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abra-ka-dammit · 1 year ago

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in the most publicly familiar story of Lot, the men of sodom sought to rape the "male" angels (in appearance only, as angels do not have sexes. oh but let's not mention THAT or we might get too woke about gender,) who visited Lot and Abram, and somehow christians interpreted that as Gay Is Bad, and not Rape Is Bad. As a woman, this should trouble me--and it very much does.

because i guess never mind the fact that he offered them his virgin (many translations of the original word insinuate they were CHILD) daughters to rape instead, ~because the wickedness of that city had overtaken his mind~. Apparently that's acceptable sinfulness, being under the influence of a wicked city and all, bc he was not punished for that. despite the fact that his was not a gay offer, it was still the influence of sodom's very bad gayness tho. funnily, none of the other men of sodom, who may have been fine before they were also impacted by the wickedness and became (gay) rapists, did not get this opportunity for redemption.

later Lot fled the city and his wife got turned into salt for looking back instead of just fleeing as commanded. then later, wifeless, he himself raped his daughters--or, per the bible, they were like oh no theres no men to marry now :( we better fuck daddy so we can have babies and continue the family line :(( guess we better get him drunk and fuck him because it is way more important to us to bear offspring than it is the fact that having sex with ur own dad is bad and wrong and really gross. oh also we DEFINITELY came up with this idea ourselves and it wasnt just Lot's later victim-blaming excuse for how his daughters both got pregnant living with only him. Clearly they got him drunk on purpose and then seduced and forced themselves him, and he didnt just get really drunk and horny and the only vaginas around happened to had sprung from his late wife's womb so he said fuck it and jizzed in his own kids. because he was a holy man, he would NEVER!!

I doubt anyone ever heard the girls' side of the story. Or cared to, because pfft, they're just females.

so the man who offered his daughters for rape, and slept with them himself, creating incestuous children, was The Good Guy of the story and Gays Were The Villains. tho suppose it tracks, given the christian-catholic complex has made it clear they see no problem with sexually assaulting children. you only need to look at the numbers; it's sickening what these Holy People we're meant to trust are doing. but the fact they wanted to rape a MAN is the sin, guys, just remember. THATS the point of the story. god hates fags, he burned them for wanting to stick dicks in male assholes and not the rampant, violent rape apologist mindset. also fuck women who dont listen to commands amirite guys lululul

i'm just saying. if you are a christian woman. and you hear these stories. youre told Lot did these things to his daughters, that the wife was killed for something that wasnt even a sin or harmful in ANY way but only for "disobeying", then youre told Lot is the good and righteous person. how can you stomach that? how can you nod along and go like oh yes the fact that gays and women are the problems in these stories and not the reprehensible actions of the male protagonists makes total sense and i believe it entirely. yes, women are so bad and naughty and need their daddies and hubbies to keep them in line, and make sure they get married and have babies like good girls, i totally agree. kick my ass bc i disobeyed you, husband, the bible says its fine bc im lesser than you :) I'm fine with that :) i dont want rights, dont worry, hubby. YOU decide if i have babies, not me, tee hee. i better not voice any opinions because my girl brain is too stupid and prone to sin. i definitely shouldnt speak up in church against the extreme and obvious sexism, god forbid i be a FEMINIST, a word that has been purposefully misdefined and vilified by my church so i don't realize it isn't what I think it is. we suffer not for the sins of our fathers, but i'm still physically suffering for original sin for a week or so every month bc i'm a woman and we deserve it :) ah damn i was raped i guess im impure and unworthy of my husband now bc i didnt fight hard enough or scream loud enough to prevent it :) can't wait to go to heaven to serve my husband eternally while worshipping the lord for blessing me with the chance to be a lesser being on earth for X years

like fucking face it! christianity is nothing but a man's guide to bullshit to justify shitty behavior towards anyone besides another straight cis man. see, i can get away with this, my god says its righteous. but if you do it with your uterus and tits it's bad, so sit down. see, god killed a buncha gay rapists. thats what they get for being gay. i can go rape a woman tho, and hell, i can even say she used demonic seduction and forced me into it and she's the bad guy, too. and you gotta agree, bc im a christian so im a good person so im definitely not lying or anything.

anyways the point is if youre a christian woman, willingly, youre fucking blind. frankly, but in the most gentle and loving way possible, youre a fucking moron.

open your goddamned eyes and get the fuck out of there. why are you allowing people to justify hurting you?? these values didnt end in genesis. they are maintained today. christian men to this day blame the woman for coaxing them into extramarital affairs they willingly and hornily enter. christian men to this day believe women are lesser and should be subservient to them, the Given leader of the household by merit of wiener. christian men to this day blame women for their own rapes and hold them accountable for pregnancies they never wanted bc they're MEANT to be baby bakeries and refusing is against your Purpose. christian men to this day believe you're weaker, less skilled, less powerful, less capable, just Lesser, because of the body you were born in--one that does amazing things theirs could never do, like bring fucking LIFE INTO THE WORLD. christian men to this day justify breaking modern laws and moral codes because women nod along agreeing that this ancient book written in a long dead language based on word of mouth stories in places today considered third-world that nobody you know has ever been to, most or all of which happened before the advent of written language, and was all 100% written by men and only contains a number of female characters you can count on your fingers despite covering supposedly thousands of years of stories, is a valid reason for it all.

I'm begging you to open your eyes and see. I'm begging you to value and love yourself. even if you think none of these things have ever applied to you; because i bet they have and you're just too used to it to realize. It's not even progressive to appreciate your right to equality as a human being!! you dont need to change all your values! the things you really love about church--community, kindness, love, service, gratitude and celebration of the life you have been given--can all be maintained without religion. all you need to do is wake up and see that you're being systemically abused. if there is a God, which I welcome you to continue to believe, he wouldnt want this for you. If he loves his children, ALL his children equally, anyone who says man is superior is outright speaking against that very idea! In God's eyes, we are all the same, so why do men get to say "but we're a little more special"? If you need to shut your mouth and keep shit to yourself, that's not love and peace and harmony and salvation. That's being oppressed. Please. PLEASE wake up.

Sincerely,

A much happier now ex-Christian Woman, who never doubted her faith to be real for a moment until one day something spurred her to actually start REALLY looking at what she was raised to believe

#RELIGIOUS RANTING SHJFGJF #my plea to christian women #long post #rape mention #incest mention #anti theism #anti christianity

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 2 years ago

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Guard us, Lord, from being Christians who love to learn but hate to change.

Matt Smethurst

#plea #prayer #guard #hearts #rigid #learning #Christians #hate #change #Matt Smethurst #Christian Quotes

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lightsoutnaway · 6 months ago

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Always Come Home

PAIRING: Max Verstappen x reader

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 898

SUMMARY: You and Max get in a fight when he risks his life to be a stunt driver for a movie.

“Baby, please let me in!”

Max was standing outside your bedroom door with his hand planted on the doorframe. His plea was greeted with silence. He sighed and rested his forehead against the door.

“I’m sorry,” he called—loud enough to be heard, but softer than before. “Can you just let me in so I can explain?” He stood there for a moment before you opened the door and his head tipped forward as the door was pulled away from him. He was relieved that you were willing to even look at him, but your expression wasn’t promising.

“Hi,” Max greeted. You scoffed and turned back into the room. Max followed. “I’m sorry,” he apologized again.

“I told you not to do it. I told you I didn’t want you to get hurt,” you spit. Max winced.

“I know. And I told Christian ‘no,’ just like you told me to,” Max assured you.

“Oh? Then why were you driving a stunt car that flipped over on the track?!” You shouted.

“It was safe, schatje,” Max said softly. “Nothing happened.”

“The car flipped over, Max! You knew it was going to!” You shouted. “And all for some stupid movie!”

“I really wasn’t going to do it, but Yuki had to go back to Japan for an emergency and Ricciardo and Checo are traveling,” Max explained.

“There’s still 16 other drivers on the grid! And there’s retired drivers, and F2 drivers, and actual stunt drivers who could’ve done it if you had said ‘no!’” You had never been more angry at Max. He hadn’t ever given you a reason to be angry with him. He loved you and he had never done anything to hurt you. There were barely ever reasons to be slightly annoyed with him, let alone angry.

“The studio made the deal with Red Bull,” Max tried.

“So they could’ve used a reserve driver! Or they could’ve gotten a stunt driver since it was a stunt! Which you are not trained to do!”

“I know, my love,” Max agreed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I told you that I wasn’t going to do it.” You were quiet for a moment. “I could’ve gotten hurt.” Max looked at you hopefully. When the silence continued he was about to add more to his apology but he heard you sniffle and he looked closer at you in the dimly lit room. There were tears slipping from your eyes.

“Oh no. Baby, don’t cry.” Max rushed forward to take you in his arms, feeling a rush of relief when you didn’t push him away.“Please, my love. I’m so sorry. Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry,” he begged.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” you said as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck. Your hands gripped onto his t-shirt while he gently rubbed his hand up and down your back, the other one going to your head and cradling you.

“I know, my love,” Max replied. He had only crashed twice since you started dating, but both times you had been a wreck while you waited for the safety car to bring him back to the garage and for days after. He knew how much it scared you when he crashed. After he saw your reaction the first time he crashed he stopped driving so aggressively. The team didn’t love it, but he didn’t care. It made you happy. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you told him. Max’s heart lifted. Maybe you would forgive him. He turned his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say ‘no’ when they asked me again,” he said, feeling like he hadn’t apologized enough yet.

“It’s okay, Max. I know you don’t like to let anyone down,” you said through your sniffles. Max smiled softly. He loved that you knew why he had given in.

“I love you, schatje,” Max whispered into your hair. You took a deep breath, calming yourself.

“I love you too, Maxie,” you said back. He leaned back so he could tip your chin up to look at him. He wiped the tear tracks off your face before kissing you softly. Your expression dropped for a moment when you pulled away. “I don’t want to see the movie, Max,” you told him. “I can’t watch knowing it’s you.” Max smiled at your words.

“That’s fine, baby. I don’t need to see it either.” You let a slight smile fall onto your lips.

“But you’re in it,” you said.

“I don’t need to see any movie. The best thing anyone can ever see sleeps next to me every night,” Max flirted. You rolled your eyes and giggled.

“Trying to get back on my good side?” You teased him.

“I don’t want to sleep on the couch,” Max said. You chuckled.

“That would be a punishment for me more than you. I can’t sleep without you anymore,” you admitted.

“And here I thought you started coming to every race because you wanted to support me,” Max joked.

“I do,” you said. “And I don’t want to be tired when I do it.” Max laughed. He pulled you into his chest again and kissed the crown of your head.

“You don’t ever have to spend a night without me again, schatje,” he promised. “I’ll always be with you. I’ll always come home.”

#max verstappen x gn!reader #max vertappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine

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yandere-daydreams · 11 months ago

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Title: Idol Worship.

Pairing: Yandere!Devil x Reader (Christianity).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Consensual Sex, Size Difference, Implied (Past) Injury To Reader, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Scarring, and Themes of Religious Trauma.

The path to His throne was paved with salt and brimstone.

Smoldering rock burnt into the soles of your feet like ember, taken fresh from the heart of the fire. Living corpses, their rotting flesh deteriorating further with ever fraught breath, laid motionless on either side of the crumbling archway, their milky eyes watching your every stumbling movement. The air was heavy with smoke and sulfur, but the buzzling of unseen insects, the stench of the decay – that was all kept in your peripheral. It was meant for someone else, someone whose crimes were far more violent and far more damning than your own. Your fate was elsewhere.

The ascent was made no easier by your anticipation, the steps carved from black onyx and made steep enough to warrant your immediate and self-inflicted dehumanization, to force you to your hands and knees in your effort to scramble upward – ever upward, as if you hadn’t yet had enough of the blinding sky. Rough granite tore into the skin of your palms, but the agony was minimal, a shadow something greater that would not numb you to more intentional agony. The heat, too, was distant, rolling over you in tender waves and seeping under your skin to coil around your ribs, to weave in and out of ragged tears in your mutilated veins. Something snapped inside your chest as you finished your climb, fresh blood washing over your aching throat, but any pain you might’ve felt faded away as a great hand descended from the clouds of smog and ash, His calloused fingertips digging into your waist, your stomach as He took you up and placed you, gingerly, on His silk-clad thigh. His touch lingered, a thumb running over your scalp as He spoke. “Oh, my glorious one,” His voice was deep and flat and beautiful. “What have they done to you?”

Anything they could. Everything they could. Your body was still plagued with the phantoms of it, the frigid cold of steel and iron against flesh and bone. You tried to speak, but your voice was gone, muted by means beyond your own. You frowned, more frustrated than you were surprised, but He did not share in your disappointment. “They are sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil.” After a beat, He added, “I will not be so forgiving.”

His hand began to pull away, but you scrambled after of it, latching onto His wrist in a futile effort to hold Him that much closer. An airy chuckle fell from Him unmoving muzzle – His golden, slit-pupiled eyes remaining focused on some distant point as He took you into His hold once again, lifting you first to His own height. For the first time, he moved in earnest – tilting his head forward and resting his forehead against yours. “The reason the Son appeared was to destroy the Devil’s work, for the thief comes only to steal and destroy.” His breath was cool against your skin, even as anger seeped into His tone. “And now, instead, you are asked to forgive and comfort him, so that he will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow.”

It was more of a croak than a proper plea, hoarse and fractured at all the wrong angles. Still, you managed it, your own small hands pressed into the swell of His palm. “Please, my lamb.”

He seemed to catch himself, inhaling sharply as He shook His head. “My apologies, I forget my audience. You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.” You nuzzled closer to Him, and He allowed you a moment of solace before pulling away, straightening Himself to His most dignified stature. “We have been separated for no short time. Tell me, will you not gratify the desires of the flesh?” A note of humor, a forked tongue allowed to skirt gingerly over your neck. “Will you not allow me to show the length of my devotion?”

You didn’t need to answer, it was a given that you would. His delicate tongue ran over the lacerations on your calves, your thighs - smearing dried blood and soothing open wounds. It flicked upward, lapping at the twin scars on either side of your chest, then the bruises painted across your collarbones, around the base of your throat. His hand shifted, wrapping around your waist, His hold firm and steady as He lowered you onto his length. There were other options – as many shapes and variations as a lustful heart could dream of – but His cock was among His most impressive features. The shaft alone matched your arm in length and your midriff in girth, and yet, it pierced you without resistance, filling you to the brim before He was so much as half-sheathed inside of you. Your knees pressed into his lap, your hand grasping for purchase against his broad chest, but you felt no fear, nor was your exertion necessary in the face of His willingness to serve. He let out a raspy breath, allowing His head to lull back as He thrust gently into you from below. “Earthly one, glorious one,” The pet name fell from His lips like milk and butter and honey. “We will lead each other astray. We will be the force by which the greatest love is defined.”

A growl of a moan as your walls clenched around Him, a sharp snap of His hips. “We will be bound together in perfect harmony,” His hand found the underside of your chin, tilting your head back with only the upmost delicacy. “And those who try to separate us will face only the most just of retribution.”

Your eyes met His, that wonderous gold melting into softened mortality. Where there should have been revulsion, there was only warmth, only light. Foolishly, for a moment, you allowed yourself to scorn the shine of the heavens, to loathe all things that were not Him.

You allowed yourself to believe that you would need nothing else, not so long as His gaze fell upon you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #yandere god #yandere demon #yanderecore #yancore

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mariacallous · 2 months ago

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The New York Times once dubbed the Princeton professor Robert George, who has guided Republican elites for decades, “the reigning brain of the Christian right.” Last year, he issued a stark warning to his ideological allies. “Each time we think the horrific virus of anti-Semitism has been extirpated, it reappears,” he wrote in May 2023. “A plea to my fellow Catholics—especially Catholic young people: Stay a million miles from this evil. Do not let it infect your thinking.” When I spoke with George that summer, he likened his sense of foreboding to that of Heinrich Heine, the 19th-century German poet who prophesied the rise of Nazism in 1834.

Some 15 months later, the conservative commentator Tucker Carlson welcomed a man named Darryl Cooper onto his web-based show and introduced him to millions of followers as “the best and most honest popular historian in the United States.” The two proceeded to discuss how Adolf Hitler might have gotten a bad rap and why British Prime Minister Winston Churchill was “the chief villain of the Second World War.”

Hitler tried “to broadcast a call for peace directly to the British people” and wanted to “work with the other powers to reach an acceptable solution to the Jewish problem,” Cooper elaborated in a social-media post. “He was ignored.” Why the Jews should have been considered a “problem” in the first place—and what a satisfactory “solution” to their inconvenient existence might be—was not addressed.

Some Republican politicians spoke out against Carlson’s conversation with Cooper, and many historians, including conservative ones, debunked its Holocaust revisionism. But Carlson is no fringe figure. His show ranks as one of the top podcasts in the United States; videos of its episodes rack up millions of views. He has the ear of Donald Trump and spoke during prime time at the 2024 Republican National Convention. His anti-Jewish provocations are not a personal idiosyncrasy but the latest expression of an insurgent force on the American right—one that began to swell when Trump first declared his candidacy for president and that has come to challenge the identity of the conservative movement itself.

Anti-Semitism has always existed on the political extremes, but it began to migrate into the mainstream of the Republican coalition during the Trump administration. At first, the prejudice took the guise of protest.

In 2019, hecklers pursued the Republican congressman Dan Crenshaw—a popular former Navy SEAL from Texas—across a tour of college campuses, posing leading questions to him about Jews and Israel, and insinuating that the Jewish state was behind the 9/11 attacks. The activists called themselves “Groypers” and were led by a young white supremacist named Nick Fuentes, an internet personality who had defended racial segregation, denied the Holocaust, and participated in the 2017 rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, where marchers chanted, “Jews will not replace us.”

The slogan referred to a far-right fantasy known as the “Great Replacement,” according to which Jews are plotting to flood the country with Black and brown migrants in order to displace the white race. That belief animated Robert Bowers, who perpetrated the largest massacre of Jews on American soil at a Pittsburgh synagogue in 2018 after sharing rants about the Great Replacement on social media. The Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, the gunman wrote in his final post, “likes to bring invaders in that kill our people … Screw your optics, I’m going in.”

Less than three years later, Carlson sanitized that same conspiracy theory on his top-rated cable-news show. “They’re trying to change the population of the United States,” the Fox host declared, “and they hate it when you say that because it’s true, but that’s exactly what they’re doing.” Like many before him, Carlson maintained plausible deniability by affirming an anti-Semitic accusation without explicitly naming Jews as culprits. He could rely on members of his audience to fill in the blanks.

Carlson and Fuentes weren’t the only ones who recognized the rising appeal of anti-Semitism on the right. On January 6, 2021, an influencer named Elijah Schaffer joined thousands of Trump supporters storming the U.S. Capitol, posting live from House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s office. Eighteen months later, Schaffer publicly polled his hundreds of thousands of Twitter followers: “Do you believe Jews disproportionately control the world institutions, banks, & are waging war on white, western society?” Social-media polls are not scientific, so the fact that more than 70 percent of respondents said some version of “yes” matters less than the fact that 94,000 people participated in the survey. Schaffer correctly gauged that this subject was something that his audience wanted to discuss, and certainly not something that would hurt his career.

With little fanfare, the tide had turned in favor of those advancing anti-Semitic arguments. In 2019, Fuentes and his faction were disrupting Republican politicians like Crenshaw. By 2022, Fuentes was shaking hands onstage with Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene and dining with Trump at Mar-a-Lago. In 2019, the Groyper activists were picketing events held by Turning Point USA, the conservative youth organization founded by the activist Charlie Kirk. By 2024, Turning Point was employing—and periodically firing and denouncing—anti-Semitic influencers who appeared at conventions run by Fuentes. “The Zionist Jews controlling our planet are all pedophiles who have no regard for the sanctity of human life and purity,” one of the organization’s ambassadors posted before she was dismissed.

In 2020, Carlson’s lead writer, Blake Neff, was compelled to resign after he was exposed as a regular contributor to a racist internet forum. Today, he produces Kirk’s podcast and recently reported alongside him at the Republican National Convention. “Why does Turning Point USA keep pushing anti-Semitism?” asked Erick Erickson, the longtime conservative radio host and activist, last October. The answer: Because that’s what a growing portion of the audience wants.

“When I began my career in 2017,” Fuentes wrote in May 2023, “I was considered radioactive in the American Right for my White Identitarian, race realist, ‘Jewish aware,’ counter-Zionist, authoritarian, traditional Catholic views … In 2023, on almost every count, our previously radioactive views are pounding on the door of the political mainstream.” Fuentes is a congenital liar, but a year after this triumphalist pronouncement, his basic point is hard to dispute. Little by little, the extreme has become mainstream—especially since October 7.

Last December, Tucker Carlson joined the popular anti-establishment podcast Breaking Points to discuss the Gaza conflict and accused a prominent Jewish political personality of disloyalty to the nation. “They don’t care about the country at all,” he told the host, “but I do … because I’m from here, my family’s been here hundreds of years, I plan to stay here. Like, I’m shocked by how little they care about the country, including the person you mentioned. And I can’t imagine how someone like that could get an audience of people who claim to care about America, because he doesn’t, obviously.”

The twist: “He” was not some far-left activist who had called America an irredeemably racist regime. Carlson was referring to Ben Shapiro, arguably the most visible Jewish conservative in America, and insinuating that despite his decades of paeans to American exceptionalism, Shapiro was a foreign implant secretly serving Israeli interests. The podcast host did not object to Carlson’s remarks.

The war in Gaza has placed Jews and their role in American politics under a microscope. Much has been written about how the conflict has divided the left and led to a spike in anti-Semitism in progressive spaces, but less attention has been paid to the similar shake-up on the right, where events in the Middle East have forced previously subterranean tensions to the surface. Today, the Republican Party’s establishment says that it stands with Israel and against anti-Semitism, but that stance is under attack by a new wave of insurgents with a very different agenda.

Since October 7, in addition to slurring Shapiro, Carlson has hosted a parade of anti-Jewish guests on his show. One was Candace Owens, the far-right podcaster known for her defenses of another anti-Jewish agitator, Kanye “Ye” West. Owens had already clashed with her employer—the conservative outlet The Daily Wire, co-founded by Shapiro—over her seeming indifference to anti-Semitism. But after the Hamas assault, she began making explicit what had previously been implicit—including liking a social-media post that accused a rabbi of being “drunk on Christian blood,” a reference to the medieval blood libel. The Daily Wire severed ties with her soon after. But this did not remotely curb her appeal.

Today, Owens can be found fulminating on her YouTube channel (2.4 million subscribers) or X feed (5.6 million followers) about how a devil-worshipping Jewish cult controls the world, and how Israel was complicit in the 9/11 attacks and killed President John F. Kennedy. Owens has also jumped aboard the Reich-Rehabilitation Express. “What is it about Hitler? Why is he the most evil?” she asked in July. “The first thing people would say is: ‘Well, an ethnic cleansing almost took place.’ And now I offer back: ‘You mean like we actually did to the Germans.’”

“Many Americans are learning that WW2 history is not as black and white as we were taught and some details were purposefully omitted from our textbooks,” she wrote after Carlson’s Holocaust conversation came under fire. The post received 15,000 likes.

Donald Trump’s entry into Republican politics intensified several forces that have contributed to the rise of anti-Semitism on the American right. One was populism, which pits the common people against a corrupt elite. Populists play on discontents that reflect genuine failures of the establishment, but their approach also readily maps onto the ancient anti-Semitic canard that clandestine string-pulling Jews are the source of society’s problems. Once people become convinced that the world is oppressed by an invisible hand, they often conclude that the hand belongs to an invisible Jew.

Another such force is isolationism, or the desire to extricate the United States from foreign entanglements, following decades of debacles in the Middle East. But like the original America First Committee, which sought to keep the country out of World War II, today’s isolationists often conceive of Jews as either rootless cosmopolitans undermining national cohesion or dual loyalists subverting the national interest in service of their own. In this regard, the Tucker Carlsons of 2024 resemble the reactionary activists of the 1930s, such as the aviator Charles Lindbergh, who infamously accused Jewish leaders of acting “for reasons which are not American,” and warned of “their large ownership and influence in our motion pictures, our press, our radio and our government.”

Populism and isolationism have legitimate expressions, but preventing them from descending into anti-Semitism requires leaders willing to restrain their movement’s worst instincts. Today’s right has fewer by the day. Trump fundamentally refuses to repudiate anyone who supports him, and by devolving power from traditional Republican elites and institutions to a diffuse array of online influencers, the former president has ensured that no one is in a position to corral the right’s excesses, even if someone wanted to.

As one conservative columnist put it to me in August 2023, “What you’re actually worried about is not Trump being Hitler. What you’re worried about is Trump incentivizing anti-Semites,” to the point where “a generation from now, you’ve got Karl Lueger,” the anti-Jewish mayor of Vienna who inspired Hitler, “and two generations from now, you do have something like that.” The accelerant that is social-media discourse, together with a war that brings Jews to the center of political attention, could shorten that timeline.

For now, the biggest obstacle to anti-Semitism’s ascent on the right is the Republican rank and file’s general commitment to Israel, which causes them to recoil when people like Owens rant about how the Jewish state is run by a cabal of satanic pedophiles. Even conservatives like Trump’s running mate, J. D. Vance, a neo-isolationist who opposes foreign aid to Ukraine, are careful to affirm their continued support for Israel, in deference to the party base.

But this residual Zionism shields only Israeli Jews from abuse, not American ones—and it certainly does not protect the large majority of American Jews who vote for Democrats. This is why Trump suffers no consequences in his own coalition when he rails against “liberal Jews” who “voted to destroy America.” But such vilification won’t end there. As hard-core anti-Israel activists who have engaged in anti-Semitism against American Jews have demonstrated, most people who hate one swath of the world’s Jews eventually turn on the rest. “If I don’t win this election,” Trump said last week, “the Jewish people would have a lot to do with a loss.”

More than populism and isolationism, the force that unites the right’s anti-Semites and explains why they have been slowly winning the war for the future of conservatism is conspiracism. To see its power in practice, one need only examine the social-media posts of Elon Musk, which serve as a window into the mindset of the insurgent right and its receptivity to anti-Semitism.

Over the past year, the world’s richest man has repeatedly shared anti-Jewish propaganda on X, only to walk it back following criticism from more traditional conservative quarters. In November, Musk affirmed the Great Replacement theory, replying to a white nationalist who expressed it with these words: “You have said the actual truth.” After a furious backlash, the magnate recanted, saying, “It might be literally the worst and dumbest post I’ve ever done.” Musk subsequently met with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and accompanied Ben Shapiro on a trip to Auschwitz, but the lesson didn’t quite take. Earlier this month, he shared Carlson’s discussion of Holocaust revisionism with the approbation: “Very interesting. Worth watching.” Once again under fire, he deleted the tweet and apologized, saying he’d listened to only part of the interview.

But this lesson is also unlikely to stick, because like many on the new right, Musk is in thrall to a worldview that makes him particularly susceptible to anti-Jewish ideas. Last September, not long before Musk declared the “actual truth” of the Great Replacement, he participated in a public exchange with a group of rabbis, activists, and Jewish conservatives. The discussion was intended as an intervention to inoculate Musk against anti-Semitism, but early on, he said something that showed why the cause was likely lost before the conversation even began. “I think,” Musk cracked, “we’re running out of conspiracy theories that didn’t turn out to be true.”

The popularity of such sentiments among contemporary conservatives explains why the likes of Carlson and Owens have been gaining ground and old-guard conservatives such as Shapiro and Erickson have been losing it. Simply put, as Trump and his allies have coopted the conservative movement, it has become defined by a fundamental distrust of authority and institutions, and a concurrent embrace of conspiracy theories about elite cabals. And the more conspiratorial thinking becomes commonplace on the right, the more inevitable that its partisans will land on one of the oldest conspiracies of them all.

Conspiratorial thinking is neither new to American politics nor confined to one end of the ideological spectrum. But Trump has made foundational what was once marginal. Beginning with birtherism and culminating in election denialism, he turned anti-establishment conspiracism into a litmus test for attaining political power, compelling Republicans to either sign on to his claims of 2020 fraud or be exiled to irrelevance.

The fundamental fault line in the conservative coalition became whether someone was willing to buy into ever more elaborate fantasies. The result was to elevate those with flexible approaches to facts, such as Carlson and Owens, who were predisposed to say and do anything—no matter how hypocritical or absurd—to obtain influence. Once opened, this conspiratorial box could not be closed. After all, a movement that legitimizes crackpot schemes about rigged voting machines and microchipped vaccines cannot simply turn around and draw the line at the Jews.

For mercenary opportunists like Carlson, this moment holds incredible promise. But for Republicans with principles—those who know who won the 2020 election, or who was the bad guy in World War II, and can’t bring themselves to say otherwise—it’s a time of profound peril. And for Jews, the targets of one of the world’s deadliest conspiracy theories, such developments are even more forboding.

“It is now incumbent on all decent people, and especially those on the right, to demand that Carlson no longer be treated as a mainstream figure,” Jonathan Tobin, the pro-Trump conservative editor of the Jewish News Syndicate, wrote after Carlson’s World War II episode. “He must be put in his place, and condemned by Trump and Vance.”

Anti-Semitism’s ultimate victory in GOP politics is not assured. Musk did delete his tweets, Owens was fired, and some Republicans did condemn Carlson’s Holocaust segment. But beseeching Trump and his camp to intervene here mistakes the cause for the cure.

Three days after Carlson posted his Hitler apologetics, Vance shrugged off the controversy and recorded an interview with him, and this past Saturday, the two men yukked it up onstage at a political event in Pennsylvania before an audience of thousands. Such coziness should not surprise, given that Carlson was reportedly instrumental in securing the VP slot for the Ohio senator. Asked earlier if he took issue with Carlson’s decision to air the Holocaust revisionism, Vance retorted, “The fundamental idea here is Republicans believe not in censorship; we believe in free speech and debate.” He conveniently declined to use his own speech to debate Carlson’s.

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abbyromanoff · 1 year ago

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You put your sticky note inside your book with a sigh - you were getting to the good part. The blonde, Michelle, reminded you of your girlfriend with her snarky remarks. Carol never understood why you were so engrossed in those novels, yet she found it adorable when you’d bite your lip and read a page multiple times for reasons she didn’t know.

The brownies would’ve burned if you hadn’t gotten up, so you had no choice. It was a quiet night, although most were ever since your wife got sent out for a two-month mission. Besides your rowdy children who seemed only to know how to make messes, there really was no enjoyment without her. And tonight, your oldest son, Daniel, was sleeping over at his friend’s house while your daughter was beyond ecstatic for her friends to come over and hadn’t left her room for over an hour. The brownies were for them, but she didn’t need to know if you had one or two.

The baby of the house, your four-year-old baby boy, Christian, was at your parent’s house after you gladly accepted their pleas to spend time with their grandchild. While you loved them all to death, you just wanted peace for the night, which meant reading, watching a movie, and sporting a glass of wine before bed.

Right as you were getting ready for a relaxing bubble bath, already checking in on your guests and seeing they were all knocked out, there was a loud bang outside your house. Fear indulged you, speed-walking towards the kitchen as you grabbed the sharp knife from a drawer. Your attention landed on the front door as you heard the knob twisting, trying to open. Your fears were only calmed when you saw your wife of twelve years walk through the entry, head down, as she tried her best to stay silent.

It was only when she looked up did she notice your frantic state, widening her eyes with a chuckle. She lifted her arms and signaled for you to come over, your body still stuck in shock and unable to register what was going on.

“Well? Do I get a hug?” You hurried into her arms after hearing her oh-so-angelic voice, her arms instantly returning your tough hold as one of her hands found its way to your head as she scratched lightly at your scalp. She knew the action always made your muscles relieve their tension as you were finally allowed to release a deep breath.

“You’re home.” You stated the obvious, a small snort coming from the blonde.

“Really? I didn’t notice.” You gave her a small glare before continuing to cuddle in her arms, basking in the warmth she offered even on such a cold night.

“I missed you so much, beautiful.” She murmured, kissing the top of your head and inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

“Mm, ‘missed you too.” The two of you stood there for what seemed like seconds but was really over ten minutes. You felt as though you could fall asleep right there as she hummed thoughtfully, smiling to herself as she admired the ring planted on your finger.

“Where’s your ring?” You asked with furrowed brows after the two of you pulled back, much to your dismay. She reached into her suit where she pulled out a necklace, the ring dangling from the gold material.

“Did you really think I’d lose this thing? I’d be dead the second I stepped inside.” She teased with a grin, receiving an eye roll from your end.

“Come on, Ava and her friends are asleep and I just drew a bath if you’d like to join.” You turned to walk into the hallway that held your shared room, the blonde following closely behind you like a lost puppy.

When you arrived in the master bathroom you shedded your clothes and your wife watched with a lick of her lips. Your bra fell to the floor along with your panties soon after while she slowly did the same, eyes still set on your body. You were always insecure about it, every curve and stretch mark brought a new set of self-hatred, but she loved every inch of you. From your kind soul to your breathtaking body, she didn’t know how she got so lucky.

“So, tell me about your day.” She spoke when settling into the warm water behind you. It wasn’t as hot as you hoped it would be due to your time spent with Carol.

“Well, I picked the kids up from school and helped them with their homework before making dinner. Oh, and Christian is still throwing his food at his siblings.” She chuckled, arms wrapping around your waist as she pulled you in closer.

“That little rascal, he’s gonna drive us up a wall.”

“He already does.” You rested your head on her shoulder and sighed deeply with a small smile, opening your eyes and being greeted by your wife staring back down at you. She brushed a strand of hair out of your face and leaned in to give you a small peck, quickly diving back in for more.

“You look so beautiful, love.” She muttered between each kiss. You shifted in her hold, keeping her close so she couldn’t pull away again. The two of you made out sensually, not caring to quicken your paces as both of you were purely exhausted.

You pulled back for a moment so you could adjust your body, settling on her lap with your legs folded at her side. Your arms wrapped around the back of your neck as you played with her hair. She watched you carefully, biting her lip as her hands rubbed your sides up and down thoughtfully.

“How did I get so lucky to call you mine, hm?” She brought her fingertips to your exposed breasts that had droplets of soap covering them. She pressed her lips against yours once again, although this one was different. You could taste the desire and eagerness coming off of her lips, but it still didn’t replace the love that overpowered them both.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, you’re so perfect.” A blush threatened to make way to your cheeks as you grinned.

“Nobody is perfect.”

“Oh, but that’s not true because whenever I lay my eyes on you I see pure perfection. You have the most forgiving and peaceful soul, even after all that you’ve been through. Your heart is full of love, even when people don’t deserve it. Your eyes, don’t even get me started, I could stare into them for a lifetime and never find myself bored.” You could tell she wasn’t lying, the pure admiration in her features helped prove that. She truly loved you more than anything, and she was so grateful you felt the same way.

“Your body, every marking tells such a beautiful and strong story. I see you trying to hide your stretch marks and scars, but I wish you could love them as much as I do. You’re the reason we have three amazing children, you brought life into this world and every stretch mark shows that. They show strength, life, and happiness; how could I ever wish for that to go away?” You bowed your head down, only to meet her gaze once more as she lifted your chin with her fingers.

“I want to show you just how beautiful you are, but only if you let me.” You nodded, but that wasn’t what she wanted.

“Words, baby, I want to hear how bad you need it.” You whined, wiggling your hips on her slightly hardened cock that was teasingly poking you. She grasped your waist to force you to stop, pressing small kisses against your neck until she was next to your ear.

“Tell me what you want, or you’ll get nothing.” She whispered, feeling your hands grasp onto each side of her face and pull her into you, connecting your mouth with hers once again. You were obsessed with feeling her close to you, you were scared that if you didn’t you’d end up waking up moments later and realizing she was still gone.

Her tongue prodded at your lips as your hips continued to grind on her crotch, she didn’t stop you this time. You threw your head back and she found herself sucking a deep mark into your neck, not caring if you struggled to hide it at a later date, she was just as needy as you.

“I need you, Carol, I need you so bad.” You cried out. You felt her hand interlacing with yours as she guided you to stand up with her, neither of you bothered to dry yourself as she guided you to sit in front of the full-length mirror that was planted near your bed. You shuddered, already knowing what was to come next.

“I need you to be quiet, okay? Don’t want to wake up the girls, now do we?” You shook your head, that was the last thing you wanted.

She ran her hands up and down your thighs, groaning at the plush skin that greeted her. She slowly spread them, licking her lips with hunger as she eyed your cunt. You were dripping, and it wasn’t because of the bath.

She couldn’t stop herself, moving in to lick a small stripe up your folds and earning a hidden moan on your end. She looked up at you with a smirk while her tongue ran small circles on your clit, your hips jutting upwards.

“I want you to look into that mirror,” You did as asked. “And I want you to watch yourself as I make you cum. Then, I want you to tell me just how beautiful you are, I want to hear it.” You nodded with a whisper of agreement, willing to do anything for her touch. She seemed satisfied with your answer and returned to her position, her mouth wrapping around your swollen bud as she teased a singular digit near your hole.

“Fuck, I-”

“Shh, just watch, that’s all I ask.” You struggled to keep your eyes open as she eased her finger inside of you, letting you have a moment to grow used to the accommodation before starting slow thrusts.

You looked at yourself through the reflection, noticing the way your hips created a grind as your mouth parted open. Your arm occasionally twitched as you struggled to hold yourself up, your other hand finding itself braided in your wife’s hair.

“Please- please, Carol.” A second digit soon joined as you let out a choked moan, struggling to keep quiet as she asked.

“You gonna cum, baby?” You nodded rapidly, trying to bring her as close as possible to your heat. She was engrossed in your taste, her tongue sloppily trying to get a marking of every spot possible.

“Mhm!” You removed your hand from her head and covered your mouth, hoping it was a way to silence any noise. She wanted to hear you, but she understood your fear of waking up your daughter or even her friends.

“Tell me you’re beautiful.”

“Carol-”

“If you want to cum then do as I say.” Your legs were shaking and your juices were dripping down her fingers that were moving in and out of you at an incredible pace.

“I-I’m beautiful.”

“No, say it like you mean it.” Tears rushed down your face from the edging, your breathing speeding up as you chased your high.

“I’m beautiful!”

“Again.”

“I’m beautiful!”

“Again!”

“I’m beautiful!” You grew progressively louder with each repeating of the word, sighing happily when she finally let you go, your release hitting you almost instantly.

“Carol- ah!” She kissed each of your thighs softly as you came down from your high, making up blabbered words along the way. Small hickeys were left on your skin, she couldn’t care less if someone was able to see them.

Moments later you found yourself standing on wobbly legs, Carol standing behind you as her cock ran through your thighs, occasionally brushing against your clit and sending waves of pleasure through you.

“Fuck- you’re so fucking perfect, sweetheart.” Her arms wrapped around your waist as your hands interlaced with hers on your stomach. She pressed kisses against the valley of your neck, eying you through the mirror with a small smile.

“You take me so well, Mommy.” She muttered, a whine following soon after. Her breasts bumped against your back as her hips drew back only to push forward once again.

“Please-” You were cut off with a small whimper, her drooling tip teasing your bud causing your eyes to roll back. Her hands explored your body quickly before stopping at your breasts, her fingers pinching and tweaking your hardened nipples.

“Such a pretty Mommy, ‘love you so much.” Her pace was uneven and sloppy as she chased after you, trying to bask in every thrust as her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh, god, you feel so good!” She stuffed her face in the brink of your neck, biting down on the skin to quiet herself and causing a hiss of pain from your side.

“‘M sorry, you just- yes! You’re so perfect, Mommy, ‘m so fucking lucky.” Each word that left her mouth had you melting and had your cunt clenching. She was teasing you, really, causing your hand to travel to your clit. Your thumb brushed against her sensitive head, leading her to cry out even more.

“I think- I think I’m gonna cum. C-can I cum? Please? Please, I need it so bad.” You only smiled, admiring her desperate state. Knowing that you were the one who made her so��needy, turned you on even further.

“Yes, yes, yes! Please cum all over me, honey, please.” It only took seconds for her finish to paint your legs, weakened whimpers escaping her. Her hold on you had tightened as she blew out deep breaths, clutching onto any part of you that she could.

“Shit, that was amazing.” She let out, resulting in your agreeance. Her heart was beating fast, sweat covering both of your tired bodies, but she wasn’t done just yet.

“You see how much I love you, baby?” She started. “You’re perfect, at least to me you are. You don’t need to see it yet, but I promise I’m gonna spend the rest of my life proving to you every single day that you’re the only one I want.” She was sincere, and you didn’t know if it was that or her words that created tears.

“I love you so much, Carol.” She liked the way her name rolled off your tongue, it would never get old.

“I love you to the moon and back, darling.” But even that wasn’t true, because she loved you more than that. She loved you like no other, and she hoped someday you’d truly see that.

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

summary: When Ellie is taken by David, Joel breaks open the part of him locked away since his hunter days. As the guilt eats him alive, you try to help him subdue the black dogs of mental warfare.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: Very 18+. It’s giving morally-grey Joel. Depiction of gore, violence, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of David that is a warning in itself. Very vague insinuation of SA as shown in the game. Discontent for Christianity (don’t like, don’t read my dude). Angst, guilt. Hurt-comfort. P in v sex, unprotected sex.

authors note: This got so dark it actually caught me off guard! I am so incredibly proud of this piece. I started it 5 whole weeks ago, and spent up until the night of posting (March 5th) editing and retouching. I hope it does Winter, my favourite part of the game, proud.

tease: “I jus’ need to be close to you.”

Continuous dripping sounds from the radiator, drip, drip, drip. Globs of blood seep down the grooves of the heater, falling when the droplets reach the edge and settling in a pool of coagulated gore. A headless body leans left, slumping against the metal the handcuffs chain it to. What’s left of its skull plasters the walls, the ceiling, and the steel pipe discarded in its lap.

Another lifeless body lays strewn sideways, the chair it’s tied to thrown haphazardly across the floor. Its neck is angled awkwardly; its eyes rolled back so only the whites show.

When you manage to tear your eyes away from the carnage, you can still hear the panicked shouts of the captives before Joel slaughtered them, rattling inside the cavern of your skull. Joel’s callous answer rings in your ears.

“Fuck you, man. He told you what you wanted. I ain't telling you shit!”

“That’s alright. I believe him.”

Snowflakes stick to the window of the home Joel had appropriated as a slaughterhouse, the wooden planks weathered and falling apart after years of neglect. The cold creeps in through the holes in the ceiling and the gaps in the wood, but you find yourself doubting the chill responsible for the goosebumps littering your arms.

Inhaling slowly, you will yourself to speak, but the words die in your throat before they even form on your lips, melting away on your tongue. Your pleas for reason would fall on deaf ears, and you know it—Joel’s far beyond reasoning with.

He’s pacing up and down the room, the floorboards creaking under the weight of his boots as he studies the map gripped between his imbrued knuckles. It’s unlike him, you note, to be so rattled. In the years you’ve known Joel, his steadfast resolution had been comforting, a certain. Not now. The men he’d butchered had mentioned details you could only describe as buzzwords that had Joel’s survivor alarm bells ringing.

David’s newest pet. The Town. Cannibals.

Heaving breaths he expels from his lungs vaporise in the air, still catching his breath from pummelling radiator-man’s brains out. If you couldn’t hear the wheezing in his chest from his laboured respiration, you could damn well see it.

Stepping forward, you wince when the floorboard beneath you creaks. “Joel—“

“They got Ellie, Darlin’,” your partner leaps into an eerily calm rundown of the dire situation despite you having been in the room for the entire interrogation. “They got Ellie, an’ they’re gonna kill her.”

Nodding slowly, you reach across the small distance between you to hold onto Joel’s bicep. Blood splatters the fabric of his brown winter coat, and you can feel his body heat radiating beneath the layers of cloth as his body fights infection. The gaping wounds in his back and stomach from the protruding rebar he was impaled on, thanks to a scuffle with a looter at the university, have stopped weeping puss. However, Joel was still largely incapacitated by the pain — despite the feral display of resilience against these two bandits.

“I know—” you try to ease him, but Joel’s buzzing with adrenaline.

“I gotta go get her; you can’t stop me doin’ this, Darlin’ I have’ta-“

“I know,” you speak firmly, and Joel stops dead in his tracks, clearly not having expected you to green-light his suicide mission, “I know I can’t stop you, which is why I insist upon going with you.”

You expect Joel to make a scene, to lose his temper and tell you that you weren't going anywhere, that it was far too dangerous and losing either of you would crush him. You know about Tess; Ellie told you everything when you joined them in Pittsburgh. She detailed Joel's heartache, despite his desperate attempts to appear indifferent. It's times like these that you can't blame him for being overprotective, knowing he had lost so much.

However, your expectations are not met. Joel looks at you, the whites of his eyes tinted red, and the skin beneath shadowed dark with exhaustion. He nods slowly, evidently realising he cannot compete with an army of cannibal bandits single-handedly with the state he’s in. He surrenders.

Wordlessly, Joel grabs your backpack and begins to sift through the items within. Apparently, he decides you don't have enough ammo, sacrificing his El Diablo pistol and offering it to you.

You accept it without fuss, knowing damn well that leaving with him is out of his comfort zone. Making a scene would make him change his mind.

It doesn't take long for Joel to spread out your limited supplies. Within five minutes, he's lifting his heavy backpack onto his shoulders with an agonised groan. You move out silently, Joel holding the door open for you as you step out into the blizzard.

You hear the frozen grass and layers of snow crunch beneath the rubber soles of Joel’s boots. You set your whole life to the pace of each of his steps, a monotonous metronome. Sometimes, on hot days in the summer, you can smell the rubber melting on the tarmac if you stand still for too long.

It’s bizarre, especially as he guides you into a death trap with an unknown sum of threats, but you find yourself thinking you’d be happy for him to lead you anywhere.

-✩-

Snowflakes cling to your eyelashes, eyes weeping from the cold and freezing the coarse hairs together. It's so cold that you’re convinced that the tears that develop as a result of the stinging cold freeze before they can drip down your cheeks.

Even without the natural eyelash glue, it's hard to see Joel ahead of you in the chaos of the bandit’s town. The blizzard has intensified, casting a light grey fuzzy haze over what you can see— or rather, what you can't. You're not even sure that the shadowy figure in front of you is Joel, but you're too afraid to ask in case a stranger turns around and shoots you in the stomach.

When you and Joel arrived, it was pandemonium already, armed bandits practically running into you as they attempted to reach their battle stations. The whistling of the wind muffles gunshots, and the bell from the church tower rings deafeningly loud across the snow plains in warning. What exactly had happened, you are unsure, but what you do know is that the cracking of the bronze bell will draw in runners from miles away.

You had to find Ellie. Quickly.

"You all right?" Joel calls out above the din, his Texan accent a welcome relief. It takes you a second to find your voice, the cold having momentarily stolen it.

"Yeah!" You shout back, trembling fingers grasping tightly to your gun.

There is a roaring sound on the wind, rising in volume as you continue to trudge blindly through the snow. The gunshots are more frequent now, yet still too far away to be a threat to you. You wonder if Ellie is raising hell or if the infected have already arrived. Neither scenario was good.

An orange glow peers through the blanket of falling snow that distorts your vision. You'd noticed the flaming barrels as you wandered through the town, but this was different. It was huge. The closer you got to it, the clearer the sound met your ears. It was crackling, wood-burning and billowing acrid black smoke.

Joel whistles, the pitchy sound catching your attention over the deafening thunder of the fire. You can't see his expression, but you can vaguely make out his silhouette pointing toward the building swallowed by flames. You were going in.

One step forward and the blaze is singeing your freezing skin, burning the peach fuzz on your face. You swear you can smell your eyebrows smoking, the flames so strong that you're almost scared to step into the building.

Despite your concerns for the integrity of the structure, Joel is quick to pursue the only lead he has to Ellie. He feels blindly all along the entrance, hissing as his palms come into contact with red-hot glass panes. It's a wooden door inset by small rectangular windows. The frame is deep brown and littered with orange, glowing embers embedded within the grain. You're scared, and open your mouth to dissuade Joel from doing anything rash. He doesn't give you the opportunity.

His shoulder slams into the weakened, charred door without hesitation, the windows falling from their frames and shattering on the wooden floor. The blazing heat inside the building wafts over you, causing sweat to bead at your brow.

Desperate, Joel pushes through and stumbles into the building, which you now discover is a diner. The smoke burns your lungs, and your eyes sting so much that you're almost blinded by the tears prickling your waterline. The dark grey clouds are so thick that you're suffocating, unable to take in any oxygen. Had it not been for the noises piercing through the terrifying roar of the fire, you would have aborted the entrance in fear of asphyxiation.

High-pitched grunts of exertion and the sound of metal slamming into wood catch Joel's attention. He looks up, alarmed by the noise and yet scrambles towards it despite the danger.

"Ellie!" Joel shouts out, running on adrenaline as he rushes forward. You let out a sob of relief, knowing that Joel has eyes on her, but the consolation doesn't last long.

When you catch sight of her, you find Ellie in a blind rage. Her bloodied hands hold onto a machete handle with a white-knuckled grip, raising the weapon above her head and bringing it down into the mess of the fractured skull and smashed brains of the body below her. Blood sprays across her face with the sheer force with which she plunges the blade into the meaty mess, tears of fury leaving tracks in the crimson on her cheeks.

"Stop! Stop," Joel wraps his forearms around Ellie’s chest, dragging her away from the mutilated body to a chorus of devastatingly broken ‘no's’. Ellie screams, fighting Joel’s grip and clawing at his arms in an attempt to free herself.

"Don't fucking touch me!" She sobs as Joel hushes her, wrapping his arms around her body and holding her to his chest in a desperate attempt to prove to Ellie that she is safe. He sets her in front of him, forcing the broken young girl to look at him and recognise him.

"It's me," he speaks firmly, trying to access the rational part of her brain as he holds her still, his palms settling on her bloodied cheeks and inevitably smearing the ruddy liquid across her skin. "Look, look. It’s me."

Her tearful gaze settles on Joel, still in a panic as she searches his face. It takes her a moment, but relief swallows her expression and she practically falls into Joel's embrace.

“Oh,” she sobs out, eyes falling to the blood-streaked floor as the shock kicks in, “He tried to-“

“Oh, Baby Girl…” He murmurs brokenly, clinging to her as though he feared the world would snatch her from him again if he didn’t hold her in a vice-like grip. “It’s okay. It’s okay….”

“Joel…” Ellie sobs, burying her face into his chest and soaking his already bloodied clothes with yet more gore and tears. Joel presses his head to hers, repeatedly murmuring that it was okay, that he had her.

As Joel speaks to Ellie, you allow them this delicate moment of solitude. Of course, you were part of this family, but the bond Ellie and Joel shared far outweighed anything you could offer. A found father-daughter relationship that filled the holes in each other's hearts. It wasn’t your place to intrude.

Casting your teary eyes to the ceiling, you catch sight of a rudimentary hanging sign made from a white mattress topper. Scrawled upon it in mostly black paint, the lettering bulky, and only one word is written in scarlet.

“WHEN WE ARE IN NEED, HE SHALL PROVIDE!”

Bile rises in your throat as you take in the quote reminiscent of bible scripture. It turns your stomach, knowing what this man would have done, what the town no doubt did do to others, all while justifying it with thinly veiled Jesus worship.

It was an odd realisation, one that left you feeling quite numb as Joel helped Ellie from her knees. The comprehension that for the past 20 years, humanity had been coming together to fight the Cordyceps virus in the hope of removing the scourge and returning to normal life. Instead, the happenings in the diner, in this town, proved that the Cordyceps virus had little impact on the real plight.

That humans, people, are the true sickness.

-✩-

You are fearful at first that Ellie wouldn't be able to sleep after the trauma of her ordeal. She had, at first, been delicate on the journey back to the cabin that Joel had been recuperating in since his accident. Exhibiting signs of shellshock, she refused to elaborate on anything she had seen or heard during her captivity, and both you and Joel decided it best to leave her to unpick her thoughts in her own time.

The brass bells in the cannibal town had drawn the attention of a ginormous pack of runners, and you were scared that Ellie would be unable to find it in her to fight for her life.

However, as Ellie often did, she proved you wrong. Perhaps that is why she retreated to a dream world the moment her head touched the pillow. The sound of her steady breathing is the only noise permeating the silence that had settled in the cabin basement.

Joel retreats into the shadows when Ellie finds sleep. Leaning his back against the rough brick wall, he groans in agony as he sinks into a half-comfortable position. You watch him settle, eyebrows pinching together as you witness him fall back into the blackest corners of his mind.

You hesitate. You've only ever seen Joel like this once, distraught by the deaths of Henry and Sam after barely reaching freedom beyond the Pittsburgh Bridge. He had withdrawn into himself for weeks, the guilt eating him alive despite not belonging to any of you.

The black dog of mental warfare was a friend you knew Joel had come to know well. Before Sam and Henry, there was Tess, his hunter days, and of course, Sarah. Each time, the darkness would require him to carry a heavy burden of culpability despite his lack of fault.

"I'm glad," Joel's gruff voice cuts through the silence. He sounds broken, battling an insidious infection that you can't see. Similar to the Cordyceps virus, it encroaches on his mind, turning it against him. “I'm glad she killed him."

Again, you withhold your innermost thoughts as Joel battles to admit his feelings. He looks up at you, resting against the opposite wall. His expression is cold, but his eyes reflect a tragic pain within him.

“I’m relieved she killed him. Because I dunno what I would’a done.”

The black dog has returned, settled at Joel’s feet, and with it the guilt lands in his lap.

"Joel," you whisper, rising to your feet and approaching your crestfallen partner with delicate steps, "It’s not your fault."

Shaking his head Joel refuses to acknowledge your exoneration, beginning to launch into a tirade of self-hatred. "No. No, if I'd‘ve-"

You interrupt him, a firmness quite unlike you seeping into each syllable. "It's not your fault."

This time it appears to strike home, Joel slowly nodding his head in acceptance as you sink to the floor with him, resting your head on his shoulder as you settle beside him for warmth. The following silence isn't as emotionally charged. Joel appears to find comfort in your embrace. The black dog slinks out of the room through the crack in the open door.

You gently press kisses to the soft expanse of skin peeking from underneath Joel’s collar. It's a comfort, one that you regularly award Joel before sleep. He tilts his head in the opposite direction, offering you further access to the skin layering his jugular.

Without question, you continue to pepper his skin with endearment. He wasn't one to regularly ask for it, so you took this as a sign that Joel required some tenderness right now.

"’m sorry," he mumbles, embarrassed by his needy behaviour, “'m just-“

"You don't have to explain anything," you whisper, the curve of your lips dragging against his pulse point as you speak to him. He hums deep and low, eyes slipping shut as you continue your ministrations.

Achingly slowly, you drag lips across his jugular, pressing kisses to spots on his neck that you know are reactive. The soft valley behind his ear, the curve of his jaw, the junction between his neck and his shoulder. They all receive your affection, and you begin to hear Joel's breathing labour ever so slightly.

Joel’s infectious fever bleeds into something akin to fervour, his ribcage rising and falling with heavier, unsteadier breaths. His eyelids flutter closed, the searing, sour pain blending with the pleasure that sparks in him when your lips brush over his pulse point.

“Darlin’-“ He whispers, and it’s utterly broken. Pitchy and cracking in his throat when your fingertips work at his shirt buttons to expose more of his clavicle. His hands are settling on your hips as you swing your thigh over his lap slowly, thumb pads sweeping over your hip bones in delicate patterns.

“What is it you need from me, Joel?” You murmur softly, nose nudging at the bottom of his throat, at the v where his collar bones meet.

“F-Fuck,” he chokes, eyes cast skyward as he attempts to piece the broken pieces of his mind back together and find an answer. “I jus’ need to be close to you.”

He thought he’d lost Ellie. Thought he’d find her strung up with pieces of her flesh scattered about an unsanitary butcher's room. No doubt his mind was spinning with all the possibilities. What if you’d been shot trying to get her back?

Joel needed to be confident you were alive. Needed to feel your pulse thrumming against his palm.

“I can do that,” you promise him gently. You never pledged anything to Joel; nothing was certain. However, right now, you could offer your word. Could swear to ease his trepidation.

“I’m here.” Your words are spoken with conviction, his head nodding slightly as you take his wrist in your hand. “You can feel it. Come here.”

Delicately, you lay his bloodied, trembling hand across your chest. He lets out a quivering breath through his nose when he feels the thump of your heart against the lifeline of his palm.

Your free hand settles on the brass button holding his jeans together, popping it open and exposing the trail of dark, greying hairs that trail down his naval. His eyes flicker to your own, chapped lips parting slightly as you pinch the zipper and drag it down with a quiet ‘zzzp’.

The thud against his palm picks up the momentum as you feel him harden beneath the denim of your jeans, and you catch his lips pull up. A short, single scoff of disbelief- relief- as you gently work the jeans down and over his hips.

“Does this old man really do it for you that much?” He whispers, his fingerprints teasing the stitches of your collar. Your flannel is worn, threadbare and velvet soft, and your skin is burning hot beneath. “Even greyin’ and broken like I am?”

“Joel,” you whisper, pressing a delicate, lengthy kiss to his forehead, between his eyebrows. Fumbling with your cargo pants, you have them over your ass in no time, dragging your panties along with them. “You are the only man alive that makes me feel this way.” Your lips brush against the creases on his brow; frown lines etched deep into his skin after years of misery.

“Mhm,” his rich, oak eyes drag down your form as he watches you undress and expose your soaked cunt, thighs glistening wet in the low lighting. “That ain’t hard when most of the population died out.”

“Joel,” you repeat with a less-tempered tone, nose nudging at his hairline as you wrap your fingers around his length. He grunts quietly, careful to smother any loud noises to avoid drawing Ellie’s attention. “There wasn’t anyone before outbreak day, either.”

“Not even that actor-… What was his name, George Cloo-oh fuck,” his stupid joke dies on the tip of his tongue when you slowly sink down onto the head of his cock, walls fluttering around the stretch of him. His voice is hoarse, whisper breaking into silence as he slowly pushes the crown of his head into the terracotta brick walls.

“No,” you chuckle softly, watching him struggle for logical thought as you take more of him, and slip him further in. “No, not even him.”

Joel grunts, digging his teeth into his lower lip as you take him to the hilt. He nudges your cervix in this position, the sensation almost like a mild bruise, but you love it. Love that it will match the hickeys he leaves on your shoulders- marking you inside and out. Claiming you as his, Death and His black dog be damned.

“Oh C-Christ,” he lilts, and it sounds like a whimper as you squeeze around him, “I can feel it. Can feel your pulse-“

“See? I told you I’m alive,” You muse, wrapping your fingers around his wrist as you slowly begin to grind your hips forward in a circle. Joel just nods dumbly, his previously pale cheeks flushed slightly.

No bouncing, no thrusts. Joel is too fragile, his immune system fighting a nuclear war inside of him as his white blood cells try to secure the perimeter of the wound in his abdomen. You focus on rolling your hips instead, slowly inching off his cock and sinking back down onto his velvety length.

“Hoh- uhng, fuck-“ his illegible groans make your heart batter his meta-carpel bones, compelling him to acknowledge your vital signs and their optimal function.

He’s twitching inside you, the slow rise and fall of your hips forcing him to feel you stretch around each ridge and pulsing vein of his cock. Joel looks like he could break down, the sensation of his building orgasm such an overwhelming sensation in his already exhausted body.

Pushing your fingers through his soft curls, you clasp the back of his skull and lean forward to hold his face to your chest. He can hear it loud and clear now, the shell of his ear cupping the cavity of your chest where your heart batters against his cheekbone. His arms wrap around your waist, squeezing you as tight as his septic-fatigued muscles can hold you.

It doesn’t take much for you to work yourself into your own fever. Joel’s cock always manages to find that spark inside you, nudging it and coaxing your orgasm to bloom between your thighs.

“M’gonna cum,” he rasps against your chest, his hot breath fanning across your skin. Joel’s pressing sloppy, clumsy kisses there, exhaling heavily with each roll of your hips.

“Mhmm-“ you muffle your cry by biting your knuckles, focusing on the clench of your walls and the buzz of your orgasm surging up through you. It’s like a whirlpool, pulling you under and drowning you in the wave of bliss that overtakes you.

Joel’s follows almost immediately after, his whole body tending despite the pain as it pulses through him, his cum painting your insides. His hips stutter, burying deep within you and letting out a ragged breath of relief that edges into a moan of your name.

Passing carbon dioxide between you, your foreheads press together as your breath fans over each other's faces. His eyelashes flutter with exhaustion, and you can feel them tickle the peak of your cheekbones. It’s so tender, so unlike Joel.

“I won’t let him take you.” His voice is so quiet the words almost don’t form, just barely leaving his throat in a sigh. His hand, not having left its rooted spot above your left breast, slowly inches towards your throat. You feel his index finger prod at your pulse, sealing his conviction that you are safe.

In honesty, you’re unsure who he means. Death, probably. David is long gone, but Joel’s fever is tipping him closer to delirium than reality.

One thing was for certain; you had managed to stave off the Black Dog for now. It lay at the doorway, stuck beyond the threshold it was forbidden to pass over, waiting until Joel allowed it back inside.

END

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