this is some choice feminism bs that willfully ignores a lot of the social pressures and dynamics within heterosexual relationships that kat.aang as a relationship taps into both within the world of atla & as a narrative.

the creators themselves have alluded to the fact that katara & aang’s relationship draws from the trope of a younger boy pining after an older, more mature woman who doesn’t give him the time of day at first but is eventually brought around with his persistence and determination to win her heart.

and this dynamic bleeds through into the show itself, especially when aang is talking to people about katara. he is told multiple times that she’ll come around because he’s the avatar and that all he needs to do is not give up. the social dynamics of the kat.aang relationship even within atla reflects the prevalent narrative around straight relationships in our world: if you keep trying, the girl you like will obviously give you a chance eventually, because how could she not?

that’s troubling enough but then comes the second half of book 3, and now this narrative isn’t reflected just in those around aang, but in aang himself. what began as a sweet, harmless adolescent crush warps into something more dangerous, more familiar: entitlement. the aang of ember island players is one who demands katara’s love, not one who wishes for it. just look at the language used here:

i thought we were going to be together, but we’re not.

why don’t you know?

when is the right time?

the line delivery here is frustrated, almost accusing — this is not the way you talk to a girl you claim to love. this is the irritation of a long-promised reward that continues to be denied, something you wanted but cannot yet possess. this is eerily, intensely reminiscent of real-world gender dynamics, and it continues to be reinforced when katara responds according to the same gendered script:

aang, i don’t know.

we’re in the middle of a war. this isn’t the right time.

i’m sorry but right now, i’m just a little confused.

katara gives neither a yes nor a no but a neutral, noncommittal in-between. her tone and body language are apologetic yet clearly tense, uncomfortable — dancing that fine line most women are familiar with, of having to let down a man yet protect his feelings at the same time.

it’s one thing for the narrative of kat.aang to be misogynistic from a doylist perspective, but when the same applies within a watsonian analysis as well, that’s a far bigger problem. when you set up this dynamic for kat.aang in the show and double down on it as their last romantic interaction, you cannot then remove the implications that follow when katara inexplicably, wordlessly, obediently kisses aang in the finale:

that she loved him because she felt she had to.

because that is the underlying societal expectation of this particular dynamic, the same expectation the show itself has set up within the advice aang receives: that a woman’s affections are owed to the man who fights for them, and if he fulfils his obligations in pursuing her, she will fulfill hers in turn by dutifully rewarding him.

as with women in the real world, no choice katara makes in her world is free of the delicate, insidious entanglement of social pressures and gendered expectations that underlie and drive those choices, even subconsciously.

so yes — katara chose aang. but as the show ends with no insight on her part as to the nature of this choice, the question still remains: did she choose him freely, joyfully, unfettered and unburdened by the weight of expectation? or did she choose him as the girl who always did what had to be done, who took on duties that she was too young to shoulder for the sake of the people she loved, who could never let down the child she fiercely, lovingly protected from the moment she met him?

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚🎀・₊✧ 𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆 . . . 𝗼𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗵𝗲? ♡₊˚🎀・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ read part one first

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 nanami forgot your birthday but he's got something special planned 𖥔 ceo x baker 𖥔 grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 she talks a lot x he listens a lot 𖥔 cold shoulder treatment 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sfw 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 super soft nanami 𖥔 close proximity

: ̗̀➛ words: 4.1 k

: ̗̀➛ notes: we're back again with fluffy nanami. honestly i shed a tear writing this one because it's just so adjfskdf. if you haven't read part one, go DO IT. RIGHT NOW. if you enjoy my work, please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy!

It's been a year since you took that leap, moving in with Nanami. Every day spent in each other's company feels like a fresh chapter, and the magic of your relationship persists as if it were the very first night.

Nanami, with his gentle smile and warm eyes, never tires of recounting the story from his perspective. Each time you ask, he patiently agrees to retell it, even though you've long since memorized every detail. The familiarity of his narrative only adds to the charm, as if reliving those moments helps both of you cherish the journey that brought you together.

“You invited a couple of my colleagues to your bakery's opening, and they brought back leftover cookies and pastries to the office. I grabbed some, and with the first bite, I knew your bakery was going to be my favorite. So, I asked Gojo to drive me to your city, not knowing it was going to rain that night. With no parking nearby, I ended up walking. Halfway through, it started pouring. Luckily, I made it just in time, and there you were, smiling like the sun that was supposed to be in the sky. You offered me free food and shelter, and right then, darling, I fell in love with you. It was the most incredible feeling in the world.”

Each time he finishes his heartwarming story, you can't help but be overwhelmed with emotion. Without hesitation, you jump on him with a flurry of kisses, showering him with all the love you harbor for your sweet, stoic boyfriend.

You've shared every conscious moment together since then. With Nanami now working remotely, he'd set up at one of the dining tables in your bakery, delving into meetings and paperwork. You'd plant kisses on his cheek or embrace him from behind, providing a boost of energy. Delivering his special casse-croûte and milk coffee, you occasionally found yourself feeding him as his busy hands typed away. Breaks led to stolen moments in the back room, where you'd make out like teenagers.

Once at home, you'd strip out of your clothes, shower or bathe together, and engage in domestic activities like watching television or attempting to nap, but those often evolved into extended sessions of sex.

Today, silence lingered between you two following a heated argument the previous night.

Unbeknownst to Nanami, your birthday was just around the corner, yet he had scheduled a business trip on that very day. Despite the depth of his knowledge about your past, from childhood playground scars to the dresses you wore for school dances, he seemed oblivious to the significance of the impending date.

In a seemingly nonchalant manner, Nanami had mentioned, “Darling, I'll be away on a business trip from the sixth and will return on the eighth. We can plan a picnic or head to the beach—whatever you prefer.”

“The sixth?” You had to set your utensils down, turning to face him. Your meals were typically enjoyed on the carpet, with plates on the coffee table and your favorite movies playing on the television. “You have a business trip? On the sixth?”

“Yes, that's correct.”

“Kento, what the hell? Why?”

He arched an eyebrow. “It's my job, darling. That's why. It's been on my agenda for a month. Missing it would mean losing out on a lucrative deal."

“But—” You caught yourself mid-sentence.

At that moment, you wished you could shout that it was your first-ever birthday celebration since your parents’ passing.

His birthday had been just two days prior, and you had gone all out—decorating the apartment, baking a cake, preparing a feast of his favorite dishes, buying him new cufflinks, and giving him the blowjob of the century as the cherry on top. It had become one of your cherished days together, an occasion you had been planning for weeks.

“But?” Nanami prodded.

You clenched your jaw. “But it's... you know. It's.”

“What's going on?” he asked, genuinely befuddled. “Did I miss something?”

Your lips quivered, and in an attempt to silence them, you stuffed a dumpling into your mouth, shaking your head. “Never mind.”

“Please, talk to me.”

Ignoring his plea, you continued shaking your head as he gently pulled at your shoulder to make you face him. Tears welled up in your eyes, streaming down your flushed cheeks. Even swallowing the dumpling felt like a struggle amid the surge of complaints in your throat.

“Darling—”

“Just forget it, Nanami.” You wiped your cheeks, your open hair concealing one side of your face. “You already have,” you whispered to yourself.

“Fine,” Nanami replied, casually returning to his food. It wouldn't have been a big deal if you had just mentioned your birthday, but it stung. He should know. After all, he's Nanami—meticulous with schedules, mindful of important dates, and impeccable with time management. Why doesn't he know?

“Are you joking?” you exclaimed, grabbing the remote from his grasp and turning off the movie. “That's all you have to say? ‘Fine’?”

“You told me to forget about it.”

“Yeah, I did. But that doesn't mean you actually forget.”

“I don't get it.”

“Of course you don't.”

He sighed, and you berated yourself for being so obstinate. You resented that sigh, as it made you feel like a nuisance. Yet, it was a warranted sigh, so you let it slide. “Are you upset?”

“What?”

“You are. I can't believe you're upset.” Running your fingers through your hair, you picked up your plate. “I'm going to bed before I say something stupid. Goodnight. Enjoy your trip.”

“Y/N—”

“Goodnight.”

“My love, what’s bothering you?” he asked from the living room while you dumped your dish in the sink. “Would you please just talk to me? Have I said something to offend you?” 

You walked off toward your bedroom, into your bathroom, and locked the door. Turning on the shower, you sat down on the floor, holding your knees and crying in the gap between. 

You've been ignoring Nanami ever since you woke up nestled against his chest—your body was naturally attuned to his. But since then, you've been withdrawn and moody, casting a shadow over your usual sunny demeanor. Even some of your regular customers have noticed and asked if you were unwell, but you brushed it off with a forced smile and a minor headache excuse. As you were wiping down tables, Nanami entered during lunchtime. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, then retreated behind the counter, placing his coffee cup and sandwich a bit too forcefully.

“Thank you, darling,” he said, accepting it. “Would you like to join—” 

“That'll be ten-fifty,” you interrupted, fingers already inputting the amount without meeting his gaze. You’ve never once charged him since you started dating; everything he desired was on the house because he was your favorite regular and person. You loved him so much that you even experimented in baking his beloved pastries and added them to the menu. Yet, he forgot your birthday.

Nanami retrieved the exact change from his wallet and extended it to you. Your hand snatched it, guilt gnawing at you instantly. Pretending to open the cash register, you discreetly slipped the money into your apron instead.

“Would you like to join me?” he asked once more.

You slammed the cash drawer shut and swiftly turned, heading to the inventory room to immerse yourself in organizing as a distraction.

As Nanami waited outside, thumbs dancing over his phone’s keyboard, you couldn't help but notice his sudden shift in demeanor when you approached. Your mind raced with suspicions of infidelity, but rationality reminded you of his busy schedule now that he wasn't in the office regularly. He was too devoted to you to entertain such thoughts.

Nanami reached out his hand, but you brushed past him, burying your hands in your cardigan. Determined to celebrate your birthday, albeit alone, you headed to the nearest supermarket for groceries. You planned to indulge in your favorite pasta dish, bake fudge brownies, and allow yourself to feel whatever emotions came, whether tears of joy or sadness. Today, you'd celebrate yourself. Happy birthday to you.

Nanami followed you into the supermarket, walking beside you as he added both your and his favorite snacks to the cart. You were determined to make him pay for it all, although you knew he would insist on covering the expenses regardless. Throughout the year you had been together, Nanami never once allowed you to spend your own money. Even during online shopping, he always managed to intercept, distracting you with neck kisses until you surrendered to using his card.

You couldn't help but pout and shoot him a sidelong glance as he meticulously examined the ingredients on a bag of chips. Your gaze then shifted to the cake mix and icing packets, giving you an idea. Bingo. 

If you weren't going to outright mention your upcoming birthday, you could at least drop a hint.

Clearing your throat, you grabbed a chocolate-vanilla mix with caramel icing and deposited it into the cart. Nanami observed the entire exchange, briefly meeting your gaze with a neutral expression before returning to scrutinizing the ingredients as though they were sacred text.

Damn him! 

“Excuse me, sir?” you called, drawing an innocent elderly employee into your scheme. “It's my friend's birthday tomorrow, and I'm torn between which cake mix to choose. Could you help me out?”

As Nanami switched to a different chip bag, your frustration simmered, but the employee weighed his options, eventually settling on chocolate-vanilla. Grateful, you thanked him and strode away, the cart trailing behind.

Nanami handled the grocery payment and bagging while you observed with arms crossed.

Back at home, you kicked off your shoes, discarded your cardigan on the floor, and trudged wearily to your bedroom. The sounds of the fridge and cabinets being stocked echoed as you sprawled out like a starfish.

“Is he pretending?” you mumbled to yourself. “He must be, right? He couldn't have forgotten my birthday. No way.”

Quickly, you took your phone, dialing Satoru, his assistant. The call forwarded instantly, but his response, received a minute later, left you irritated beyond measure.

Satoru: Sorry, Y/N. Can’t take your call. Packing for a business trip tomorrow. We’re going to Thailand. Will get you a souvenir! 

Feeling frustrated, you left him on read and flopped onto your stomach, letting out a scream into the pillow. 

Skipping dinner with Nanami, you stayed curled up in bed instead. Despite his attempts to comfort you, kissing your cheeks and tucking you in, you couldn't shake the ache in your heart as you heard him packing in the closet, trying to hide your tears. 

It was well past midnight when you finally stirred awake. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you found Nanami meters away from you. The realization hit you hard: he had genuinely forgotten your birthday. A mountain settled on your chest as you watched him sleep peacefully, unaware of his oversight. He didn't reach out to hold you close or pull you into his embrace; instead, he slept facing away from you.

You wiped away the tears from your tired eyes, then got up and took your pillows to the living room, hoping to find some sleep on the couch. Instead, you found yourself captivated by the sight of the sunrise.

Meanwhile, Nanami seemed unusually relaxed as he prepared for his business trip, taking his time with his morning routine. He took his time showering, shaving, and ironing his clothes—tasks that you usually handled. He adorned himself with the cuff links you gave him for his birthday and wore the cologne from your six-month anniversary. It stung a bit, realizing how diligent you were in remembering special dates while he seemed to forget them so easily.

But you shrugged it off. 

Today was your birthday, and you were determined to make it special, even if you had to celebrate alone. Your customers were already aware that you'd be closed for the day, giving you the entire day and night, plus tomorrow, to yourself. Previous birthdays had been spent in isolation since your parents passed away. This one was supposed to be different because you had Nanami, yet he seemed to overlook its significance.

As you washed your breakfast dishes, disappointment bubbled up inside you, causing you to grip the sponge tightly. Deciding to put off the chore, you washed your hands and turned your attention to baking a cake for yourself.

Nanami sauntered into the kitchen, nonchalantly lugging three hefty suitcases. Why the hell did he need three massive suitcases? Your boyfriend had become a complete mystery to you. You scowled as he tapped away on his phone, the urge to grab it and fling it off the balcony almost irresistible. What luxury could those three suitcases possibly hold? Perhaps new dresses, shoes, or jewelry for whoever was receiving his relentless texts. With his poker-face, it was impossible to tell if it was a woman on the other end.

“Kento.” 

Nanami's head jerked up. “Yes, dar—”

“It's my birthday today,” you finally admitted. Enough was enough. You needed him to know and feel miserable for forgetting it while he was on this supposed business trip. You knew it wasn't merely business. He always took you along on such trips. Business trip, my ass. It was clear he was having an affair. “It's my birthday today, Kento.”

His mouth opened to respond, but the ringing phone interrupted him. 

You scoffed at the timing of it all, abandoning the cake mixture in the pan. “Have a safe trip.” You walked past him, slamming the bedroom door shut, and collapsed under the covers, sobbing.

Something chimed persistently in the background, prodding at your temples like a sharp stick, urging you to wake up. 

You fumbled around on the mattress, locating your vibrating phone and swiping right, still half-asleep. 

“Hello?” you croaked out.

“Oh, thank God!” panted Gojo's voice. “There's an emergency with Nanami, Y/N!”

“What?” You shot up in bed, immediately springing into action.

“We were headed to the airport when he suddenly fell ill and started vomiting!” You listened intently as you hurriedly searched through your closet for your cardigan. “I brought him to your bakery since it was closer.” Nanami did have a spare key to your bakery for emergencies. “He's really not doing well, Y/N. Please come as quickly as you can.”

“I'm on my way, Satoru! Thanks for letting me know. I'll be there in a flash. Keep comforting him and try making him some green tea if possible. I can't find anything—Where did all my clothes go?” You shuffled his suits aside and rummaged through your drawers, finding only a few undergarments but nothing else. “Damn it. Alright, I'll be there soon.”

“Of course. See you soon!”

You pushed aside all distractions and focused solely on Nanami, hastily grabbing your bathrobe to cover your shorts and tank top. Rushing to the elevator, you repeatedly pressed the lobby button, feeling your body tremble with anxiety. Your chin quivered as you bit down on your bottom lip, overwhelmed by guilt. Nanami wasn’t prone to sickness as much as you were, but your cold shoulder must’ve given him a cold. The thought made you despise yourself even more, tears streaming down your face as you hurried along the sidewalk, navigating past cyclists and ignoring the curious stares of passersby.

You entered your bakery, the door pushing open with a jingle. “Kento! Ken—”

Your words halted.

The space was decorated with a multitude of lit candles, casting a warm glow over every surface - the counter, tables, chairs, and bare shelves. A three-tiered vanilla chocolate cake adorned with “Happy Birthday Y/N” in elegant script stood proudly on a table. A trail of fresh rose petals led to a solitary chair facing a makeshift projector screen fashioned from a white bed sheet. On the screen, a paused video titled “Life In Her Eyes” awaited.

With cautious steps, you approached the lone chair, scanning the bakery for any signs of activity but finding none. Nervously, you moistened your lips and reached for the small remote with a note reading “Play me,” before settling into the seat.

With a trembling hand, you pressed play on the three-minute video.

“This is my beautiful girlfriend, Y/N,”  Nanami's voice narrated in the video, overlaying a scene where you filmed your boyfriend tossing pebbles into the ocean. “She loves to record every single moment we spent together.” The scene shifted to you capturing Nanami's reaction to Alice Vision in Breaking Dawn Part Two. “She loves feeding me if I’m busy working.” A moment captured where you sat on his lap, sharing a pastry and planting a kiss on his cheek. “She loves sunrises and sunsets.” Your camera focused on Nanami's back against the colorful sky. “She insists I hold every stray cat because apparently, an attractive man with a pet drives her wild." Nanami's expression remained composed as he gently stroked the purring white Siamese. 

“It’s the truth,” you muttered, using your arm to wipe away the tears and mucus from your runny nose. 

“Y/N loves collecting miniature figurines, plush toys, and vintage trinkets.” In a solo vlog, you showcased your latest shopping haul for Nanami, who was in Shibuya for a board meeting. “All. The. Time.” Vlog after vlog, Nanami gathered them all and edited them into snappy clips. “She has a passion for photographing meals and desserts, whether we dine out, order takeout, or cook at home.” The footage captured you filming your dinner plates and soliciting Nanami's ratings as he munched, nodded, and gave you a thumbs up. When he requested the clips, you didn't think much of it. “I haven't met anyone who cherishes life's little joys quite like Y/N.”

The fast-paced snippets capture moments of you brushing dirt off flowers, generously offering cookies to teens studying in your bakery, crafting a necklace from seashells collected at the beach, attempting an ASMR mukbang with Nanami but ending up laughing too much, sharing your collection of hair ribbons, exploring the streets of Malaysia hand-in-hand on your first abroad trip, playfully filming him exercising and flipping the camera to fan yourself and bite your lip, sharing kisses while painting on the living room floor, and him peacefully asleep with his head resting on your chest—

Suddenly, the screen goes black, displaying the title “Life In My Eyes.”

Wiping away tears, you lean forward eagerly, curious about what other scenes he has in store.

Then, your own face fills the screen, bathed in the warm glow of the golden hour, with fluffy summer clouds behind you. Instantly, you recognize the setting: the cliff in Malaysia where you once spent hours talking. But in this clip, your eyes are closed, and you're facing ahead while Nanami captures your profile.

It switched to a different scene of you peacefully asleep against his chest, wrapped in one of his soft cashmere sweaters.

Then, it transitioned to you busy in the kitchen, a smudge of flour on your cheek and strands of hair escaping from your bun.

Next, it showed you tackling household chores, applying makeup, hurrying around declaring, “We're going to be late for the airport,” or shedding tears during the finale of “Happy Feet 2,” or enjoying a quiet moment reading and jotting notes on your balcony.

“Are you recording me?” Suddenly, a clip appeared of you playing with Sumo, a cat you had instantly fallen in love with at the pet adoption center.

“Yes,” Nanami confirmed.

“Pfft. That's my job,” you replied, returning to playing with Sumo. Nanami awkwardly turned the camera around, unable to find the right function to flip screens, and winked.

Then, it shifted to a dimly lit room illuminated solely by flickering candle lights. 

It was your bakery. 

You appeared on the screen, seated with your back to the camera. You waved an arm, only to realize it was a live feed.

What the . . . ?

Confused, you turned around to locate the camera, but instead found Nanami. On one knee. Holding a red-suede box containing a diamond ring. 

You almost tumbled off your chair in disbelief.

Nanami . . . Nanami was proposing to you.

Your boyfriend . . . soon to be your fiancé. 

And you couldn't breathe.

Panic threatened to overwhelm you. 

But first, you needed to slip that ring onto your finger and shower him with kisses.

Approaching him, you dropped to your knees, gently holding his face in your hands as you kissed him. Tears mingled with your synchronized lips, memories of his touching video playing in your mind. Life, in your eyes, was simply the joys of it. But in his eyes, life was you. You were his reason for living. And he was your heart, keeping you alive.

You pulled back, nodding silently as he slid the ring onto your finger. You noticed his initials on the inner rim, and a sob choked out of you, quickly sealing the moment with a kiss. His arm encircled your waist as he lifted you up, kissing you passionately. It felt like a soldier returning from battle, your body bending back as his smile widened against your lips. Soon, you would be Mrs. Nanami. Holy cow. 

“Happy birthday, darling,” Nanami murmured softly as you tried to catch your breath. He gestured with a finger and walked over to the back of the counter. “Close your eyes for me, my love.”

You shut them tightly, wiping away the tears, and sniffled, taking a deep breath.

“Hold out your hands,” Nanami whispered.

You complied.

Something small, soft, and incredibly fuzzy settled onto your palms. 

“Mew.”

Your eyes flew open, and there he was. Sumo. It was Sumo, the kitten who had both you and your boyfriend—fiancé—enchanted with his charm. You whined about adopting him once you left the shelter, but Nanami had been practical and kept the idea aside.

“Is he . . . Is he ours?” you asked, gazing into the feline’s sky-blue eyes.

“He's ours,” Nanami replied with a smile.

“He's—Oh my goodness, I'm going to start crying again.” And indeed, you did cry, holding Sumo tightly against your heart, gazing at the radiant diamond ring on your finger, and observing Nanami wipe away a tear from his eye's inner corner. “Kento, we're getting married!”

“I know, my love.” He planted kisses on your forehead, damp cheeks, and lips. “I can’t breathe,” he whispered, stealing another kiss. “You'll soon be my wife.”

“And you'll be my husband.”

“Such a privilege.”

You chuckled, giving him a quick kiss and wrapping your arm around his waist. Resting your head on his chest, you both admired Sumo staring wide-eyed at his parents. “I don't think I've cried this much since . . . ” You sealed the mention of your parents’ passing with a sigh. 

“I broke your heart with my plan,” he rasped out. “And I apologize sincerely for it. Satoru assured me it was foolproof, and regrettably, I trusted his judgment.”

It was no surprise it was his assistant.

“Where is he, by the way?”

“Parked down the block,” Nanami replied, lifting Sumo with his large hands to place him in his carrier. “I've already packed our bags for a trip. I'm taking you to Italy.”

“Huh?”

Nanami was nonchalant as he tidied up around the bakery, extinguishing the candles. “It's just for the weekend. I've spent the past week crafting an itinerary with all your favorite spots and restaurants to visit. You'll love the hotel we're staying at.”

You were about to bombard him with a barrage of questions, but instead, you couldn't help but smile.This was Nanami, after all. He had a knack for surprising you. One minute he'd be showering you with affection, the next he'd be whisking you away to Dubai for a vacation. One minute he'd forget your birthday, and the next he'd be proposing on one knee, presenting you with the cat you'd always wanted and whisking you off to your dream destination.

“—and there's this café that sells the most delicious macaroons—”

You interrupted him by pulling him close, planting a kiss on his lips, and wrapping your arms around him. Nanami eagerly responded, one hand resting on the small of your back and the other cradling the back of your head. When you finally broke apart, breathless, you looked into his hazel eyes and said, “Let's take our time, play with Sumo, and enjoy the cake you baked.”

“How did you know I baked it?”

You shrugged. “Baker's intuition.”

Nanami embraced you, resting his chin on your head. He took a deep breath as if replenishing his oxygen supply. His fingers gently ran through your hair, soothingly rubbing your back. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered as though it were a fleeting thought. 

You nuzzled closer to his chest. “I love you too, Kento.”

[netherfeildren]

Kiss, Kiss, Kill, Kill!

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel is a long haul truck driver. One day he finds a pretty girl in a diner and decides he’d like to keep her. 

Murder and sex ensue!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Graphic depictions of violence; Murder; Blood; Gore; Threat of SA; Impotence; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Loss of virginity; Virginity kink; Breeding kink; Spit kink; Rough sex; Pussy slapping; Dark!Joel; Mean!Joel (also kinda crazy and pathetic); Obsessive behavior; Possessive behavior; Discussions of suicidal ideations; Unreliable narrators; Alcoholism; Consensual non consent kind of (But not previously discussed - they're both into it tho); Use of misogynistic language; Grief

A/N: Hi :) Another one just bc I have no self control. 

Parts of the narrative read a little disjointed and/or confusing. This is intentional. I was kind of trying something weird out here, I guess.

Word Count: 9.7K

Read on AO3

The first time Joel sees you, it’s a Thursday. His least hated day of the week, but not his favorite, for he doesn’t really have any favorite things anymore. Your eyes’d stunned him at that first look. They sparkled as if dusted with frost – speared him with an intensity that burned. 

But no… that was a lie, and Joel is trying not to be such a liar anymore. He does have one favorite thing now. This middle-of-nowhere diner, this place where’d he’d found you. 

The first time he’d actually talked to you, you’d interrupted his own stubborn, sour silence with a silence of your own. Different, agonizing, compared to your usual persistent fishing for his attention. 

“What’re you doin’ out here in this wasteland, sweetheart?” Because you look sweet as that cherry pie you’re always trying to push on him. 

“Been here my whole life.” It’s verging on evening, the sky gone to melancholy, and there’s a young girl with dark hair weeping on the shoulder of an older woman in the booth over. He wants to snap at her, demand to know what the fuck she could possibly have to cry over? He’s sure she mustn’t have a dead daughter like him, and so there really seems to be no reason for tears. 

“No plans to leave?”

You shake your head, hum a little, set the coffee pot down on the edge of the table to pop a hip out and think on your answer. “Guess you could say I’m a little bit weak or scared, don’t know.”

“Doubt that,” a surprised laugh forced out of him. Entirely improbable, he knows this just by looking at you. “You’ve got eyes that seem as if they’ve never held fear within them in your entire life.” And he makes you laugh at that, head thrown back, throat rippling. The sound like the tolling of the bell indicating the start of the rest of his life. 

When you’re done gifting him your laughter, you ask, “What about you? Why are you here?”

“My daughter died.” Plain. 

Your eyes seem to shutter or flicker, something like a chimera about them, “When?”

“Two years ago.” He watches the crying girl and the old woman get up to go. And then the two of you are alone. You move to sit in the booth across from him. He’d been coming in here to see you for more than half that time since, and now, the first time the two of you are having an actual conversation, and this is what he’s decided to open with. But really, it’s the only story he has to tell anymore. He watches you watch him for a long moment, as though you’re searching for something within him, or mulling over what it is you want to say to him, the shift of your jaw from side to side as you chew on your words. He feels easily frightened now – fragile – and yet vibrantly malignant, at the same time. A juxtaposition on two opposite ends of the spectrum of good and not so good, or perhaps, verging on very, terribly bad, in the grocery store line of human morality. Two Joel’s at the start and end of the queue who could not seem to come to terms with one another. Enemies – they were enemies of each other. A Joel who’d once had a daughter, and a Joel who now did not. A Joel who’d pulled a trigger at his own temple, and one who’d never even considered such a thing. He draws his finger along the line of scar tissue at his temple.

For a long time he’d wanted to tear a hole in his world and escape, but he was no master of inventiveness. On the contrary, he found his attempt rather miserly – had short changed himself at the last moment and flinched. But perhaps, it had been for this reason – for you, to find you. He wishes he could peer inside your mind, crack open your skull and read everything you’re hiding away from him inside there. A violent thought, but you make him feel slightly violent, or – no, that’s not it – for Joel is already a violent man. It’s more that you pull a specific hue of violence out of him, incite it, like he needs to move, to howl, to claw at something, at you, scream and scream and scream to keep your undivided attention on him forever. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say finally, voice quiet. “How old was she?”

His loss. That was a funny way of putting it. It had never felt like a loss. The word was too small. Four letters was not enough to describe what it really was. There was no word for what it felt like. An emaciation of his very self until he simply ceased to exist. Something that had sucked his soul, his heart, his brain out of his body, but they didnt feel lost. They felt destroyed, decimated, or like they had never existed. Sometimes the feeling left him confused, disoriented – this strange purgatory he’d been relegated to, it was like it had never happened in his mind sometimes, or like it had happened to a different man. Like that life with that beautiful little girl with the green eyes who’d had a father who loved her, who’d then died, had happened to someone else. Someone who wasn’t Joel. Like a war that had raged and raged for centuries, and now nothing was left in its wake. Only that terribly fraught reminder of a violence too grotesque for a human mind to conceive. 

How could he miss something, wish for something so, so, so fucking desperately he’d peel his very skin from his body himself to get it back, but also feel like it didn’t belong to him anymore? Like it had never happened to him, like he remembered it out of his own body? A dream that belonged to someone else, and Joel’d only been told of it second hand. His mind was fractured now, he knew this. He wasn't right – broken or glued together the wrong way. His bones didn’t fit in his joints the way they were supposed to anymore. He was all wrong and ugly and fucked. 

“She was twelve.”

“My whole family’s dead,” you say it almost casually, with a half shrug of your shoulders. “Is that why you started driving? To get away?”

He’s been a long haul truck driver for going on two years now. Started just after Sarah – needed to get away, to get lost. He didn’t enjoy it – he does not enjoy it. Not because the work is bad or boring or what have you, but because he doesn’t enjoy anything anymore. But it’s productive and pays well and… well, he does appreciate the solitude. There is that, at least. He’d been on the route from New Mexico to Washington for several months now, and it was fine. Occasionally, he’d head up to the Dakotas – not so fine, longer, harder trek, but he managed it. He preferred this one, preferred the darkness of the north west corner of the country. He never went further south than New Mexico, though. Absolutely never into Texas. He’d never go back there again. 

“Sure… to get away.” He couldn’t be there anymore afterwards, had nothing left. “My neighbor, Anna, she’s got a teenager, Ellie. Sweet kid. Weird kid,” he laughs fondly, remembering the two of them. “The kid was friends with my daughter, Sarah. And after everything– well, after everything, Anna made sure they both stuck around. Didn’t let me shut myself away the way I wanted to,” ill-shaven recluse, confused, fractured, “They’re good people. You’d like them, I think. They’re… they’re my friends.” They were another reason he kept doing the driving, he liked to send money back to Anna and Ellie. He knew they didn’t need it, didn’t want it, but he had to. He needed to feel like he was still taking care of someone, contributing to someone’s well being. It was just part of who he was. 

“I’m sure I would.”

He watches your silent enrapture as you listen to him tell you of his pseudo life. After a while he’d realized that was all he’d started doing, making his way back to you, to this diner where you work. A sad place for ugly men to stop in on a pause from their interminable journeys and lay eyes on an angel. He hadn’t even really realized that’s what he was purposely doing or that it’d become a pattern. He just needed something to see at the end of the tunnel, a light to look towards when he was lost in the darkness. That’s what you are, a single flickering light in the abyss of darkness he exists in now. 

You’re small – tiny compared to Joel’s own hulking size. He thinks he could break you, easily, if he isn’t careful, if he so felt like it. And you were – you are so fucking pretty. He thinks of you so often. Almost as often as he thinks of his dead daughter which might seem wrong or strange, but it’s really nothing more than the two opposite ends of a spectrum of perfect beauty that he’s known within his lifetime that now he cannot reach either end of. Sarah – dead, forever out of reach. And you. Too perfect for consideration, too beautiful and good for these monstrous hands of his. The thing he’s become in his grief is not worthy of a gorgeous creature like you. His existence post Sarah’s death had become some sort of apocalyptic dysphoria where the only monster here was Joel. But he does like to watch, and he does like to think of you. To come to your diner and sit and watch you serve coffee to your customers – the scum that muddles through here isn’t worthy of laying eyes on you – men like him. Sometimes, when he sits here silently, pretending to ignore you and not be entirely beguiled by you, he feels as if he has a purpose again, like the money for Anna and Ellie, getting to inconspicuously watch over you, make sure no one gives you a hard time gives him purpose. And when he goes, even though he never really wants to, he takes you with him in his mind through the long stretches of his hauls. When there are nothing but ghosts to keep him company. When thoughts of Sarah and that dead life become too overwhelming, he calls you to mind, plans his routes to make his way back to you. 

You’re also fucking persistent – not giving him the chance to wallow away in his silence and brooding. He was rude at first, gruff and unresponsive and wouldn’t ever acknowledge your queries of, How’s it going today, and, Oh, back again I see. Sometimes he wanted to snap and just spit the truth at you, ‘course, I’m fuckin’ back, I’m here to see you, I’m obsessed with you. And rounds and rounds of, Can I get you another cup of coffee? The same as usual? You’d memorized his order. Pestered and pestered and pestered for his name until he’d finally ceded it to you, and, How ‘bout some cherry pie this time? After a while you’d gotten sick of his recalcitrant bullshit and just dropped off the piece of pie, slipping it onto the edge of the table and sliding away without a word or a half look back at him. He’d eaten the whole damn thing, savored it, and caught your sassy, little smirk after he’d finished. He’d wanted to bend you over the counter and spank your ass until you cried after that. He bets you’d taste as sweet as that pie, that if he slapped your cunt enough times he could get it red as a cherry. He bets you’d like that – that you’d like it a little rough, a little dirty, a little mean. You might look like an angel, but Joel’s seen the way you look at him, the way you follow him with your eyes, leaning against the counter, chin cupped in your small palm watching him eat his eggs and drink his coffee. 

You want him. 

But Joel is frightened – frightened and cowardly and not right, and as much as you look like an angel, he also worries you might have the ability to entice him into very, very bad things – to provoke him into depravity, even. There is a part of him, large or small given the day and the mood and the weather that he walks in here on, that has the rotten half of his mind whispering at the not-so-rotten half that he wants to defile and debase you, and that he’s pretty sure you’d like it if he did. He wants to fuck you full of his come and then watch it leak out of your used, gaping hole. Then he wants to lick you clean, kiss it all better so that he can do it all over again.

The first few times he’d stopped at your diner, he’d pretended he hadn’t even noticed you, would lie to himself in his mind and tell himself that he had no interest in a little thing like you. He had no interest in women, in making connections, in having conversations. Occasionally… well– no, not occasionally. Twice, it had happened twice now, when the urge had struck, the itch had become too persistent, and his hand not enough, he’d gotten a hooker. The first time he’d shut down completely, lost his hard on and not been able to finish. The second time… he’d finished. He might’ve even made the woman come, he hadn’t bothered to ask, but he thought he might have. Then he’d gone back to his truck and cried great heaving sobs. Like he’d said… not right, he wasn’t right anymore. Couldn’t even fuck a whore without blubbering like a baby. He’d wondered if perhaps his grief had made him impotent. That’d be funny. That type of funny thing that is also a humiliation… you know the sort?

But after a while, the lie had become too much of a farce, even for his own mind. He knew, from that first moment he’d walked in, and you’d spun around, a bright smile and chirpy, little voice telling him to sit anywhere you’d like, be right with you, mister, that he’d taken notice. More than notice. He’d put you in his pocket that day and had carried you with him in some way since. Like a stone chosen off the beach, washed up by the tide and deposited in the sand just for him to come across, or maybe like a fucking infection, like the plague, for he did not want this. He did not want to think of you. He did not want to think of anyone or anything. He wanted to be alone and without anything or anyone for the rest of his life. If he did not have anyone, if he remained alone, then he could never again experience that loss which was not truly a loss, but something much worse and devastating, and even, perhaps, a little hilarious, in that way that a hilarious thing can also sometimes be humiliating and shameful… there it is. A loss that is not a loss for it is a thing so devastating it becomes something else entirely. A humiliation to one’s very existence, a decimation, emaciation, all the things, all the things, and nothing at the same time.

His mind was wont to ramblings, on occasion now. Perhaps, incoherence, was the better word. Anxiety, as well, panic, tears. Couldn’t even fuck a hooker without weeping, howling, a few sobs. 

He had wandered so far, and sometimes he thought, I want to go home, but of course, that home no longer existed. It had been put in the ground two years ago and lost forever. The dissatisfaction of constant ennui. He could, perhaps, return to the geographical place, but nothing familiar would remain. He couldn’t live with the memory, he couldn’t live away from it. It was like it had simply ceased to exist that day that she’d died, and every moment since that moment was just a series of moments filled with a yearning for some place that no longer existed. He didn’t think he’d ever again feel at home anywhere.

And yet…

He turns back to look at you. 

“How did they die? Your family.”

“Home invasion – murdered. He never found me, hid in the boiler closet.”

“Little rabbit.”

“Hmm,” a huff of a laugh, “Maybe. Someone once said I was lucky. Pretty fucked up, no?”

“Do you feel lucky?”

“Never. Angry – that I’d been left behind.”

“Yeah…”

“Alone.”

“Are you alone?”

You turn back to him. Inspect him. He watches the slant of your eyes take in his hair, his face, wrinkled, haggard, his chest, his arms – he feels a flush flare beneath his ribs, then back up to his eyes. He wonders if you’ve ever been fucked before. You’re young – but he can’t imagine how you wouldn’t have been. He thinks he’d do anything in this moment to get between your thighs, but also, he hopes you haven’t, hopes you could be all his, only his, his his. Mine. 

He hopes he won’t cry if he gets the chance. 

“Entirely,” you say finally. 

“I had– have– ” shakes his head, “I have, I guess, a brother. Tommy. But the last time I saw him… I was horrible.” They seldom saw each other now – lie – they never saw each other now. Truth, Joel. We’re telling the truth now. 

You laugh lightly, shrug, “Happens.”

“Sure…”

“What’d you do to him?”

“Ah, just couldn’t get a handle on myself after everything. Things got bad enough eventually, and we fought… a lot. Violently. I was violent. One morning I got out of hand, terrible – one of my biggest regrets. We hurt each other with our words and our fists, and in that way only two people who know each other too well can. He cracked my ribs, gave me half his orange in the evening, afterwards – said our apologies. He was gone the next day. Haven’t heard from him since. I just got to be too much for him,” he says again, needs to reiterate it, make sure you understand that he is too much and too dark, too unmanageable – ugly. That you should not be sat here with him. That he has a violence within him, and that you should probably run as fast and as far as you can, but that he cannot promise he will not follow. “I had…” he is ashamed of this part, surprising for he sometimes wonders if he still possesses the heart to feel shame, “I had a problem with drink for a while – not anymore, though,” he says quickly. “I promise, not anymore.” He should not be promising you anything. “I got control of it – knew it was making it all worse rather than better. Felt like I was trapped underwater with my damn ghosts – that … What's that thing called when – when sick people get like – like trapped inside themselves or somethin’? You ever heard’a that?”

-

“Locked-in syndrome.”

“Yeah– yeah. I read about that once or heard it somewhere – that’s what it felt like when I was drinkin’ – fuckin’ terrible. Let it go after a while… but by that time… Tommy was gone, done with me. I was – dunno… like some sort of demon or somethin’ – somethin’ bad.” He huffs a small, derisive laugh, looks at you with that ridiculously charming, crooked half smile. 

That laugh sparks a kindling of anger inside of you for him. This is a broken, angry, creature of a man, you think. Something fractured – not whole, and he must be handled with care and gentleness. “How could he just leave you?

“Didn't give him a choice. Sometimes people deserve to be left.”

“I wouldn’t have.” That sobers him, wipes the smile right off his handsome face. You think of the invisible giants hurting this man in some unimaginable fashion; of the endless tenderness coiled up inside of him and how the crushing of that tenderness – the death of it – has given way to what may be considered madness. Because after all these months of watching him, of him watching you, you can see it, recognize that tenderness for what it is, but also the madness, for it is impossible to ignore if you’re really looking. Soft marrow at the center of a hard man. 

“I did other things… worse things.”

“Try me.”

“I tried to kill myself.”

You whistle, long and low. You actually had not been expecting that one, at least, not the admittance of it, “You’re just full of truths,” for looking at him – the sort of man he’s built as, the thought that he could be felled by anything, even his own hand, is a little hard to believe. 

“Feels like a sort of confessional in this–”

“Shithole–”

“Diner–”

Your voices overlap. You both laugh. You think you quite like the sound of your voices intermingling one on top of the other. 

“What happened?”

“Flinched–”

“I flinch all the time.”

“Have you ever thought about killing yourself?”

You hum, tilt your head side to side on your neck as if you’re letting the thought slide from ear to ear within your skull. “Perhaps only the peripheral idea of it, but never with much imagination or dedication. I don’t think I have that much to kill myself over, you know?”

“Your family?”

“Not really – it’s sort of become just this… this thing that happened once. I don’t feel much ownership over it anymore. Don’t know why, exactly.”

“Sure, that’s how I feel about it sometimes too. That belongs to a different man now – like– like some actor or a facsimile, and I just look in on it as if from a distance. Enjoy the sight of someone else's suffering…” He shakes his head, “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, no, I understand. Something to do in the way that a tragedy can be compelling to watch. You can let go, let go of your awareness of yourself and experience it in a way you’d never do so in the present moment.”

“A dissociation.”

“Yes. Why would you want to go and relive the basest parts of yourself all alone, over and over again? Not likely.”

“But it was me.”

“A dissociation,” you repeat, smile. 

“Yeah,” he pauses, turns the coffee cup round and round with the slow spin of his wrist as if to dissolve the remains of the grounds you know the shitty machine has left deposited at the bottom. There is a small dusting of golden brown hair covering his wrist and disappearing up his forearm beneath his flannel. You want to taste it, follow the trail to places unknown. “Not so well adjusted, us two,” And he laughs then. A real laugh. He lets you have a real laugh of his, and it is powerful – special. 

“Well… no.” Of course not. “I don’t think either of us could ever claim that.”

“Bet you’ve never been bad a single day in your life, have you?”

You cock your head, let your eyes slide from him to peer out the dark window. His lonely semi is parked under the single flare of light out there. The evening has sunk into a deep blue, the hue of mourning, of melancholy, and the pavement is wet with evening rainfall.

You'd heard that some trucks had spaces behind the seats where truckers could put a bed, have a place to rest. You wonder if he’ll take you back there and fuck you in his little bunk. And honesty is a fickle thing when discussing a topic like this, isn't it? There’s a depravity about him, and you can’t tell if the truth or the lie would placate him – incite him – more. To be similar in such a way as that which he’s imagining. A little bit of both, then. After all, intent holds weight – imagination, desire, it has a mass to it that can, if enough pressure is exerted upon it, be transformed into something else. 

“Not yet,” you tell him, sliding your gaze back to meet his, “Haven’t had a chance – but there’s still time.”

-

“What would you like to do?” He wants to take a bite out of that soft flesh you’re encased in, draw blood.

“Something depraved?” You’re taunting him – trying to provoke. It makes him slightly angry, but also hard. You should know what it is you’re toying with here. 

He frowns at you, at the lilting song of your words trying to beguile him into doing whatever it is you think you want him to do to you. “What is it that you think you want here? You don’t know what I was, how I lived. Shouldn’t be sat here with me, little girl,” he scoffs. “I was– was not– I don’t fucking know, not a man. I’m not, I’m not. Not a person anymore, just this thing that continues to exist. I should not have been expected to survive. This should mean something to you too. You also have no one. You’re alone too. You’re alone in the world. You know what it feels like to only live in the winter.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, and then you say: “I think I’ve come to quite like the winter.” And at that he knows he’s taking you for himself, whether you agree in the end or not. You’re going to be his. 

But he knows he must also let this roiling anger, this depraved hunger settle before he lays hands on you. Like this, in this state, he’d be too rough, break you, nothing compunctious about him or his jaggedness. He excuses himself for a smoke, your only response simply more of that inciting silence – more thoughts of cracked skulls and a cherry red cunt and tears after failed trysts with someone who doesn’t even know his name. He’s fucking embarrassing. What would Tommy say if he knew Joel couldn’t even get it up for a paid fuck anymore? He’d laugh in his face, never let him live it down. He misses his brother very much. He misses lots of things. 

He’s sucking on his Red under the awning of the diner’s entrance, imagining what it’ll be like to suck on your little clit, when he hears them. 

“She’s usually out about midnight. We’ll snag her then.” Grating, guttural voice.

“But I get to fuck ‘er first. This was my idea so I go first.”

“Yeah, whatever. S’only happenin’ ‘cause of me. Too fuckin’ stupid to see the plan through after all these months of watchin’ ‘er.”

“Fuck off.” Silence, and then almost with giddy elation: “We gonna kill her too?” Something cold and terrifying settles within Joel. 

A beat, “Should we?”

“Dunno, man. Might be fun, huh? Never done it before.”

“She’s fuckin’ pretty,” the voice draws the vowel out in a high pitched, sacharine whine. “Got the face of an angel.” Joel’s angel, his, his, only his.

He’s got his Bowie in a sheath on the back of his belt. Perhaps, this would be a useful exercise in release. After he’s dispelled his excess energy he can come back and touch you, take you. 

“Can’t wait to taste that cunt.” His cunt.

“Seen her tits, man? Fucking round and bouncy. Wanna make ‘em bleed.” And there’s only one avenue of consequence after that. After all, this is not the first time Joel’s done this. 

His most well kept secret.

Sometimes, when the itch cannot be eased, abated, by his hand or a fuck or a drink or any of the other readily available vices, he turns to this. Only when the straits were dire. Only when he saw no other recourse. Only after his daughter was dead and in the ground and his brother gone away from him

. 

But sometimes… sometimes it’s just fun. Sometimes it’s useful for a man to do that thing that he really feels he wants to do, if only to enjoy himself, if only to let go of some of that suffocating tension. If only to keep vermin like this away from an angel like you. 

“We’ll chill in the woods for a while, wait the little thing out, yeah?” Joel edges his way towards the edge of the building closer to them, peeks a lone eye around the corner. Two men, middle aged. Not a problem. Not for a man like him. 

He waits for them to make their way to the edge of the tree-line, watches them disappear into the gloom. He looks back into the diner through the murky windows. The warm glow of the overhead lamps washing you in a hue of golden light that brings out all the warm goodness in you he’ll take for himself once he’s snuffed out this issue. 

No one’s going to touch you but him. No one’s going to hurt you but him. 

As he rounds the corner of the diner there’s a piece of metal pipe propped up against the building by the dumpsters. Very nice. 

He goes after them. 

At the edge of the tree-line, under a swaying, low hanging branch, there is a tiny unfledged bird, helplessly twitching its way towards death in a puddle. He pauses to watch its struggle, gathers his skin about him, tightens his seams – prepares to gorge. He watches the inch by inch pilgrimage towards its last breath, then stillness. He feels so much older than his years, like he’s lived a thousand terrible years, watched a thousand terrible deaths. But there is a buoyancy about him, as well. Filled with a saccharine sweet fizz of sticky anticipation. He’s going to taste your cunt after this is done.

 He moves into the gloom. He’s going to kill them for you, and his cock is hard at the thought.

Stepping beneath the canopy of the trees, into that cold, damp darkness, he sees the absolute truth of the world. On the heels of two men who’d do you harm, he knows that he’d failed to save someone he cared about once, he’d not be bested by failure a second time. Darkness implacable, the crushing black vacuum of their overheard words buzzing in his head like flies, of the harm they’d do you. Two hunted animals moving away from a creature much darker than they could even imagine, scurrying on borrowed time. What most moves him is that the things they’d do to you are not so dissimilar to the things he plans to do to you, as well. The only difference being that after he’s done defiling you, he’ll keep you for himself, with all the care and gentleness a little thing like you so deserves. 

-

You press your ear to the cracked open door leading to the back of the building. It’s not the first time those two’ve talked their filth regarding you. The murdering is new, though. You’d not thought they were smart or inventive enough to come up with an actual kill plot. Rape enough of a hardball for minds as shallow and small as those two’ve got. 

You’d never really considered them much of a threat. Or maybe you’d just never really cared enough to pay them much attention. But as you watch the broad, rippling expanse of Joel’s muscled back stalk after them, his pause at the tree-line to look down at something on the ground, you think he must be more in the vein of taking a stupid man’s shit talk to heart than you’ve ever been. 

He has a thick, forearms-length of steel pipe gripped in his huge fist, and there’s a wicked looking knife strapped to his belt on the back of his hip. 

Interesting. 

You look back at the empty diner, the lonely parking lot beyond the glass of the windows, only Joel’s semi still taking up residence on the wet pavement. You turn back to follow after the three men. 

One you want, two you’re interested to see what fate awaits them.

For some reason, when you step outside, you’re expecting there to be snow on the ground, but there is none.  

You move across the pavement towards the forest-line, and the pilgrimage towards the verdant darkness feels very much like your one-way ticket out of this forlornness you’ve been trapped in your whole life. You’ve been stuck in this small town for so long, for too long. One man had already tried to forcibly evict you, had taken your entire family with him, maybe this one, maybe Joel, would do so in a way you’d more likely enjoy. 

There’s been a steady, faint drizzle all day long, and the puddles of rain look like holes in the dark pavement, apertures into some other realm that glide past underground. You wonder if you stepped through if you’d disappear below into some other place. You wonder if he’d be able to find you even in that unknown other. 

You cross the line into darkness. 

The familiar terror of silence – you don’t seem to find it here. There is only the sound of your rushing blood, the cadence of his voice rumbling through your psyche, firing your neurons up into a frenzy. There is a twisting heat low in your pelvis, dampness between your thighs. What’s he going to do? Why’s he going to do it?Is it for me? Is it for me? It’s for you.

You let out a low whistle between your teeth and move beyond the trees. There is a giddiness about the darkness of the wood – the motley of shadows, the aroma of mushroom rot. 

The familiar terror of silence. Perhaps, that is what they are experiencing now. The great horror of being set upon by a beast more terrifying than anything they could have ever conjured up on their own. 

That infinite tenderness from before, that acute madness – it coalesces in the gap in the trees as you come upon the three men. 

Joel has already started on the first. He murders almost tenderly. With great care, but infused with an aroma of agitated frenzy that seems flavored in the same notes of erotic buzzing that hums beneath your own skin. There is blood and viscera splattered on his face and clothes, in his hair. That great hunting knife embedded in the throat of the first man. The body lays facing you now, eyes open, shocked at his own death. Funny. Perhaps, that’s how they would have liked you to have ended up once they were through with you. 

Oh, how the tune changes when the monster is on your side. 

What are you? Be a creature. Be a creature. Be a creature!

You take Joel in. Thick, massive frame. You love his hair, it was one of the first things you’d noticed, thick dark curls streaked with the silver veins of his age and experience. Something that promised of care and knowledge and patience. His patchy beard with the heart shaped gap in it, you’re going to write your name into that space. His powerful arms, muscles coiled tight, his shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders as he brings the steel pipe up above his head, pauses to look down at his next victim. 

“We won’t bother her anymore, never again – p– please, please, I swear,” the man on the ground begs and cries. There are tears and snot bubbling down his ruddy, pocketed face. 

Joel is silent and terrifying and glorious above him, and then a small nod: “That’s alright… I believe you.” The metal comes down in a whistling arc, makes contact. 

Flesh and blood splatter, the sound of it is pulpy and wet and vindicating. He starts with the man’s knees, then his head, caved in like the shell of an egg, the yolk spilling out like vermilion drool. 

He heaves silently above the man that would have done you harm. Makes the threat go away. 

You step forward, cunt pulsing and wet and eager for him. When he’s gotten his fill of bludgeoning he turns slowly back towards you, as if he’d known the entire time that you’d been stood there watching. 

And the look on his face, it makes something electrifying and sticky buzz up your spine and ooze down your veins. You shift back on your heels

He shakes his head, his eyes are huge, pupils blown wide. “Don’t run,” he says slowly. If you hadn’t just watched him murder two men in cold blood – no, in your defense, he saved you, he protected you, fizzy heart full of satisfaction – you’d say he almost looks a little doe eyed. 

A hollow pounding begins in his heart, as if it had remained silent for the past two years and was only now taking notice of its own silence. His cock, hard enough to burst, angry and throbbing beneath the confines of his blood soaked jeans. Fuck this scum laying on the ground beside him, look at what he has infront of him. Nothing else matters but you. A goddamned angel. Damned for he’s found you now and nothing good can come of this. He takes a step towards you, and you match him with one backwards, away from him, his blood starts to howl in his veins. Different to the humming frenzy that had filled him as he did his murdering. This is hot and viscous and ravenous, and he knows he’ll get to keep his catch once he’s gorged himself on it. He knows he’ll get to keep you once he’s caught you. 

You take two more nervous little, quick steps away from him. Your eyes are slightly manic, face flushed, frame jittery, excited. A rabbit that knows it’s about to be caught. He watches the pause of your limbs as they fill with coiled energy, getting ready to make the bound and leap towards escape. He lunges, goes in for the kill, teeth bared, talons  brandished. 

Faster than you can even comprehend, he lunges, takes you to the ground with one massive, powerful shoulder to the vulnerable, soft of your belly, one huge paw cradled at the back of your skull to protect you from the hard ground. Your spine hits the cold, wet earth, the breath knocked out of you. You think you let out an animal noise, high pitched and supplicant. A thing that knows it’s been caught and is soon to be devoured. Your limbs scramble against the dirt, heels digging into the ground for purchase, you feel the loss of one of your shoes, as you try to get away or to crawl closer, who can be sure. A spider caught in the web or a larger, hungrier arachnid. He sets the huge heaviness of his muscular weight over your much smaller frame, one strong hand caged around the column of your throat, the other pushing your chest into the earth as he shoves his hips into the cradle of your own, forcing your thighs apart and your skirt to pool at your waist. You feel the stretch of the center plaque of your tights as his wide breadth settles between your legs, making room to take you for himself. You bring your own hands up to the wrist holding your throat and dig your nails into the skin there. You can feel the light smattering of hair covering his forearm beneath your soft palms, the cold, wet dirt beneath you, the searing stretch of the inner muscles of your thighs spread wide for him, the damp of the air surrounding the two of you. He leans forwards, pressing you down into the ground, and you have the fleeting thought that you want to transfuse yourself into the earth, into him. 

He pauses then to look down at you, appreciating the gloriousness of his catch. “Caught ya.” And he’s filled with an exuberance, a sort of victory. Look at what he’s snared – all for himself. 

You try and struggle again, if only to see the flare of annoyance in his eyes. It makes your cunt tight and achy. Even more than it already is. There’s a part of you that thinks you want him slightly angry – rough or mean. That you might like it even more if it hurts. Be kind enough to be cruel about it, you want to beg him. He leans forward to press his nose to your cheek, drags the cold vermillioned flush of it along your jaw, down the line of your throat, bites harsh and painful at your collarbone then over the peak of your breast. 

“Are you a virgin?” He whispers into your skin. It sounds very much like a threat. 

“Yes.”

“Saved this cunt all for me.” And it is not a question. Yes, you moan anyways. Let him know. Let him know that this defiling is a gift you’re granting him. He sits up on his haunches between your thighs, his hands sliding down to press on your lower belly and digs his fingers into the center of your tights and pulls, ripping a hold in them for his pillaging. You try and press your knees shut at the feel of the frigid air on your sensitive inner thighs, dig your nails into the ground above your head to try and drag yourself away from him. 

He digs his own fingers harshly into your flesh, his nails biting painfully into the soft skin of your thighs and ass and brings you back towards him. There’ll be streaks of pain left in his wake after this. Bad little rabbit. He smacks the inside of your thigh, watches the smooth flesh ripple for him. You let out a warbled, angry screech, little nails still trying to claw yourself away from him. He laughs then, a little mean, condescending. “Fight harder, little baby. This is pretty pathetic.” He rips your thighs apart, keep your fuckin’ legs open for me, his hands slick with the blood of his victims slide up the back of your thighs, anchoring his palms beneath the damp creases of your knees to press you open and wide for him, slaps your cunt, hard, over the soaking gusset of your panties. 

“Who the fuck’re you wearin’ this tiny little thong for?” he growls. It’s white lace, with a sweet, little pink bow adorning the front. “Me? Wrapped yourself up all nice and pretty for me?” Your little foot sneaks up under his armpit and tries to push with, what he’s sure is all your valiant might, at his chest, trying to unseat him from his conquering position above you, but he takes your ankle in a vice like grip, bites harshly into the meat of your calf so that an animal squeal of pain is clawed out of your throat at the same time that he slots his fingers under the damp center of your panties. “Sing as loud as you want, sweetheart. No one’s gonna hear you out here.” He can feel the soaking wet seam of your cunt against the backs of his knuckles, and he rips them clean off you. The sound of the last remaining barrier of protection of your cunt against his ravaging being decimated has you going shock still – prey that knows it’s caught and has decided to give up. Good, this is how he wants you. Your big, wet eyes look up at him as he flings the lace towards the still steaming dead bodies. That’s all they’ll get of you. The rest is only his. Mine, mine, fucking mine. 

You let your arms go limp above your head, soft and pliant and ready for ravaging, melting into the earth.

He presses your knees back and up, letting the red blossom of your wet cunt bloom for him. It’s slick and swollen, and he knows when he shoves his cock inside it’ll be burning hot. “Look at this gorgeous virgin pussy, baby. All for me. Only for me…” he murmurs, hypnotized, mesmerized. He drags the back of his knuckles over your slit, uses his thumbs to spread your lips apart, admires the swollen nub of your clit. You’re just as hungry for him as he is for you. Messy, eager little whore. He moves to undo his belt and free his aching length. Huge and brutish, thick veins pulsing just beneath the thin skin. He’s going to split you in half, break you, mold you in his image. 

He spits right onto your soaked folds, watches the thick glob of saliva slide down to mingle with your own leaking slick. He’s not even going to make you come first. Little virgin cunt and he’s not going to even bother getting you ready – just gonna shove the whole, unforgiving length of himself inside of you. Force you to take it. He fists his thick fist around himself, jacks his cock once, twice, squeezing at the bulbous head so that a trickle of precum seeps out of the slit. He presses his head to your clit, slides down to give you a small threat of pressure at your opening. When he looks back up at your face your eyes flutter shut, a look of pure contented submission washing over the gorgeous planes of you. 

“Not gonna be gentle, baby. Don’t got it in me.” He notches the fat head at the slick mouth of your entrance and crams his cock inside of you in one go, meets that thin barrier that says you still belong to yourself and rips through it. Mine now. No reprieve, no respite. And God, the feel of it, cleaved in half, scorching hot, filled to the brim and never deep enough. He is a rabid, snarling beast of a man as he hits the very end of you, grinds his cockhead at the mouth of your womb. You let out a warbled, pained moan, little fingers coming up to claw at his throat and chest with kitten-strength, down to dig into his thick thighs as he pins you down, and you tilt your hips to let him in deeper or escape him, he doesn't know. He doesn't care. He pulls his hips back and forces himself back in, too thick cock wedged into the too tight space. “Christ, goddamn tight fuckin’ pussy – made for me,” he grits through bared teeth.

He fucks you raw and cruel, and he needs you to just lay limp and still and take it.

And you do. And he does not cry this time. 

He sets a brutal pace, throbs deep in your belly at every pause as he grinds at your cervix. It must be painful for you, perhaps, but the flush in your cheeks, the fever in your eyes, the ripple of your cunt around his driving length tells him you also like it. “What a good girl, taking my big cock,” he coos. You preen, tilt your hips this time in supplication he’s sure, hitch your feet higher along his sides. There are tears running back down your temples and into your hairline. His cock makes you cry. If he could, he’d split your throat and drink, he would. But he cannot, so he’ll split your cunt instead. He thrusts into the hilt, complete negligence for care, for gentleness lost in the dark wood, for the desperate necessity of feeling your virgins blood coating his cock. Your protestations lost to the louder song for more, for harder, for deeper

Joel, Joel, Joel. 

He’s going to listen to you sing his name for the rest of his life. 

He feels unhinged, a thread picked at too many times, spun loose, unraveled and frayed. That edge that separates good and evil – his bloody fingers clamp down hard on the edge of your jaw, forces you to open for him, and he spits into your mouth – direct, dirty … warm. “Lemme see…” he rumbles, and you stick your tongue out for his inspection. Once he nods, pleased and smug and conquering, you close and rub the slick of his saliva onto the roof of your mouth with your tongue, savor the taste of him. This was the taste that you’d longed for… that which teaches you what that professed edge really is. Is he good, is he evil – he’d just killed two men, you’d watched him, cunt wet at the sight of it. Albeit to protect you… sure – but does it even matter? You swallow his spit down. Probably not. 

He is huge and life altering inside of you. Your virginity scoured away on his invading length. 

He leans forward, hand clamped around your jaw to pierce you with his manic gaze, like his cock pierces your cunt. He smells like the forest and sweat and power. “Little fuckin’ tease,” he grits, “Bringing me cherry pie like that all the time – fuckin’ provoking me. You just wanted me to pop your cherry for you. Didn’t you, little girl?” All you can do is nod dumbly and take what he gives you. He hooks one of your knees over his elbow, the other propped over his shoulder, foot bobbing limply at each slam of his hips. He has you bent entirely in half, cunt splayed wide open for him to fuck down into the deep, devastating end of you. Your vision goes blurry, black stars streaking across the back of your eyelids. All you see is him. Perhaps he’s all that exists now. Maybe you’re just as dead as the two bodies laying beside the two of you. You wonder peripherally what the sight of the four of you must look like. Joel’s hulking form fucking you like an animal into the dirt. You open your eyes to look up at him, there’s blood splatter across his face, in his hair. His skin is burning hot against yours. You think that perhaps you’ll have scorch marks in the shape of his fingers in your skin after he’s done with you. Two dead, brutalized bodies cooling beside the place where the two of you are fucking. 

“Can feel ya tightening up, baby. Gonna come all over my cock.”

He does something to change the angle, and it fucking hurts. “Too much,” you beg, try to push him back weakly, but your cunt pulls sharp and tight, and then your muscles are rippling around him, womb contracting painfully as your orgasms blinds you with its sudden intensity. 

“Don’t care,” he growls back. “Do not fucking push me away.” No, he must not care. Prey doesn’t decide how it’s felled, after all. 

He pulls out and back then, suddenly, slaps your cunt harshly, once, twice. You mewl, high and shocked, writhing around in the dirt. He grabs you by the hips and flips you so fast you’re left disoriented, pulling your ass up, up, up. 

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he croons, bends to bite down on the meat of your asscheek, and then notches back at your gaping, fluttering hole, orgasm still running through you, and pushes back in. You’re soaking wet, slick and fucked open by him and the taking is much easier this time. You feel his thumb press down on your asshole, “Gonna take this too. Gonna have every part of you, every piece. Gonna swallow you whole.” All you do is arch your back further, cheek smushed into the dirt, fingers digging into the cool earth for purchase, for salvation.

The sight of you stretched around his thick base, so slick he feels you dripping down his balls and further below, into the bloody earth. There’s a red tinge of your own blood coating his skin, and he’s going to come. He’s going to fill you up with his spend and fuck it deep into you until it takes. Until no matter how far you want to run, he’ll be with you, always. He lets his head fall back on his neck and stares up at the dark canopy of the trees, groans low and deep.“You’re gonna be my little hole now,” he promises, presses one large palm into the small of your back to deepen the angle and fuck down into you. “Gonna take you with me and fill you up whenever I feel like it. My gorgeous little cumslut.” The ramming of his hips starts to grow sloppy and stuttered, close to the edge now. Victory is so, so near. 

You start to claw at the dirt and wiggle again. Little knees chafed raw and scrambling against the hard ground trying to get away. He slaps your ass hard, hopes there’ll be the print of his hand to appreciate later. 

“Not inside, not inside – not – no birth control,” you stutter, beg.

“I’m not fuckin’ pulling out.” He twists a cruel and unyielding hand into the back of your hair and presses your face harshly into the ground. Your eyes pinch and tears seep and mingle into the blood and dirt beneath you. “Gonna pump you raw and full. You don’t gotta worry about anythin’ anymore, baby. Gonna take care of you,” he grits and you press yourself harder back into him. There is an existential seesaw inside of you – a volleying of your wants – you want him to hurt you, to force you, to take care of you and keep you, all at the same time.

“Promise – promise me you won’t leave me,” you cry and beg because really, that’s all you want. All you’ve ever wanted. For someone to stay, for someone to never leave, no matter what.

“I promise – fuckin’ swear.” And you go loose and passive again at that – his to do with as he will. Nothing else really matters after all that.

He senses the change. The loosening of your muscles into capitulation. He stops his thrusting and grinds, strums at your clit. “Oh fuck, you want me to fill you up? And what happens if I do? What happens if it takes? Want me to get you fuckin’ pregnant?” Starts to fuck into you again, “I think you do.”

Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.

“You’re mine. Fucking mine.” He says it again and again and again, yes, yes, yes, lets himself fall forward, anchored above you with one strong arm as he presses as deep as he can physically go and starts to fill your pulsing cunt with his come, the heat of his spend inciting you to roll into one more throbbing orgasm. He brings his face down close to yours, open your eyes, little thing, lemme see you. The fluttering of your lashes, sweaty, dirt-streaked face, and you are seraphic, the wet crimson heat of your blood pounding beneath the delicate membrane of your skin. Gorgeous, perfect, conquered and his. 

“Fucked full’a me now,” he whispers, presses a soft kiss to the tender skin of your eyelid. You nuzzle into him, and then look up at him with the warmest, most vibrant gaze he’s ever seen. Fucking pleased and sated. 

“They wanted me, but only you get to have me now,” you whisper. “How does that make you feel?” Provoking, provoking again. 

“Like I fucking own you.” He grinds his still spitting cock further, feels the pull of your muscles milk him deeper. 

He lets his weight fall partially over you, too heavy for the full mass of himself. You are, after all, a delicate thing, and he must remember to handle you with care, occasionally. He feels the pulsing and quivering of your cunt around his softening cock, and the two of you settle to lay there in the dirt, bodies still dead, virginity scoured and stolen, and stare at each other. 

“Have you ever been in love?” you whisper, dragging the tip of one little finger, whisper soft, over the arch of his brow, the slope of his nose.

“I feel a little in love with ya right now,” he confesses, and you press that finger against the seam of his mouth, begging for entrance, and then inside, against the flat of his tongue to inspect the wet gleam of it. It’ll be inside of you soon enough, you should take a look at that which you’ll be writhing against in due time. 

“Good. That was my plan all along.” Smug, conniving little creature. 

-

Once it’s full dark, he packs you into his truck, buckles your seatbelt for you, tucks a blanket around your dirty knees and drives off as if he hadn’t just murdered two men and taken your virginity with their blood still hot on his skin. He goes for miles and miles, eventually finds a dark, secluded spot to park the truck for the night. He takes you into the back bunk and fucks you like you’d wanted him to, on your side, one leg slung over his shoulder, hand gripping the lush of your ass to pull you onto his impaling cock, watches your ass bounce against his thrusts. A demanded play with it, lemme see ya push it back in, as he watches himself drip out of your messy hole. Eats your cunt until you cry. Afterwards, the two of you lay, naked and damp, facing each other, tracing the lines of one another in the quiet dark. 

Sometimes he’s worried he’s blood hungry – or pain hungry. Starving for something he doesn’t have a name for. But he thinks that, perhaps, he can use your name to fill in the blank space now. He’d always felt as if his devotion was a punishment to the receiver. After all, everyone Joel has ever loved has left him. But as he looks at you, there’s something in your eyes that tells him that perhaps, you’ll remain. Perhaps, he can compel you to, force you to. Perhaps, he can anchor you to himself, and in turn, give you everything. 

“Are you a ghost?” he asks.

“No. Are you?”

“Sometimes I think I am.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re like a fuckin’ angel or somethin’. What were you doin’ out here in this wasteland?” He asks you again.

“Maybe I was waiting for you.” This answer he likes.

He’s quiet for a long time after that – taking you in, cataloging you, memorizing you. His fingers ghosting over your face, your hair, strumming the fan of your lashes. Later he asks: How do you remember the memory of someone else? How do you keep them when they’ve gone somewhere entirely unreachable?

“Because you love them,” you tell him.

“That’s enough?”

“Of course. Will you ever forget that you loved her?”

“Never.”

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - I Still On1y Care About...

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Sept 2024 Week 1

Ongoing Series - Thai

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) eps 7 of 12 - Deeeelightful. They are so damn cute + a nice kiss! The rise of the green flag semes continues. I like it when Diew flirts and shows that he does have some experience in a relationship, and he can/will flex his power. Props to God for being a man who remembers to TAKE HIS DRINK with him. 

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 4 of 10 - Yep I still like it and all its toxicity. It’s fun to see how closely it follows the original. Now I really can’t wait to see how this one ends. Since this time around we get an actual ending.

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 6 of 12 - How did they know that what I wanted more than anything was a side couple = spoiled prince + demon lord? How clever they are to give them to me. Meanwhile, in a shocking twist, the leads have known each other since childhood. Because why be original? 

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 8 of 12 - Oh it’s very cute. I love Ing. I love that Ai was honest with his bestie. Best friend's older brother trope is a go! Also good kisses all round. 

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 1 of 12 - Ohm has his shirt off less than 5 min in. I guess GMMTV is learning what we want. My boy Title is the creep character again. I’m assuming that’s why GMMTV brought him on board at this juncture. Sigh. New boy, Q, looks like Mek’s younger brother. Ultimately? I'm not convinced on this one. It is doing what it says on the tin, but nothing more than that. I’m not wild about it, but I will keep watching.

The Trainee (Sun YT) ep 10 of 12 - The more OffGun BLs, the more time they spend communicating as characters in those BLs. It’s kind of charming. They've become the pair that advocates for communication in relationships. I like it as evolution for their brand. Flirting via the printer was very fun. Especially as the Thai script is so beautiful.

Live in Love (Sun Gaga) ep 1 of 5 - I guess this is a lockdown narrative? Odd choice. A lot of familiar faces but from more minor rolls. Is this from the Destiny Seeker people? It feels like that. It’s a bigger cast than I was expecting, and a sort of classic university BL of the kind star Hunter produces. Or the end of love people. Pretty classic Thai pulp stuff. I’m mildly enjoying it. Hali is too hot to be the dorky second lead. Nice to see Boat back on my screen. However, it is… what’s the word I am looking for? Oh yes. Boring. Plus singing. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

The On1y One (Taiwan Thurs Gaga) eps 5-6 of 12 - I entirely lost my mind over this show this week. Fuck me it's so good. The delicacy sends me. I keep expecting it to be clumsy and then is just isn't - it's so subtle and it demands we pay such close attention. I feel like I'm holding my breath the whole time I'm watching.

Cliff's notes on these 2 eps as follows:

The pure unadulterated tsundere of it all.

The awesome angst, it aches.

The series of repercussions after the fight was pacing genius.

The brilliant juxtaposition of "the kid who self isolates too easily" versus "the one who has been forced into isolation" meets both of them being smart enough to know why they react out of hurt, but neither can stop doing it.

Baby’s reaction to learning he’s going to be left behind = to instantly make plans to do the leaving in the future hurts my heart in the best possible way.

"Maybe what we call eternity is just persistence."

Maybe one boy simply deciding to be another boy's rock is romance. 

Production better nail the second half of this show! It better be the world against them from here on out or the audience is gonna riot.

And by "audience" I mean me.

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun grey) ep 5 of 10 - Oh noes! Poor baby boy!!! My heart hurts. But also gah so cute and next week they shack up together! Hooray! 

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 11 - too much time spent on the girl again. I don’t need excuses for why she’s a bitch. So can we talk about Taichi instead? It’s such a good characterization, this boy who understands everything about other people but doesn’t notice anything about himself, including his own abilities of observation. The person who is special never realizes how special they are, I guess. The soundscapes are so good with this show. The moments where prod decided to be silent are so vital and so pivotal and used with such delicacy and strategy, it’s truly audio magic manipulation.  

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) eps 7-8 of 12 - I loved how Orca just jumped on the stage. What a great side couple. CHARMED I TELL YOU. Orca was all… singing? Naw. I came back to fuck the manager's brains out. Anything less than that is unacceptable. 

Takara's Treasure AKA Takara No Vidro (Japan Mon Gaga) ep 10 fin - Essentially this was a growth story for Takara and an exercise in patience while the two of them learned each other’s quirks and languages. It was also an exercise in patience for me... who doesn’t like the power differential of a weaker younger character having to do all the pursuing while constantly feeling like he is inferior to the older popular hot character. I know this was a BL that was definitely for some people, since plenty liked it way more than I did, but I didn’t like it very much even though there’s nothing objectively wrong with it. It simply wasn’t to my personal taste. 7/10 

Seoul Blues (Korea Fri? YouTube) ep 5-6 of 8 - Enter an ex or something? Well he certainly has a type. Bah. This whole series seems to be mainly about cheating. It’s very annoying because they are all so pretty. 

Happy of the End (Japan Tues Gaga) - Based on a manga, longer than usual run time. A boy is disowned for being gay, dumped by his boyfriend, and ends up in a dysfunctional co-dependant relationship with his would-be kidnapper. We were due for another messy JBL. Messy gay pain here we go.

Oh it’s exactly what I expected. Do I like it? No I do not. And ya know what? There is plenty airing. I have a bad feeling about this one. DNF 

It's airing but...

4 Minutes (Sat Gaga) eps 1-6 of 8 - Gaga picked this one up so we can watch it there. I'm waiting until the end, it seems angsty and confusing and full of awful people being awful. But also... high heat and I'm shallow. So we shall see which devil wins (and how it ends).

The Hidden Moon (Sat ????) ep 1 of 10 - This is a supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) ‘เดือนพราง’ by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger)... A Bangkok writer is hired to write an article about an old mansion in Chiang Mai which is being converted into a café. He gets into an accident and nearly dies on his way there. After that, he sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, one boy catches his attention. Was substantially recast. Couldn't find it. Didn't really look.

In case you missed it

Meet You at the Blossom (China) - I'm eating crow, binging the fucker, and live blogging. It's just taking me some time. This isn't really a bingable show, not for me anyway. It's A LOT to take all at once. No new one this week.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Plus:

9/9 Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) 12 eps? - Be gay YinWar, do crimes. Dehup gives us Yin, War, Mark and a few other familiar faces in a Leverage sitch, only queerer.

9/14 Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sat ????) ?? eps - Remake of the original. I'm scared too.

9/15 Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) 10 eps - Assistant to a player boss who is in love with that boss decides to quit to save himself. The boss then makes a move. (A gay What's up with Secretary Kim?)

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Coming SEPTEMBER 2024:

9/17 Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 10 eps - Lawyer and a con artist meet at a bar, pair up, fall in love.

9/28 Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YouTube) ?? eps - oh I don't know just Ba Vinh doing his thing with pretty boys again.

9/? The Time of Fever (Korea iQIYI) 6 eps - HoTae & DongHee are back! Side couple from Unintentional Love Story, same actors, same character names I an WILD for this.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Not sure what this is from but I capped it for a reason so, shrug.

The scent trope AND the childhood crush trope? I see you suckering me into one trope because I like the other. Clever, Battle. Very clever.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many at-ings.

[tacticaldiary]

Friday Nights

PAIRING: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

SYNOPSIS: "I think I'm the lucky one no matter which narrative you spin." That easy smile of his reminds her of how she fell in love. He was sweet, considerate, and the perfect amount of playful that spoke to her without being cruel or nasty.

NOTE: All fanfic is timsekip. I'm taking requests!

Masterlist

Friday's are date nights.

Kuroo's observant, good at being intuitive and he never picks anything he knows she won't like. Whether that be a new restaurant or a trip to the pier they've walked a dozen times, Kuroo has this uncanny ability to read her like a book, and a compulsive need to show her that he's got it, that he's got her, and that she doesn't need to worry about something as frivolous as planning if she doesn't want to.

Today might be a first, though.

There's a frown marring his lips as he watches her read over the same page of the menu thrice, a tired furrow to her brow. Her fingers tap a rhythm to the table he doesn't recognise, and there's this general air of enthusiasm that he clocked the moment he came home.

"Are you looking for something specific, because the wine selection can't be that detailed." She seems to startle at the comment, finally putting the menu down.

"It's nothing." She mumbles, shifting her gaze to him briefly, before it flickers back down to the tiny printed text.

Kuroo hums, not convinced. "You know," he starts, because if anything, Kuroo Tetsurou is a man of tact. "I said in my vows that I'd make you smile everyday, and so far I haven't been successful once today, so give it up. I know something's wrong."

"You're a sap." The comments earns her a chuckle and a squeeze of her hand across the table.

"Guilty." Kuroo shrugs. "Now give it up. Someone bothering you?"

There's an internal fight of sorts before his persistence finally sways her.

"Not someone, just...." She loosens out an exhale, seems to sink back into her seat, resigned. "The entire day, I guess. Meetings didn't go well, I barely made a deadline, and I had to chase a client down for hours." She wrinkles her nose in disgust. "I bounced from secretary to secretary until I snapped. I'm just exhausted I guess?"

"Wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that." Kuroo nods wisely, grin widening at the glare she shoots him with. "We could've cancelled, you just had to say the word."

"I didn't want to." She admits, watching his fingers curl around hers, warm and steady. "I usually love our Fridays, I didn't want to miss one just because I wasn't feeling it."

Kuroo clicks his tongue and stands in one smooth motion.

She's known him forever, and the transition he made from lanky, awkward high school boy to this (mostly, he still has his moments) graceful, lean businessman still surprises her often.

A couple of bills are deposited on the table, before he pulls her up by the arm, weaving between tables and leading her straight towards the exit with a hand on the small of her back, her coat draped over his other arm.

"No point staying if you don't want to be here. I don't give a shit about where we are. We could be stuck in a ditch and I'd still love our Fridays." He leans down to smile at her. "We'll stay in, yeah? I'll even let you hog the TV with those trashy reruns of Love Island."

"Please, you like them more than I do!" The cold hits them as they step into the street, Kuroo immediately helps her into her coat, pulls it snug around her while they walk to the carpark.

"Do not! I'm way above that."

"Says the man who hides the remote so I can't change the channel."

"Hey now, the couch cushions run deep." Kuroo smiles victoriously at the giggle he earns, slows to a stop under a streetlight to take him looking down at her.

"There she is." He whispers, leans down to kiss the smile off her face, sweet and self-assured. "Had me worried for a second."

"I'm okay." She assures him, watches the slope of his shoulder's relax. "Thank you for this. For everything. For just...for being you." The words are soft, intimate, they prompt Kuroo to huff out a laugh and press his lips to the wedding ring on her finger, the one he remembers beings horribly anxious to buy a year ago.

"I think I'm the lucky one no matter which narrative you spin." That easy smile of his reminds her of how she fell in love. He was sweet, considerate, and the perfect amount of playful that spoke to her without being cruel or nasty.

"Debatable," She hums, watching the spark of a challenge gleam in his eyes as he holds open the car door for her.

"Oh, I'm making you take that back."

The rest of the car ride is playful bickering, pinches to thighs and hands intertwined over consoles, and by the time they're home, changed into pajamas and a boneless heap on the couch, there is not a remnant of tension in either's shoulders.

Just content. Pure, gilded, easy content.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(2/08/2024)

[makingqueerhistory]

One thing that is relevant to my work in Making Queer History is the fact that I never went to university. To be honest, I used to be really ashamed of that. Because of that shame, I often give alternative narratives around queer history a bit more grace, assuming that the person spouting them has more experience than I do. I have been working in queer history for eight years now, but I'm well aware that I haven't seen even a fraction of what is out there to find.

For a while I forced myself to watch James Somerton videos because he spoke about history in a way I had never heard before. I assumed that meant he knew something I didn't. Eventually, he crossed a line with sexist critiques that were borderline nonsensical, so I stopped watching. But there was still that persistent feeling of unease. Like maybe I just wasn't educated enough to understand him.

To be frank, James Somerton is a cisgender gay man with a degree, so I gave his words more leeway than I should have. That's a character flaw I need to work on. But the bigger picture is that there is an image a lot of people have around expertise. We are lucky that someone of similar standing in that regard spoke out. But let's not pretend that people hadn't already pulled the alarm. In the video that stripped away Somerton's reputation bit by bit (and outside of it), there were many moments of queer women and trans people pointing out problems with his work. I would go so far as to say that it's likely that even more queer women and trans people who felt something wrong but didn't say anything. Like I didn't. Because, at best, you start drama against someone who is well-respected. At worst, you lose your own credibility.

I have had cisgender people explain trans history to me, and I let them. I have had uneducated people tell me that Greece was the pinnacle of queer history, and I let them. I have had James Somerton spout nonsense at me, and I let him. I would hope that through this, I learn to be cognizant of when the image of expertise overwhelms the reality of it.

[yangsharperavery]

my carmy/sydney related thoughts on season 2

i think when digesting this show, it's done more easily when we see who carmy and sydney are as people and how they bring that beingness to their dynamic.

it's interesting to see the takes from people who are troubled by what they saw in this season in terms of their relationship.

i personally thought there was so much fascinating groundwork that was laid.

we knew when molly gordon was cast they were likely trying to introduce a love interest for carmy.

i was not shocked, i was not surprised. i literally expected it.

doesn't mean i wasn't rolling my eyes but i was well aware of what function she would play within the narrative.

but the writing is so sharp that there are a million subtle elements of carmy's character, and what we know about him up to this point, including what was illuminated by the christmas episode.

let's first talk about carmy's choices and behavior where it relates to claire vs sydney and the restaurant.

we know that carmy is awkward, isn't incredibly relationally experienced and has sacrificed everything for his career and specific level of skill.

he'd just been ruminating on expanding his experiences as expressed in the al-anon meeting.

we know this man is intensely grief-stricken and also that he's battling his own mental health.

we also know he's literally been bred from chaos and emotional tumult.

even him not going to his own brother's funeral makes so much sense after that christmas episode.

he couldn't stand to witness what that type of grief had done to his already deteriorating mother.

so he's trying to conceptualize fun.

notice he wasn't trying to conceptualize love or relationships or a partner.

it was literally presented and integrated as fun.

so he runs into this girl he used to a have a crush on and even then, he's not sold because he knows himself, he knows his priorities, his propensities toward self sabotage, etc so he gives her a wrong number.

yet she persists.

so to me, this may seem like a sign to him to give this a chance, do some exterior exploration of something outside of the kitchen and outside of his career and outside of his own neurosis.

so he's just going with the flow. trying to be "normal". not really knowing the content or context of anything. another reason why he wasn't even calling claire his girlfriend.

claire even brings up the fact that they'd hung out so much but didn't actually talk.

which is SPOT on because the audience only actually ever sees them talking about their careers or what they were like as kids/teenagers.

but you know who carmy DOES talk to? hmm, more on that later.

so claire is symbolic of this thing that was pleasant when he was younger, when he was less of this grown conglomerate of anxiety and disarray and sorrow. a part of him that's separate from all of his current worry and fixations and dysregulation.

him saying he loves her so much and that he thinks she's so great actually rings hollow because we, the audience, didn't actually get to see when and where that level of specific emotion or intensity occurred.

so off rip i don't believe him. i don't think about it in the context of if or when he and sydney explore anything, because it feels patently untrue to me.

and completely separate from sydney.

it's not earned. it's not rooted. it's not tacitly valid.

it's fine. it's a good time. it's some laughs and conversation and sex and a nice, normal person he has fond, nostalgic memories of.

and i think it's written that way on purpose!

so him professing this to other people feels like this way to continue digging a hole of his own distraction, his absence, his lack of attention to detail.

i completely understand the frustration that many feel about interpreting this like carmy was essentially choosing claire over sydney.

carmy was trying to have an unfamiliar and different experience and didn't have the depth perception, the self awareness and the internal regulation to recognize he was doing it to the detriment of something so deeply and irrevocably important to him.

as soon as sydney brought it up, he got defensive but then moments later recognized his errors and apologized.

she told him she didn't want to share his attention.

he told her she was absolutely correct and that she deserved his full focus.

what's fascinating about this part is they aren't even explicitly talking about the restaurant.

she says "me" and "i", he says "you".

uh. wow.

now even in the context of JUST the restaurant this is saying ALOT here.

him instantly apologizing and agreeing with her requests means a substantial amount.

carmy isn't an ass because he stood sydney up for the palate cleanser. or even because he went absent when he shouldn't have.

carmy is deeply troubled and wounded and suffering and he was grappling for something else to feel or do or think about besides what he's ALWAYS thought about and done and fixated on.

that's why he's unreliable, that's why he's haphazard and emotionally or energetically messy. he's coping.

that's why he knows he makes mistakes all the time. because he feels like he's a screwup in a lot of specific ways in his life so he's used to it.

he's not being malicious or cruel or even unkind to sydney.

and this isn't an excuse. it's a reason. it's what all the information we have about him up to this point is providing us.

and yes, his timing is godawful.

but he trusts this person so implicitly because he knows how talented and capable she is.

carmy does not know HOW to be a partner, of any kind. where would he have learned that? where would that have been modeled for him?

"this is what you wanted originally and i'm giving it to you."

so let's transpose the way carmy and claire are presented with how carmy and sydney are together.

he literally can't WAIT to hear what sydney has to say. about literally anything.

at any given time.

"say more please."

all he wants to do is listen to her talk. he wants to know everything about her. the personal stuff too, almost especially.

he listens to her so closely. in the first or second episode she loses her train of thought and he repeats everything she just said.

i don't even think it was restaurant related.

he brings up her mother not once, but twice.

he feels like he should have known that sydney lost her.

he wants to pour into and believe in her because he does. he already does.

he's ready to apologize to her because he knows what a mess he can be and often is.

he knows what his anger can do. he knows how he was conditioned and raised in the industry and he doesn't want that at all for her, least of all from him.

especially after she walked out last season.

he's hyperaware of it. he calms down instantly both times she does the sign for sorry that HE taught her.

he has this propulsion to NEED to know what's happening with her in the very moment something occurs.

he did it last season when she quit on the spot and he kept trying to talk to her when she was leaving.

he did it this season when she was frustrated and trying to say goodnight after carmy was actively telling everyone goodnight and to go home, yet he tried to talk to her when she was leaving.

"what?"

"i'm saying goodnight."

he was repeatedly ushering everyone out but because of the look on her face, carmy's like wait, "what's that about, what's happening?"

he can't stand it!

same with them outside last season when he brought her food and asked what was wrong.

if something is up with her, he reacts immediately.

if she's peeved, he wants to know why right away, he wants to know what to do to make it better, how to approach it, what to say, he goes out in search of that information in the moment it's happening.

sydney is his soft place.

he feels very anchored and tethered to her and i believe she feels the same with him.

sydney is his respite. his peace. the thought of her literally calms and stills him.

her being energetically seats him.

we saw it penetrate his seismic and consistent panic in real time.

that was clearly displayed for all of us to witness.

he doesn't want to be cruel or unkind or anything other than present and communicative with her.

i'd venture to say he actually doesn't want anything more than that, besides maybe the restaurant to succeed.

now sydney is in her "i have something to prove" era.

she is so driven and so determined but she's also a realist and is inundated and surrounded by all this proof that what she's doing may be foolhardy.

at the very least, it's incredibly risky. it's a jump.

and someone deeply ambitious and creative and tuned in and focused like sydney has such fear of failure.

because she knows what it often means for someone like her.

that's why she overextends herself so continuously.

she's often had to and she thinks it gets her closer to the opposite of failure.

she was not only aware of the gaps carmy's absence was leaving but also planning this tasting menu with a MILLION things on it because something was gonna be the star because it MUST.

and i think the carmy absence flares a bit of abandonment as well, like he's left her in a lurch.

she has feelings about that.

she finds out why he did, and TRIES not to have feelings about that.

that's confusing and she's already beyond stressed out so she tries to stuff it.

her success is so tied to her identity because she's worked so hard to get where she is and still feels like she's not where she wants to be.

so she wrestles with worthiness and worry and the financial climate of affability for restaurants. she's riddled with what if she can't hack it?

she has evidence of that being true in the past.

she has evidence of her past failures and those are what keep her up at night, not the infinite possibilities of her future successes.

and that's also why she picked carmy.

because she was always going to pick the best.

she was always going to follow the career and moves of the standout in the industry.

of the person that made the best meal she's ever had.

so if he's anal retentive or jumpy or doesn't call about changing the structural elements of their restaurant while it's happening, she deals with it because she picked him.

she chose him. and then he chose her.

(and then she lightweight chose him again when she came back)

so that's why when they're talking he so often checks in by looking her in the face, scanning her expression. he instantly picks up on something being off or wrong or him being "shitty".

or why when they're under a damn table, despite being peeved or annoyed with his disappearing acts, she lets out the most vulnerable, softest admissions about the perceived necessity of her contribution and future failure.

or why he responds with "i couldn't do it without you" so instantly, so rapidly, it's like it's etched in him. that's the quickest response he'd given to anything she said to him the entire season, she barely got the words fully out before he was verbally soothing her.

then he STAMPS this by saying "i wouldn't WANT to do this without you."

there was such an unexpectedly, viscerally aching quality to that exchange.

it's honestly searing.

i'm sorry are these wedding vows or are we talking about opening a damn restaurant?

or the way he says "you love taking care of people" to her when she talks about making sugar food.

that's also a stellar mirrored moment because i've seen a few people, i believe @eatandsleepwell is one, talk a lot about how that's one of carmy's main drivers and internal tenants.

they see so much of themselves in each other.

the buried parts, the unknown parts, the odd parts.

the parts they wanna work on. the parts they wanna exalt.

they are so similar. they are also quite different.

they have reflected one another in the narrative since s1 ep1.

they exist so flawlessly within the others interstices.

she wordlessly hands him pepto for his stomach.

he tells her he won't let her fail.

the pulsing undercurrent of sydney and carmy is pretty fucking palpable.

there's people on social media who weren't convinced or didn't ship them last season that have suddenly completely seen the vision.

whether the writers actually go there or not remains to be seen.

i don't necessarily trust that they will or won't to be honest because i know there are so many moving pieces and variables and factors.

ships get bypassed and messed up all the time.

i don't watch any shows for ship guarantees but i know how writer's rooms work.

i'd venture to bet that at least 1/3 of that room DOES have an interest in seeing something happen between carmy and sydney, (maybe even 1/2).

or at the very least the option to have it explored.

different people write different episodes, the showrunner/creator can scratch or add whatever.

scripts are TIRELESSLY edited and shortened.

yet there is alot that makes the final cut that points to the potent carmy and sydney marrow.

him giving her the captain reigns before they served for the first time, her saying 'let it rip'.

to me, sydney walked into that failing sandwich shop with a mission that day, they locked eyes and immediately fused.

something happened to the both of them in that moment and they largely don't even realize or can adequately reckon with its magnitude yet.

[mymarifae]

yesterday someone on strawpage asked me what made me go from a dr. ratio hater to a dr. ratio enjoyer and that response took me. four hours . to put together. so you know what i'm going to share my thoughts here too. here's why i like this ⬇️ jackass a lot now!!!!!!!!!!!

he's a tricky character! the first interactions we get with him are so off-putting and unpleasant that i feel like a lot of people are like "wow, this guy is a self-absorbed dick, i don't respect him at all. can he go away" - i know that was my reaction! and he IS a dick. but like. listen.

it's really, really, REALLY easy to misconstrue 90% of his words and actions. it doesn't help that he has the speech patterns of a haughty asshole. and it alsooooooo doesn't help that aventurine's stunt in penacony required orchestrating a "betrayal" between himself and ratio. i think some of the things ratio said during All That constitutes the bulk of most people's persisting dislike of him. So:

1. everything ratio did and said was exactly what aventurine asked him to. this was all pre-negotiated. i think aventurine's insecurities acting up and the way he started doubting whether ratio was truly just acting threw some people off as well, but there is plentyyyyyy of evidence that no, ratio does not hate him and was not waiting for the perfect opportunity to stab him in the back and rid himself of this "damned gambler" but i'll get more into that in a sec ok? i have another bullet point to make first. and it's important so read it carefully ok? promise?

2. any comments from ratio pertaining to aventurine's race were said to fuel the narrative SUNDAY was building in his head probably from the second he learned which ipc executive would be coming to penacony.

aventurine's plan hinged on sunday's prejudice. he needed sunday to think of him as a liar, a cheat, a silver-tongued honeypot - basically, every avgin stereotype floating around in the universe. he needed to invoke a sense of insult. how could someone so... despicable invade the family's sweet dream? he needed sunday to be so wound up over his presence in penacony that he couldn't resist the urge to put The Vile Avgin back in his place. idk THIS ("this" being the real world parallels of how the catholic church ethnically cleansed the rroma during the 16th and 17th centuries) is a whooooole issue in itself that i don't have the time to go into rn because we're supposed to be talking about dr. ratio. oops

anyway the important thing to understand is that ratio absolutely does not look down upon aventurine's heritage. he was acting, with aventurine's blessing, to feed into sunday's biases. and he wasn't even good at it 😭... like look at this exchange from 2.0:

one snarky comment from aventurine and his ass is immediately Apologizing. his ass that's supposed to be acting like he doesn't respect or like aventurine At All. in fact, aventurine's "even under the watchful eye of the harmony..." comment feels a liiiiittle pointed lol. it's a subtle warning to ratio! like, "hey, dumbass, did you forget we're being monitored at all times?? knock it off."

and like this isn't even the only time ratio breaks character and puts aventurine's plan in jeopardy. he learns nothing from this interaction because it's worse next time. lmao:

this stupid fuckignb note. is extremely significant in manyyyy ways so we have to talk about it. first of all, stopping to check on aventurine's condition and to say "tell me if you can't hold on any longer" RIGHT IN FRONT OF SUNDAY (basically, since the family was monitoring everything and a few minutes later we see one of gopher wood's birds hanging out in that general area)?? BRO

if he wanted to, this brief interaction would have been enough for sunday to call their bluff. and aventurine knew that; many of his lines here feel like attempts to redirect ratio into picking the act back up and to stop trying to help him.

next, the stupid fuckignb note's contents. yes yes the second half is very sweet and it's all anyone ever wants to talk about and i understand because it probably meant the world to aventurine especially in that moment but i need you to look at the first half

ratio gave aventurine the answer..? he. gave him the answer. you might be wondering why this matters at all and i'll just have to redirect you to his actions in 1.6, wherein he notably refused to give any answers and let asta, stelle, and like everyone else on the space station flounder, learn from their floundering, and - ultimately - Grow

ratio is a teacher through and through. if someone isn't one of those "geniuses" he wants nothing to do with, they're a potential student in his eyes. and everything that happened in mundane troubles was the space station's final exam, so to speak. his inaction wasn't out of cruelty or because he didn't care about the fate of all the people on the station - obviously he did, because he was the one using the phase flame to teleport the missing researchers to safety...

he posited himself as a safety net in case things went horribly terribly wrong, but he left most of it up to stelle and asta, because he believed in them. they had all the information they needed; they just needed to figure out how to utilize it. and if they failed, well... they had their safety net, and failure is a learning experience too. like, ratio wants people to learn. he wants them to have all the skills and knowledge they could possibly need to take charge of their lives.

the "geniuses" of the world, the head honchos, the impossibly rich 0.0001%? whatever you want to call them, there's always this Upper Level in society that can do things "ordinary" people can never dream of doing. their way of life is simply unattainable. ratio disagrees. he believes that anyone can do anything, if someone would only take the time to teach them. and he's chosen to be one of those teachers! instead of sitting on his ass and just theorizing about a better, fairer society, he's doing what he can to make a difference.

(not so self-centered after all, huh?)

so like. when you remember how much of a teacher ratio is, like this is a philosophy ingrained in his very bone marrow, it's a pretty big fucking deal that he just GAVE aventurine the answer he needed. it shows how concerned he was! and how guilty he felt about the part he had to play!!!! his words and actions were so far removed from his actual thoughts and feelings that he literally HAD to put the whole operation at risk to remind aventurine that he doesn't view him the same way sunday did, give him a safety net, AND let him know it's there. because at this point he felt that the plan was too risky and he cared too much

like honestly i think he hoped aventurine would read the note before putting on his "performance" and readjust accordingly. but then he didn't <3 and acheron had to remind him that it was still sitting in his pocket <3 if she hadn't said anything about it i don't think he would have opened it adgsmbfdndhfbkjjbg <3 oh i love a mess <3 anyway i think this serves as a suitable refute for the "dr. ratio was racist towards aventurine" sentiment that continues to fly around in some parts of the fandom, so? MOVING ON

i ended up talking about this already, but looking more closely at how ratio looks at the world was a biiiiiig part of why he grew on me So Much. it's all actually really noble and worth admiring. again, he just talks like a dick so it's easy to get confused LMFAO

he never received nous' recognition not just because he "cares too much" (as you'll see some people vaguely claim and then not elaborate), but because he fundamentally disagrees with the ideology that allows the genius society, the path of erudition, and even nous themself to exist.

there's like... a certain "threshold" of intelligence and knowledge that nous operates off of. the unknown, the near-or-actually-impossible to comprehend, things that the average person would never be able to grasp and would never care to try because it's simply beyond them - that's all nous cares about. but ratio doesn't believe this threshold exists. he doesn't believe in knowledge that cannot be taught. just to reiterate: he believes anyone can learn anything if someone teaches them, and they will care if they know someone will be there to teach them.

but if anyone can follow the footsteps of geniuses, then Genius is no longer a superior echelon of society. the end goal the erudition seeks is no longer "beyond the limits of mortal wisdom."

nous rejected ratio because he rejected them - long before he fully understood that he did so.

i think he only ever tried to seek their recognition because it was expected so highly of him. like, he was a prodigy child, absorbing new information and collecting phds at the speed of light. of course every adult around him was like, "oh yeah this kid's a future genius society member" and then they told him this. over and over. and he was like, Okay, so this is the path i'm supposed to embark on, and i must do it and i must succeed (or i'll let them down; i'll be a disappointment, a failure, a waste of resources and all the hopes and dreams everyone's pinned onto me.)

he spent a good few years trying and failing to conform to nous' surprisingly (ironically?) boxed-in mindset. but they ignored him, probably because they predicted that even IF they recognized him while he seemingly ascribed more closely to the erudition's beliefs, he would ultimately wander off and "waste" time trying to nurture the achievements of "mere" mortals instead. and then he had to sit there and be like ok i apparently fucking failed at the one thing i thought i was supposed to do with my life, What Now

and this results in the dr ratio we meet in game. still haughty, still has an attitude problem and a bad temper, still has a tendency to talk down to people (i think though at this point his condescending tone is more of a defense mechanism and a way of isolating himself from others before he is once again rejected from a "part" of society after trying, trying, and then Failing to conform to a box), but! considerably more humble and far more focused on others than himself. he cares, ok. he cares an awful fucking lot. he believes in the good of humanity. humanity's ability to do good, to grow... to find the answers to its problems, implement them, and save itself.

plus, "character that's very admirable and very kind and loving IN THEIR OWN WAY (<- this is important because ratio isn't any of these things in a traditional sense and that's another part of why i've come to like him; it's interesting) but is cursed to just sort of talk like a total jackass forever" is an extremely entertaining concept

one other thing that's less significant than realizing ^^^^^^^ALL OF THAT. GOD .but still played a big part in my warming up to him, is how fond he is of those stupid rubber ducks and the goofy poses his statues are in. and also how his very first introductory cutscene is him playing chess BADLY (😭😭😭😭) against himself. that speaks to a sense of whimsy and playfulness that he doesn't have much of an outlet for. which i find... cute. and an aspect of his character that's a ton of fun to play around with

IN CONCLUSION: i mean he's okay i guess

[thetownsendsw]

Today marks the premier of #Pathfinder’s Triumph of the Tusk Adventure Path, so I’d like to take a moment to discuss a relevant topic near and dear to my heart.

ORCS!

While Tolkien was drawing on some linguistic antecedents, Orcs in fantasy originate from The Hobbit & Lord of the Rings, where they’re brutish soldiers of various forces of evil.

Initially lacking redeeming quality, Orcs have become a darling of pop culture, their thuggish nature explored from many angles across TTRPGs, video games, comics, novels, and more.

Now, when you picture an Orc, you no doubt imagine something akin to the Warcraft or Warhammer franchises: statuesque, green skinned humanoids with protruding underbites and looming tusks, often locked into a primitive, itinerant lifestyle, eschewing technology beyond what they pillage from other races.

Interestingly, none of this is in Tolkien.

In Tolkien, “Orc” was essentially another word for “Goblin,” or perhaps unusually large Goblins. Far from statuesque, Gollum (a (former?) Hobbit) could easily be confused for one. The Uruk-hai, a new, stronger Orcish offshoot were described as Orcish in appearance but only as tall as a Man, not taller.

Tolkien’s Orcs are described as deformed, but nothing as specific as green skin or tusks is specifically mentioned (Tolkien saved in-depth sensory detail for trees, and occasionally beards).

Far from being savages, Tolkien’s Orcs were–in his grand Romanticist narrative–stand-ins for industrialization. They were destroying the forests to build grand weapons of war, and soot-covered Mordor evoked the smokestacks of 19th century london.

In many ways the conflict of LotR can be interpreted as Tolkien pitting the noble myths and tales he studied up against his real experiences in WWI.

(the thought amuses me of a firmly medieval fantasy setting, except when we zoom in on the Orcish Badlands they’re all shelling each other from the trenches)

But while none of these traits are in Tolkien, there is a source where they are central.

The Green Martians, or Tharks, first appeared in A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, published in All-Story Magazine from Feb-July 1912, well before any of the kids Tolkien decided to tell a fairy tale to were born.

The Tharks are described as 15 foot tall nomadic savages, favoring mighty beasts and weapons salvaged from the more civilized races of Barsoom. They have green skin and tusks, as well as six limbs (interestingly, the middle limbs are described as functional as either crude arms or secondary legs, but art always just depicts four arms)

Culturally, the Tharks are clearly meant as extensions of the Apache raiders encountered in the early chapters of the book set in Arizona; i.e. some California ranch-owner’s idea of wasteland savages. Nomadic, inhuman raiders redeemable only when breaching their primitive traditions.

The parallels are almost uncanny, and I’ll admit I’m honestly not sure where the crossover occurs. Early editions of D&D–another driver of fantasy trends–depict orcs as pig-people, which is probably how tusks became so iconic. They later added gray skin, which persisted officially until the current edition.

Somewhere between there in ‘74 and Warhammer in the early 80s is when the pseudo-Barsoom look took over in broader culture, and at this point there’s no getting around it. Even the more recent Tolkien film adaptations can’t entirely escape the expectation of modern Orcishness.

Turning back the clock a bit, Tolkien notably was never entirely sure where Orcs came from. His first idea was that they were molded from clay by Morgoth, a dark mirror to Adam, but being a Catholic at heart, he disliked the idea of Evil being a creative force.

He flip-flopped for the rest of his life, whether Orcs were corrupted men/elves/hobbits, uplifted beasts, even (according to one post I saw) soulless bodies remotely piloted by demons. He could never quite square the need for unfailingly evil mooks with his own feelings on Good & Evil.

Personally, I find particular resonance in the parallel between what D&D used to call an “always chaotic evil” race and the very Catholic concept of Original Sin. Was Tolkien merely dancing around the idea that the Orcs only needed to be Saved?

I can’t say what Tolkien would think of modern Orcs, either their merging with an earlier, American space alien, or our attempts to humanize what was supposed to be fundamentally inhuman. But I think his insecurity speaks to the same source as our fascination.

Who among us hasn’t struggled with what it means to be good? Or to be evil? And if we are made to be evil, what does it mean to strive against that purpose or to surrender to it? Can we abandon the precepts of predestiny? Or do we reject that they were ever there?

Stare deeply into that Jungian shadow and tell me…

Is it green? And do you want it to be?