#You Were Never Really Here

[sweeetestcurse]

Joaquin Phoenix as Jo in You Were Never Really Here 01/??

[midnightmurdershow]

You Were Never Really Here (2017) Directed by Lynne Ramsay

[cinematicmasterpiece]

you were never really here (2017)

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Scar Tissue

Summary: Joe wouldn't reach as far to give himself a parent of the year award, he wasn't even a parent to begin with, but he'd say that he did well by giving you your space, never invading only following when invited.

Pairing: Joe x afab!Reader

Word Count: ~ 2.5k

Content Warnings: Mentions Of PTSD, Night Terrors, Trauma-Induced Tics, Emotional Constipation, Canon Typical Violence, Mentions Of Self-Inflicted Harm And Depression, Explicit Sexual Imagination 18+!, Angst, Oh The Yearning

A/N: “But, Tam! You can't just shamelessly sexualize a character murdering in cold blood in a 90-minute film about SA and PTSD!” Hush, child, and watch me.

Tagging: @somepallings @queer-crusader

you can’t win ‘em all

who knows how much longer

i’ll lay on the floor

touch me til i vomit

i’m not scared of god

i’m scared he was gone all along

- Inbred By Ethel Cain

Thick fabric ruffled in a pitch-black bedroom. Calm yet shallow breaths accompanied the quiet ordeal of a fuzzy blanket moving as you slipped underneath its warm cover and felt the cold coming from the inside slowly fading from your chest.

You shimmied back until the curve of your spine was flush against Joe's front - you knew he was awake just as much as you were; actual, real sleep being a sparse blessing.

“Night terrors?” It wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn’t be the last for you to leave your sweat-soaked sheets behind to find shelter with him.

“You?” You answered his question without really answering.

“One should think that shit's gonna leave you alone at some point. Can't understand why the old noggin is having a jerkfest over it every other night.” Joe muttered quietly yet not any less disgruntled, the prolonged lack of proper rest only feeding into the rougher parts of his character.

“Do you still smell it, too? It's the sweat and stale cigarette smoke for me. Sometimes hints of piss.” The memory rippled through your body in an uncomfortable jolt, causing that little tic to go off from the nape of your neck straight up into your head as it flinched to the side for a split second.

“Hey…”, Joe immediately jumped on it, the inherent need to soothe what you had been burdened with dragging his tired body into motion, “I'm here…showered and smoke-free.”

To prove his somewhat humorously annotated attempt to shush the still lingering nightmares right back to where they came from, he wrapped one arm around your waist, holding you close enough for the gentle wafts of laundry detergent to softly engulf you.

“Don't give them your time, they're not worth it. So many brighter things to think about.”, Joe practically wrapped himself around you, shielding you from everything he possibly could, his chin carefully resting against the crown of your head, “What do you wanna eat tomorrow? What's the next movie you want to go and see? What's up with your friend Rose? Didn't she wanna throw a party or something?”

The onslaught of rapid-fire questions sought to flush your synapses like a cold rinse through a soap-clouded bathtub circling the drain before eventually trickling into the sewers.

“I want pasta. The current cinema program is garbage and Rose already cancelled her own gig because she's sick. Next question.” It spilt from your lips with sharp precision, making Joe behind you laugh out briefly.

“Oh-kay…let's stick with the pasta then. What pasta? I'm good enough to manage a halfway decent sandwich, help me out here.” It was a bit stupid, perhaps a bit weird as well to talk about pasta in the middle of the night after having been terrorised by haunting nightmares yet again.

However, the silliness of it all was what got you through it eventually, what helped you to work your face enough to allow that ghost of a grin to tug at the corners of your lips and for distraught thoughts to narrow down on something entirely else.

“Hm..”, You pondered over possible culinary desires for a moment whilst your body gradually settled down, sinking into the mattress and against Joe as uptight tension left your muscles, “Some with tuna, tomatoes and shittons of garlic…and chili.”

You pictured the plate laden with spaghetti and sauce in your mind, an empty stomach switching gears as the thought turned a bit too tangible.

“I go to the store and cook and you see if you can fix my camera, deal?” The words blubbering from your mouth turned slightly slurry, audible enough for Joe to know that he’d sufficiently bothered you trivialities to the point your thought had stopped grasping at the buzzing livewire that was trauma.

“Sure, deal.” He reciprocated, listening to your breaths turn more steady and drawn-out.

He didn’t dare to move just the slightest bit until gentle snores trickled from your lips and hummed against the the thick duvet. It was every other day he had to actively remind himself that you weren’t just made out of porcelain - you’d long grown into your one person and ever so often the passage of time rapidly caught up to him.

Joe had helped you through high school and college, your intellect very much not being the issue at hand but rehabilitating you back into society had taken its time and its toll. However, by now, he simply felt at ease, as much as a man with his history could, and even allowed himself a little moment of pride. The ex-marine was proud of you for shouldering the weight of your memories every day anew and he was proud of himself because you - the coffee-stained, beige file that had been the case of you on his desk - finally felt like he’d been able to make a dent, a change, just something in a world that swallowed whole and only spat out bones sucked dry off all their marrow.

The tip of his nose hovered right above the top of your head. his lips almost touching the strands of hair flowing down as he inhaled the apple-scented shampoo. Washed, fed, cared for - all things you’d been in severe lack of as he’d stormed this “establishment”, fueled by the rage of a thousand suns that had come crashing down upon seeing you cowering at the side of a ruffled bed, an oversized Care Bear t-shirt hanging like a wet towel from trembling shoulders as you’d stared right back at him, frightened and dragged into a corner enough to be ready to kill or severely mutilate at the very least.

No one should be familiar with that exact expression on someone's face but especially not a hardly 14-year-old teenager, laden with experiences enough to fill about three lives to the brim.

There'd been this wicked, silent understanding as you'd looked at the blood dripping from his hands, the blood of your tormentors. You'd imprinted on Joe in that very moment, stuck to him like a duckling for more than you just the way out of the front door, until he'd come to terms with the fact that you'd stay with him - fake birth certificate, fake ID, fake CPS documents in abundance; there was hardly anything he couldn’t get his calloused hands on through shady contacts and knowing someone who knew someone who knew someone.

It had taken you all the time that had been necessary to get you accustomed to having privacy again, your own room with an adjoined bathroom. Some days, Joe hadn't seen you at all - the only thing he'd ask for was an occasional text message stating that you were okay or in need of something.

The requests had changed from a bag of potato chips and bottles of diet coke to pads, tampons, a razor and nail polish, resulting in a big, burly man finding himself between feminine hygiene products and make-up.

Had it been uncomfortable and ridiculous? Yeah, a thousand times yes, but he'd give any amount of awkwardness to see you chipper, a happy swing to your steps as you walked down the stairs to grab some breakfast, eyes beaming as you quietly presented freshly painted nails wrapped around a spoon shoved into a cereal bowl.

There'd been on-and-off times with your mutism, just like with anything else. Some weeks you spent your days basking in the sun in the yard and then again others hiding away, only emerging to eat and wave your hand at him to let him know that you were doing the best you could right now.

Joe wouldn't ever reach as far to give himself a parent of the year award, he wasn't even a parent to begin with, but he'd say that he did well by giving you your space, never invading only following when invited.

Later on, there had been episodes that turned much darker, nights where you'd woken him from light sleep, tears streaming down your face and pooling at a clenched jawline as you confessed about having lost control.

Thinking about it - Joe slowly splayed his hand over your stomach, a thin, skin-warm layer of cloth separating his palm from welts of now pale scar tissue. He could've never been angry at you for this. Actually, he could understand it just fine, hating your own body so much because of what sick people had done with and to it. Getting swallowed by the need to mutilate the skin that remained stained no matter how many times you scrubbed yourself red underneath a steaming shower - none of that a stranger to Joe.

For now, those things had settled down. During college it really felt like you'd come into your own fully, making friends, going out and coming back home somewhat tipsy on weekends. You had graduated, entertained a part-time job at the local library you enjoyed working, yet, some nights, Joe wondered what would be next.

You'd never come home with someone else besides your iron-tight circle of close friends. You also didn't exactly appear to entertain the idea of moving out anytime soon and, by all means, Joe would never push you to any of those things, however, he found himself wondering, caring about your future in a way that left an uncomfortable aftertaste on his tongue.

The ex-marine had spent years building a trigger-free environment for him, but most importantly for you - open and clean rooms, a locked front- and backdoor, he'd quit smoking - an environment not sterile but again, trigger-free… the only monster hiding in his closet.

Joe had started feeling it rearing its ugly head about a year ago. It must’ve been there a little longer than that but had kept itself well hidden away from prying eyes on nights spent with excruciatingly meticulous introspection and whenever Joe started thinking about it for a bit too long, it started pulling and tugging at him with long slender fingers, causing thoughts to drift into a twilight zone between dreaming and vivid fantasy.

Thought about being with you in a different way clawed their way up his spine to bite him into the neck that he felt the need to hang low in shame and silent atonement the days after. No matter how hard he tried to keep the images at bay, they came back swapping over, wrecking through him in gradually more grotesque variations until he either took care of it himself or decided to stand beneath an ice-cold shower until his muscles hurt.

Against better judgement, tonight was no different: The very moment Joe’s hypervigilant senses started drifting off into calmer waters, his body took over, shamelessly doubling down on letting him sense the warmth emitting from your body next to his, the apple-scented shampoo getting infiltrated by hints of sweat and that unique smell that clung to you and only you, that smell by which he could differentiate you between hundreds of people with his eyes blindfolded if he ever had to.

His teeth drilled themselves into the sensitive tissue on the inside of his cheek as you inched closer, getting comfortable in your sleep. He wanted to, everything within yearned and yelled at him to, but there was no way he’d allow himself to just pull you against him. It always started off innocent, the tantalizing idea of placing a few tender kisses into the crook of your neck slithering into his mind to get a foot into the door for what was about to follow.

Just tiny little bits of affection that carried a different flavour to test the waters and see if you’d like it, if you’d shove yourself closer in a nonverbal plea for more. A tainted rush of inevitable arousal gathered at the pit of his stomach, disgust and shame turning it to twist in every possible direction at the very same time. The hand he held resting against your front threatened to twitch as the touch, separated by soft fabric, turned to feel like his entire palm was set on fire. It was nonsense, yet Joe was genuinely afraid of burning you with the flames that were eating away at him again.

He’d do whatever you wanted him to - tear the whole city down and leave nothing but scorched earth and dying embers - just to know you with him until the end of days, however, simultaneously, this closed-off and eternally muzzled part of him wanted nothing more than to ravage you in every way possible, eat you alive and swallow whole.

Joe could very well see it play out behind closed eyes, the wretched fantasy of him letting fingers dip down south, maybe letting them slip past the loose waistband of your pyjama shorts or perhaps just sneaking along the curves of your things along the fuzzy cloth; intricacies he usually switched and played with when he found himself alone in the dark and not with your shoulders flush to his chest that was struggling to keep his hammering heart contained.

His body betrayed him and for a brief moment he caught himself begging to gods he didn’t believe in that you were sleeping soundly enough that all of this went straight past you; not even the embarrassment crushing through him like a tide enough to kill the throbbing erection straining against his sweatpants. Maybe he should just castrate himself to make it all stop, to be able to be with you without being that looming black shadow you weren’t even aware of.

You were too good for this, too good for someone with such a crippled soul. No, you should go out there and meet someone your age, fall in love, have silly coffee shop and cinema dates instead of spending every damn day in the nimbus of memories in a house that must reek of past trauma no matter how hard the both of you tried to brush it under the rug.

Perhaps it was time for Joe to suggest looking for a flat, a place you could fully call your own. He doubled down on the thought to punish himself for being just another man.

[nanabrainrot]

can i please request jealousy hcs for joe from "you were never really here"? i haven't been normal about this man for a day in my life and i don't plan to start either✊😔 love your work, mwah

YESSS I rewatched n I was like “this man def fucks u over the sink when ur coming out for ur midnight piss” like hes plaguing me.

Jealousy and Joe Headcanons

(the V TAPER IN THIS PIC IM SLIDING DOWN THE WALLLLL)

He’s so silent treatment coded.

He knows the kind of attention that’s inevitable when you have a pretty girl, even worse when they’re sociable and friendly - the man cannot hold a conversation like a normal person unlike you (because he just isn’t a normal person).

It’s so hard for him to understand that you’re just nice without ulterior motives, but he isn’t confident that others have good intentions. His line of work keeps that in the back of his head. He can’t separate the cruelty of humanity with the kindness he only sees in you.

The last thing he wants is for you to see him be aggressive. He would rather bite his tongue in every instance to avoid confrontation. When he considers getting involved he just… looms.

The way your eyes gravitate to behind who you’re talking to and they meet Joe hovering over you two usually makes them greet him nervously, they can tell you two are close by the way you smile at him all tender.

He’s silent there and he’s silent at home. It’s just who he is; brewing on what he wants to say and not wanting to say it unless it’s perfectly phrased. It never is.

So he looms in the kitchen quiet, only grunting in affirmation or rejection. You notice that but remain quiet and tread carefully to brighten his mood; you really love the conversation with people in passing. They don’t mean anything just because your pals happen to be men here and there. He just can’t quit the thought that every man wants you as lewdly as he does. Every man must want you and eat you with his eyes.

Silent brushing your teeth, silent in the shower, silent crawling into bed. He turns his back to you. Brooding all boyish despite the age in his face screaming man.

You reach out, tracing the tattoo on him: a perfect circle. He tenses, breath hitching.

You coo, a breath beneath the hum of the fan and the re-run of I Love Lucy playing for white noise: “You’re the only man I love Joey baby.”

It’s 2am when he’s presses that warm kiss to your forehead and his muscles relax. He hums an apology into your hair. You don’t need to overcomplicate the way you say it. Just let him huff in that moment.

RAAAA I need to watch some more joaquin I rewatched gladiator im gonna write sum commodus but phoenix babies come hither hes back up hes so up rn

[amazingfuckingamy]

You Were Never Really Here (2017) dir. Lynne Ramsay // The Leftovers "The Book of Kevin" (2017) dir. Mimi Leder

[skoulsons]

We can go wherever you want. Where do you want to go?

I don’t know.

thanks @shinhatism for recommending this movie to me! <3 love to feed that brainrot

[seal-writes-stuff]

Dating Headcanons – Joe (“YWNRH”)

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: mentions of abuse, mental health struggles (PTSD)

Summary: All in the title

A/N: Hey guys! Wanted to write some general headcanons while I’m working on a longer fic. Because God, I love Joe so much it’s crazy, he deserves everything. Hope you enjoy!

Your relationship starts out slowly, and I mean slowly. Truth is, Joe knew that he'd be in love with you since the moment you've met and it terrifies him. For the longest time, it's been one of Joe's many deep-seated beliefs that he's completely unlovable. Or that even if he somehow isn't, that it's too much of a liability to love him anyway. It's always on his mind: suffocating, ever present.

He can't save anybody. He can't stop anybody from being hurt. Worse, he can't even let anyone in, can't share this burden that's been there all his life - it's something he has to carry on his own.

So when you get into the picture, Joe gets... Cautious. You're such a warm presence in his life, so lovely, so... Fragile. What if something happened to you? What if something happened to you because of him? Joe would never be able to forgive himself, so he keeps his distance at first. He's quiet and reserved, he doesn't talk much, he barely touches you when you go out at first; it gets to the point where you start to question if he even likes you. But at the end of the day you know he does, because Joe always comes back to you no matter what, over and over again.

You stay. You stay right there with him, and when Joe finally confesses to all of the feelings that are eating at him, you're devastated and horrified - but you still stay. You tell him how you're okay with that, how the pain would be worth it if it meant knowing him. It's the kind of strong, healthy love Joe isn't used to, and that's exactly what makes him realize he wants to be by your side, always.

Joe rarely talks about his past, or his present, for that matter – he opens up very slowly. Deep down, although he has trouble verbalizing it, he still thinks that he somehow deserved all of the abuse and tragedy that happened in his life. He also has a vague understanding of how irrational it is, how horrifying it would sound said out loud, so he keeps quiet. You're ready to listen no matter how much or little he reveals; you always, always insist that he's a good person and none of it was his fault. Joe tries his hardest to believe it.

It takes lot of time, trust and deep late night conversations before Joe tells you what he does for a living. He knows how much you love him and that’s exactly what makes him hold back: the thought of you getting scared or seeing him differently once you know the truth. But, despite every reason he can think of, you simply don’t. You’re worried for him, as a lover would be, but that’s it. Joe doesn’t know what he did right in life to deserve you; you know he’s never had to deserve you in the first place.  

Joe doesn’t expect you to wait for him when he comes back from his jobs, but he feels incredibly loved when you do. You sacrifice your sleep simply because you want to see him? It’s so wonderful and so unfamiliar to him. It’s a promise of a better future.

His main form of love? Definitely acts of service. You need something fixed in the house? He's on it. Hard day at work? He's already running you a bath so you can relax. You need a ride for any reason? He’s going to pick you up, no questions asked. It makes Joe feel nice, knowing that he makes your life a little better. If only he knew how much.

He’s a great listener. Had a shitty day at work? He's here to comfort you. Saw a new movie that's absolutely great and Joe just has to see it? He's here to hear you gush about it. Joe isn’t much of a talker by nature and he deeply appreciates when you share these things with him. After all, they’re what makes you, well, you.

He loves when you steal his clothes. The first time it happened on accident - you've decided to spend the night at his place and hey, you weren’t going to stay in your work outfit all night, right? But later on it happens again and again, and Joe can’t find it in himself to stop you. Even if it’s just clothes, it’s one of the little ways he can share his life with you, can imagine you thinking about him when you wear it. The thought alone feels very comforting.

This man yearns for physical contact so much it's insane, even the lightest of your touches are everything to him. A quick brush of your fingertips against his upper arm, sweet kisses you press to the top of his head just because you feel like it, gentle hugs from behind while he's washing the dishes... After a lifetime of cruelty, all of this feels so sweet and intimate to him. Still, he can’t bring himself to outright ask you for it sometimes; as much as Joe craves this affection, this love you grant him so generously and without a second thought, the shame and fear of rejection are simply too strong. It's a good thing he doesn't need to ask.

Joe has never given his body much thought before, so seeing you so openly, unashamedly in love with it is new for him, in the best way possible. How you steal warm, lovesick glances every time you can, how you trace his scars absentmindedly when you cuddle, how you trail quick, desperate kisses down his neck and onto his collarbone... Joe didn’t think anything could ever make him blush this hard, yet here you are. He can't get enough of you.

Of course, there are still bad days. Days when Joe can't be present, no matter how much he tries. The flashbacks get too real, the negative feelings get too strong and everything just seems... Hopeless. He fully expects you to go, he wouldn't hold it against you - and yet you never do. You’re always right there: talking to him, comforting him to the best of your abilities or just quietly staying by his side, fully content to go through this pain with him. Joe can’t say why you're doing that to yourself. He knows that you love him, it’s the one thing he never doubts, but he sure doesn’t feel like he deserves this much effort. He’d never take it for granted either.

Your home is the only place where he feels truly at peace: Joe can't help but be on high alert whenever the two of you are out, always fearing something might happen, whatever that "something" might be. If it was up to him, Joe would spend the rest of his life cuddling with you in bed. His favorite pastime is doing something together or simply existing side by side while the both of you are busy with your own thing.  

You're the only person Joe feels safe enough to joke around and laugh with. He doesn't even notice how it happens: there's simply a day when he's finally happy, in a way he hasn't been in years. All of the pain he went through suddenly seems worth it if that’s what’s lead him to this, to you.

Like with most of his feelings, Joe keeps his jealousy to himself, even if it’s eating him up inside. He knows you wouldn't betray him like that, never - but even then, Joe has to all but physically restrict the part of his brain that keeps him in a horrible loop of overthinking. Because of course you would leave. It's weird that you didn't leave already. What's keeping you here anyway? It must be impossibly hard to deal with him, he would know. Breaking this pattern is a long and hard process, but Joe tries.

Speaking of trying, Joe takes his first steps at healing with you. A while ago he's made a sort of twisted peace with himself, accepting that there's no hope for him - that he's broken and there's no fixing it. Yet knowing how much you care makes Joe feel like getting help is at least worth a try. Convincing himself to do it for him is hard and exhausting, near impossible at times. Convincing himself to do it for you is easy and natural as taking a breath.

At the end of the day, Joe may seem gruff and intimidating on the outside, but he loves you more than anything. You're his reason to keep going. Joe has spent so much of his life seeing the worst of humanity, but knowing you, being with you makes him feel… Hopeful. It makes him feel like he can have a future, a future that seemed like an unreachable dream before. As long as you’re by his side, life is worth it – and as long as he’s by your side, life is wonderful and sweet.

[beeblackburn]

Top 5 favourite films?

Thank you, @hiddenlookingglass!

Before I continue, I have to give the obvious caveat that I haven't watched a ton of films, relatively speaking. I think most of these films were watched last year alone. And, making this list, I have to give honorable mentions, because, fuck me, originally this list was seven entries and, short of cheating this ask to write out top seven or ten, it was never going to happen without title-dropping the runner-ups, so here goes:

You Were Never Really Here: Take the premise of John Wick, drain it of all the orchestra and slickness, ground it in broken people, scarred by violence in childhood to adulthood, and polish it off with some of the tightest film editing and sound design in the industry, and you get my unquestionably favorite anti-violence film.

The Final Exit of the Disciples of Ascenscia: A lovely and tragic indie gem of an animated film about a cult, one that finally clicked the appeal of them without diminishing their harm, and one that breaks me in touching on my own questions of loneliness... and whether being in an unhealthy dynamic is better than being alone.

Paddington: The second one is undeniably an even better film, but this one's rain scenes and leisurely narrative feels cozier to me. Whenever I feel like complete dogshit, I rewatch this, because Paddington's charm and earnestness winning over the Browns before realizing he found his family and home with them is hrrgh.

The Green Knight: A visually sumptuous banquet of the senses, trippy and wondrous in how it depicts Gawain's knightly trials, with moral and literary themes that scratch my itches and a fantastic leading actor who carries the film, complete with an ending that brings it all home, landing with such an earned emotional punch.

The Witch: Eggers' mastery at inhabiting the psychological reality of his time periods is impeccable, and it all started with this horror tale of a family plagued by the supernatural outside their walls... and religious anguish and Puritan misogyny among its members. Paired with a hell of an ending and arresting last shot? Delicious.

And, now, onto the proper top five!

1. Everything Everywhere All at Once

Look, is the script overstuffed with exposition about how the multiverse works? Yes. Is it ultimately narratively unwieldly, even faking us out with a false climax, and increasingly uneven to the end? Yes. Are some of the jokes pretty juvenile in the "haha, dildos are funny" realm? Yes. Could it have been more queer? Yes. Is the conclusion a little too tidy and pat, especially for my Chinese childhood abused-ass? Yes, yes, yes. There are definitely fair criticisms that I can agree to, but...

Every time I revisit this film, it wrecks me a whole another way. I never escape this film emotionally unscathed, I philosophically and morally match to it like an alternate version of me jumped into my mind, slipped into my flesh. There are at least five scenes in it that crack me open like a chestnut and I'm left a blubbering mess and astonished at how it manages to tie together all the chaos at the end in such believable catharsis that I can still buy into.

It's still an amazingly-acted film that allows for a rough, unpleasant, and embittered middle-aged female protagonist to lead the events, quite a few ladies dictate and command the plot, and manages to juggle a ton of disparate tones, balancing genuine pathos with bathos, and emotional weight undergirding every bit of silliness and goofy concepts it throws at you. It's still a multiversal familial drama that, at the heart of it, is centered around the experience of what if our first-generation immigrant parents made different choices, that failure can be its own positive experience in a lifetime full of not living up to your parents-demanded potential, and that, in depressive ennui, loneliness, and intense nihilism, all we can do is love, embrace what little joys our speck of lives get, and be there for each other. That, despite the material hardships and pain of a life, our connections still matter enough to keep at it.

It throws the totality of everything beyond the universe at our minds and senses, even down to "talking" rocks and sausage-fingers people, calling to the sheer information overload that most everyone in 2022 felt keenly, acknowledging that it can be such a burden that threatens to hollow us out with existential indifference... and earnestly makes its own case against that. If nothing matters, if all we do and are is worthless in the grander scope of the universe, then these moments we're facing right now, the people in our lives, they matter.

We're not built to attend to everything everywhere all at once. We'll always feel the whisper of what-ifs, the weight of different paths not taken. We might even be useless alone. All we can really do, in the end, is be there for these moments and people around our present. I can't help, but cherish this film on those grounds, but it offered such an awe-inspiring, emotionally resonant experience that it jumps up to my favorite as a result.

2. Pig

How has this masterpiece of a debut, depicting grief, human connection, the heart and art being hollowed by loss and commercial concerns, and masculine vulnerability with such finesse, flown under the radar, nor been nominated for any major accolades? I'm genuinely asking, because, aside from maybe one particular scene that tries to fake us out into thinking it'll become a more conventional John Wickesque revenge thriller, I don't see any crucial flaws that wouldn't warrant it in the discussion as one of 2021's best films. If you haven't yet, treat yourself to one of the best films I've watched.

I watched one of its mid-section scenes, that speech, you know the one if you've watched it, on its own, and wept at the power of its acting, dialogue, and direction by itself. The fact that I still broke down, despite primed, when watching it in the context of the full film should tell you how good Sarnoski's hands are at his first try as director. He brings an intimacy and restraint to the camera in capturing the events in the film, often situating his central characters against the wider scope of his landscapes and environments through a wider lens, showing them as small people against the greater beasts of being scored by grief and loneliness.

Though, given I brought up John Wick, one facet these two share, despite the bait-and-switch of premise, is that almost every character, no matter how minor, has a personality and some texture of history with the protagonist, by direction or sheer acting. Sarnoski just trusts us to infer the weight of history between our characters and, if you want to know how well that approach turns out, Cage's performance should be the clear-cut sign. If you have any doubts of how good Nicholas Cage could be, and trust me, I had a few, this is easily his subtlest, most restrained performance. No signs of a Cage hamfest, this is him at his best and minutely controlled, portraying a stoic man whose hardened demeanor and lack of social graces belies a painful past and years spent in intentional human disconnect.

And how we disconnect from other people bleeds into this narrative, permeates like an unspoken wound that won't scar and heal without proper treatment. Our central characters are haunted by ghosts in the narrative, unable to process what they've lost or reach out to others, for fear of surrendering to the totality of pain from that absence. But there's also disconnect from retreating to what others want, never showing ourselves and only what's acceptable to our social peers, our patrons, or our families, and it costs us piece-by-piece until there's slowly nothing left of us.

And it ends up on an unexpected climax and such a gentle note about masculinity, about how men suffer in trying to bear their griefs stoically, instead of permitting a chink of vulnerability. I dare not spoil more, you have to see it for yourself in how it succeeds in defining its own terms for masculinity and how much emotion cracks through the narrative. It's a film that divulges into the nature of art and food, and how they can bring forth an invitation of connection to others, and it deserves so much consideration and attention, given how much of a powerhouse it is.

3. A Ghost Story

Oh, this sleeper hit of heartache. I knew, going in, that the ending scene would cut to the emotional bone, having checked it out in a clip before, but the knife this slid between my ribs was unexpected in its depth and sharpness, especially given when I watched it. This was after I watched both Pig and The Green Knight, both stellar, emotional films, and while I think Lowery's later work there is better put-together in both pacing and visuals (A Ghost Story absolutely has scenes that drag, and I genuinely think one in particular suffered from overstaying its moment and not fitting Lowery's strengths as a visual/atmospheric director), this touched me so much more in its statement of grief and time.

I've watched enough films to get a decent grasp on my tastes, and its meandering, contemplative, more mundane fares that let scenes breathe in their silence without a quippy aside. This one suffused me in its haunting, contemplative atmosphere from the halfway point, lingering onwards and well after it ended. Lowery's direction is grounded in its intimacy, choosing to focus long stretches on mundanities other directors would've skipped past, as if to say these small moments, daily and common as they are, are what's most important in the grand scope of life and what we focus on, despite the vastness on time upon us all.

And the time spent during grief is where the film guts me in its first half. Going from cozier domesticity, full of lived-in marital discussions and intimacies, to the tangle of strangers sorting through the post-death ceremonies and the silences in the griever's life, booming from the absence of their beloved. Those long, uninterrupted shots, from then on, serve to point out how life persists after our bereavements. There is such attention and empathy to the camera, in how the director wants to show how people cope with grief, how it dogs our every movement, weighs down our limbs, loosens out the tears inside, and make us focus our energies on such simple things like eating food in the dark, to fill the hole our losses leave behind.

But if some trace of us survive as ghosts, upon death, then loss cuts both ways, and it's here that this film truly unmakes me in how it handles grief and remembrance on the ethereal side. Using ghosts as a speculative vehicle, it invites us to see how differently they experience the passage of time, as these beings are temporally untethered, but stay geographically tethered to a particular land. There's such a bitter loneliness to their existences, how being unravaged by time means they are unable to grieve being left alone themselves, they cannot move on by the temporal march by itself.

It's a beautiful, tender film, where centuries can pass by in the blink of a transition, but tiny affections take up whole minutes. A quiet narrative where snapshots of marriage and the tolls of grief take up uninterrupted stretches, letting them sit inside us and linger. A poignant story that ponders, sincerely, if something, anything survives of us after we are gone from this earth, or if we are doomed to have our impact on this mortal plane swept aside and forgotten after we pass away and time moves on from us.

4. The Last Duel

I have a confession: this is my first and, so far, only Ridley Scott joint for various reasons. I don't love R-rated films, I easily get squeamish over live-action gore, and his biggest film and the one most people remember him by was Alien, which wasn't The Thing graphic, but definitely still above my comfort level! So I never touched him for a decade and a half. Now, later, I watched some of the earlier grisly parts of Game of Thrones and found out he directed plenty of period dramas, which was more my speed, and I got the opportunity to check his The Last Duel out with a group viewing. Now, given that preamble, imagine how I felt at its opening scene: a slow-burn of an opening with a lady being dressed before a duel between two men, shot in the same way they are being armored, as if she bears her life as well on the line, and bears witness to two knights charging at each other, before they converge, both hoping to break bones and shed blood.

That, and the subsequent Battle of Limoges, would absolutely impressed onto me that holy shit, Scott directs action in two minutes unquestionably better than some directors do in entire films. He portrays the inherent viciousness, filth, and ferocity of battle in a way that immediately clicked to me as a fan of Joe Abercrombie and a lesser one of Miles Cameron. And armor matters! But that, by itself, wouldn't have made for a favorite of mine. No, it's how this is a proper medieval legal drama with three central, compelling characters at its heart, each explored through a Rashomon-style framing device, and a heartbreakingly timeless message of what a rape victim's choices are in the patriarchy. Does it have its flaws? A few admittedly key ones of editing and dialogue that give away its directorial intent, but nothing so critical to weigh it down from its vaulted highs.

What's amazing about this film, and one of the key things I respect about it as someone who wants to write in that age, is how much, for the majority of its narrative, it is grounded in its medieval realities without turning its characters into anachronic mouthpieces. It has a showcase of warriors scarred and visually worn down by the wars they waged, discusses how the Black Death affected medieval economics and taxes, deals with betrothals and the dowries involved, and how waning wartime fortunes in a lord can sour the pot there, and the turmoil of marriage life, especially how reproductive knowledge intersected with beliefs about rape and love at the time. It admirably enmeshes itself so utterly in the culture of that age, that it's depressing to consider just how much patriarchal culture hasn't changed since then.

And how it divulges into patriarchal culture with nuance, and how women become victimized by it, is so key to making the proceeding duel all the more impactful. Because, as the framing device shows, these men don't come from a vacuum of their medieval culture, their egos and entitlements and self-justifications were shaped by their sexual circumstances and chivalric tales, and there are countless others like them who've done just as bad, if not worse, to others. It's why, even before the duel's outcome is set in stone, the crushing truth of the matter is... no matter the result, at least one individual dies, but the patriarchal apparatus stands, grinding up women in the future as it did the one witnessing the duel.

It's unflinching in its depiction of medieval culture, it's brutal in its violence, both warfare and sexual, and it demands an expectation of ambiguity in the character psychologies and gives no easy answers on how to deal with the patriarchy, especially when, as a lady of the time, you were dependent on the men who uphold it, at the mercy of their actions for your justice. It's why the last third is so harrowing: before the duel, before the trial, even before the incident, countless women went through similar horrors without the spectacle of public scrutiny. The final emotional context leaches the initial excitement when we return to the opening, leaving behind only cold understanding and terrible tension, no matter how much thrilling combat clashes and clangs in the winter air. It's my favorite period drama so far, and I don't expect it to be beat anytime soon.

5. The Secret of Nimh

Another confession: I didn't watch this, front to back, until the 30th Anniversary screening at my local Cineplex theater last year. Not that I didn't love what I saw in clips and pictures, but when the full film was on Youtube when I was in my teens, I neglected to watch it all the way, then it got taken down for a long while. There were other animated films and I didn't relish checking it out in separated clips. So, I knew a bit of what to expect, but boy, this whole film on the big screen was a greater feast for the eyes than any recent Pixar film I checked out. Does it have its problems? Yes, it's definitely narratively uneven, even rushed at times. I do wish some characters got more fleshed out and more time was given to the runtime, as a result. And I can 100% get the criticism of that climax resolution being a deus ex machina, even if I don't agree with it.

But, also, it's fucking The Secret of Nimh. Every frame here feels like it was downloaded from my mind, every sketchy bit of animated linework like it was distilled from my meaty head pulp. Its gothic and dark sci-fi aesthetics are unimpeachable to me, no other animated film comes close to approaching how much I viscerally crave their visual trappings. Say what you will about Bluth, and I certainly have my opinions about his stinkers, but even in them, the man and his team can draw up gorgeous, magical backgrounds and artistry. They're fascinating, lovingly animated and/or goddamn horny messes, bless them. You get a consistent grainy sort of texture in the linework, in the animation models themselves, that I can't help, but always adore with my eyes, hitting a sweet spot with me in this particular feature animation of his.

Even through the more childish trappings like Jeremy and the simplicity of the quest structure, how it balances those with its more heady themes always intrigues me further as an adult, like how we'll uplift our lesser animals before disregarding them, leaving them with the alienation and consequences of those experiments, and how the arrogance and selfishness of humanity manifests in our creations as a result. There's also bits of understated worldbuilding one catches better as an adult, like the fact that the non-Nimh associated female animals have no first names and are surname-defined by species (Auntie Shrew) or by male partner (Mrs. Brisby), suggesting a patriarchal ecological system. And, even before all that, the poignancy of a mother's quest to suck in her fears to protect and save her child from death only enriches with age.

None of this would hit as well, if not for the characters, even the supporting cast being animated to give them such fluid energy and expressive body language in the best of Bluth fashion. Most are dimensional enough in script to make the overall cast a cut above the typical animated fare, even the one-offs or the minor ones that appear in one scene or two. But the crown that completes the jewel of this production is the lead herself, Mrs. Brisby. She's easily one of the best, if not straight-up so, animated protagonists ever. Female leads weren't unknown back then, but mother leads? Almost unheard of, back then. And a huge part of that best status, what cements her place as such is that she's vulnerable throughout the movie. She's just a small mouse in a world full of giants and monsters, and she never fails to be scared at the vastness of the obstacles in her path. Yet, she doesn't whine, nor cower when the chips are down. By all accounts, her storied husband should've been the hero here, carrying out this mission to help cure his child... but he's gone, and Mrs. Brisby has to rise up to the occasion, stir up her courage to go on this sprawling quest, face down horrors and ancients again and again, all for her child. No one expected this of her, and she's always fearful every step of the way, but her conduct always reminds me of the GRRM quote, that being afraid "is the only time a man can be brave," which Mrs. Brisby demonstrates so much, with such earnest vulnerability.

The Secret of Nimh is a lot of things. It's a story about the vastness of the world as a little person in it through the perspective of a mouse, with horrors and monsters beyond your comprehension and understanding. It's a cautionary tale about human hubris towards nature and how our creations risk being condemned by the same flaws we ourselves succumb to. It's a three-way struggle between nature, science, and the unknown beyond our knowing grasp. It's a beautiful series of nature and grotesque sci-fi backgrounds and animation work, through some of the most expressive body language, facial emotions, and voice acting with talking animals, worthy of being Disney's creative challenge at the time, and especially now. It's a dreamy fairy tale narrative, where the hero must undertake a quest for a reward at the end, except this protagonist dwells in the shadow of the hero that should've been. Deep down, at its very beating heart, it's a mother journeying to the ends of her earth to protect and save her child, with fierce fear and clear courage. It's my favorite animated film.

[karlamon]

Goodbye Twitter...

(Song: "Tree Strings" by Jonny Greenwood, from You Were Never Really Here)

[whosthatknocking]

You Were Never Really Here (2017), dir. Lynne Ramsay

[crowfilmz]

You Were Never Really Here (2017)

[mydarkapron]

◤ YOU WERE NEVER REALLY HERE, 2017

╳ Lynne Ramsey

[harrison-abbott]

The scene where Joe lies on the floor by his agent and starts singing was improvised by Joaquin Phoenix.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Scar Tissue III

Summary: Home, that place didn’t exist anymore, for he so generously had trashed it all by giving in to something he should’ve never admitted.

Pairing: Joe x afab!Reader

Word Count: ~4.3k

Content Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, Angst, Very Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Ideation, Trauma Flashbacks, Explicit Mentions Of Self-Harming Behaviour, The Amount Of Heartbreak In Here…, Mental Instability, Self-Loathing, Eventual Smut, Unprotected Intercourse, Face Sitting, Tongue Fucking, Cum Eating, Sprinkles Of Masochism <3

A/N: Made myself cry a few times writing this. Well, this and horny.

Tagging: @crimsonkingart @asmo-d3us @somepallings

Find Part 1 and Part 2 here!

I want to roll the numbers

I want to feel my stars align again

Even if the earth breaks like burnt skin

And the heavens just won't open up for me

Would you invite me in again?

Won't you pay for your arrogance?

Won't you show me your weakness?

- Blood Sport By Sleep Token

Icy cold water splashed around Joe’s ankles in little waves, the krass contrast of temperature, however, not helping in the attempt to ground him. His dry eyes stared off into the distance as his head was heavy with endless convolution. He’d stopped blinking about 5 minutes ago, and his lower lashline had begun burning and stinging. Joe didn’t care - couldn't bring himself to do so because every time he closed his eyes for just the most minuscule of moments all he saw was you, halfway naked in front of him, blue and purple spots on your thigh that his fingers had left. It didn’t matter how many times Joe told himself that there had been no ill intent behind it, all he could do was suffocate on his own shame of having lost himself like that.

He’d soiled you, tainted you with the darkness inside of him he had tried to keep you away from at all costs. He had failed. That’s all Joe was right now - a failure.

You’d insist that he didn’t hurt you, he could already hear the words falling from your lips to calm him but Joe knew that it would’ve been all lies, manufactured to coddle him in his wrong-doings. He held his breath, his chest rising but not falling as he imagined a plastic bag around his head. He’d done it so many times that the feeling of tape around his neck came to him like the phantom pain of a missing limb.

His lungs started burning just like everything else within, the prolonged lack of oxygen turning him dizzy and light-headed, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes before the instinct of self-preservation kicked in eventually, forcing him to exhale and gasp for air.

“Can’t even kill yourself.” He spat the snide remark at himself, the hatred of his father oozing from every syllable spoken.

“Fucking tool. Ruin everything you touch.” The ex-marine raised his hand, the entire palm landing right on his cheek as he slapped himself, dull eyes still focused on a far-off point somewhere along the waterline.

“You can’t manage to drown yourself. You fail at suffocation. Next time you better tie a boulder to yourself just to make sure.” Another harsh smack followed suit, his skin starting to redden with the impact.

Joe’s phone started buzzing in the pocket of his washed-out jeans, the sudden vibrating sensation briefly snapping him out of it and he felt his stomach dropping. He didn’t need to look to know that it was you calling for the 7th time now - he’d picked up none of your attempts to contact him. Joe simply couldn’t even bear the thought of hearing your voice just now, being gentle with him, loving him, telling him to come home.

Home, that place didn’t exist anymore for he so generously had trashed it all by giving in to something he should’ve never admitted. He could’ve loved you quietly, from afar. He had been meant to be your protector and not just another predator.

You tossed your phone back onto the mattress, teeth grinding down onto your bottom lip as your other hand pressed a pillow against your stomach trying to comfort yourself somehow. A violent amalgamation of hurt, worry and nagging embarrassment dragged you down with every heartbeat pumping the cocktail of adrenaline and hormones through your system; it was as if you could actually feel every nerve ending vibrating and contorting when a new wave of shame hit you and knocked the air from your lungs.

What the fuck had you been thinking? Calling him Daddy whilst he’d fucked you. You bent over and bit into your fist to survive the brutal pang of embarrassment erupting in your chest.

How did that even happen? An inside thought having slipped out into the open and now wreaking havoc throughout every room, trickling down the wallpaper and seeping into the cracks. There was nothing to ever make it unsaid and unheard again. This was something that had happened and you felt like tearing your tongue out simply for the sake of it never happening again.

The anxiety enraptured your every movement as you fought to get up from your bed, hellbent on getting yourself a glass of water or just something that would help you pretend to be a normal, put-together person right now.

The stairs beneath your feet creaked with each step downward, the noise echoing through the hallway - no Joe peeking around the corner or sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. The entire house was dead silent and hardly anything had been moved. The two glasses still filled with remnants of amber-coloured Tequila, the tablecloth still all crumpled, half of it hanging from the table and yesterday’s newspaper on the floor.

The little bunch of paper caught your attention as you stepped into the kitchen and you picked it up, sifting through the pages until your eyes darted right down and what Joe had been circling so adamantly with highlighter over the last breakfast you had shared, smiling and laughing with each other before you had ripped the floor from underneath not only your but also Joe’s feet as well.

Your face dropped as the realisation started to settle. He'd been circling listings...flat listings for small apartments, perfectly suitable to house an adult but not exactly more than that.

Before you even knew what was happening to you, heavy tears trickled over the curve of your cheeks and down onto the paper soaking a dark stain into it.

Had Joe been meaning to get you out of here? To gently let you down and tell you that it was time?

You crushed the dampening paper in your fist and tossed it to the side, the suddenly boiling-up anger overpowering everything else, helping you decide that Joe could get fucked if he wasn’t picking your calls and apparently collecting flat listings to let you go and lead your own life - something you already very much did, just with him in it.

However, what you didn’t anticipate was for the silence to grow into an all-consuming quiet, even after Joe eventually returned home, the fabric of his pants soaked up to his knees that afternoon, the ever-lingering aura of shame so heavy that it pulled his gaze to fall to the floor the second you stood in front of each other. Joe wouldn’t dare look at you, talk to you or acknowledge your presence in whatever way shape or form not only for one painful afternoon but entire days.

At first, you still tried to get him to interact with you, tried stringing up a conversation and for there to be more than the bare necessities of “Food is ready.” and “What do we need from the grocery store?” but with time, you turned into the ghost living in his house and the worry turned into a bottomless pit of hurt that you kept tumbling down from the moment you opened your eyes.

The night terrors you had to soothe yourself now - you had tried knocking more than once but Joe went as far as plainly locking the door now. He shut himself off and away from you, sometimes it was painfully obvious in the form of a locked door and other times it was a sticky note proclaiming that he’s already eaten and the rest was on the stove.

With every day that passed and eventually grew into a whole week, the pressure grew and rendered the atmosphere tense, waiting for a single spark to fly and blow it all up like a gas leak. You couldn’t grasp it, none of it. How Joe had been able to go from proclaiming his love for you to butchering it out in the open for you to spectate on how he slaughtered and severed every tie little by little. There was nothing you could do against it, you could only watch as Joe turned more reclusive by the day. You’d never seen Joe like this, so apathetic and cold, and you could tell by the growing darkness around his eyes that he wasn’t well. Something within him was going so horrifically sideways that a part of you stopped feeling safe around him, causing you to avoid him as he avoided you.

Joe appeared to be drenched in misery, dragging a trail after himself wherever he went. He seemed erratic, itching over something you couldn’t put your finger on, yet, you hid yourself away, not wanting to be in the same room with him when he’d trip and explode eventually.

Nevertheless, not the hiding and no amount of pillows pressed over your ears could save you from hearing it happening in the dead of the night. Doors were slammed, something got thrown and broke, Joe roared through the kitchen and just the soundscape alone had you whimpering by the time you’d managed to lock your door and crawl underneath your bed frame, a trembling body wrapped around your stuffed teddy bear.

The cacophony of terror raged on for what appeared to be forever and you forced yourself not to imagine how things looked downstairs. After the noise had calmed down the silence was almost deafening to your ringing ears.

Wooden doorsteps remained quiet, not telling about Joe slowly stepping up, arms hanging from his body like something that didn’t belong to him anymore, the skin around his forearms irritated and throbbing with dull pain from having hit himself against everything hard enough to not immediately collapse on impact, bruises already forming rapidly.

You flinched at the sound of him knocking, cowering under your bed like a threatened animal.

“Can we talk?” His voice was coarse and rough yet quiet.

“Please, I know...I- I am sorry.” Judging from the dull sound, Joe leaned his forehead against your door and one half of you was ready to rush to the door whilst the other remained frozen in your spot, blood thundering through your ears with every quickened heartbeat.

“I know I have no right to ask this of you, but please let me talk to you.” The desperation and hurt in his tone caused your chest to constrict and ache, the sensation coaxing you out from underneath the bed.

The clicking of the little key inside the lock made your jaws clench, your stomach feeling like it dropped endlessly until you finally wrapped a shaky hand around the knob and pulled the door open.

“Joe…” You managed to work out of yourself before your mouth dropped agape and every other exclamation died right with it.

He’d worn himself out like a rabid animal, eyes circled with obvious sleep deprivation and the sleeves of his hoodie partially spotted with darker dots where blood had soaked into the thick fabric.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Exhaustion oozed out of his every pore and you couldn’t help but lean in and wrap yourself around him in a painfully overdue embrace.

“What the fuck is going on here?” The words were nearly inaudible because of the way you shoved your face into his chest, fingers clawing and pulling at the soft cloth that engulfed you in his smell.

“First you fuck me then you pretend like I was never really here, nothing but a shadow in your closet, and what were those fucking apartment listings?!” Everything just bubbled out of you after it had been boiling and soaking for a whole week.

“The listings? Oh, fuck. I'm sorry.” Joe didn't resist against you pawing and pulling at him and he wasn't oblivious to the desperation in your motions either - he'd messed you up not once but twice.

“What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?!” The way you raised your breaking voice so suddenly, had him flinching briefly.

He looked down, his tired gaze meeting your widened eyes, the expression in them overflowing with questions yet to be uttered.

He was on the brink of shrugging it off, discarding the rampant self-mutilation just like he always did because he had unlearned to actually care about himself a long time ago.

“Joe…” You pushed, hands working their way underneath the hoodie to search for themselves, the pads of your fingertips ghosting over heated spots, blood flowing to the violated parts to initiate a healing process that would take weeks.

For a very faint moment, you pondered pressing down onto it, to hear Joe groan out in pain because something inside of you craved him to be in equal amounts of pain that he'd put you into but the thought flitted away as fast as it had popped up and you certainly didn't bother to chase after it.

“I'm sorry.” The vulnerability in his tone squeezed the breath from your lungs and the fact that he couldn’t help but to repeat himself over and over tore you apart - anger crumbling into quickly dying embers as the screeching helplessness opened up a whole new pit to drown in.

“I don't know. You deserve better than this.” Joe blinked slowly, eyes glazing over with a watery sheen.

“Have you ever, just for a moment, considered that I simply don't want anything else than this?” Your hands settled at his sides, arms gently wrapped around him and unwilling to let go anytime soon.

“How can you want that?” The last word unmistakably aimed at himself, a quick little act of dehumanisation before you'd likely him pounce for it - perhaps that was what Joe pushed for, your rage as the final judgment: either scorching him until there was nothing left of the miserable creature or cleansing him enough to move on from this moment somewhere past 3am on a Tuesday night.

“Because I love you and no matter how hard you try, you’ll never silent-treatment that out of me. Ever. I’ve met you as blood was still dripping from your knuckles and yet I decided to stay with you because you’re the only person I trust on this godforsaken planet.” You looked up, watching how a faint gush of tears pooled and eventually pushed over Joe’s lash line, his bottom lip trembling dangerously; broken.

“I never wanted to push you away like that. I just can’t handle it, I don’t know what to do.” You felt yourself crumbling and succumbing on the inside whilst everything on the outside was hellbent on keeping Joe upright and grounded - you knew that you had to be the one stepping up this time and save the saver from himself.

“Then let me show you.” Your palms on his sides tugged at Joe, gently inviting him and pulling him over the threshold of the doorframe of your room, the place he never stepped foot in on his own accord, your safe haven and place of sovereign reign.

“What happened?” You asked anew, much calmer this time whilst slowly guiding him with you, one step after the other.

“Hit the kitchen counter.” The explanation was brief and didn't prepare you in any way shape or form for what you discovered after shoving at the fuzzy cloth of Joe’s hoody and him reluctantly taking the hint.

Your eyes widened as he peeled the fabric back and eventually over his head, casting it onto the floor. Already dark purple bruises covered his torso and forearms for the better part, thin cuts scattered above the hemmorraged skin, giving you an idea on how adamant Joe must’ve been to hit against the counter right on the harsh edge.

“Do you want to take care of that now?” Joe shook his head before you even finished the suggestion.

“Tomorrow…please.” He looked at his arms, consideration accompanied by a shallow sigh - something somewhere between indifference and plain disgust.

“Of course.” Your gentle fingers found his wrists, palming at them to carefully pull him closer again and he followed without resistance, coming close enough for you to feel the heat radiate off of him.

His ever vigilant eyes watched your every move, pupils widening every so slightly as they traced how you moved his forearm to your mouth for your lips to caress his brutalized skin with a wash of barely-even-there kisses. The brief contact of your soft lips against his wrist stung in a way that brought Joe to near immediate capitulation, the kind of sharp pain working its way through his nerves like a hairline fracture, corrupting his doubt and self-loathing promptly and instead stroking a masochism that had never been addressed by Joe; the thing just sitting in the corner of his mind and only being fed the scraps of Joe lashing out at himself every so often.

He groaned out under his breath as he felt the tip of your tongue darting out and wander long with the direction of one the plenty cuts, saliva thick and cold against torn skin. The sound made your stomach drop, the pang of it throbbing right between your legs - the emotional abyss living right next to whatever deep-rooted perversions your trauma had eventually gifted you with.

You felt the goosebumps on his skin, just like you felt him slipping off the edge together with you, hand in miserable hand and hungry hearts trashing in unison.

“Fuck.” Whatever spell you were casting upon him, he yielded, unable to fake nonexistent rejection any longer than he'd already done the past week.

It all crumbled into oblivion as the feeling of your generous caresses wrecked through his hurt and bruised body, chasing the soreness from exhausted muscles and instead filling him with an ache so delectable it rendered him pliant on the spot: He'd give you the world, all you'd have to do was ask.

In a slow motion, his unoccupied hand reached out, curious and eager fingers fumbling around the hem of your oversized sleeping shirt whilst Joe gleefully took notice that it was one of the old and washed out one's he'd given you after you'd pestered him about him for days. He bunched the fabric against his palm, gathering bit by bit until it was enough to pull at it with a firm jerk of his hand, making you nearly tumble against him, lips slipping as you swayed forward before they latched onto the crook of his neck, teeth grazing up his throat until you reached the edges of his roughly trimmed beard.

Both of you pushed and pulled at each other, hands clasping and pawing at whatever possible, only haphazardly agreeing on the direction as feet shuffled over the wooden tiles.

“Bed.” You underlined in a shallow breath, working yourself out of your shirt, the lonely remaining slip following suit shortly after.

The metal of Joe's belt hit the floor with a clunking sound as his pants hit the floor, only briefly missing the much softer rug.

There was no awkwardness in your movements this time, now you knew what you wanted and to go for it because nobody would take you by the hand and do it for you.

“Don't you ever do that to me again.” An unfamiliar but not unwelcome sense of assertiveness took hold of you as you pushed Joe back, his calves reaching the edge of your bed frame, the feeling signaling him to sit down and lay back.

You were with him again immediately after, straddling before he could roll over, making him exhale sharply as you simply sat yourself onto aching hips, your thighs pushing down on purple-spotted, hit skin.

“Uncomfortable?” Joe shook his head as tye question slipped from your lips in a gentle whisper, broad hand reaching out to press down onto your thigh and eventually on himself, the hallway self-inflicted wash of pain making him throb and twitch between your legs, the sensation giving you a headrush and an aching desire for more.

“Oh.” A grin grew around your mouth as you realised, finders reaching out to apply careful pressure to a fresh bruise right at his left rib cage.

“Good heavens.” Joe let his head fall against the duvet, teeth grinding down onto his bottom lip as a wretched jolt of equal parts unfamiliar vulnerability and pressing arousal thundered through him, causing him to arch and angle his waist, his palm still shoving at you, until he'd worked himself inside out you, filling you to the very hilt, the wet warmth of your oozing cunt and the delectable stings of alluring discomfort fogging his mind and swallowing every doubt whole.

There were not half-baked what ifs left as you started moving on top of him, you hips swaying in in slow motions and Joe gazed at your bare body in awe, glazed-over eyes exploring of faded scar tissue he'd only ever felt through the layer of fabric, the pressing want to kiss them pushing him back up.

A little gasped yelp rolled over your tongue as you watched him rise, pulling his torso up with his hands latched onto your things, any leftover doubt trickling out of him with every hitching breath. Joe's beard brushed against your stomach before his lips caressed the still somewhat rosy, newer, streaks scattered along your sternum and right breast.

It was obvious that he knew the kind of self-hatred that made you do those things to yourself just all too well: the shame turned disgust turned a muffling hellscape of numbness eating away at you from the inside out until it all came crashing down over you.

Joe felt the delicate skin against his mouth, leaving a tender trail of little kisses until his lips latched onto your pebbled nipple, coaxing a sudden moan out of your throat as he felt you clench down around him.

Joe couldn't grasp what in the everloving hell had haunted him this week - suicidal ideation over something that didn’t happen in the way his mind had twisted it to be.

If you didn't want this, didn’t want him and didn't want to be with him, you simply wouldn't be sitting on top of him with his lips suckling at your nipple, nibbling and playfully biting at it. It was as plain as that.

Joe hummed against your skin as he felt you press a kiss to his forehead, your arms wrapping around his neck to steady yourself, skin pressing against skin with every roll of your hips.

The pure amount of sensations overwhelmed Joe, took him by surprise and caused his whole body to tense up in an earth-shattering orgasm he didn't feel coming until it hit him.

You rode him through it, ass grinding into his lap as you revelled in the feeling of him unloading himself inside of you, filling you up with him.

“Hold on, hold-” Joe leaned back, his chest rising and falling with every breath, the exhales cooling down the traces of saliva he'd left around your nipple and you halted immediately.

“You okay?” Your brows furrowed as you looked down at him.

“Oh, yeah.” Gray eyes beamed back at you before his hands rushed from your thighs to slip underneath the curve of your ass, lifting you up with ease and guiding you with him until you towered over his face between your legs.

Joe held you up and in place, a cloudy amalgamation of himself and you trucking down onto his chin as his tongue ran through glistening labia until he pushed the wide muscle inside of you, the taste of you flooding his mouth.

You gasped into the darkness of your bedroom, the feeling of him tenderly stretching you out like that entirely new to you and the thrill of it only accelerated with the way the bridge of his nose nudged against your swollen clit.

It filled you with a full-body rush, muscles contracting in ways you hadn't felt before as the blissful pressure in your lower abdomen grew, coiling up into the almost unbearable for moments that appeared endless.

Curses swapped over your bottom lip as your thighs started trembling, unsure whether you were falling head first into a thrashing orgasm or cardiac arrest.

“Joe…Joe, fuck-” A visceral moan tore itself out of your larynx and you nearly doubled over, the intensity of what you were experiencing making you dizzy as dopamine and oxytocin hit your bloodstream.

He fucked you on this tonhe until every last contraction had ebbed away, your body formerly an uptight livewire but now pliable, muscles soft and a trembling a little.

“You're good?” You'd moved back, soaked and smeared thighs resting on his lap again and Joe looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, brows arched just every so slightly.

“Oh, fuck you.” It left your mouth in a quiet chuckle as you moved your legs, allowing yourself to fall onto the mattress next to him.

“You're not going to be gone tomorrow. Promise?” You turned to look at Joe, the gray in his beard damp with your release.

“Promise.”

[directorsnarrative]

You Were Never Really Here • Director Lynne Ramsay