#I’m working with breadcrumbs here

[toyybox]

Face claim for Jackie?

I’ve actually never come up with a face claim before, although I do have a vague idea of his features. I found some similar images anyway. There’s no single face that I associate with him, and this is just for fun, so the images will not be completely accurate.

These photos are generally accurate to his face shape. They also have curly hair. All in all pretty similar ✅

This reminds me of Jackie a lot ^_^ It’s the eyebrows I think, also the silent passive aggressive anger lol

I draw Jackie with more of a sloped (button?) nose, but otherwise I feel like this has the general energy?? of Jackie??? I’m sure you can see my vision ok

Jackie is also never getting enough to eat so his face will look sharper, so once he’s on a healthy diet he would have a rounder face. But he also just has a naturally pronounced jawline and cheekbones.

[almostempty]

Kick and Scream

Self Esteem Part 3

Pairing: fuckboy!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel catches you on a date and communicates how he feels about it (the only way he knows how).

Warnings: fuckboy!Joel, dub con, smut, pwp, unprotected piv sex, fingering, creampie, dirty talk, public sex, blow job, reader is still sippin' on some dumb bitch juice for Joel (me), jealous!joel, possessive!joel, emotionally manipulative but sexually proficient Joel, toxic breadcrumbing Joel fucks, smash and dash, no use of y/n, AU no outbreak, special guest appearance by date night dave, OOC Dave bc I don’t know that man so I made him single, rich, hot, and pervy idc idc idc, more i might be forgetting rn,  

Notes: please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

Thanks: to EVERYONE who read part 1 and 2, but ESPECIALLY  @auteurdelabre for inspiring, I hope you enjoy it bb. I'll try to tag those who specifically asked for more brb, and @strangergraphics

WC: 9.3K (idk it got long and horny heheh) 

AO3: HERE

Part 1: Self Esteem

Part 2: Want You Bad

Masterlist: Here

You stare down at the hand that just landed on your thigh, cocking your head in assessment. You can feel the scowl tugging at the corners of your mouth. As you work out what expression you should paste onto your face instead, the man sitting next to you seems unbothered. Maybe even encouraged? He continues his lecture about the benefits of indoor rock climbing. You sigh, staring across the park as he continues without pausing to breathe. 

You watch the couples milling around the park, wondering if that’s what you look like with this guy's hand on your leg. You stare back down at it, his long fingers shifting slightly as he continues his animated speech. Sweat beads at the back of your neck, and you feel fidgety. Trapped under the weight of his limp hand. He doesn’t seem to notice when you squirm and readjust. He’s circled back to his earlier lecture about how you just have to learn to play an instrument. If he’d let you get a word in, you could verify that you already do, but he seems to prefer the sound of his own voice. 

This guy should get a podcast. The kind where a guy with a microphone talks to himself for three hours about whatever he wants. He’d crush it. You laugh to yourself, unintentionally encouraging him with your smile. He’s not not good-looking. But you’d prefer someone interested in asking you at least one question. 

You stifle a laugh at the intrusive thought of taking him home and stripping his clothes off while he prattles on about amateur bird-watching, sorry–birding, or unicycling. 

Eventually, you extricate yourself from the disappointing date, accept an awkward hug, and turn down dinner. You haven’t left the parking lot yet when your phone buzzes. 

Unsaved number: had a great time with u

Unsaved number: would love to see u again :) 

It’s not that your skin crawls, but it is a full-body no. 

You: thanks, I’m glad I got to know you more 

It’s not technically a lie. You’re glad you learned he’s not a fit for you. You feel okay about leaving it at that for now. You watch the sunset from your parking spot. The park is filled with couples laying on blankets being romantic. You roll your eyes at them and then at yourself for being bitter. Your phone buzzes again, and you wince, hoping it’s not your long-winded date again. It’s not. 

Joel: what you doing?

Fucking Miller. You scoff aloud in the private space of your front seat. By now, he should be on your blocked list, but the quick hit of euphoria that floods through your bloodstream, warming your cheeks, keeps you hooked. He’s a filthy drug that blinds you from logic or survival instincts. Your eyes dart to the pedestrians in the parking lot. Worried. As if the milling strangers know what you’re up to and are about to shame you. A little voice reminds you that if you feel guilty about something, you shouldn’t be doing it. You ignore that voice. Nobody in the parking lot catches on, coast clear, and you let yourself grin wide as a fool when you type your response. 

Later that night, you’re grinning again. Sprawled across your couch, sweaty skin plastered to the faux leather cushions. Sated. Bought and sold on your own lie, you tell the little voice that you didn’t want Joel to stay anyway. You convince yourself some form of compromise is happening, however twisted, when he shows up and leaves you wrecked. He comes to you. You don’t have to get to know each other to make each other feel good. Whatever puts you at ease. 

Sometimes it works. Some days, you feel hollow and anxious. Obsessively tapping your phone to see if he’s responded when you reach out first. Pacing around your home, stressing over whether you should stay up just in case and even in bed, you can’t help but stay alert for a knock at the door. 

The cycle leaves you with dark circles under your eyes most days. But, on the mornings after Joel shows up, you have a bright twinkle in your eyes and a knowing smirk that greets you in the bathroom mirror. Katie noticed the smirk one day and called you out. She demanded an explanation for the mystery dick fairy. 

You wouldn’t admit his identity to her, afraid of getting too involved with someone in her boyfriend's network. But you did admit to the toxic cycle, and your friend was not as amused as you when you tried to pass it off as a joke. She tried to convince you to look for someone to date, but you argued that wasn’t what you wanted anyway. She suggested at least someone who could commit to a plan or send a text back. You knew it didn’t sound great out loud. 

As the days of summer crawl along, you wonder if she’s right. At least, it was worth considering. It’s a feeble attempt to smother your spiraling thoughts about Joel. Still, when you start getting messages from the dating app Katie chose for you, it gives you something to interrupt your racing thoughts. At first. Somehow, it starts to feel even worse. Ignoring the sinking feeling you get when it isn’t Joel’s name in your notifications gets more challenging. 

You had accepted that it was a lost cause to plan anything with him, but you still can’t find the self-respect to turn him away when he shows up at your door. Sometimes, he sends you a grammatically inconsiderate text. You wonder if he somehow has a cell phone plan that still charges him by the message with the way he uses as few words as possible. 

He never stays. Never invites you to his. He evades any predictable behavior. Maybe he’s worried someone ordered a hit on him. Maybe that’s all it is, you muse. Not a contracted kill. The unpredictability. Chaos. That’s what makes him addictive. The brightness of the highs makes you temporarily forget the darkest lows exist. That, and the dirty little thoughts that pour from his mouth and drip into your psyche. That stupid, sexy voice burning into your memory, yeah, that’s definitely addictive. You snort at that. I am unwell, you think. As you pick up your phone again, you see a message from someone new. 

\\\///

Heat radiates off your face as you fling another shirt across the room. You’ve tried on the same three outfits over and over again. Ripping them over your head and tossing them into the pile of laundry purgatory. Maybe sweating and mouth-breathing is a turn-on for your date; if so, you’re gonna nail the first impression. You sigh and commit to option two: the little black dress. A classic, right? 

“Shit,” you curse at yourself when you stumble while attempting to pull your shoes on as you walk down the hall. This is what you get for agreeing to a late evening date on a weeknight; you feel like a mess. Scrambling to play it cool and classy, you pause to recalibrate before opening the door. What was his name? You can’t remember. He didn’t look like your usual type, but Katie had convinced you to branch out a little. More specifically, she told you it was a green flag already if he wasn’t your type. 

You swing the door open, hoping he introduces himself first. He looks expensive. The dark-washed denim, the boots, the jacket, and the watch. Like he walked out of an ad campaign for a brand out of your budget. Dave. He does introduce himself, thankfully. He’s more clean-cut than your usual type, but he speaks confidently and gives off an air of put-togetherness that intrigues you. His voice definitely stirs the butterflies in your stomach. 

Oh. You realize you’ve definitely been busy staring at him and have no idea what he actually said with his sultry bedroom voice. Your eyes widen a little. You don’t wanna fuck this up and embarrass yourself. Luckily, he seems unbothered. He tilts his head with a seductive half-smile. He’s enjoying the way you assess him. That definitely does it for you. Stupid, smug men making you weak in the knees. 

“You ready?” he asks, voice all smoky for no good reason. 

“Yeah,” you manage to say as you recall how to speak and act human. Until you see his luxury car waiting for you. He clocks your beat of hesitance. 

“Good.” 

His authoritative voice flips the right switch in you, and you let him lead. When he opens the door for you, it’s like the final component of his spell. You are bewitched. Under a thick veil, you didn’t even notice the truck that rolled by as you sank into the leather seat. You didn’t notice when the truck pulled over up the block, idling noisily on the quiet street. No, you were busy, focused on manually breathing and taking in what you’d describe as the interior of a spaceship. 

The good news is that Dave is charming. He is easy to talk to as he drives. Flirty and quick-witted. He asks you questions and pauses to consider your responses. You aren’t sure you have much in common, but you like his self-assured demeanor. 

When you walk into the club he’s brought you to, you hesitate once again, feeling underdressed. The club is split with a lounge on one side of the bar–full of intimate booths and plush chairs surrounding tiny tables and trendy mood lighting. Kind of like a swanky hotel lobby, you decide. On the other side of the bar is a dance floor, dimly lit with loud music blasting. Women in bodycon dresses and heels fill the room. You feel plain in comparison. 

“I didn’t know there was a dress code,” you mutter. 

“There isn’t,” Dave asserts, “besides, you look good in this.” He accentuates his statement by running his hand down your spine. It settles some of your nerves and lights up others. He ushers you, hand on your lower back, towards a small booth. And as you settle in, he’s undeniably charismatic. Dave doesn’t reveal much about himself but keeps you laughing and seems genuinely interested in you.  

Despite the loud music and people noise, it’s easy to feel like the room is only for you and him. You sip your drink and warm up to his affection. You’re quick to smile, and despite how serious he seems, he has a playful edge that has you on your toes. 

You can taste the chemistry between you, bright and sparkling. He spurs your confidence with his dark eyes when he not so subtly lets his gaze linger on your body. You stop shying away from attention and try to bask in it instead. It boosts your ego and stirs up your desire. 

When you let yourself look, really look, you decide Dave is handsome. His strong features, broad shoulders, and impeccable grooming work for him. He seems meticulous but not too uptight to have fun. A dark sense of humor flirts behind his twinkling dark eyes. You decide to let him know that you’ve determined he is a handsome man. He gives you a look. Like he already knew you thought that. Your cheeks warm slightly at that. Were you obvious? 

It’s not until he peels away from you to refill your drinks that you notice how close you have been sitting. You mourn the loss of his body heat as he walks away. You had low expectations after your last few dates, but tonight, this feels different. Your eyes trail along his path to the bar, and you lazily rest your chin in your palm before your breath hitches, and you freeze.  

You feel like you’ve swallowed a bowling ball. It’s lodged in your throat first, then constricting your chest, until finally, it sinks. A heavy, solid weight flipping your stomach. You’re locked on a different set of dark eyes. They’re glowering at you through lowered brows from across the room. Seated at the same bar where Dave ordered your drinks. 

Joel stares at you over his drink. He downs the glass without taking his eyes off of you. One quirked brow, asking really? 

Really what? Is he judging you? For what, being on a date? 

Another glass replaces his empty tumbler, but he doesn’t acknowledge the bartender or the rest of the world.

This fucking guy. 

The bowling ball in your gut mutates into something fiery. But, you have nothing to be guilty about. It’s not your fault he’s alone, bitter, and drinking at a bar full of people having more fun than him. In fact, you could say it’s his fault that you’re both here. 

A scowl forms on Joel’s face when Dave slides back into the booth beside you. Good. You hope he suffers. You hope he sees how easy it is for someone to treat you well. And how happy you look. 

You don’t hesitate to lean your body against Dave, giving in to your urges. You squeeze his arm when he makes you laugh, and your touch lingers. He preens under your admiration when you comment on his firm biceps. He is quick to match your advances. Finding excuses to brush your hair behind your ear and settling a heavy palm on your knee. His hand creeps a little higher up your thigh but doesn’t graze the hem of your dress. Respectful. That’s different. 

You don’t need to look again to feel Joel’s eyes burning into you. It incites you that he has the audacity. The gall to make faces at you for showing up on a date. You decide you’ll give Joel something to scowl about, feeling emboldened by your date’s touch.  

You slide Dave’s hand further up your leg, letting go when he gets the idea. You reach for your drink, feigning nonchalance, but your breath catches, and your hand trembles when he traces his fingertips around the crease of your thigh. He skirts beneath the hem of your underwear, drawing lines over your hip and back towards your center. 

The soft touch tickles deliciously, and you feel the anticipation building in your core. He watches your expression, hawklike, noting the tiniest details in the features of your face. He notes when your breath stutters or your eyelids flutter softly. 

“This what you wanted?” he husks, still watching intently. Yes, yes, yes! 

“Almost,” you toy. Something about having both men’s eyes on you has your skin itching with desire and your blood running hot. 

Dave scoffs softly, repeating your word choice and shaking his head. Almost. 

“You looking for more?” he taunts as he wedges his large hand fully between your legs to cup and tease your cunt. 

You can’t help the breathlessness of the yes that slips out of you. You roll into his palm, and your mouth parts at the friction and his boldness. He smiles wolfishly, flashing his teeth, when he feels you twist and rock against him. His look encourages you. And you tilt your hips and shift your legs to give him better access. 

“Dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he asks, still locked on your face. You swell at this. His eyes lower to your glossy lips before he sips casually from his drink, so composed. 

Your cheeks warm at his words, but he has his answer when he slips a finger beneath the damp lace between your legs and drags it through the pool of arousal gathering at your entrance. Your lips part at the contact, chest heaving, and you give him a nod and coy smile in response to his question. You’ll be his dirty little thing tonight. 

“That’s good,” he declares, pressing a kiss just below your ear before adding, “I’d like to do dirty things to you.” 

His husky voice and declaration stir an urgent need to be touched within you. He continues to agitate your nerves as his hand massages over your swollen sex. Your skin feels tight and prickly, tensing, ready to feel more. You’re unconcerned with the debased nature of being fingered in public. 

When your eyes are instinctually drawn back towards Joel, you shudder. You can feel the twitching of your clit as your cunt floods over Dave’s fingers. The depravity that another man’s glare eases the slip of your date’s teasing touch is not lost on you. Instead, it turns you on even more. Joel’s homicidal stare has you squirming. You’ve seen darkness in his eyes before, but not like this. There’s no twinkle of mocking, and it’s not cruel in a hot way. If looks could kill, then this room would look like the club scene from Blade. 

Dave murmurs something filthy in your ear that makes you gasp. Your hand flies to his thigh, gripping tightly to keep you from melting onto the floor. 

“Don’t be shy, dirty girl,” he croons darkly, “you can touch.” 

“Fuck,” you groan under your breath when you move your hand to find his hard cock straining against his well-fitted jeans. 

He chuckles lowly at the way your eyes widen in response before he plunges two fingers inside of you, and you stifle a throaty sound. Your mind still wanders to Joel, and you wonder if he can see your perverse display below the table. Judging by his clenched fists on the bar, you’d say whatever he can see is enough to fill in the blanks. The sick part of you that feels more turned on by his agony expands within you.  

“Oh god,” you whisper as you suck in air. 

Dave works his fingers lazily into you. You feel intoxicated by the attention of both men. A concern flashes through you that someone else in the club could catch on or see more than you’d like to show. But a feeling in your gut tells you that it doesn’t matter. Dave seems strikingly confident with a lethal attention to detail. And the ferocity on Joel’s face only eggs you on. 

When you think of humbling Joel, a sinister smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. He’s the one that unleashed the horny, risk-taking monster within you and then disappeared. Fuck moping about him. You’re getting yours, you decide. 

You shoot Joel a wink. Pouring gasoline on the fire, hoping it pisses him off. 

You lean into the salaciously tempting energy radiating off of Dave. Reaching to hold his jaw as your lips lock and you let him control your mouth. Kissing him riles you up more. You palm at his erection over his jeans, delighting in the noises that roil deep in his chest. You hold back whimpers as the pressure of his fingers curling inside of you finds the perfect spot. 

He pulls back from your kiss and looks down to watch your hand groping at him. You like watching him watch you. 

“You gonna take it out?” Oh. Fuck, you want to. It feels like more of a risk than you’ve taken so far. 

“Here?” you ask him softly.  

A wrinkle appears between your brows. Dave watches your swollen lips again just as your pink tongue darts out to wet them. He raises a brow at you, eyes dropping to where his arm disappears under your dress. 

“Oh, are you feeling bashful now?” he goads. His fingers curl against that sensitive spot inside of you as his palm presses firmly into your swollen clit. He makes it hard for you to answer. You try to pout at him, but the reflexive rise in your brows at the pleasure betrays you.  He chuckles again. “No? Just distracted, hm?” 

“Fuck,” is all you can mouth. It is distracting. Not the fingers inside you, well, not completely, but the urge. The craving to leverage your lewd new lover’s lack of regard for appropriate behavior into emotional revenge. The thought of Joel growing mad with jealousy as he watches you come overtakes your critical thinking. 

Eat your heart out, Joel Miller! You dare him across the room, letting your jaw fall slack and your brows knit in obvious pleasure. 

“Are you going to come for me?” Dave asks, “Here in this booth? Where anyone could see?” he tuts like he’s disappointed, and it works. The danger of it all does something to heighten your senses. It’s blinding. The bass from the music blaring from the dance floor rattling in your ribs, Dave’s designer cologne filling your nose, the sheen of sweat collecting on your chest, and the daggers in Joel’s eyes when you glance to confirm he’s still watching. All the sensations clash and shove you towards your release. 

“Yes,” you hiss quietly, “yes.” Your eyes slam shut as you try to remain composed while riding his fingers under the table. You flicker in and out of reality as your climax rolls through you. You’re drunk on the reversal of power when your eyes peel open, and you see the hardened expression on Joel’s face glowering at you. You wonder if his dick is just as hard in his pants, and the thought has you contracting again around Dave’s fingers.

“That’s a good girl.” Dave’s voice is somehow even deeper. It sends another ripple of pleasure to swirl low in your abdomen. You’d like to hear that again. 

With a touch more clarity after the violent edge of your arousal is dulled, your hand works at his belt, desperate to feel the heat of his cock in your palm. He assists, lifting his hips when you unbuckle his belt and pop the button on his pants so you can slide your hand beneath his underwear. His tension and urgency further stoke your power trip, and you feel overcome with the need to know how badly he wants you. When you wrap your fingers around him, hear the groan he makes, and feel the mindless buck of his hips, you have a more than good enough answer. He’s yours. 

Dave watches the way your eyes glaze over when your thumb smears the precome dripping from his head down his length. His hand stills distractedly between your legs, and his chin drops as he watches where your hand disappears under his dark boxer briefs. You’re constricted by the elastic waistband, but your grip is tight. Almost as tight as when he fucks his own fist. He’s mesmerized by the way you jerk his cock just right. 

You feel yourself salivating with the need to taste him. You’re getting frustrated with the limited space and want to see him in your hand. You sigh, wishing you could, until you realize you can, and grin. 

You pull your hand back out of his pants, and he snaps out of his stupor. Before he can comment, you cut him off. 

“Keep your pants on and take me to the bathroom so I can suck your cock right.” 

Your voice comes out lower than you thought it would. His eyes flare before he matches your devious look and obeys, spewing filthy thoughts you can’t make out under his breath as he does. He’s ushering you down the hall in seconds, and then you’re locking the door and dropping to your knees. Dave doesn’t wait a second longer, wrenching his belt open and dropping his jeans just enough for his cock to spring free. 

You don’t tease or start slow. He admires how you waste no time like you’re desperate to taste him. And you are. Only pausing for a moment to admire the way he looks, stiff and leaking for you, before you eagerly wrap your lips around him. You slide your tongue everywhere and bob up and down with vigor. Salty and vaguely sweet, precome teases your palette. You want more. The best you can do to express that is swallow around him and suck until he’s moaning and cursing above you. 

You let your saliva pool and spill from your lips so you can slide your hand down the rest of his length while you revel at the weight of him on your tongue. You find the moves that have his fists clenching and thighs straining and repeat them. You hum around him as pride blooms in your chest over how his composure cracks. 

You wonder if Joel has smashed through the bar with his fists yet. At least he didn’t break down the bathroom door before you could get on your knees. Would he strangle Dave first if he saw the two of you? Or would he drag you home and gag you on his angry cock instead? You moan obscenely as your imagination runs wild. You look up at Dave. He watches you with fierce eyes. You wouldn’t mind if they shared you, you consider, but that would take a miracle. 

You continue messily and enthusiastically until your knees ache, and you decide he has to come for you. You try to beg for it while he’s still in your mouth before you have the brains to pull off of him and tell him what you want. He’s endeared by your unrefined hedonism.

He grips your jaw in his palm when you get the words out. 

“You want to swallow my come?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you plead impatiently on your knees with a hoarse voice. You’re a pornographic sight on the tile floor with your wet lashes, swollen lips, and saliva glistening on your chin. You open your mouth for him and hold out your tongue. 

“Oh,” he strokes his thumb along your cheek, smiling down at you, “that’s a good girl.” 

Your eyes close at that, feeling the praise warm your skin before he slides back into your wet mouth. 

Guiding you faster and a little rougher, Dave doesn’t take long to come. Spilling onto your tongue as you groan around him until he stops pulsing in your mouth. You swallow, glowing for him with glassy eyes. He helps you to stand before tucking his softening cock back into his jeans and fastening his belt. You’re adjusting your dress and reaching for your bag on the counter. 

“What do you need?” He asks a little softer than you expected, causing you to pause. 

“Take me home,” you smile at him dopily before pausing and wincing at yourself in the mirror. You look like a freshly face-fucked mess. 

“Uh, actually, give me a few minutes to freshen up first, and I’ll meet you out front?” 

He nods, “I’ll pull the car up.”

“I’d like that.” You reply and lock the door behind him after he slips out. 

Once you feel more presentable, you pull your phone from your bag and tap the screen to check the time before opening the door. 

Seeing Joel’s name makes your stomach flip. You open the text. 

Joel: Miss me? 

It snaps something in you. Something that enrages you. He has to be certifiably insane, you think. It came through a little while ago, but you aren’t sure how long you’ve been in the bathroom. You begin to spiral, debating if you should march to the bar and throw a drink in his face or pretend like he doesn’t even exist. You feel your face burning hot, and the bathroom is suddenly suffocating. You need some air before you get into the car with Dave. Just long enough to breathe normally and look less like you want to break something. 

Leaving the bathroom you find an employee exit further down the hall. A faded sign on the door warns that an alarm will sound, but the rock wedged in the door jam holding it open a crack begs to differ, and you slip into the dark. 

A lanky, pale kid in a black apron sits atop a picnic table in the alley. 

“Oh, sorry,” you feel a little guilty interrupting his break, “just wanted some air.” 

“All good,” he responds before sliding off the makeshift seating. “Last call for the kitchen anyway. Have my seat,” he waves at the table like he’s offering a throne. You accept. Exceedingly grateful to have the air and the privacy to regulate. Just some slow, deep breaths. Then, you can walk out the front door and let Dave take you home. 

The door swings open again, and you tense, ready to hop off the table and find another space. 

“Sorry,” you start your apology, but it’s cut off. 

“You should be,” Joel accuses harshly. He’s in your space with two of his long strides. Rushing at you like you’re caught in a snare trap, and he’s starving. You briefly look the part with your eyes wide in the moonlight, shocked by his sudden appearance, until your barely dampened rage rips from your throat.

“Joel, what the fuck?” you spit out in disbelief, but he interrupts you– 

“I thought I already told you what happens if you’re gonna be a filthy tease?” his voice lowers as he ignores your question and paces in front of you with a dark, wicked stare. 

“What are you doing here?” you press, ignoring his threat. 

“What are you doing here?” he demands. Like he has some certificate of entitlement to your whereabouts. He towers over you. Your eyes narrow to slits. If you could shoot lasers out of them, you’d do it now. 

You laugh. Loudly. You’re still laughing when he grabs you and pivots your frame so your legs dangle off of the end of the table towards him. Closer. He gets even closer, standing between your knees. You tilt your face to look up at him. 

“You on a date?” it’s a growl carved from stone. You choose to remain ignorant to the shiver it sends through you that has nothing to do with the temperature. How dare he charge up on you like a territorial werewolf in the night? And how dare he look so fucking good with that snarly expression? No. You laugh again. Wild-eyed. Words start coming up before you even hear yourself.

“What is wrong with you, Joel? Why were you watching me? You looking for a show?” you jab. Gnashing at him with your words. He snorts dismissively at you, and a barbaric smile creeps onto his face. Like he’s in on some joke you don’t know about. He irks you so bad your skin crawls. 

“S’that what you call it?” he asks, “A show?” Continuing to ignore your other questions. He is so close to you that it burns your skin. 

“No, Joel. You were right the first time. I am on a date. A real date. You know what that is, right? Like, he asked me out, picked me up on time, bought me a drink,” you’re tallying on your fingers, “answered my–”

“And then what, you fuck him in the bathroom and hide out here? Alone in the alley?” 

It clicks. He knows exactly why you’re flustered. The asshole must’ve sent his text for his own slimy experiment. Trying to rattle you. What fucking game is he playing? Is he trying to win you? Like you’re Dave’s possession to lose? 

You scoff at his interjection, “No, Joel, I’m not alone. You followed me out here to make sure of it, right?” 

“Right,” he rumbles. His dark eyes glint even in the shadows of the alley. He leans lower and closer to you until you tip back, palms on the table behind you, then elbows. Exposing your cleavage to the moonlight. He pauses, eyes raking down your face, neck, and chest. How does he make you feel raw and vulnerable even when fully dressed? 

“You haven’t answered me,” you huff. Irritated and arched beneath him. 

“I asked you first,” he argues. A childish rebuttal for a grown man. You’re pretty sure you’ve asked why he’s here a hundred times, but of course, that doesn’t matter. He’s insufferable with his attitude and inability to communicate. Everything about you is taut, and you feel frayed. 

Joel dips his head and his lips brush your ear, tickling you, before he rasps, “I asked if you miss me, baby, and you haven’t answered.” 

A tremor runs through your body. 

It’s criminal. Your mind converts his voice directly into a hot coil of arousal. The throbbing between your legs causes you to wriggle beneath him.

“I need to know,” he croons, begging you to give in. 

His arm slides under your back, lowering you onto the table. Your restraint collapses terribly quickly for him. His voice. His touch. He knows all of your buttons. 

Laid on your back, your legs instinctively wrap around him as he bends to meet you. 

Soft puffs of air shakily flow between your lips as you struggle to concentrate. On what? You aren’t sure. Not good. You squeeze your eyes shut like maybe he’ll disappear. 

“I mean it, baby,” he continues purring with a sharp edge, “you tell me when you miss me.” 

You know it wouldn’t matter even if you did. If you texted him. If you called. It wouldn’t matter. It would probably make you feel worse. But when he says it, you feel your heart doing flips anyway. 

He slides his hands over your body, and you feel the last of your logic escaping as you tug him towards you. You’re grinding against him stupidly without a single thought. Just having him this close to you had you feeling desperate and needy. You could come again right now just by dry-humping like horny teenagers. 

The craving for him is so intense that you’ll surely die if he doesn’t keep moving. You lose any shred of composure that you were still clinging to and let out a needy whine for him. And when your fingers twist and tug at his shirt, it’s like a green light to Joel. 

He closes any and all gaps between you. His hand skates roughly under your dress, bunching up the fabric. He presses open-mouthed kisses against your neck and grazes his teeth enticingly along your jaw. 

Groping, grinding, grunting. All his movements dance a line between deliberate and frantic. 

You have tunnel vision, lost from time and space. When his low moan vibrates through you, your hand shoots to his belt. He rasps into your ear again, “That’s it, baby, I’m right here if you miss me, don’t need some jerkoff tryin’ to waste your time.” Your fingers fumble. What– “Oh, shit!” a voice yells. You freeze. “Don’t mind me!” The drunk guy slurs as he stumbles out the backdoor and sways down the alley towards the street. 

Your situation hits you like a bucket of cold water. Joel seems unfazed, still curled over you. You push at him and sit up. 

“What did you just say, Joel?” 

“Hmm?” he murmurs at you. 

“Joel, I’m serious. What the fuck?” 

He’s not listening. His hands are still searching your body. The scent of his faded deodorant is so familiar in your nose. The words are coming up again. Before he casts his trance on you. 

“No. I said I’m serious,” you repeat, “I’m not playing your games. Done with your weird shit.” Your body feels rigid, and your mind is clearing through the fog of lust. “Just because I have no self-esteem and I fuck you anytime you show up on my doorstep doesn’t mean you have any claim to me.” 

He blinks at you, finally registering your tone, expression shifting. “I actually tried, you know? I wanted to get to know you. You just bail. I keep suffering for it. Like an idiot. I keep thinking it would show I care.” 

“Baby–” 

“And now what? You see me on a date and decide it would be fun to ruin it? Ruin a chance at something better than waiting around wondering if you’ll show up looking to score?” You’re on your feet now. Livid. Ablaze in the dark. “No, you don’t even care enough to think about that,” you realize aloud. 

His features harden. Your head shakes slowly, exasperated with your burgeoning understanding. All you can hear is the white noise buzzing in your skull. Your next words are quieter and lower, forcing him to pay close attention. 

“You just wanted to prove something, right? Thought you’d fuck me on this table and run like you always do? For what, to prove you could?” 

His nostrils flare, and you don’t miss how he grits his teeth.

You don’t falter; he doesn’t scare you. You press on with your accusations prickly on your tongue. You back him against the wall next to the door as you continue. 

“You don’t like hearing it?” you cock your head at him, amused with his discomfort. “Were you going to leave me here in the alley full of your come like I’m some pathetic whore for you? Would you walk me back to my date after that? Was that your plan?” 

Joel snaps, manhandling you in a split second. Pinned against the brick wall, you can hear your heart pounding. It’s a paper-thin line between anger and lust, and you can’t tell which has your blood pumping. You can’t tell if he’s about to yell at you or fuck you. You hate that you can’t tell which you’d prefer.

His eyes are locked onto yours. Not revealing anything. You shift, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He doesn’t keep you waiting. Joel shoves his hand into your panties, fingers slipping immediately into the fresh pool of arousal between your thighs. A shaky exhale comes out of you, but he doesn’t seem to need to blink or breathe anymore. 

He brings his glossy fingers to your mouth. Silent. He taps at your lip until you open and suck, tasting yourself. His mask slips a little. One brow twitches as he studies the scene of your lips wrapped around both of his fingers. But his eyes flick to yours when he pulls them out of your mouth and drags them down your bottom lip, smearing spit against your chin. 

“Tell me,” he says in a whisper that scrapes across your skin, “does it taste like you miss me?” 

You swallow tightly. A lump forms in your throat now, about as large as a civilization-ending asteroid. 

You can hear your phone buzzing. Forgotten on the table. Panic streaks over your eyes as you wonder how long you’ve been out here. You duck under his arm, dashing for your phone. You don’t look at him. You can’t. As you sprint down the hallway, you swing the door open, kicking the rock in the door jam, hopefully locking Joel outside. Cursing at yourself for almost letting Joel fuck you in the alley across from a dumpster.  

Dave sits in his car, idling along the curb near the front of the club. You’re surprised he didn’t leave. You hope it hasn’t been long. You don’t dare check your phone. Maybe it was only a few minutes, or it could have been an hour. You don’t think time functions normally when you’re around Joel. 

Dave is frighteningly observant, slinking out of his car to open the door for you before you get close enough to reach for the handle. 

“I was just starting to wonder if you’d snuck out the back door,” he chides. 

You feel the blood rushing to the surface of your skin. Hot with embarrassment over your behavior and his on-the-nose word choice. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I did step out for some air. Wanted to cool down.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he assures you, tilting your chin towards his face with his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes dart around his face, wondering what he sees on yours. “Was it too much, dirty girl?” he coos. 

“What, this?” you lilt mockingly as you palm over his bulge, “I don’t think so.” 

“Good,” he snorts softly. “Get in the car.” He adds as he opens the door for you. 

He pauses before pulling away from the curb once seated in the driver’s side. 

“Is your boyfriend going to be following us home?” 

“My what?” you feel the blood drain from your face. 

“The one from the bar,” he continues, measured and eerily calm, “the one who followed us here?” Your head starts spinning at that, but Dave carries on, unbothered. “I assumed he likes to watch. You should’ve told me. It would’ve been easier than wondering if he’s a deranged stalker or–” 

“No.” You cut him off and struggle to continue for multiple reasons. “It’s not like that. I thought it was a coincidence,” you feel a confusing mix of emotions. 

“Followed us?” you’re curious. 

“When I picked you up. In the truck?”

“Oh god. No. He’s,” you pause, searching for the right words. 

“An ex?” 

“Not even that. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe he’d follow me.” 

“So he is dangerous?” 

“No.” Only to my self-respect. 

“You want me to take care of him?” 

“No.” You reply before putting any thought behind what that means. “No. He’s just an asshole with a staring problem.” 

You withdraw. You hadn’t thought about why Joel was here. How ridiculous it sounds to imagine Joel voluntarily sitting at the bar in a club like this alone. You feel the blood rushing to your ears. Stupid little butterflies flap their wings in your stomach before they’re reduced to ashes, and you begin to see red again tonight. How is Joel ruining your night without saying a word this time? 

“Take me home,” you say firmly.

He does. Dave walks you to your door. You invite him in, but he’s observant, noticing the clouds in your expression. He declines your invite but assures you he would be very interested in seeing you again. He gives you a chaste kiss that makes you laugh, considering how bold you both have been tonight. It lightens your mood. 

He lingers for a moment before he pulls out his wallet. 

“It was on the house this time,” you snark. Curious about what he’s doing. 

He hands you a sleek business card. A business card? Is this guy Patrick Bateman? 

Your face wrinkles in confusion. 

“I already have your number,” you flip the card over in case you’re missing something. It doesn’t say anything, just has a phone number. 

“I meant what I said, that I’d be interested in seeing you again for pleasure,” he smirks, “but if you change your mind, at least keep this.” 

You don’t understand why you’d need his work phone number but try to play it cool and nod. 

“If your stalker becomes a problem, you call me.” 

You’re still confused about what that means when he drives away. As you shut your door, you realize you have no idea what he does. 

You’re still in the middle of composing a text to Katie about how her green flag date included a bathroom blowjob and a business card when you hear a knock at your door. You swing it open, assuming foolishly that it would be Dave. 

Before you can blink, Joel kicks the door shut and backs you down the hallway. He looks like a man possessed as he hurtles towards you. It sends a chill down your spine that you think would trigger your fight or flight response, but yours seems to be reprogrammed to fight or fuck. Staggering backward, you yelp when the backs of your knees hit your mattress. 

“Can I fucking help you?” you snap at him as you realign with reality. “Jesus Christ, Joel, were you waiting outside the window or something?” 

You glare into his eyes, but a toxic part of you only wants to focus on his lips. And how close they are to yours. You also can’t deny the even more debauched part of you that flutters at the possessive look in Joel’s eyes. 

He laughs darkly, “Nah baby, I knew you’d send him on his way.” 

You roll your eyes at that. Cocky bastard. 

And he is. He emits a frenzied energy as he takes you in. Looking you up and down like a prize. Like he’s considering where to write his name on your skin. 

You roll your shoulders. Trying to shake off the idea that you’d like to be possessed by him, but it thrums persistently inside of you. 

“You didn’t know shit, Miller,” you accuse sardonically. 

Joel reaches for you. You think he’s going to tell you off. But his hands glide over the tops of your shoulders and up the column of your neck until he’s cupping your jaw in both hands. It feels jarring and vulnerable to be held by him this way. To feel like he just wants to look at you and to know you can’t look away. You wonder what’s going on behind his dark eyes. What he sees when he looks at you What he thinks. 

The longer he looks at you, the more the tension builds (of course, because it’s Joel). You start to itch, fingers twitching with the need to grab him and pull his full weight on top of you. Despite your building desire, he’s still quietly reading your face. Joel Miller, the enigma, you muse. 

Before you can flip him any shit, his mouth is on yours, and his hands drop to your hips to hold you firmly against his body. You want him to keep holding you there, but closer. You need him even closer. 

He groans into your mouth, and you kiss him back hungrily. Your bodies slot together in a twisted fate. You couldn’t care less about the date you just had at this moment. You can hear Joel’s words from previous encounters that have burrowed into your consciousness, and you’re starving for more.  

A selfish and greedy satisfaction warms in your chest at him being in your bedroom. He pulls your lower lip between his teeth before breaking away to tease bites along your neck and shoulder. You shiver. Your fingers dig into his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until your knees buckle, and fall into the bed with him on top of you. He doesn’t stop trying to taste you everywhere, trying to feel every part of you. You breathe out single-syllable praise as your thoughts become hazy.  

You still feel needy. You writhe and strain as you attempt to work his shirt up his broad frame. You’re insistent on feeling the blistering heat of his skin against yours. He leans back up, out of your grip, causing you to sigh in exasperation. Of course, it couldn’t be this easy. What does he have to say now?

“You want me to leave?” 

“What? Why?” you growl out. He is not about to body slam you into a bed and then walk away. 

“Thought you were done with my ‘weird shit’ or whatever you called it,” he taunts. 

“I am,” you huff.

“Tell me to stop.” You can’t. 

“Take your clothes off,” you answer instead. 

He does. Then, he’s pulling your clothes off and climbing over you. You aren’t sure you’ve ever both been fully naked like this. Definitely not while in a bed, at least. It’s more intimate than your relationship calls for. It makes time feel syrupy, but your other senses feel sharply tuned. Joel’s breath fans hot over your ear as he tucks his face into the corner of your neck and shoulder. 

“So,” he sucks at your delicate skin before continuing in his smoky tone, “your date couldn’t satisfy you?” 

“Shut up,” you snarl at him, uninterested in playing games. You’re too lost in the intensity of his physical presence. You need him inside of you, and you tug at his body, trying to pull him closer. It’s useless. His strong arms are braced like two stone pillars on either side of you. 

He’s such a pest. His mouth quirks, and he looks all too pleased with himself. You roll your eyes again. You know what he’s getting at. What he wants to hear you say. But, you’re reluctant to stroke his ego. He’s going to be unbearable if. The thorn of it that hurts the most, though, is that it’s not a lie. It’s an admission. A confirmation. 

He makes you feel so good in ways nobody else ever could, but the pain of knowing he’ll never be yours eats at you. It feels like exposing your beating heart in your chest to confess you want him so badly. You ache to hear him tell you he only wants you again. Even if it’s not real, you lie to yourself, you just need to hear it.  

While you wrestle with finding the words, he begins to torment you. The heat and arousal weigh heavily between your naked bodies. He lowers closer and closer to where you need him most but refuses to alleviate your painful want. Wickedly, he exploits your neediness. Teasing at your skin with his tongue, teeth, and breath. 

“Tell me, baby. Just let me hear it,” he says. But you can’t. 

When he blows air over your strained nipples, and you arch under him seeking contact, he darts down to kiss at your stomach and inner thighs instead. When he gets closer and closer to the apex of your thighs, grazing his nose over your mound, you could snap. 

You reach to dig your fingers into his hair and direct his mouth to your throbbing clit, but he’s stronger than you. Devilish man. He crawls back up to hover over your face. You know he’s enjoying it. Wondering how quickly you’ll break. It makes you want to kick and scream.

“Tell me it’s not true then,” it’s a challenge directed at you, but it feels like he’s also challenging himself. 

He drags the head of his cock over the slick lips of your cunt without precision or direction. You are so convinced he’s torturing you, but he looks like he’s in pain from restraining himself as well. It makes you crazy. You try to reach down to line him up with your entrance yourself, but he’s faster. He grabs your hand and pins it above your head. 

“Fine,” you grit out. Frustrated. You aim to smother your fear with sarcasm and puff your chest, hoping it works. 

“You’re right, Joel. It’s true.” He doesn’t move, waiting to hear more. 

“I missed your filthy mouth and your big fat cock.” You mock with an exaggerated whine. You keep going before you lose courage. “And my date couldn’t satisfy me.” You pause, steeling yourself. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Because even when I had his cock down my throat,” you force yourself to look in his eyes, “all I could think about was you.” 

You tried to keep the snarky, biting tone in that last part, but your voice betrayed you when you met his eyes. It came out sounding as vulnerable as it felt to say. His expression flickers. You feel too honest. You should take it back. You want to curl up. He grins above you. 

“I know, baby,” he coos. You hold your breath. Of course he’s going to be a condescending ass about it, you start to bemoan internally–but when he finally sinks into you, it shuts off your inner monologue and slows down time. “All I can fuckin’ think about,” he says as he fills you as deeply as possible, letting a satisfied sigh fall from his lips. 

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

The words rattle around in your mind. Joel begins to rock into you, deliberately grinding his pelvis against you. All he can think about is you, too? Or fucking you? Or how he’s ruined you for other men? 

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

It echoes in your head as he picks up his pace, splitting you open with heavy, mind-altering thrusts. Suffocatingly intimate. Face to face. Skin to skin. Soul to soul. His voice isn’t just echoing in your mind; he’s also running his mouth about something. Muttering about how he knew you’d be waiting for him, how he’s going to fuck you until you forget your date's name, how nobody else can satisfy your needy cunt. 

Oh. 

He’s not wrong. You want to hear more. 

“Yes,” You can stoke this fire. You don’t mind finding out what happens if you rile him up while he’s inside you. “Only you,” you pant, “nobody else fucks me like you do.” 

He makes a throaty noise in agreement and shifts. Large hands wrap around the back of your knees and press them towards your chest, tilting your hips up. You choke and sputter as he slams into you with force. The new angle creates a blissful intensity. 

“That’s right,” he says, “nobody else.” 

He pounds into you like he could fuck you through the mattress, maybe even through the floor. The lewd sound of his thighs slapping against your ass fill the room. You tuck your chin to your chest to watch the way each thrust makes your breasts bounce. You notice that he’s mesmerized by the same sight, and you take the opportunity to shift your gaze, studying the look on his face. 

It’s more sensual than anything you’ve done together before. You can see the sweat beading on his chest from exertion. You’re nearly folded in half and unable to stop your soft cries and moans. It’s raw, sticky, and vulnerable. You feel warmed at the thought but also fragile. Breakable. Hypersensitive emotionally and physically. It’s all too bright and hot. 

You let his voice push you over the edge, and your climax rips fiercely through your body. You faintly hear him groan as your tight walls contract around him, but his voice is drowned out by the pleasure. Your legs tremble, still balanced over his shoulders. 

Your core muscles spasm as he keeps sawing into you until your hips are jerking at the sensitivity of your come down. He slows, breathing heavily over you. You can see the animalistic edge in his eyes. You have to push it. Play it out. 

“Make me yours,” you incite. 

You definitely just meant to imply, ‘fuck me hard and come inside me, please,’ but you worry he’s interpreted it differently when he drops your legs. Wrong. He turns you over, laying you flat on your stomach, pulling your arms behind your back, and pinning you to the bed.  He straddles your closed legs. Your shoulders strain a little as he leans into you. His heavy body compresses your prone form, and his cock weighs heavy against the curve of your ass; it feels right. A perverted comfort blanket, stealing your breath. 

“Repeat it,” he tells the back of your neck. 

“Make me yours.” You turn your head to the side. You can’t see his face, but you can hear the string of curses he chants when he lines up and wedges himself into you. The added constriction of your position unravels you both. 

“Mine,” he grunts. You muffle your own noises into the sheets, along for the ride. He doesn’t last much longer before you feel him still overtop of you. You close your eyes, focusing on the sensation of the pulsing and throbbing of his cock inside you as he fills you up. Breathing deep, your back rises against his chest before he slides off of you.

You roll onto your side. Facing each other, you still at the sight of him. Another breath shared between you, chests expanding towards each other. For the briefest moment, you think he might stay. You can see the soft edge of relaxation in his features. Your hand drifts toward him, an instinct based on nothing rational, just wanting to feel him. You feel the stupid, dreamy expression settling on your face. Before you can speak or figure out what you were reaching for, he’s snapped out of the bubble of tranquility. His walls are up. 

He’s dressed and leaving, walking towards the door as you can only sigh into your dirty sheets. 

He doesn’t even leave with a snide last word. Just the door closing. 

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[she-who-fights-and-writes]

how do i get my character out of the corner i wrote myself in without a dues ex machina😭

How to Not Write Yourself Into a Corner (and How to Write Yourself Out of a Corner if You’re Already In One)

One of a writer’s WORST fears is writing themself into a corner.

It’s easy to write your characters into death-defying situations…but it’s not as easy to write the actual “defying death” part.

Some writers, in their desperation to get their characters out of a bind, employ the use of a Deus Ex Machina, as mentioned by anon:

Deus Ex Machina: (Translates to "god from the machine") A plot device where a seemingly unsolvable situation is fixed by an out-of-the-blue occurrence. The term “deus ex machina” is a reference to Greek plays, when actors playing a god would literally be lowered into the scene via a machine to magically solve any situation.

Unfortunately, this plot device is often ridiculed by readers, cited as a hack-job solution for a writer out of ideas.

How do we avoid this situation, then? Here are some tips and tricks on how to not write yourself into a corner, and how to write yourself out of a corner if you’re already in one!

Note that these tips may not work for everyone, so make sure to use your own intuition as a writer— you know your story best.

1. NIP IT IN THE BUD— OUTLINES ARE KEY!

I’m sorry to all of you pantsers out there, but the key to prevent writing yourself into a corner is to already have an idea of how each scene is going to turn out; don't make a problem without making a solution! If you keep on top of your outline, you should have no worries about writing your characters into a situation they can't get out of it.

It may be easiest to jot down ideas about a couple of scenarios and then select the one that works best, especially when it comes to dire climax scenes that have a lot of moving parts. 

Check out my posts below for more in-depth advice about outlining!

How to Outline

Plotting for Pansters and Pantsing for Plotters

This advice, although essential, does require a ton of foresight and time to plan…and if you’ve sought out this post, it may mean that it’s too late for preventative measures. The subsequent tips in this post are going to be for people who are already in the thick of it and need a way to save all of their writing progress. 

2. FORESHADOWING IS YOUR FRIEND (AKA “CHEKHOV’S GUN YOUR WAY OUT OF THAT SHIT”)

Foreshadowing: A narrative device wherein a writer gives an advance hint of what is to come later in the story. It helps maintain believability while subverting expectations and making plot twists.

Chekhov’s Gun: A narrative device wherein a seemingly insignificant element or object in the story becomes useful later on. Sometimes used synonymously with foreshadowing, but usually refers to a specific object.

Examples of Foreshadowing/Chekhov’s guns in media:

The 1981 Quarter (Or Extra Life Quarter) in Ready Player One

“Don’t Cross the Streams” in Ghostbusters (1984)

Winchester Rifle Hanging over the Bar in Shaun of the Dead (2004)

The Rita Hayworth Poster in The Shawshank Redemption (1994)

The Water Bottle in Bullet Train (2022)

In my opinion, a Chekhov’s Gun is the more refined twin of the deus ex machina; although it may seem like it comes out of nowhere, observant readers or those who go back into the story will realize that this event was set up from the beginning.

Foreshadowing is the key to turning a deus ex machina into a Chekhov’s Gun. It’s spreading breadcrumbs to maintain believability even when unbelievable things happen.

My advice: plant a line here and there referring to the object/element that will get you out of the corner.

These lines can be about a healing potion that a character carries around to save them when they’re at the brink of death, the fact that the city they’re fighting in often suffers from sinkholes, or that a character has a seemingly useless skill. 

However, haphazardly inserting foreshadowing into your story may come across as heavy-handed; make sure it aligns with the narrative beats. Particularly big Chekhov’s Guns, especially ones that “save the day," may require multiple foreshadowing elements.

It can take a lot of work to incorporate the foreshadowing smoothly, so make sure it actually saves you time in comparison to rewriting the whole scenario/plot point.

3. TAKE A BREAK

Sometimes, the solution to your problem may not come to mind because you’re too immersed into the writing process and not thinking of the bigger picture. Or maybe it might just be good old-fashioned writer’s block. Take a step back, reassess, and return with the scene properly re-evaluated. Maybe start a new book or TV show to get some inspiration, or check out one of my posts below!

How to Overcome Writer’s Block

How to Get Inspired to Write and Regain Creativity

4. ASK FOR HELP

Sometimes, it might be best to have another set of eyes on your story! A situation that may seem unsolvable to you may have an obvious solution to a writing buddy.

5. KNOW THAT SOMETIMES RE-WRITING IS NECESSARY

I know this sounds horrible. It’s something that I wouldn’t wish upon any writer.

Sometimes, however, no amount of foreshadowing can get your characters out of the debacle they’ve put themselves in. Either that, or the work that it would take to insert the foreshadowing would be more than it’d take to rewrite the scene or the plot point.

My suggestion would be to search for the last place that you didn't feel lost, and then cut out everything after that.

(NEVER DELETE MAJOR CHUNKS OF YOUR WRITING! ALWAYS CUT IT AND SAVE IT IN A SCRAP DOC—IT COULD COME IN HANDY LATER!)

Then, take the time to outline the scenario and figure out the solution to your problem beforehand. It will suck, but trust me, it'll be worth it in the end.

HOPE THIS HELPED, AND HAPPY WRITING!

[monst]

Locked in

Dick Grayson x Gn. Reader

Extra: Fluff, And very mild taco sauce angst

     You were content with watching him from your spot on the couch, Haley’s head on your lap while you gave her scritches. You hadn’t seen him in a while. An off-planet Titan’s mission that kept him from your grasp for longer than both of you expected. And to no one's surprise, he’s returned to more work. You admired his work ethic but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish he’d take it easy. 

     “I hope you’re thinking of me over there~” You heard him chime from his seat at the kitchen table. 

     “Kinda.” you sniff “I’m thinking of how peacefully quiet it was when you were gone.” 

     “Ouch,” He laughs. “And here I was, thinking of you~” You know that tone, and you know he’s baiting you into feeling bad. And it’s working. You try your luck and peek up from petting Haley. You breathe out through your nose at the look he’s giving you. Big blue eyes fraught with faux sadness, His pretty lips pursed in a tempting pout. You crack when he furrows his brows looking utterly pitiful. With an exaggerated huff, you relent. 

      But you aren’t going to make it easy for him. You bite your lip looking between the doggo’s ears and fluttering your lashes at him shyly. “I missed you.” You don’t quite manage the coy tone you were aiming for, you're too earnest, as it’s the truth. You did miss him. A lot. His act drops instantly. The lines around his mouth pinch and he averts his gaze. 

     “But not that much.” You add. “I really enjoyed being able to use a blanket.” You lay the breadcrumbs and the Robin pecks. 

     “You’re saying I hog the sheets?!” He scoffs mock offense dripping from each syllable. You don’t waste time quickly narrowing your eyes, the memories of shivering in the night as he steals them away aren’t that far away! He’s raising his arms in defense “Okay so maybe I do… sometimes.” 

     “Sometimes?” You press. 

     “Well, I haven’t recently.” He grins, but there’s a tightness to the corners of his eyes as the joke slips past. 

     “Well, you're here to steal them now…” 

      You can tell that it’s still eating at him. Always feeling guilty that man, you roll your eyes fondly. His bad habits have grown on you too much for you to resent them. However, knowing him he’ll try to make it up to you even if you’re not bothered. You knew what you were getting into when you cast your lot with him. And you know you’ll let him play out his ‘atonement.’

      “Can I make it up to you?” And there it was. 

      “Yeah, you can start by finishing up over there so that you can come cuddle us.” You can see the tension melt from his shoulders at your words. And the sounds of his fingers against the keyboard resume. You yawn into your hand after a few minutes, your eyelids heavy. 

       “Or..” You look over to see his eyes already on you. “You can come here and cuddle me while I work?” He’s batting those pretty eyes at you as if you're not already unfolding your legs and standing. You leave the puppy to sleep as you leave the living room. Your hands slide across his back and over his broad shoulders. You kiss his cheek, laughing when he grumbles about you missing. 

      “As nice as this is, this isn’t what I meant.” He hums. His calloused palms grasp your forearm and you allow him to position you in front of him. He uses his legs to push the chair from under the wooden table. 

      “Dick.” You begin. 

      “I missed you too.” he cut in, patting his lap to drive his point home. “And it’s late, what if you fall asleep and we can’t cuddle?” He’s giving you that look again. All innocent and boy Scout blue and you're instantly suspicious. 

      “Fine. But I don’t see how you're going to get anything done like this.” You climb onto his lap and his arms wrap around your waist to pull you closer. “And no funny business” you add trying not to brush against his fresh wounds. He lets out a sulky ‘Aw man’ before he shuffles you both forward until you feel the wood resting against your back. His head is over your shoulder as he continues to type. Slower than he would have before, due to the awkward angle. You almost fall asleep that way, the soft rise and fall of his chest against yours, the rhythmic tapping of the keys. That is until you feel his lips against your head. 

   “‘m sorry.” 

   “Nothing to be sorry for.” You yawn, your fingers playing with his hair. 

   “You deserve a present partner.” He mumbles. 

   “And you, a patient one, Pumpkin I do miss you when you're gone but I Swear that I don't mind waiting” Your lips press against his scratchy stubble. “Not when I know you always come back.” You both ignore the blaring siren of what his not returning would mean. “‘Told you I'm locked in, are you?”

      He smiled, kissing your temple. “Always angel.” You'd have this conversation again. When he comes back to you from yet another mission all banged up and guilty. Absolutely no doubt about it. But you're here to stay, for as long as you have together, you’re locked in. 

[8bitrosethorn]

Tonight, I’m bringing forth a tiny piece of the larger Azriel/Sleeping Beauty theory. I hope to dive even more into that soon, but here’s a small snippet for now 🤓

There’s a passage when Feyre shows up to the Hewn City in Ch 42 of ACOMAF that stuck out to me on my latest reread:

At first, I didn’t think too much of it, until a page later, Feyre says this:

Cassian and Azriel reminded Feyre of the beasts carved into the pillars shown earlier… the SLEEPING (Azriel) and FIGHTING (Cassian) beasts.

And how else were the pillars described?

With a NEST OF CLAWS AND FANGS (Nesta) and FLOWING VINES OF JASMINE AND MOONFLOWERS (Elain).

Need more evidence? I gotchoo 🫡

Cassian, as described by Amren:

Nesta’s way of describing herself:

Elain, as described by Nesta:

And finally, Azriel’s Bonus Chapter from ACOSF, where his shadows are trying to tell him to… (wait for it) …. SLEEP.

And why isn’t he sleeping?!?! 😚 E L A I N 🤪

I truly believe that SJM has had everything planned this whole time, leaving the breadcrumbs she said she’d planted along the way. Especially after recently finishing all of TOG (🥹 no, I’m not okay 😭🫠), even if she’s a “pantser”-style writer, there is still the editing process that allows her to leave intentional, purposeful clues for readers to uncover that align with later revelations throughout her work.

And me, personally? I find it SO FUN AND REWARDING to look for them each and every reread 🧐✨

Thanks for reading, friends 💖🌸🦇

[mcu-fan-fics-blog]

Abstract Love ii

Part 1 Master List Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Shiled Agent Reader Word Count: 1693 aprrox A/N: Hello! I know this is not one of my bigger series update but this one was the one I was most exited to continue. I am currently working on the third part for this one as well. It should be done soon hopefully. (If I can keep the motivation.)

When you started seeing Natasha you realized something very quickly…She was a runner. It was sometimes harsh, but you married her at the end of the day. It became your thing early on, she would run, and you would let her. It was happening again, but there was something very different about this time. Marriage hadn’t kept you on the same side of the accords. “You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement. “Would it even make a difference?” Things had been turbulent and living under the same roof as her had become difficult. She let the question hang in the air. Her mind wondered if this was how you felt every time she left. Helpless and scared. “You know it would, I care for you.” Her voice was soft, but determined. You nodded. As much as you didn’t want to your emotions were starting to get the best of you. So you took a deep breath. “I’ve let you go…” (So many times) Natasha was reading between the lines. She gulped. “I’m asking you to do the same… I’ll be fine.” You said finally meeting her gaze. “You will be too…” 

Natasha couldn’t believe she’d put you in this position more times than she was willing to admit. You closed the duffle and moved to leave the room. “Please… Just wait.” She moved out of your way but her words stopped you. You waited a beat then two. “Are you coming back… to me?” Her voice trembled. She had no right to ask, you never had. You trusted she would, but she needed to hear it. And it killed her that she never did tell you she would come back. “If you let me leave…” She had unconsciously moved to stand between you and the door. Natasha's head tilted in frustration. That wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “Yes.” Your eyes met hers fully and she felt your determination. She stepped away from the door. As you were walking out the door she spoke up one last time. “Just remember I’ve always got your back.” She shut the door softly behind you. Tears had started rolling down her cheeks and she couldn’t let you see her like that. 

It had been three months. Three months in which everything had gone to hell with the team and with you. You weren’t present at the fight in Germany, her eyes searched for you when the showdown happened. Steve was the first to notice her questioning look. He just shook his head. That fight had been so grueling, not physically but mentally. Watching her closest friends fight pitted against each other by outside forces. It was only when she watched Tony close in on Steve and Bucky, that she realized you were right. It wasn’t worth the fight with each other. She let them escape and shortly after made her escape. She was finally going after you, it was embarrassing how she didn’t realize before. She had barely spent time in your shared home since you’d left if she had she’d have found you much, much sooner. It took her another month to find, the pregnancy test. You’d fallen off the radar leaving a small trail of breadcrumbs just for her to follow. 

It only gave her hope, you were waiting for her. You knew it was her the moment you heard the sequence being knocked on the door. The relief you felt was indescribable, it felt like breathing fresh air for the first time, after being underwater for so long. You couldn’t help but smile. You took your time to answer the door. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You didn’t answer the question. Instead, you let her in your new apartment, She couldn’t help but take the place in, the air it smelt like you, like home. “It took you long enough to find me, to come here.” You gestured and sat on a kitchen stool. Her eyes finally took you in. When her eyes landed on your bump she didn’t move them. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her eyes bore into yours now. You sighed, taking her in as well. You looked down ashamed fidgeting with your hands, you managed to look back at her.  Like you didn’t just see at her, you saw her. You tilted your head. “Because you would’ve run…” You sighed softly taking a deep breath.

The words hit her like a ton of bricks. When she did find it in her to put together the words you cut her off again. “And I would’ve…” The tears in your eyes were building. You shook your head putting together the words. “I don’t think… No, I wouldn’t find it in me to forgive you.” She hated how coherent your argument was. And, How grateful she was that you’d given her a fighting chance, that you knew her like you did. Tears started rolling down her cheeks. Her eyes gravitating to your bump her whole body itching to touch you. “It’s a healthy baby, It’s our healthy baby.”She smiled her hands finally reaching for your bump.

Things had drastically shifted after that. Every following moment and every interaction after felt more precious. You seemed to share the sentiment you’d rarely spend time without her, you wanted her around you at all times. Even when she’d inevitably get on your last nerve you still wanted her next to you. She was enjoying the new dynamic, she wasn’t exactly a fan of being away from you. She’d come to realize that the hard way. She’d enjoy the clinging however long she got it, the pregnancy hormones were so far working in her favor. “I’m going to shower if you want to join or sit in.” She called out from the hallway. You stood up as quickly as your body would allow. “I already showered…” You said as you finally managed to stand. “I’ll keep you company.” Natasha smiled. It wasn’t just a partnership anymore. You wanted her company. Natasha loved it, she loves you. She took two more steps faltering at the third. She loves you? “Why’d you stop?” She heard you close the distance between the two of you. A big smile on her face when she turned to see you. “I was waiting for you.” She said simply. Your cheeks flushed a small smile gracing your face. “Cool…” 

 And now as she stands here, she can’t help the thought. She should’ve told you earlier. She should've told you the moment she realized. Now everything was moving so quickly, a flurry of people rushing you out the door. She couldn’t help but scoff at the irony, she was arguably one of the most adept people in and out of combat, but now in this moment, she was completely lost… Helpless. She could only watch the door you were just rushed out of. “They’re doing everything that they can. She’s in good hands.” Steve's voice brought her out of her thoughts. She watched as he walked into the now-empty room. (Empty because you weren’t there.) Natasha managed to get everyone together despite the tension everyone came together. And she can’t help but laugh at the irony, you’d told her before things when to complete shit. 

“Natasha we can’t keep having this argument!” You sighed tired of her jabs. “I’m not arguing with you, I’m right you’re wrong.” (She was arguing with you) “You’re impossible! This is not what I signed up for.” The sincerity of your words stopped her in her tracks. “You can’t walk away because of this!” Natasha piped up. “You don’t see me giving you shit because you signed the accords without talking to me, on national fucking television. Where you almost fucking died too.” She sighed. “I didn’t think you’d oppose.” She said truthfully. “Well, I do… Oppose.” She groaned. “Well, what would you have had me do?” You moved to stand in front of her. “Stay out of it. Now there's no coming back from that signature.” She was silent. “You just betrayed half of our closest friend’s people we consider family.” Natasha knew what she had done, she knew what that signature meant. She also knew your loyalties started and ended with Steve, his righteous moral compass similar to yours.

“I know what you're thinking. This has nothing to do with Steve not how you think it does.” Natasha would be surprised but she knew you, and you knew her. “They’ve all got their heads so far up their asses, that they can't see that this won't end well. They won't realize until one of them… Until it's too late.” You sighed. “They’re only going to realize until someone ends up dead.” Your words weighed on Natasha. The thought honestly was the furthest thing from her mind, but by the second becoming more plausible. “I’m not singing… You won't change my mind, I’m not sorry.” As much as she wanted to say she saw reason she couldn’t if anything it only further spurred her. You left a week after that conversation. 

“I’m scared.” She let out softly. What would happen if she lost you forever this time? Tony rushed into the room. “I’ve made sure Y/n’s got the best of the best in there with her.” What would she do with your daughter, You were the best thing she could give her. Natasha Romanoff was not a good mother, you were. “Don’t lose hope…” Tony said looking at Natasha's unresponsive state. Six hours, it had been six hours and they were still working on you. Natasha could swear her heart stopped when she saw the doctors walking out the swinging door. Everyone rushed to stand Natasha being the first one. Her ears were deaf to the lengthy explanations the doctors were giving. Too caught up with the fact they didn’t come out and say ‘Sorry for your loss we did everything we could.’ What she did manage to hear was the last part before they dispersed leaving only one doctor behind. “She’s out of danger for the time being.” 

The words flew out of her mouth interrupting the doctor. “Can I see her?”

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed it. I have a couple new series in the works I'm just not good with endings. Anyways I hope you all have a great amazing day <3

[thetarotwitch111]

Beetlejuice's advice - Pick a beetlejuice (Pick a card)

Happy Friday the 13th! 👻

✨help me keep doing the free pacs: tip jar

✨ personal readings - [requests open]

Good luck with Beetlejuice sweet advice...

👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻

Beetlejuice

Well, well, well! You’ve gone and picked this pile, huh? You must be ready to get wild! And I mean wild, baby! Here’s the deal: You’ve been holding back, trying to play it cool, but I can smell it on ya! you’re bursting to break free and let your instincts take over. Right now, life’s been a bit too tame, hasn’t it? Like a boring old dinner party with those dull folks in the afterlife. You know what I’m talking about!

It’s time to unleash that primal side of yours. Stop thinking, start acting! You’ve got this fire in you that’s been waiting to come out, so let it roar! Whether it’s chasing after a passion, saying what you really think, or just shaking things up, now’s your moment to own it. Don’t worry about making a mess. Look at me, I’m the king of messes, and it works out just fine! You wanna go after something? Do it! You’ve got the instincts of a predator, so go ahead and pounce.

Life’s too short to play by the rules, and you know what? Rules are for suckers! Break ‘em, make some noise, and watch how everything around you changes when you’re the one calling the shots. After all, it’s showtime, baby!

👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻

2. Beetlejuice

Oooh, look at you, picking this one. I can smell the love vibes from here! Someone’s looking for connection, huh? Whether it’s romance, friendship, or just some human contact, you’re in the mood for something deeper. And guess what? It’s coming your way faster than you can say Beetlejuice 3 times!

Right now, you’ve been feeling like something’s missing. You want more than the usual small talk and surface-level stuff. Well, here’s a little secret...when you let your guard down, the real magic happens! Show people that squishy center of yours, even if it makes you feel a little awkward. Hey, if I can try to marry a living one, then you can take a risk on love, right? Open yourself up, let people see the real you, and boom! You’ll attract the kind of connection that’ll make you feel alive again.

Whether it’s a deep friendship, a romantic spark, or just more fun, you’re gonna feel that spark light up soon. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find someone who loves a little chaos, just like me. So how about it? Any plans for a wedding soon? I’ve been trying to get hitched for a long time, but you…you’re a catch. Just saying.

👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻

3. Beetlejuice

Ahh, you’re one of the deep thinkers, aren’t ya? I can tell. You’re not just here for the easy level stuff, no sir! You want the real deal! the big answers to those cosmic questions! And let me tell ya, you’re on the right track. You know what they say: I’m the ghost with the most, babe, and I see some serious mystery heading your way!

You’ve probably been feeling a little tug, haven’t you? Something’s been calling you to dive deeper, whether it’s a gut feeling, a dream, or just that weird sense that there’s more going on than meets the eye. Well, spoiler alert: You’re right! You’re getting ready to tap into something big, and it’s gonna blow your mind. The universe is trying to show you the secret behind the curtain, and you’ve got front-row seats to the show!

So what’s next? Start paying attention. The signs are there! those strange little synchronicities, those moments that make you go, WTF. Yeah, that’s the universe talking to ya. Don’t ignore it! Follow the breadcrumbs, trust your gut, and dive headfirst into the unknown. You’re about to discover something big that’s gonna shake up how you see the world. And let me tell ya, it’s gonna be a ride you’ll never forget. Just remember: You’re dealing with a professional here!

[jksprincess10]

Something in the shadows || 5. limbo

Summary: When a girl is found by Ellie just outside of Jackson, covered in what seems to be scratches from a beast, the community realizes that the infected might not be the only monsters out there.

CWs: Dark!Joel, monster!Joel, werewolf!Joel, NOT an omegaverse fic, fated mates, DUBCON, murders, gore, dark and horror themes, overprotective!joel, explicit smut, FMC without a name and a physical description (it's you baby), unspecified age gap, no y/n.

(3k words)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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She woke up to a cold, empty bed. She didn’t know what she had expected from a man like Joel – but part of her was still sad to wake up alone. The only reminders of Joel – bruises on her shoulder and her hips, where he had held her too strongly. As a reminder of her assault, her lip was split, blood had dried on it.

She dressed appropriately and walked slowly to the end of the hallway, where Joel’s room was also empty.

“I think he’s already up, I heard Tommy earlier.” Ellie’s voice startled her.

“Oh, thanks, Ellie.”

The older teen looked at her weirdly, up and down. “No offense, but you look like shit. You okay?”

“Yeah. Rough night… nightmares.” She lied effortlessly.

“Cool. I was just heading to the farm, catch you later.”

And with a last, weird look, the teenager climbed down the stairs. When she was free of her presence, she disappeared into the bathroom. Moving too much hurt.

“You have to tell me what the fuck happened, Joel. You’re scaring me, brother.”

The Tipsy Bison had been condemned when what remained of the bodies had been discovered by Tommy. Joel froze with pure dread as he discovered the bodies. He remembered telling her he would take care of it… and then everything was blurry. He thought he had just… talked to them. But the truth was much, much darker. The boys were disfigured, reduced to pure meat. He couldn’t have done that.

“I don’t know, Tommy.” Joel’s voice was rough, hiding an uncertainty. “I just… I talked to them, okay?”

“Talked to them?!” Tommy responded incredulously. “There is nothing left, Joel.”

The older brother’s hand trailed down his own face as he tried but failed to remember. There was a big gap between the moment where had taken care of her, then had come home to fuck her.

“This can’t be me. Do ya think I’m… I’m some sort of monster? Do ya think I could’ve hurt her and then take her into my own goddamn home?”

They had both done bad things in the past to survive but this – this has taken the cake of absurdity. 

“Okay, okay, I believe you.” Tommy stopped him, his hands before him like an offering of peace. “But now, ya gotta help me clean up this fucking mess, Joel. And I won’t tell anyone about this. Because they probably deserved it.”

“What happened to you?”  Elaine asked once her new friend arrived at the laundry place, letting her bucket of water fall as her mouth opened in horror. She ran up to her, her delicate and pale hands brushing where the skin had broken. The woman jumped at the unexpected touch, but she smiled as much as her split lip allowed.

“Don’t worry. Just… got into a fight.” She gave some of the truth, sparse, breadcrumbs in the forest of her mind.  She saw the mess of water. “Let me help you clean up before anyone gets hurt.”

 While they worked, they talked. Elaine, like last time, did most of the talking. But she could see something was off with her new friend.

“What’s going on with you, sweetheart? I know it must be hard for you to trust people around here but… you can tell me anything.” Elaine had the empathy of a good mother. The kind who would take you in her arms and waited until you stopped crying. The kind she probably had before.

“It’s just… men.”

The woman with the auburn hair hummed knowingly. “Miller?”

She shrugged in response, so Elaine did not push. But she knew.

“I’m just… disappointed. I got what I thought I wanted. But I’m just left… even lonelier somehow.”

“You’re gonna have to stop speaking in riddles if you want my help.” There was no bite behind her words,

“We… had sex, yesterday. I thought we had something going on, but I woke up completely alone.” Her voice was lower, so she wouldn’t attract the local gossipers.

“Mmh. I see. Sometimes… men just need space to sort out their feelings. I wouldn’t worry much about it. Is he the one who…?” She asked as she pointed to her lip.

“Oh god no, he would never… hurt me. I don’t think so.”

But he had hurt her before, hadn’t he?

He was washing away the gore and the blood from his body, but somehow, even as the red liquid flushed down the drain, he didn’t feel cleaner. The beast was dirty, and right now, in the most inappropriate of times, it still wanted. He had left her side this morning, partly because he wanted to let her sleep in, and partly because he was afraid of what he could do to her once the want came back.  Would he hurt her to take what he wanted?

He heard the door open downstairs. She was probably done with her work. He chased the bad thoughts away as he dried himself and got dressed in dark washed jeans, a discolored shirt that was probably black in another life and a flannel that he buttoned almost all the way to the top, leaving two buttons popped open.

Joel climbed down the stairs quietly, and he cleared his throat awkwardly when he found her in the kitchen.

“Oh, Joel.”

He was overly aware of her body language, of the way she jumped slightly at his voice. “M’sorry, didn’t wanna scare ya…” His palm caressed the back of his neck as he approached her.

“I just… I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me after yesterday.”

“What? God… no.” He groaned in frustration. “Listen, I’m very bad at this.” So bad that he couldn’t even tell Tess he loved her, even when she was turning in front of his eyes. “But it has nothing to do with you or what happened yesterday.”

“Okay…” He eyed the way she balanced herself from one leg to the other nervously. “I… when you said you would take care of the guys yesterday, what did you mean?” She asked suddenly.

Something primal in him wanted him to tell her everything. But she would be horrified. So, he did what he did best. He lied.

“I was gonna talk to them… but the poor bastards were already dead when I got to them.”

“Do you think it’s…whatever hurt me?” She asked worriedly as her fingers traced the scar across her face.

He hummed in response. “But… you ain’t got nothin’ to be scared of. I got ya okay?”

And with her bright, innocent eyes, he could see that she believed him completely. She approached him with more confidence now, and her hands laid on his shoulders as her eyes traced his lips.

“Joel… thank you.” She brought her face to the older man’s level and latched her lips onto his. It lit the fire in him, as his hands trailed down her body to hold her hips. He pressed her against his body tightly, and he could already feel himself getting hard. He was insatiable when it came to her.

She let go of his lips with a sweet smile, knowing the way his body reacted to hers. “Come to the winter ball with me. Please.”

“Yeah… okay. I’ll go.” She felt his hands on her ass, and he lifted her up to leave her on the counter. His lips trailed down her jaw, the soft skin of her throat. She smelled so intoxicatingly good, with a mixture of her and… him still somewhere on her body.

“Wait… Is Ellie coming back…?”

“Will be gone all day. Said she’d meet with a friend after work.” He mumbled back, his teeth sucking a bruise into her skin, before he soothed it with his tongue. She moaned in response, her body arching to get closer to him.

“O-Okay.” She’d thought Joel wouldn’t have much of a libido due to his age, but he seemed like he couldn’t get enough, and she couldn’t complain about it. He unzipped her pants as fast as he could before his hand sneaked in her wet panties.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about this pussy.” Joel growled, his fingers already tracing fast circles on her swollen bud. The top of her body fell against his chest, and he held her with his free hand.

“S’yours Joel, all yours.” She slurred, already drunk on pleasure.

“Yeah?” He breathed against her skin. “Good fuckin’ girl.” 

With his fingers, he pushed her over the edge abruptly and embarrassingly quickly, and she let out a load moan as she came in her panties.

“Fuck, come here.” He lifted her and brought her with him, as he sat down on one of the dining chairs. “Need to be inside you.” He hastily undid his belt and freed his member, before pulling her bottoms off. He held the base of his cock so it would sit upright, and with his free hand, he pulled her down on it in a slow movement.

“Joel…” She whined weakly, letting the sound die against his lips.

“Hurts?” He asked as he felt her tight heat more and more. When she was sat still on him, he waited, his hand caressing her hips, where he had left bruises the night before.

“Hurts in a good way.”

Joel cursed under his breath as he guided her hips up and down his thickness, his half-lidded eyes looking at her in wonder. “Look at me.”

When she opened her eyes and looked at his, there was this bestial glint in his gaze that she had seen before. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out as she bounced up and down his dick.

“Yeah, that’s it. Keep goin’.” She felt a harsh slap on her butt cheek that was swollen from the night before, which made her yelp. His fingers then came down to her clit, where he teased her. “Come on my dick.” He ordered in the shell of her ear, before biting her lobe.

His name fell from her lips as he caressed her clit with a purpose, making her gush around his cock and choke him deliciously.

“Atta girl.” She was turning limp in his grasp, so he started thrusting his hips up, giving her a break. He could feel his eyes roll in the back of his head, she just felt too good. She felt… right.  “M’so fucking close, darlin’.”

“Come in my mouth, please…” She begged, and she was already getting off him to fall on her knees in front of his legs. “Please Joel.”

He held the back of her head as he guided his throbbing length in her warm mouth. He kept her in place as he thrusted between her lips. She could feel herself gag, so she breathed through her nose and let the tears fall as he finally came into her throat. Joel pulled her away to let her breathe, and his calloused fingers chased the tears away.

“Thank you for that, darlin’.” He said as he caught his breath again. He caressed her head affectionately, before pulling her up on his lap to kiss her with a newly found softness. For once, the beast felt sated. Calm.

Days later, she stood in front of the mirror behind her bedroom door, uncertain of her choice. The dress fitted perfectly; it accentuated every curve of her body. The color, a blue that was almost white, looked so soft on her. The fabric had a nice sheen to it, that caught the candlelight and made her look like a princess. Elaine had helped her find it, and she was extremely happy to have a friend here, because she had a feeling she wouldn’t find anyone in her vague memories.

But somehow, she felt self-conscious. Even though Joel proved to be a… passionate lover, to say the least, she feared he would find someone better.

“You ready?” Ellie’s voice called, with a shy knock on the door.

She opened the door and brought Ellie inside, panicking. “Please, be honest with me. How do I look?” She whispered; afraid Joel was listening at the door.

“Damn! You look good. You’re gonna give the old man a heart attack.”

Heat rushed to her face, and she smiled shyly as she finally admired Ellie’s outfit. It wasn’t what she had expected for her, but she wore a dark blue dress shirt and black slacks. It fitted her small frame surprisingly well. Her brown curls were loose on her shoulders.

“Watch your language around the old man, yeah? You look good too.” She caressed the top of Ellie’s head playfully, before grabbing her coat and going out of the room with her.

Joel looked at his broken watch while he waited for the girls. Finally, he heard giggles and their steps coming down. He was going to make a comment on how late they were, but when he saw her… he completely froze. His mouth was half-opened, his eyes bright as he admired her shiny blue dress and the way it caressed the body he had gotten to know so quickly.

He finally looked at Ellie too and the hint of a smile formed on his lips as he saw their outfits were matching. His shirt was two shades lighter, but they basically had the same outfit.

“See? Told you, he’s having a stroke.” Ellie mumbled.

“You look good, kid.” Joel cleared his throat, then took the hand of the woman he desired in his. “And you look… wow.” He couldn’t really say his real thoughts, though. How he wanted to tear that dress off her body and see if her underwear was just as pretty.

“Okay, get a fucking room, I’m leaving without you.” Ellie rolled her eyes.

Of course, it had been hard to keep their relationship hidden as Joel always wanted to jump in her pants. Ellie had guessed it pretty quickly.

“No, no. We’re leaving.” She responded with an embarrassed smile.

The room was decorated beautifully in whites and blues, making the green of the natural Christmas tree and the colorful lights really pop. It seemed like the whole community of Jackson was present, and she felt a bit intimidated.

Two men shone by their absence, though. The two who had ambushed her and bruised her. She felt uneasy, as she wondered who had murdered them. Of course, in the deep pits of her gut, she knew who did it. She just didn’t want to give more reasons for her brain to shout “Run”.

On the dance floor, she saw Elaine and her husband. She looked beautiful with her auburn hair in a high bun, two pieces of hair framing her face. They exchanged shy movements of their hands as a salutation, from afar.

She always stayed close to Joel, but the man really seemed out of place. He kept to himself, drinking, and keeping an eye on Ellie, who was dancing with a pretty girl.

“Come on, dance with me, Joel. You won’t stay here moping around all night.”

She extended her hand to him, and he tried to look annoyed as he took it, with a grumbling “fine”.

 The music slowed down, and she wrapped her hands around Joel’s broad shoulders, as his palms embraced her lower back. Her skin, even though she was fully dressed, felt like fire against his hands. He wanted to ruin her.

She admired his face with a smile, noting how his messy curls were slightly slicked back with gel. He looked good, like this. In another life, instead of a survivalist… maybe that’s what he would have looked like as a serious businessman.

“You’re handsome.” The words escaped her lips before she could stop them.

He grinned, the corners of his beautiful eyes forming lines that showed his age. “And you look like a fuckin’ angel.” His lips brushed her lobe as he whispered: “But we both know how you ain’t one, huh?”

Her cheeks heated up as she was reminded of how well he took care of her. She felt that constant pull and want with Joel, her lust never truly filled.

“Follow me, angel.” Joel ordered in a soft voice, his darkening eyes reading her easily.

He locked the bathroom door, and he sat her on the large edge of the sink, before going down to his knees like he was about to worship her. His body protested for a bit, the crack of his bones reminding him of his age. But he didn’t care.

“Makin’ me crazy, lookin’ like this. Want to spend every minute inside ya.” Joel growled as he kissed up her ankle, her leg, her thigh. He sucked and bit the sensitive skin there to remind her who she belonged too.

She let out a sigh of his name, her back arching as he got closer to his target. He helped her pull up the skirt of her dress until she was bare. Her pussy was covered by delicate white lace that was already wet.

“Shouldn’t even have bother to put anythin’ down there, darlin’.”

His rough hands pulled at the fabric until it ripped. She gasped.

“Joel!”

“What’s under is much prettier.” He shushed her and opened her thighs for him. He cursed under his breath as he dove in, the tip of his tongue collecting the wetness already pooling out of her hole. She was already squirming, still sensitive from the way he had fucked her that morning. His wet muscle went back to the top, effortlessly uncovering her clit to put pressure there. He licked, sucked, caressed at the bundle of nerves, until she whimpered, and he felt more nectar coming out of her.

“J-Joel, touch me, please…” She begged as one of her hands grabbed on to his gelled down curls as if to anchor herself so she wouldn’t drown just yet.

He groaned against her pussy, the vibrations giving her even more stimulation as one of his fingers breached her entrance. It was so thick, already filling her up just right as he kept sucking harder at her clit. He plunged his finger deeper until he curled it against that spongy part that he knew made her see stars.

“F-Fuck, please, please, I’m so fucking close….”

“C’mon baby, wet my face.” He mumbled against her, before putting more pressure on his tongue. He felt her grip on his hair strengthen, he heard her heartbeat faster as she came undone, gushing on his face beautifully. He ate her out through it all, until she pushed him away.

“You taste so fuckin’ good, baby.” Joel got up slowly, crowding her against the sink as leaned in to kiss her deeply.

 She moaned against his mouth, and she was about to unclasp his belt, until insistent knocks on the door made her stop. She came back to reality slowly, realizing where they were. Embarrassed, she pulled her dress down and got out of the bathroom. She vaguely heard Joel asking her to wait, but she knew their alone time was up.

Mortified, Elaine stood in front of them.

“Oh, hi.” Her mischievous eyes told her she knew what was going on. “I wanted to talk to you, what a coincidence.” She also acknowledged Joel with a polite nod, who cleared his throat and made up some excuse about going to see if Ellie was okay. Elaine pulled her into the now empty bathroom and closed the door, before taking out a small brown bag out of her purse. She looked at her friend, confused, as she took the bag.

“It’s a tea based on a flower that has contraceptive properties. Drink it once a week, and you’ll be fine. Indigenous women used it to prevent pregnancies. I’ve been meaning to give it to you, but I didn’t see you much these days…”

“O-Oh. Thank you.” Her slick still sticking to her thighs reminded her of how much she needed this.

“You’re welcome.” With a wink, Elaine let her leave.

She hid the bag in her purse, embarrassed that she got caught with Joel, and she went back to the main event. Her eyes looked for him, but it was too crowded. Instead, she found Tommy, Joel’s brother. The younger man looked beautiful; his longer hair tied in a low bun. He wore a blinding white shirt and dark blue pants.

“Oh, hey! I hope you’re liking the party.” He told her loud enough for her to hear.

Awkwardly, she got closer to hear him better. “Yeah… it’s nice. Do you do that every year?”

“Yup, it became a tradition. Was my wife’s idea.”

She nodded and thought the conversation was done, but he stopped her by placing a delicate hand on her bare arm. She almost pushed him away, but his eyes were soft and understanding. “Look… I’ve been meaning to talk to you… about Joel.”

“What about Joel?” She asked, trying to look disinterested.

“I’m… worried for your safety. I know my brother well, but he hasn’t been the same for a while now.”

She stayed silent and let him explain, but Joel stopped their conversation by finally finding her. His hand encircled her arm a bit roughly, and he pulled her towards him while flashing a dark glare to his brother. Tommy retreated.

“Chill, Joel. Was just talkin’ to your girl and see if she was enjoyin’ the party.”

“C’mon baby, we’re leaving.” Joel said as he ignored Tommy.

He pulled her into the dark, cold night, before she could protest. She finally gathered the strength to push him away, her big eyes looking up at him in distress.

“Joel, you’re hurting me. And you’re scaring me.”

The older man stopped in his tracks and pivoted his body so he could look at her. Some of his softness was back in his eyes, but still, something dark loomed behind. “M’sorry.”

“Tommy said… you haven’t been the same. What did he mean by that?” She confronted him.

“Ignore him.”

I was gonna talk to them… but the poor bastards were already dead when I got to them. His words flooded her memory.

“Joel, did you kill them? Josh and Kevin?”

Memories hypnotized his brain, like an out of body experience. He was inside the beast, as it destroyed the men.

“I did what was necessary to protect ya.” He responded darkly.

She didn’t know why, but tears drowned her eyes. They had abused her, badly, but she never intended for them to die like that. “Joel… you can’t.”

“Can’t control it. Forgive me, darlin’.”

She watched as he ran back to the house they shared, alone under the falling snowflakes and the moon mocking her.

[paperstorm]

Thank you for the tags @honeybee-taskforce @tommy-kinard-buckley @heartstringsduet @bonheur-cafe @lemonlyman-dotcom

Have a Work Is Published Wednesday for the newest Missing Moment

“I’m sorry I bit your head off, earlier. I’m sorry I said she could come here, I should’ve told my dad to just put her in a hotel room and stay with her himself. He attracts unstable people, he always has, it’s his damn hero complex. I should’ve – ”

“Hey,” Carlos says softly, twisting at the waist so he can brush his knuckles along TK’s cheek. It isn’t until he does that TK realizes there are tears on his face. “If I’m not allowed to make this my fault, neither are you.”

He brushes his thumb underneath TK’s eye, and TK sniffs wetly.

“Okay?” Carlos presses gently.

“Okay,” TK agrees. It’s wishful thinking more than it’s an outright lie, but it doesn’t feel truthful either way.

Carlos leans forward to rest their foreheads together. He cups TK’s face in his hand, placing a kiss next to his nose and sharing breath with him. TK lets his eyes fall closed and tries not to let the tragedy swirling within him make him feel like he’s in a freefall and even Carlos’s strong hands and warm heart aren’t enough to stop him from crashing bloody into the pavement.

After a while, Carlos kisses him again and then extradites himself from TK’s embrace so he can stand. TK watches in curiosity as Carlos moves in the direction of the bathroom, expecting him to close the door of it behind himself but frowning when Carlos doesn’t and then comes back out with something in his hand.

Carlos sits back beside him. Holding TK’s sobriety chip up between his thumb and forefinger, he requests, “Can I keep this?”

TK blinks at him and doesn’t understand. It’s meaningless, now. Mere hours ago it had been the most important thing he owned, and now it’s a trinket with less value than the cost of the metal. “Why?”

Shifting in a little closer, Carlos lets it settle on his palm and holds his hand out where TK can see it. “Because you worked hard for it. Because I loved you so much the day you got it. Remember that? I picked you up from your meeting before we went to your party.”

“I remember.”

“Remember how you dropped it in that parking garage, like a breadcrumb for me to know you’d been there?”

TK nods.

“I could’ve lost you that day. And it’s because of this that I didn’t.” Carlos closes his fist around the small coin. “I will respect it if you want to say no. We’ll throw it out and you can get to work tomorrow earning another one, if that’s what you want.”

TK bites his lip. “But?”

“But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep this one.”

With stinging eyes, TK shrugs a shoulder and mumbles, “Yeah, okay. If you want to.” Carlos slips the chip into his pocket and then pulls TK gently into his arms. TK slumps against his solid chest, both of them smelling of old sweat and hospital antiseptic. The warmth of him soaks into TK’s tired bones and his shoulders tremble as more tears fall.

Tagging @theghostofashton @birdclowns @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@carlos-in-glasses @actual-sleeping-beauty @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos

@tailoredshirt @goodways @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @freneticfloetry @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad

@liminalmemories21 @nancys-braids @chaotictarlos @lemonlyman-dotcom

@whatsintheboxmh @inkweedandlizards @bonheur-cafe @reasonandfaithinharmony @thebumblecee

@never-blooms @sanjuwrites @orchidscript @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng

@fallout-mars @fifthrideroftheapocalypse @fitzherbertssmolder @safeashousespdf

@just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @anactualcaseofthetruth @ironheartwriter

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[dreamwatch]

STWG daily drabble - 28/09/23

Prompt: horse

Warnings: mentions of chronic pain

This is the longest thing I have ever shared, and the weirdest thing I have ever written. I have literally zero idea where this came from. It's not beta'd, apologies for typos etc. This is just shy of 2.5k words, so yeah... not so Drabble actually.

****

“So, what’s on your mind today, Eddie?”

He sees Doctor Pearcey every Wednesday at 2pm. Has done now for two months. And it’s the first thing she says to him every time he sits down. What’s on your mind today, Eddie? He’s responded in various ways. With anger. With humour. With distrust. On one particularly memorable day, with silence, which Doctor Pearcey matched in spades. The two of them sat there for an hour and didn’t say a single word. Eddie wanted to peel his skin off about ten minutes into it.

He’s in more pain than usual today, has a lower tolerance for her psychobabble mumbo jumbo, so he’s already looking to derail the session before he gets in the room.

“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?” Eddie asks her.

“No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“Hmm, couple of times.”

There’s silence for a minute or so. It’s like they’re playing therapy chicken, who gives in and speaks first? It’s usually him.

“I like them. Like how fast they are, you know? How free you feel on them.” He digs his thumb into the leather of the armchair, leaving little crescent nail marks.

“And what’s got you thinking about that today?”

The beautiful purple Kawasaki he passed on his way here today would be the easy answer. But when did he ever do anything easy?

“Wayne hates them. I’ve been wanting one for years, but he begged me not to. Asked me to wait till I was twenty one. I think he thought I would just grow out of it.” 

“And have you?”

“Fuck no. I want one more than ever.”

She waits.

“I’m twenty one next week, and I won’t be getting a motorcycle because my leg is fucked, and I can’t twist or move properly.” He doesn’t bother hiding the bitterness. “It doesn’t matter, I mean, it’s whatever at this point, just another thing I can’t do, add it to the fucking pile, right?”

He changes the subject and she follows along behind waiting for breadcrumbs. Eventually their time comes to an end and he’s desperate to get out.

“Do you trust me, Eddie?”

He lets out an incredulous laugh. “You work for the spook agency that started this fucking nightmare. So, no, not really.”

She smiles back. “That’s fair.” She walks to her desk and scribbles a note before handing it to him. Eddie takes it from her like it’s poisonous.

“Meet me at that address on Sunday. Two PM. I’ll be waiting.”

And that is definitely not how the sessions usually end.

——

Wayne is working so Steve offers to take him. And Eddie isn’t going to say no to spending some time with him, especially when he’s walking into the unknown. Although the unknown appears to be…

“A horse sanctuary? Why the fuck does she want to meet you at a horse sanctuary?”

“Maybe she’s going to shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

Steve slaps him against the chest with the back of his hand. “Dude.”

“Sorry.” 

He sees her standing at a fence watching a couple of horses wander around the paddock. The ground is a little rough below his feet and his leg has been a complete nightmare all week, so Steve walks with him, hand gently resting at Eddie’s elbow as he traverses the uneven ground with his cane. It makes him grateful and fucking furious all at the same time. Such is his life these days.

“You came. I’m glad,” she says, smiling brightly.

“Well, my curiosity door was opened,” replies Eddie and Steve stifles a laugh beside him.

Steve heads back to the car, squeezes Eddie’s elbow gently, before saying goodbye to the Doc. She watches the exchange intently, and Eddie feels entirely scrutinised. He hasn’t spoken about Steve in the sessions, has no intention of doing so and the last person he would want to know about it is someone that works for the fucking feds.

“So, why am I here, exactly?”

“I thought you might like to get out of that stuffy office for a change. You never seem very comfortable.”

Eddie laughs. “Uh huh, and what is it that gave you the impression I’d be comfortable in a field full of horses?”

She shrugs. “Humour me.”

See, it was shit like that that drove Eddie crazy. Humour me. It’s Sunday. Right now he could be lying on his bed playing guitar, reading, hanging out with Steve. He could be jerking off. All of which was preferable to standing in a field full of horseshit.

“Okay, well I’m not in a humorous mood, so I’m going to leave you to your equine endeavours.” He turns to leave.

“There’s someone I want you to meet. Before you go. Will only take a minute.” The Doc waves at a stable hand and a few minutes later Eddie is face to face with a beautiful white horse.

“I swear to god, if you tell me his name is Shadowfax…”

She laughs. “No, this is Tony. Tony, meet Eddie.” Tony whinnies, nodding his head up and down, his mane blowing gently in the wind. Eddie smiles. God damn her.

Eddie reaches over the fence to stroke Tony. This gorgeous, graceful animal, and it’s called fucking Tony.

“He’s beautiful. How come he’s here?”

“He was a race horse, I believe. But he was slow, didn’t make his owners any money. So now he gets to live here and lead a good life.”

“Doesn’t he miss racing? Like, aren’t they bred for that? What does he do all day if he can’t race anymore?”

“It wasn’t meant to be. But he’s patient, and kind and now he helps people learn to ride. And he’s very, very good at that.” She turns to face him, one arm hooked over the fence. “You said you were disappointed at not being able to ride a motorcycle? Correct?”

Where the fuck was this going? 

“Yeah… ?”

“Why ride a steel horse when you can ride the real thing?”

Eddie splutters. “You have to be kidding me?” She just keeps smiling. He stares at her, open mouthed and wide eyed. “You’re fucking serious?”

“I’m fucking serious,” she says, with a glint of mischief. “You wanted the freedom and the excitement of riding. Well, I’m offering it to you. Or, Tony’s offering it to you, really.”

He looks between her and Tony. “Did you miss the part about my leg being fucked? How the hell am I even supposed to get up there? And what if I fall? No, absolutely not.”

The Doc gives him a long hard stare. “Do you trust me?” she ask him.

“No.”

“The sanctuary has a programme for disabled riders. Tony is the best of the best. You’d be perfectly safe. Come on, Eddie. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“This was… very nice, I guess, of you to think about this, but no. Sorry. It’s not the same as a bike, like at all. I have control of the bike, my bike can’t just run off and start jumping over fences and shit.”

“No, but your bike’s not smart. Tony is smart. He’s kind. He feels his rider, he knows what they need, knows when they’re scared. He fills in the gaps, takes the lead when a rider needs it, hands them back control when they don’t. He can guide you. Look after you. Your bike can’t do that.”

He feels his resolve wane. He sighs. Animals, they get him every time.

“People get hurt riding horses.”

“Sure, but they don’t call motorbikes donorcycles for nothing, Eddie.” Touché.

He shakes his head, this is such a stupid idea, but eventually that little pixie voice in his head just says fuck it, and within fifteen minutes he’s wearing a very unflattering helmet, climbing a mounting block and being helped into the saddle on Tony’s back.

He feels like he’s going to slip off the other side, and every time Tony moves his head forward toward the ground Eddie panics because it feels like he’ll just lean forward and drop like a rock to the ground. It's incredibly disorienting.

Eddie grips the reins so hard he sees his knuckles go white until the instructor shows him how to hold them properly. They show him how to guide Tony but ultimately Tony is doing all the work here, Eddie is just along for the ride. 

He’s led around the paddock, and yeah, he feels stupid at first, self conscious sitting up in the air for everyone to see. But eventually he gets into the swing of it, and it’s… nice. Nerve wracking, but nice.

They’re going at walking speed, he can feel the rhythmic sway of Tony’s body, and it’s comforting. Why is it comforting? It’s not exactly the Kentucky Derby, but he can’t stop himself from grinning.

Eddie knows fuck all about horses, less than fuck all actually, but if he didn’t know better he’d say that Tony was enjoying himself. And as much as he hates that she’s right, he feels at peace. Feels like he trusts this animal, who he literally just met, but who seems to be having a ball wandering around with this asshole on his back.

“Wanna pick it up a bit?” asks the instructor and Eddie’s about to say ‘fuck no’ when Tony comes to a stop. Like he knows Eddie’s not sure. Eddie strokes along Tony’s thick, white mane, and pats his shoulder. 

“Eurgh, yeah, shit, okay,” he says before leaning forward and whispering in Tony’s ear, “look after me, okay? Cause I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing up here.” Tony answers with a swooping nod of the head and then they’re off.

They’re barely going any faster as Tony trots around the paddock, but Eddie can definitely feel the difference. The soft, comforting sway has been replaced by a harder jolt. He’s going to pay for it tomorrow, can already feel it in his hips and back, and he hasn’t got the strength in his leg to properly push up from the stirrups, but it doesn’t matter.

The last time he was on a motorcycle he was seventeen, and it belonged to a friend of Reefer Rick’s. He was riding pillion and they were going way over the speed limit, and he’d never felt more alive, more free. He was young enough and dumb enough to think he’d never get hurt. He was invincible at seventeen. He wasn’t even a little bit scared of falling off. The folly of youth. 

In three short years the folly of youth has been replaced with constant dread and a little bit of paranoia.

This isn’t the same as that careless charge up the highway, not by a long shot, but it’s exciting in it’s own way, like going on a roller coaster instead of walking through an alternate universe.

He feels at peace. A moment in time when he’s not having to think about doctors appointments, worrying about Wayne, worrying about his future. His life has got so small since March. The kids are at school and he’s not, but he can’t work so he spends endless unfilled hours at home, waiting for other people to have space for him.

The constant churn in his mind slows, his thoughts empty, his worries silence. 

They go back to a steady walk, Tony’s body lilting from side to side, a gentle rock. Eddie already loves him. He’s a fucking sap. Horses? Rich people pets? No way man, not for him. But this guy, this is Eddie’s guy now.

As they turn in the paddock he sees Steve leaning over the fence, grinning.

“Nice hat!” Asshole.

Eddie flips him off but Steve just laughs, sunglasses pushed back up on his head. Steve can read him like a book, and Eddie knows he can see it. The complicated emotions today is bringing out in him. The joy and the excitement and the little bit of sadness. Steve raises his eyebrows, that little silent okay? Eddie smiles shyly and nods in response. They’ll talk properly later, when Eddie is trying to unpack everything.

It’s over too soon. Eddie’s helped down and fuck, yeah he’s in a little pain now, but Jesus it was so worth it. He pats Tony, strokes his neck, tells him what a beautiful boy he is, and Tony leans over nudges his nose against the side of Eddie’s face. There is a conversation happening between them, just this little quiet acknowledgement of something. Eddie doesn’t want to leave him. He feels… changed, weirdly. Like it was spiritual. Like something inside him got cracked open just a little.

“So?”

Doctor Pearcey stands behind him, looking pretty pleased with herself. 

He tilts his head to the side, makes a big show of it. “Yeah, it was okay.” Eddie knows she sees through his bullshit. They’ll be talking about this next week. No need to go through it all now.

They head back to the car, Steve at his elbow again, and Doctor Pearcey hands him a card with the sanctuary number on. “Just in case you’d like to come back.”

He does. Wayne is going to enjoy giving him shit, and he doesn’t even want to think of the number of jockey jokes in his future, but he really does want to do this again.

The car ride is quiet on the way home, just the sound of some top forty shit in the background, but Eddie’s mind is elsewhere. He feels still, his head is clear and quiet. Ridiculously relaxed.

“How’s your ass?” asks Steve.

Eddie grins. “Haven’t had any complaints.”

“Jesus Christ.” But he’s laughing. They’re both laughing.

“So, you want to do it again? We can make it regular, I’ll just make sure Keith doesn’t schedule me for Sundays.”

Eddie stares at the side of Steve’s face. This guy. This fucking guy. 

“You’d do that?”

“Of course I would.” Steve looks studiously out at the road, hands firmly at ten and two. “I’d do anything for you.”

Eddie feels like he’s skipped a breath, but tentatively reaches his hand across the console and pokes at Steve’s thigh. Steve takes a hand off the wheel, reaches blindly to find Eddie’s, gives it a little squeeze before letting go. They don’t look at each other.

He leans back in his seat, imagines Tony, galloping, mane trailing behind him in the wind. Just beautiful.

Why the fuck did they call him Tony?

[theresattrpgforthat]

Now that requests are open, time to drop a request I’ve been waiting on for a while:

Games where you play as bugs. Whether it be the route of Bug Fables, Hollow Knight, A Bugs Life, whatever. Rules light is preferred but I’m open! I just wanna play a game where I can play a Trapjaw Ant interacting with a whole bug bureaucracy that’s as big as a backyard.

THEME: Bug Games

Alright friend, so I think right away you want to look at Cuticorium, which I have talked about in my Insect Games recommendations. It’s about bugs that have gained sentience and also a moral compass, figuring out how to live with each-other in the shade of a magical tree. I’ve also got a few more for you to look at!

Agramabug Hex, by Volpe80.

Have you spent your whole life dreaming about what it would be like to be an insect? To crawl across the floor for a handful of breadcrumbs and a few shabby spells? To clash with the dictates of your religion that is incompatible with the very survival of your species? To trade every amenity you’ve collected in sweat and blood for precious human poo? Well, if that’s what you dream of, I may have something for you!

This is a supplement for Troika that includes a number of buggy backgrounds to choose from, as well as a bug-themed adventure. You’ll need the Troika rulebook in order to play, which is a really kooky ruleset primed for easy character creation and generative adventures.

Depending on the pace of your group, Agramabug Hex may last for a short campaign, with a small hex map for your little bugs to travel all over, and a random village generator to help you populate the map as you go a-traveling. I don’t know how much bug bureaucracy exists in this little world, but the hardscrabble fight of the various bugs for the scraps of human garbage certainly sounds like a conflict that you can throw all of your legs and mandibles into.

Hive & Hill: A Tale of Two Queens, by thebigtabletop.

Long have the insects warred amongst each-other. Hive and hill rarely see eye to eye. Both sides have suffered innumerable losses when war breaks out and prefer to keep their domains separate. Hives rule the skies and hills rule the earth. A singular threat to their way of life binds them together…

Humans have spread across the world forcing the insects into smaller and smaller pockets of the world. Their size and chemicals make them a great threat. While insects are small, they greatly outnumber the humans. In rare moments, the insects are willing to band together to fight the threat.

Upon a checked ground of red and white gingham, the humans have laid a bounty of food. A veritable feast that they seek to consume. While insects on both sides spend a majority of their time seeking out food, even a small sample of the meal that the human’s call a “picnic” would help feed a hive or hill for the long winter. At this moment, both hive and hill have agreed to work together to get the bounty and drive off the humans.

This is a game all about alliances in times of attrition, but placed on a battlefield distanced from human conflict. You use pools of dice to determine how successful each queen is in her manoeuvres, and role-play through blunders and connections between two sides of the field.

Overall I think this game is a bit closer to a board-game or dice game than a typical ttrpg, although the premise might be something that you can take and run with. If you want a collaborative, team-based game, you might want to take a look at Hive & Hill.

Bug Dish: Amuse Bouche, by The One True Ryan Khan.

Bugfolk from every reach come to Tower Lake at least once. You might be here to see the port city of Tower Point, or the golden hives of Honeyflow. Perhaps you’ve come to wander the paths of woven roots in Banyan Cradle, or to circle the lake on the Gossamer Rail.

But you are certainly here to taste the foods of Tower Lake’s Mobile Kitchens. Restaurant crews who travel around the lake creating culinary experiences. Fusing flavours, textures, and aromas with vision to create delectables no bugfolk has tasted before. Whether it’s a traditional dish perfectly executed, or a meal that changes how you think about food, these chefs are masters of their craft.

Bug Dish is a tabletop roleplaying game about bug chefs who travel the world and compete in culinary competitions. Using a bespoke push-your-luck mechanic, spend time to learn about the local cuisine, find out what your rivals are up to, and create meals to wow the judges.

This is a charming little game that casts your bugs as top chefs, tasked with learning the tastes of cantankerous judgy NPCS in preparation for a big cooking competition. I don’t own this game, but judging by the little teasers on the storefront page, your adventures will include various locations to visit and interesting ingredients to harvest in the pursuit of creating the perfect dish. If you prefer to solve your problems with a saucepan rather than a sword, this might be the game for you.

Beetle Knight, by Brooklet Games.

Beetle Knight is a bug-sized role-playing game for your tabletops. It features "contest rolls" where two creatures, or a creature and the arbiter roll dice against one another to determine uncertain outcomes. 

The quickstart for this game starts with a short list of intriguing mysteries that your little characters might find themselves engaging with; from disappearing flies to a water skater trade embargo, to a sudden reticence amongst the court of the Orb Weaver queen. The problems that plague the insect kingdom call for a coterie of buggy knights, called to go where most dare not go!

This game feels heavily inspired by Hollow Knight, and asks the players and GM to engage with contests with e/o every time the Beetle Knights face up against an obstacle. Depending on the foe, this could make play very challenging. Your characters also have a magical resource called Resolve, which can be gained when you roll ties and spend when you want to use the magical items that your knight carries.

The game underwent some fundraising on Kickstarter a while back; there’s no official release of the game yet, but you can still download the Quickstart version of the game if you like. If you want a game with all the fantastical fixings, I recommend Beetle Knight.

Queenless, by Croaker RPGs.

Our Queen is dead! Such sorrow and despair! Without our Queen, our hive, our home, will slowly perish. Our only hope, our only slim hope, is to find, beg, borrow and steal enough Royal Jelly from our neighbours. If we have enough Royal Jelly, maybe, just maybe, we can raise another Queen.

In Queenless you’ll explore the valley, meeting other insects along the way. Your aim is to recover six jars of royal jelly, which your hive will use to raise another Queen. Some insects are friends, such as the Ants who share much in common with the Bees. But some are deadly foes, like the Praying Mantis, who would like nothing more than to eat you up little Bee.

Queenless is built as a solo game from the start with tables, exploration, and other mechanics that will keep you interested and challenge your little bee as it explores the valley on its quest. The core mechanic is based on Firelights, where you use a deck of standard playing cards and dice to determine success, partial success, or failure. You flip two cards and compare them to a dice roll+stats. Easy to figure out and resolve.

If you want a solo game about exploration and survival, but also bargaining with a number of other insects as you search for the things you need in order to raise another queen. Using the Firelights system, you’ll need a deck of playing cards to draw from, using the values of the cards against the results of your dice rolls to determine whether or now you succeed, and whether it will cost you anything to do so. If you want a game that can be be played at the comfort of your own pace, without the constraints of a group, I recommend Queenless.

You might also be interested in…

My Bee Games recommendation post.

This quick Bug Knights recommendation list.

[dipplinduo]

Just a lil' check-in regarding S&S D engagement <3

Hey! I’ve honestly been debating on making this post, and I’m hoping I can come across intentionally here:

Over the past few weeks, I’ve gotten an increased amount of asks/comments/etc. that are essentially inquiring about S&S D updates in ways that seem to be more on the “demanding” side, for a lack of better words (e.g., repetitive, insistent questioning regarding updates, not-so-politely worded “requests” to either abandon certain storylines or add something into a storyline, and even expressions of dissatisfaction/disapproval for when I’m choosing to write for something other than S&S D itself).

I’ve chosen to remain disengaged from this kind of behavior since it personally has felt upsetting, discouraging, and pressuring to receive. It unfortunately doesn’t really seem to be going away, and it has been affecting my writing process. So I just wanted to make myself a little clear here:

I personally don’t appreciate and will remain disengaged from interactions I’ve characterized above. I feel that I put a lot of hard work into what I do choose to do, and I also really do enjoy writing dipplinshipping content in general. I know many people on here may be following me primarily for S&S D – and that’s fine! But please know that I’m putting an equal amount of passion and effort into the other works I’m writing, and while you don’t need to read them if you don’t want to, publishing them still means a lot to me, personally; I don’t view them as being any “less” than S&S D, even if S&S D is pretty much my magnum opus in terms of hits/engagement.

I recognize that I’m pretty playful in my interactions in general, and a lot of these interactions may be coming from a completely well-intended place. So I do have faith that many of the comments I’ve received probably wouldn’t have been said if people knew how I’ve been feeling about receiving them. I’m hoping this post can clarify things going forward and help us all have a better understanding of each other as we celebrate dipplinshipping and have fun engaging with each other. 😊

That being said, here are the types of engagements that have felt really enjoyable regarding S&S D, and personally motivate me a LOT to keep writing:

Asks/discussions about things/moments that you’ve liked, or are wondering about (I’m open to constructive criticism, too, of course)

Asks/discussions that express general excitement, theorize, or talk about/inquire about potential breadcrumbs, etc.

Fanart! God, I love your fanart!

Headcanons too – whether they’re S&S D related or not!

Reactions to chapters, or quite literally anything that sparks dialogue (these ones I do deliberately delay answering so it doesn't spoil people immediately after an update, lol, but omg I love, love, love them!)

Lastly – I will say: I am actively working on Chapter 13 right now! I know how much people are eagerly waiting for it, and I’m grateful that it’s highly anticipated. It’s my full intention to write well rather than just write for the sake of producing; I want what you read to be of quality and worth your while. I will be letting you know when it’s coming out, as I always do!  Thank you for your patience and understanding. 💕

With love,

dipplinduo

[luffyvace]

SHANKS X FEM READER

HEHEHEHEH..apologizes..i got this idea when i was drawing, for the record. the idea popped into my mind and i thought it was really funny. since i’m focusing on one piece content anyway, and this is shanks, why not? might as well right??

edit: here’s the male version!!

enjoy these fluffy breadcrumbs of a snack!

SOOO..😊🤭

y/n is a karaoke bar, bartender!!

how fun :)

and one night the bar is empty and is about to close anyway sooooo….

y/n thought..why not sing some songs herself?

theres no one around anyway right?! 😋

that’s right! y/n is gonna enjoy herself today! and indulge in some karaoke!

so she walks up the stage all confident and grabs the mic

she puts on her favorite song

and sings to her hearts content

whether that’s soft, quiet, loud, strong whatever!

what did it matter?

she was having fun!

it was at the part of the song everyone knows

which required a high pitch

and man did she hit that high note!

”oh MAN! i really hit that high note didn’t i?!”

y/n heard a chuckle behind her and spun around with a surprised face

shanks was there listening and laughed at her talking to herself

“what are you doing here?! i thought this place was empty?!”

shanks just kept laughing which got on y/n’s nerves a bit

she turns off the music and gets off the stage to clean up some more

”so are you gonna explain or what”

shanks starts looking around before seemingly finding something, holding it up in the air, “left my wallet”

he says it with a smirk too

you shake your head and turn back around as you finish cleaning up the last table

and since you had your back turned to him you couldn’t see him as he came up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss against your neck as he whispered into your ear,

”so you wanna go on a date sometime soon or what”

he said it as if he was mocking you from earlier but was hoping you’d except his offer deep down

“normally your supposed to ask a girl out before you kiss her”

with that said, you didn’t give him a chance to answer as you spun around giving him a quick peck on the lips

you walked out the door locking it with the key and started heading to your car

shanks was stunned seeing as though he wasn’t expecting a kiss and only when you were almost to your car did he realized he was locked in

”y/n!! yyy/nnnn!! hey!! let me out!” he said banging on the window as you snickered, getting into your car and driving away

:) IM SO HAPPY WITH HOW THIS TURNED OUTTTT………IM GONNA START WORKING ON THE MALE VERSION IMMEDIATELY 🤭😋😋

omg i really hope you guys like this. i love it. please please please if you wanna ask for headcanons of this topic don’t hold back i have the utmost motivation for it!!

SHANKS STANS COME GET YOUR FOOOOOD!!

[headlinerkwan]

paths - [teaser 𓇼]

pairing: soobin x gn!reader

genre: nonidol!au, exes to ???, firstlove!soobin, angst, some fluff

summary: as you prepare to move back to your hometown, you discover a stack of unsent letters, causing you to reminisce on your first love and break up.

warnings: mentions of death (reader's dad passes away before events in the fic, mentioned but no detail.), some swearing, lots of lowkey pining ._.

teaser wc: 805 - read the full fic here

a/n: this fic was kind of inspired by 'paths' by niki, and the rest of her new album 'buzz' - go check it out!! i plan on releasing the full fic in a few days ･ᴗ･

“Mom, I promise there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure? I can drive up and help.”

“Yes, I’m all packed up, everything’s fine Mom, this isn’t my first time moving and there’s no way I’m letting you drive seven hours across the country,” You continue as she rants on about the overwhelming piles of paperwork and mess around the house, “I’ll be there to sort everything out soon, so don’t worry about that just… try to relax.” 

“I’ll text you when I’m on the road, ok? I love you Mom!”

“I love you too, I’ll see you soon, yes?”

“Of course.”  

You throw the phone down on the bed, your childhood hits playlist muffled by the ocean of blankets that it landed amongst. Looking around your room, an exasperated ‘fuck’ escapes your lips. Despite what you had just told your mother, your room was most definitely not packed up and you were most definitely not ready to leave behind the life that you had built just to return to your sleepy hometown. 

After your Dad’s death, you had decided to move back into your childhood home, to keep your Mom company, settle down, and have a quieter life. You’ve had your fair amount of fun in the city and you were ready to return to your roots. 

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

A few hours later,  there’s only one set of drawers left for you to pack up. You’re a sweaty mess as the sun beats down on you through the windows. Pulling your hair back, you position yourself in front of the drawers alongside some boxes, bubble wrap and packing tape. 

Opening the bottom drawer you are welcomed by a pile of clothes that had been messily shoved in over the years. Okay not too much work left. Picking up a purple hoodie, a pile of envelopes reveal themselves, all of them addressed to the same person. 

Choi Soobin. 

Against your better judgement, you give in to your nostalgic curiosity and begin to unseal the first envelope. As far as everyone else knows, you hadn’t thought about Soobin in a couple of years - you had curated a nonchalant persona, one that didn’t care about the past and especially not the people that you had left behind. This, of course, was nothing but a persona, a facade that you had delicately crafted over the years. If you stopped lying to yourself, you would realise that he’s always on your mind. Breadcrumbs of your love littered through every street that you walk, every corner you turn, there’s always a part of you that longs for him. He lives in a part of your brain meant only for youth, for easier times. Everytime you see something bunny themed, or hear a Day6 song on the radio, you have to fight against every nerve in your body not to text or call him. So yes, it might seem like you don’t really care but oh my god, you’re not sure you’ve ever been so hung up over the past in the same way that you are when it comes to him.  

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Letter One:

‘Soobin, 

Hi. It’s been a while. One month and 24 days, to be exact. 

I hope you’re okay. I’m sorry if this is weird. Is this weird? Oh god, this is probably weird. 

It’s just, we promised to give each other space and time but I can’t seem to let you go. Every second of every day all I want to do is pick up the phone and call you. You’re the only one I wanted to talk to after my first day at this new job, and when I moved in and I couldn’t figure out the stove, and when I found a new cafe nearby that actually knows how to make good macchiatos. 

Maybe I should’ve stayed. Maybe I should’ve told you to stop talking about the opportunities and convince me to stay with you instead. It’s hard to be happy without you by my side, I miss you and I feel selfish saying it.

We said it was for the best and besides, I was the one who moved away, I was the one who broke your heart. Am I allowed to miss you? 

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I probably won't even send it.

Bye Soobin.‘

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Reading the letter, you chuckle as your eyes cloud with tears. You recall how you thought you’d never be happy again. That it was a bad idea for you to have lived outside of the bubble of your hometown. How naive you were, believing the world began and ended with him. You smile through the slow moving tears as you put the letter down in favor of another and reminisce on the love that you feel felt for him.  

Your thumb brushes over the water marked envelope, still bearing the scars of tears cried long ago. 

[savoytrufflephd]

Let's talk about the title...

Having created this Tumblr for no other purpose than send HIUH (Hand in Unlovable Hand) asks to @thickenmyblood, I figured why not dedicate winter break to fic analysis posts?

So let's start with the title!

How could you possibly be here if you're worried about spoilers, but...

Hand in Unlovable Hand.

At first I was oriented toward the Mountain Goats song (“No Children”), you know how it goes :

I am drowning there is no sign of land you are coming down with me hand in unlovable hand

And throughout the fic's posting, lots of readers have been alternately finding Damen and then Laurent very hard to like (which was an awesome reading experience in and of itself because fanfic doesn’t always tend toward deeply complex characters). So the sort-of-toxic relationship view felt plausible (except I was always going for “appears-toxic-but-is-actually-true-love-and-totally-fixable” because this is make-believe anyway and it’s based on CP, so).

But now I’m thinking, what if the “unlovable” is actually about people who think they are unlovable? And what if that’s not just both Damen and Laurent, but also Nicaise?

So, like, what if what this little family actually has in common – even if Damen appears to have a very different history and Laurent has said they are too different – is their individual fears that no one will ever really love them?

Like Nicaise obviously doesn’t think Damen can actually love the real him and tries to be on his best behavior (even while pushing Damen’s boundaries). And Nicaise seems like he’s doing his level best to drive Laurent away, so that when Laurent eventually abandons him – as he fears - he can pretend that’s what he wanted anyway. 

And Damen has panic attacks about Maxime not because he gives a shit about Maxime but because he’s let Maxime represent the idea that Laurent never really loved Damen, but was just using Damen and moved on quickly and painlessly. And Damen had no mother and had a distant father and a resentful half-brother and he’s only just beginning to believe that chosen family can be real family.

And Laurent completely doesn’t get that Damen has this insecurity because he sees Damen’s life as so normal and charmed.

And, finally, even though our unreliable narrator thinks Laurent has always been in control of everything, including their relationship and entrance into the family formed by Laurent and Nicaise, Laurent’s insecurities (on nearly full display in Chapter 19) have been sprinkled throughout this fic like breadcrumbs.

In the original breakup:

“We’re different. We want different things.” Damen said nothing. The coffee was ashy in his mouth. Dry. “I’ve got Nicaise,” Laurent said, “and I can’t—this is not working. It was never going to work.”

In the overheard conversation with Ancel:

Ancel’s back is all Damen can see. His hair shakes from roots to ends when he tilts his head in Laurent’s direction. “I thought,” he says, slowly, “that you wanted different.” “I did.” “Ugh, Laurent, you’re giving me a headache. What even is the pro—” “I’m not,” Laurent says, louder than before. The shock of sound works like a slap, and Damen wants to move back into the hallway, to scurry to the other bathroom, to leave them alone, but his legs simply won’t take him there. “ I’m not. I’m still—you heard what Nicaise—”

In Laurent's interpretation of the breakup:

“You wanted out,” Laurent says, “so I gave you out.”

But Damen finds Laurent so loveable – and he didn’t ever really talk to Laurent about the effects his abuse – that he can’t understand how unloveable Laurent feels.

So I feel like they three are all so much alike (and so lost in insecurity) that now they’re all talking past each other.

But I also feel like when they come back together in the right way, the family will be so good for each other, damn it!

[charmwasjess]

Sifo-Dyas Wasn’t Supposed to Die: or The Worst Theory Ever 

“All the things you should have stopped, but you didn’t, and nothing will ever be right again. And the things you’ve done,” he whispered. “By the pitiless stars, the things you’ve done…” -Dooku (on Dooku), Yoda: Dark Rendezvous by Sean Stewart

Theory: Dooku killed Sifo-Dyas not because it was planned, but to stop Sidious chucking his former best friend alive into a Jedi-torturing cave to use him as a vision-powered early warning system for his prequel era plots. (A horrible detail not of my own invention, but the exact fate Yoda sees happening to Sifo-Dyas in the Clone Wars episode where he has that Sidious-created vision.)

Anyway, STRAP IN FOR MY WORST IDEA EVER. I hear you. I hear you. Oh Jess, does your Dooku apologist garbage know no limits?! But I’m not giving Dooku a pass here, even if this is a somewhat more palatable version of events than Dooku just killing Sifo-Dyas because Sidious said so, depending on your interpretation of palatable. I realize this sounds like a stretch, but I hope I have convincing-enough evidence to back up my claims and show my work. I really believe that some things which make utterly no sense in the whole Dooku Murders Sifo-Dyas to Take Over the Clone Plot story arc suddenly become actually reasonable, or at least more clear, if you look at it all through the lens of this possibility.

Killing Sifo-Dyas Makes No Sense (for anybody)

Let’s be real: Sifo-Dyas’s murder fucking sucks, and this is even by Dooku’s admittedly poor murder standards. It’s both bad and stupid; you push even lightly on the plan with logic and it falls apart. 

For some reason, instead of killing this important person who could ruin all his plans himself, Dooku hires some criminals he doesn’t even trust (apparently for good reason, as they turn around and keep evidence to blackmail him) to do the job. The logistics of this are further complicated and stupid: Sifo-Dyas isn’t even supposed to be where he ends up getting killed; he’s unexpectedly off on a different side mission from the mission he’s originally on. That would imply that this was something of a crime of opportunity, instead of something Dooku spent a long time meticulously planning - something of a relief, since Dooku would have to be trying to do a worse job at this. There’s even a civilian witness to the attack who, of course, survives. 

Miraculously, the crash does manage to kill Sifo-Dyas (perhaps the only successful part of the whole fucking plot) but then, they move his corpse, so if this is a whole “stage a believable crash death to hide the murder element and buy time for the Clone Wars plot” thing, it’s missing a pretty key component. Then they further fuck that up by forgetting to take his very distinctive lightsaber out of the crash site, definitely linking Sifo-Dyas to whatever happened there. As a cherry on top of this disastrous murder sundae, Dooku then can’t resist Jedi Funeral burning Sifo’s body, in front of a bunch of fucking witnesses no less. He probably uglycried in front of them too, but now this is just my speculation.

But even if the murder was perfectly executed, WHICH IT WASN'T, killing Sifo-Dyas creates a tangible link back to Dooku, from the physical evidence to the established association between the characters - a trail of breadcrumbs Anakin and Obi-Wan are easily able to follow back as is explored in the Clone Wars “Lost One” episode. And Dooku knows better; he used to be a Jedi who helped with Jedi death investigations, as we see in Tales. Killing Sifo-Dyas opens up a whole host of “whys” and extra attention at a time when the Sith need what happened on Kamino to stay very quiet. 

And why murder someone who is already actively working with you? Especially when Sifo-Dyas needs the clones to stay secret too? Dooku seems already to have had everything he needed in terms of access to the Kaminoans, as he’s able to successfully pull off the plan without Sifo-Dyas after his death. He’s also the one with the money, he’s got the connection to Jango; he could have easily gone behind his back. And furthermore, Sifo-Dyas trusted him - seemingly a large narrative reason for bothering to detail their long friendship and history of trying to change vision outcomes. Books like Dooku: Jedi Lost do a lot of work to establish that Sifo-Dyas could have had reason to go to Dooku in good faith and expect him to listen. 

Keeping Sifo-Dyas Alive Makes Sense (for Sidious)

This idea about the Sith Torture cave is not my random invention. Sidious uses a vision of Sifo-Dyas trapped for 12 years in a Jedi-torturing cave to fuck with Yoda – and let’s be real, probably also Dooku, who does not look like he’s having a good time in this episode. In fact, Sidious used Dooku’s blood as a ritual component to CREATE the vision. (There being enough love/bond/connection left in Dooku’s blood to use it to attack Yoda after he’s been a Sith for 12 years is probably another horrible post.) But this seems to establish the alternative cave scenario for Sifo-Dyas as something that both Sidious and Dooku have at least thought about, and are still thinking about, years after his death, and powerfully enough to weave it into a vision.

And can you imagine how interested Sidious is in Sifo-Dyas’s powers, especially if they’re offering spoiler trailers for all of his favorite plans? He is very interested in prophecy, the future, and arguably uses some of those aspects in his manipulation of Anakin. Sifo-Dyas represents both a great threat and a great opportunity to a Sith Lord whose multi-tentacle plans are endlessly convoluted, and by their very nature require multiple contingency plans. How advantageous to have someone around whose one weird power is seeing alternative possible futures?

Keeping Sifo-Dyas alive but captive removes the only other person who knows the exact details about the Clone plot while preserving something potentially very valuable to Sidious. And there’s a further positive: a problem with the whole secret weapon clone army situation is that they need to be revealed at the pivotal moment in the new war. Someone trusted needs to tell the Jedi Council about the Clone Army and convince them to use them in the crisis. Who better to do this than producing beloved, missing Master Sifo-Dyas (who ten years of torture in a Sith cave has made very cooperative and corrupted indeed) to reveal the army to the Republic? 

In Conclusion

But... Sifo-Dyas was his best friend, once, and Dooku chokes. Sentimentality, if not outright lingering love, is a flaw for Dooku as a Sith, and one he trips over repeatedly throughout his atrocities. And we can’t confuse this with actual valor. He doesn’t try to save Sifo-Dyas, only give him a less insanely brutal fate. He orders his death, and it’s a sloppy rush job for all the reasons you might expect from a sudden change of plan, and possibly, the need to kill him before Sidious figured out what he was actually doing. This might even explain him using a third party to do the job: he has plausible deniability to say “well, I ordered them to capture him, but they fucked it up.” Which of course, they did. 

Bonus Round

This theory would also explain two lingering clues we have about Sifo-Dyas’s death involving the behavior of the two guilty participants around the topic:

Dooku

Dooku is really putting the “lie” in “unreliable narrator” during this era, so it can be difficult (and perhaps foolish) to look too deeply into his reactions. But I think it’s fair to say that Dooku acts “pretty fucking weird” about Sifo-Dyas’s death.

In the Lost One episode, he makes an impassioned appeal to Obi-Wan about joining him (a favorite topic of Dooku’s), claiming that Sifo-Dyas understood what he was doing and worked with him willingly. This conversation is only taking place because they caught Dooku in the literal fucking act of covering up evidence of Sifo-Dyas’s murder. It’s not like anyone is unclear about what they’re doing here. Dooku knows. Obi-Wan and Anakin know. Dooku knows that they know. And yet, he still, seemingly genuinely, wants to tell them that Sifo-Dyas sought him out and worked with him. “Join me, just like this guy I ended up murdering” is not a great argument, and Dooku has to know that. So what is the source of his doublethink on this topic? What’s the detail he’s holding onto that’s letting him keep his elaborate palace of denial intact here?

In Tales of the Jedi, Dooku makes an unclear, brief, stammering mention of Sifo-Dyas in the list of the things he’s done for Sidious, and yet killing Yaddle outright is an obvious difficult struggle for him, and narratively shown as a clear before/after moment for Dooku’s fall. The Sith ghost version of Dooku in the Yoda comic outright calls her his first kill. (Lol, Ramil Serenno would like a word.) But you’d think murdering his former best friend who was actively working with him would be a bigger deal? There's this pattern where it almost seems as if Dooku thinks about what happened to Sifo-Dyas differently than his other kills, as if he has some reason to think what he did was less bad or more necessary, even insisting on repeating the absurd “we were working together” narrative when it really has lost relevance in light of how that ended up.

Sidious

Sidious is as onscreen physically violent to Dooku as we ever see him in non-Legends canon in the Lost One Sifo-Dyas episode. He goes into the conversation angry and ends up choking Dooku out over holocomm. If Dooku did, as we assume, exactly what Sidious wanted him to in killing Sifo-Dyas back 10-12 years ago, why does he come into that conversation so violently furious and willing to outright hurt Dooku in a way that he doesn't over other mistakes?

Bonus Bonus Round

In season 5, I suspect the reason we got Sifo-Dyas being tortured in the Sith cave in Yoda’s vision was because Clone Wars was going to make this reveal (and make it so that this was indeed Sifo-Dyas’s fate in the new canon), storyboard or animated part of it, and then decided not to and recycled the images for Yoda’s vision. My pure speculation, but it would fit with their pattern of unused/scrapped/recycled Clone Wars storylines.

*

That’s it! That’s all! You can’t get the time you spent reading this post back, but now this horrible theory lives in your head too.