#but they literally just killed off everyone???

[gracieheartspedro]

Me and The Devil

pairing: qz!joel miller x afab!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

description: joel seeks out revenge on the man who stole from him. he finds you in the process. 14k words

warnings: mdni!, dark content, DUBCON, joel is a bad man, no mention of age (but joel is older than reader), murder, weapon use (g*ns), mentions of drug and alcohol, excessive alcohol consumption from reader, nicknames for reader (sweetheart, little one, etc.), stockholm syndrome, forced withdrawals from alcohol, mentions of non-con, forced proximity, physical violence/assault, reader is freaky and insane, reader has a vagina and boobs, sub!reader, dom!joel, orgasm denial, masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, cumplay/cum eating, dirty talk, name calling, spanking. PLEASE LISTEN TO THE WARNINGS.

author’s note: hi everyone! this fic came to me literally like... january of last year. it sat in the docs forever. and then my wonderful and beautiful friend @amanitacowboy told me to pick it back up and it spiraled from there. she also helped me edit, so i've forever indebted to you, lindsey!! it's probably the meanest joel you will get from me. some of the story has loose ends, but it's intentional *brow wiggle* (; also thank you @pedgito for listening to me blab about this shit forever. lindsey and ali have heard every detail and tidbit in this fic, I swear. thank you for putting up with me! anyway, hope you dirty lil whores enjoy this one!

You thought he was a myth. 

The crime-riddled streets of the Boston QZ seemed to lace different stories about him together. You could not understand how a pill dealer could also kill countless guards and top honchos. People would conjure up the wildest lies about the man, so you were always morbidly curious. 

You would sit in your apartment organizing the weapons you and your partner laundered through the streets of the QZ, pondering what it would be like to meet the man. You were never the one to deliver the weapons, only ensuring you were getting what you paid for. Your partner, Roger, would dispense the weapons to God knows who. 

It was enough to get you by. You never ran out of rations and your alcohol dependency was never a problem. 

You were too young to be this beat down. That’s what Roger would tell you, at least. 

But the truth of the matter was that before the QZ, you were free-roaming the US with no purpose. You killed a lot of people. When you arrived at the QZ with an ounce of ‘normalcy’ within your reach, you promised yourself never again. The darkness you harnessed would have to be forced down, sitting in the very pits of your being. 

When you met Roger, he just needed someone to live in his apartment and watch his stash when he was gone. You did just that and eventually, you formed an odd bond with the older man. He would let you count his rations and drink his liquor. Four years later, you depended on him to bring you back alcohol in return for your watchful eye. If a shipment came in late, you would panic, thinking your addiction would get cut off. You needed something to numb the scrambling thoughts, violent tendencies, and crippling anxiety. 

After one tough deal, Roger stumbles back to your shared apartment, venting about the man. 

“Fuckin’ Joel screwed me again. Gave him two .22’s and the motherfucker shorted me a bottle of Oxys.”

You were already too far gone to listen to the rest of the rant, finding yourself dozing off on the couch. The alcohol too often consumed you, sending you into dark nightmares that would have you waking up in the dead of night screaming.

By the time you woke up, though, Roger was no where to be found. Him being gone was not the worrisome part, though. 

No, what worried you was all the drugs and guns he left out on display. 

Springing up from your spot on the couch, you instantly get to work hiding the paraphernalia. When you grab a handgun from the table where you remember Roger sitting before you close your eyes, you feel eyes on you. 

You are still drunk and now your stomach is churning. You feel like you may throw up. 

There’s a figure standing by the window. Too tall to be Roger. 

Your instant dazed reaction is to hold the gun up, and point at the large man who stands in your messy bedroom. You blink away the sleep that’s still in your eyes and stumble a bit as the intoxication still riddles your bones.

“You were sleepin’ when I came in,” His voice is slow and deep and it sends chills down your forearms. 

“Who are you?”

You managed to sound pretty confident, even though you were scared shitless. You had not been so rattled since you almost got bit by some infected a year ago. You can make out his clothes, but that’s about it. Dirty jeans, an old green flannel with holes, and dark brown boots.

“‘M Joel. Roger ever told you about me?”

He finally turns to face you. You’re shocked to see a handsome dark-haired man and not some damaged old mug. His eyebrows are perpetually furrowed it seems, but you could also tell he was annoyed you were pointing a loaded gun at him. 

You were so terrified, you could not even speak. 

He puts a hand up, holding it over the barrel of the gun. “You shouldn’t be pointin’ that at me, sweetheart.”

You just nod, slowly putting down the weapon. You did not want problems with him. You knew what he was capable of. 

You also knew your aim would be off if you did try to shoot, still feeling like you were rocking on a boat. 

“Sorry,” You mutter, bringing the gun down and to your side. You swallow hard as his eyes rake your entire body, “Yes, he’s told me about you. Other people have, too.”

He looks pleased with that response. He steps away from the window and begins to saunter over to you. His footfalls are heavy. You assume it is because of his filthy brown boots. Or maybe it was the intimidation factor he was playing for you. He did not need to scare you, because you were fucked up and not on your game. He could kill you at any time. Why has he not killed you yet? 

“What have people said about me?”

You gulp, sucking in a whiff of his musk. He somehow still smelled good, even though it looked like he had been rolling in the dirt. His hair was pretty greasy but the curls laid perfectly on both sides. He looks like a guy you would avoid in the street, especially in this QZ. The attractive ones were usually the ones who would take advantage of any woman who looked their way. 

“They said you’re dangerous,” You manage, holding the grip of the gun a bit tighter, “That you have killed a-a lot of people.”

“Yeah,” Is all he says, before stepping an inch closer, “Yeah, I have.”

You can not look away from him. You are so rattled at the fact that he is good-looking. You vividly remember hearing a couple of dealers talk about how formidable he was and for some reason, you mocked up a man who looked like The Joker from Batman. 

He inspects you and your gun and crosses his arms, almost like he is guarding himself. “Now tell me… What did Roger say when he came home last night? I need to know how to handle this situation without spillin’ any more blood.”

You start to panic a bit, but you know you can’t be rash with your emotions. You did not want to be more blood that Joel Miller spills. You did not need to be a notch in his belt. 

But you also did not want to rat out Roger. He had done so much for you and you knew deep down, he cared for you in his own sick ways. If you told Joel everything, would that come at cost to him? 

What were you thinking? He was a dead man. 

He notices your demeanor change and his eyes soften. “Don’t worry, little one. I don’t kill just anyone. Unless they cross me. You haven’t crossed me, have you?”

You do not know why or how, but tears start to spill from your eyes. You know you are not guilty of doing him wrong, but you have heard before that it does not matter in his eyes. By proxy, you are associated with the man who fucked him over. You would be next.

“I have not crossed you, Mr. Miller,” You start to slur a bit, your face getting wet quickly with more tears, “Roger just said you fucked him over. I was too fucked up to hear the rest. Said you didn’t give him enough oxys.”

Joel raises one hand and grabs the bottom of your chin. His skin is rough and callous against your sheeny skin. His whole aura gives off danger. You are too afraid to look at him. You’re trembling, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“That fucker stole them all, that’s why. When I tried to get him to confess his wrongdoings, fucker dipped out of there,” He explains, using his thumb to push one of your falling tears, “We followed him and luckily he swallowed too many pills even to realize we were breaking in. You were pretty out of it, too.”

“I w-was d-drinking last n-night,” You knew you had to get ahold of yourself. You were like sand in his hands, slipping right through his fingers.  You were so easy to get information out of. “Where did you take him?”

Joel clicks his tongue, tilting your face so your eyes would look into his, “Don’t worry bout that, sweetheart.”

“Is he going to die?”

“Probably.” He states plainly, his eyes scanning your figure, “You’re going to show me where his stash is and ‘m gonna take back what’s mine.”

Your heart sinks to the floor. Roger was all you had. Without him running the guns and ammo, you had no way of income. You could not do these things yourself, especially now that Joel Miller knew who you were. No one would come near you when they heard he paid you and Roger a visit.  

“I’ll show you,” You respond, trying to steady your voice. “Are you going to kill me?”

It was selfish. With him admitting to having to kill Roger, you knew you were fucked either way. Without a dealer or runner, you had no earnings. You were going to rot away in this apartment, dying from starvation. Joel killing you would be a mercy killing and from the sounds of it, he did not show much mercy.

“Just tell me where everything is.”

You shake your head as you step back away from him. Your instinct is to hand him the gun in your hands, proving to him that you are not a real threat. You grab the barrel and give him the grip, shaking it in his direction. “Here.”

He stares at you, the divots on his forehead still prominent. He slowly lifts his flannel. You first see his hairy tummy and then you see he has a 9mm strapped in his waistband. “Don’t need it, sweetheart.”

You keep the gun extended out to him, “You can have another.”

There’s a beat of silence, a bitterness in the air.

“Are you stalling?” Your blood runs cold. You were not, you were just afraid and unsure of yourself. You also assumed he would want your weapon so you would not use it against him. So many assumptions run through your head, that you are not even aware you are creating more uncertainty for him. 

Your eyes drop, looking at the gun. “No, sir. Here… Follow me.”

You turn on your heels, walking back out to the dining room, right off the kitchen. You scoot the table away from the rug, the ammo and pills on the table vibrating as it moves. Joel watches your every move, the same unimpressed expression written on his face. You put the gun down on the table before you get on your knees at the corner of the rug. You pull it back, revealing a large trap door Roger installed before you moved in with him. It had a deadlock on it that was only able to be opened with a code. 

You think for a moment, your muddled brain trying to remember the numbers.

8-3-6-7-1-9-6-9. 

You say it out loud as you open it. When it clicks, you pull down and unhook it. As you toss it away from you, you hear Joel clear his throat. “Move.”

You instantly throw your hands up, crawling back onto your knees and sliding away from the trap door. You glance back at the tall man, seeing he has his gun trained on you. You did not even hear him pull it out. You sit back, pressing your shoulders into the wall opposite of the entrance of the storage cut-out. It’s lined with different drugs, handguns, some shotguns, and lots of pornography. 

Joel chuckles darkly, looking into the unit. “Seems like you two are freaky, huh?”

You never assumed Joel thought Roger was your lover, but the inclination made you want to throw up. You shake your head, “He was. Not me.”

His addiction never really affected you in any way. He saved those vices for when he was alone. You do recall one night accidentally walking in on him doing something very disturbing that was forever etched inside your brain. Jerking off over a pillow with a magazine full of very young girls. You never looked at him the same way after that. 

Roger was sick in the head, but he gave you drugs. He gave you alcohol. He gave you a place to stay. 

Joel clicks his tongue, crouching down to loot through your stash. “You’re too young for’a man his age, anyway. Too pretty.”

The hairs on your arms and shoulders raise at such a comment. You cock your head to the side, watching the man curiously. He thought you were pretty. 

He does not say anything else the rest of the time he is picking up bags of pills. He inspects each one, sniffing some of the bags as he does. The illumination from the window in the dining room lights up his face with golden stripes. It made you take note of his amber eyes. They were not dark brown in the sunlight. You can hear people on the street from the partially shattered panels, some dragged-out footsteps, and some hushed conversations. Screaming for help would be no use, people hear women screaming in the streets in broad daylight and do nothing. This QZ was not about justice. It was every man for himself. 

Joel stands up, tucking his gun back into his waistband. His eyes laser toward you and you feel his gaze pierce you. “Stand up, you’re comin’ with me.”

You do not try to hide your fear. While you knew better, you silently hoped that he would just shoot you here, let you drown in your own blood in the comfort of your own home. But he was going to take you to a secondary location. You would be dying on his terms. 

You push yourself up off the floor, your feet stuttering as you walk over to him. “Can I put on some shoes?”

He nods almost robotically. He watches you carefully as you drag yourself across the living room. You start to realize how torn up the place really is. Roger must have put up a fight because the side table is in pieces on the rug. You step around the splinters and grab your boots. After you tie up your laces, Joel is yanking you up by your bicep and dragging you into the dark alley your apartment opens up into. You were so fucked. 

-

Joel is a harsh man, but he does not kill you. 

You did not understand why he kept you around. You were eating his food, occupying a room in his apartment, and you were going through horrific withdrawals. He refused to give you an ounce of alcohol. The first couple nights at Joel’s, you were so sick that you violently shook for a whole day straight. You begged Joel through the door to shoot you and put you out of your misery. It was the worst feeling in the world. Your heart felt like it may beat out of your chest. 

After the third day, your shakes had subsided and your mind was a bit more clear. You still felt like shit, but it was tolerable enough that you just laid in bed and stared at the floral wallpaper in your new bedroom.

You did not mind being spared, but being locked away was almost worse than death. You noted the mold smell the day you arrived in Joel’s apartment. You could not stop smelling it, no matter what you did. You kept telling yourself you would get used to it, but it always lingered.  He restricted you to a bedroom where the window was completely caged. You had spotty natural light that only really peaked through in the evenings. 

Joel would bring you a small meal every morning, usually stale bread and a mug of water. On rare occasions, his footsteps would stomp over to your rotting wooden door and he’d unlock the door to feed you for lunch. That only happened twice, though, and it was a bare-bones meal. But every night, right after sunset, he would barge in with a Spam sandwich and a cup of ice water. You would sit on the rusty framed-out bed as he sat in the armchair in the corner of the room by the window. Occasionally he would have a sandwich for himself, other times he would just sit there and watch you slowly eat the meal he provided.

And for some sick reason, you always thanked him. 

He would never reply, his jaw slack and arms crossed. You only heard his voice a handful of times since he brought you here. 

After two weeks of isolation and staring contests over dinner, Joel finally asked you a question after you finished your Spam sandwich. “Do you want to shower?”

You had not washed yourself in weeks and you could smell yourself. The idea of being able to shower was so appealing, that you actually smiled as he asked it. 

Joel guided you across his expansive apartment into his bedroom. The entire place was falling apart, but Joel’s room seemed completely untouched by the times. It smelled like pine as soon as you bounded through the threshold. His bed was made up perfectly, with two pillows on each side. His side table only had one single lamp and a novel that’s title was in another language. Joel snatched you away from soaking up his oasis and forced you into the dated bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, clicking when he rattles the handle. 

You swallow, “Are you joining me?”

He shakes his head, turning and grabbing the bar of soap on the edge of the vanity. “No, ‘m just making sure you don’t try anything.”

You narrow your eyes at him, not completely believing him. Joel had not made any moves towards you, so you are not sure why you are suddenly skeptical of his intentions. Even if he did try something, you knew you could not do anything about it. 

You were at Joel’s mercy. You did not completely comprehend why he was locking you down in his home and you did not get why you were just going along with it. You used to be a ferocious fighter, but after everything with Roger, you did not know where else you would go if it was not with Joel. 

You turn your back to him, hesitantly undressing. Your clothes were disgusting, stained with sweat marks that you left when you were going through withdrawals. As you drop them onto the cold tile, Joel clears his throat. 

You cannot remember the last time you were nude in front of another man. Another person. It had to be over 10 years. “I got ya some new clothes. I’ll grab them when you get in the shower.”

You just nod. While you were grateful for new clothes, you were still confused as to why you were here. As you turn on the water, you peek back at Joel. He is not looking at you, he’s looking out the window. His hands are tucked in his pocket and you have truly never seen him look at peace. His face is relaxed and his shoulders are eased down. 

You use your hand to gauge the water’s lukewarm temperature before you slip in behind the curtain. The bathtub is an off-white color. As soon as you get under the shower head, you note the dirt and grime combining with the water and spinning down the drain. 

You use the bar of soap Joel gave you to clean off your frigid skin. The scent is just a hint of lavender. It must have been an old bar and with age, the smell has faded. As you massage it in, you hear the door creak open and click shut. You assume it’s Joel doing what he told you and then your mind circles back to your previous observation. 

Why is Joel doing this?

You ponder the idea that maybe he is a sadist psychopath who just likes the idea of having someone held captive. But you had heard a lot about this man, and while he was a murderer, you never heard about him kidnapping or hurting women. If anything, he was easier on women who did him wrong. 

But you were not a woman who did him wrong. You did nothing to him. You simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You did exactly what he asked and then you went along with his plans for you. 

Maybe he was just lonely?

His deep voice slices through your thoughts, “You almost done in there?”

You nod even though he cannot see you. “Yeah, I’m almost done.”

You rinse the soap out of your hair and turn off the faucet. You peek your head out from the curtain and Joel stands there with a towel in his hands. He laid a pile of clothes on the sink and you noticed that your clothes were gone from off the floor. Joel extends the towel to you and you reach around and grab it. 

It’s scratchy, but it absorbs all the beads of water off your body. You wrap it around your body, tucking the end under your right armpit. You pull back the curtain and Joel is still standing there. 

You step over the edge of the tub, letting some of the droplets run onto the cold tiles. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, but as soon as you step towards the clothes on the counter, his eyes trickle down your body. 

Your heart picks up when his hand comes up to your cheek. Your natural reaction is to flinch away from him, but his motion is quicker than you. He wipes away a water drip off your cheekbone, pulling it down to your jawline. “All better?” He asks, his voice low. You nod, sheepishly. “Yes, thank you.”

He smiles. 

“So polite. So pretty.”

And then he leaves you alone, clicking the knob shut as he exits the bathroom.

You get dressed quickly. Joel somehow knows your exact sizes because the cargo pants, long sleeve, and undergarments are a perfect fit. You never even managed to find clothes to fit you this well when you were doing your own stealing and looting. 

His words rattle around in your head and you start to panic a bit. You start to formulate a plan. You had to stop thanking him. You had to stick up for yourself a bit more. You had to see where your boundaries were with him. You had to figure out his motive. 

It was scary. Daunting. But you knew you could not live like this much longer. 

You reach out for the door, but the knob was already turned and being pulled forward. Joel stands by the entrance of the door and you stride out, your head held a bit higher than usual. His face shows confusion, but you do not falter. 

“I’m still hungry.”

It is like all the air is sucked out of the room. Suddenly, Joel is nine feet tall and you are an inch short. Your voice was confident enough to pass, but it was like he saw right through you.

“I fed you.”

You swallow, your eyes averted from his face for a moment, “Can I have a snack?”

His frown is more memorable than his smile. It is a permanent fixture in his big scary man aesthetic. 

“A snack?”

You almost want to laugh at his condescending tone. But you also realize how you are playing with fire and at any moment this man could snap and kill you. You had to know if you were able to test him, see if you could truly ask him for something and he would be willing to give it to you. This would be your lesson. 

So you nod, very matter-of-factly.

He is looking at you like you have four heads, but he bites.

“Fine, I’ll getcha a snack. Why don’t you have a seat on my bed?”

His cadence is giving him away. You can already tell he is not good at hiding his annoyance. You hesitantly walk over to his bed, plopping down rather obnoxiously. Your feet swipe the rug like a child’s would as you wait for him to return to the room. When he comes back, he has a single piece of beef jerky between his fingers. 

You narrow your eyes at the so-called snack. You hated cured meats and you were sure to let him know that. “Jerky?”

You are really testing him now. And you can tell by the way his chest rises and falls in one quick breath.

“You seem very ungrateful, little one.”

You reach out to grab the bark but he snatches it back in a quick motion. You crinkle your eyebrows at him, trying your best to feign innocence. With the way he is staring daggers at you, you should fear his next move. 

“Beg.”

You feel like your chest cannot take any more air in. Your hand is still hanging in the air, trying to reach out to his offering, but his hand is holding it far from your grasp. 

You do not want to beg, this standoff would be part of your resistance to his captivity. In your mind, something would have to give way eventually. You could not sit around and just take his crumbs and passive weird behavior. So, you shake your head no.

“Go to your room. You’ve pissed me off,” His tone is abrupt and rushed. You do not want to push this further, knowing that you have made it an inch with him and were not completely ready to run the mile. You needed to game plan your next move.

You stand up, walking painfully slow to the door and leaving his space. His steps trail behind you, ensuring you did what he asked you to do. You can smell his musk, which makes the hairs on your arms stand up. He smelled good for a man as rugged as him. 

When you reach your bedroom door, you grab the handle and turn around to face him. He stares down at you, his pupils dilated. 

You make one last plea. “So, no snack?”

You regret saying it immediately. He puts the jerky bit up to his lips, opens them deliberately, and takes a huge bite of the meat. It pulls apart with a crackle and watching it, you know it probably would hurt your teeth if you did something like that. His flexed jaw is a lot stronger than yours. His action is animalistic in a way, reminding you of a lion tearing into an antelope. 

And for some reason, it brings a rise of heat from your shoulders to your cheeks. Watching his teeth gnaw on the jerky sends your mind traveling to la la land. 

His voice forces you out of your thoughts. “Go to bed. Now.”

-

He stopped bringing you breakfast. Instead of your usual routine, Joel started giving you one small meal a day. You start to resent him and by the looks he is giving you, he is still bitter over your whole scheme with the snack. 

You woke up hungry, which only started your day off wrong. You are regretting ever testing him in the first place. You were biting the same hand that literally fed you. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you should be grateful he is even keeping you alive. Why are you even trying to rock the boat with him? In some weird twisted way, he gave you a second chance. You were completely sober from alcohol going on a month now. And while most nights you grieved the burn of it going down your throat, your mind was more clear. You felt more grounded in reality. You did not want to go back to the way you were. Sure, you were hungry, but you were not plastered and sleeping 18 hours a day, and that seemed like a fair enough trade. 

But the ache of your chest started to set in. You were feeling impulsive. You do not clearly remember how your body felt before you started drinking so much, but you do recall the aggression that would riddle your bones from time to time. The knee jerk reaction just to let loose. It had gotten you in some very sticky situations, but it was a sort of rush you craved. 

After three days of the stalemate, he brought you the Spam sandwich and a short cup of water for dinner. You do not look at him when he walks into the room, and you do not thank him. 

You had to get on his good side again. Somehow.

“Are you on a hunger strike or somethin’?” His deep Southern drawl always extending out the end of his sentences. You loved hearing it.

You shake your head no.

“You stopped giving me breakfast,” You grumble, reaching out to the plate he offers you. He shrugs, plopping down in his usual chair in the corner. He does not have his dinner in hand tonight. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. 

“You were bein’ an ungrateful little bitch. I am offerin’ you a second chance here and you are not appreciative,” He states, almost sighing. You grit your teeth at his name for you, but you decide it is not worth the argument. 

You take a bite of the stale bread. The moan of your stomach subsides for a moment. 

“I am appreciative…”

He sits back, his shoulders flexing under his jean button-up. You scan his body, noting his dirty clothes and muddy brown boots. He was always tracking things into your bedroom from the bottom of his shoes and it ate away at your need for wanting things more clean. Your sober mind needed tidiness. 

He grunts, “Doesn’t seem that way, sweetheart. Didn’t thank me just now.”

You try to get your thoughts in order before you respond. You take one careful bite into the sandwich, trying to read the man sitting in front of you. He got you sober. He feeds you and houses you even though he could have shot you in the face for being involved with a man who screwed him over. And he is not a bad view to look at when you eat. 

“Thank you, Joel.”

He stands up and saunters over to you. As you swallow your bite, your eyes trail up his large frame. You start to worry a bit. Maybe he did not see your answer as genuine. 

His thumb begins to trace the outline of your jaw, before slowly making its way up to your cheekbone. You grasp onto the plate tighter, your eyes piercing his as he focuses in on your lips. When you think he’s about to pull away, his palm goes over your mouth and his hand squeezes your cheeks together. His grip on you is painful, his fingers sinking into the divots of your upper jaw. 

“You are receptive to feedback. Which is a good thing…” He trails off. Your heart starts to pound against your rib cage as you wait for the other shoe to drop. His hand jerks your head to the right, inspecting your side profile. “You will be good for me.”

You do not know what he is insinuating and are too afraid to speak up. You dip your head down, trying to promise him silently. Yes, I will be good. Please don’t kill me.

He slowly lets go of your face. He brings his thumb up to his lips and licks the very tip of the finger. You watch him bring it back down to your level. You flinch when he brings it up to the very corner of your lip. He wipes away at something like a father would to his young child who had food left on their face. 

Joel was violent. But he was quiet about it and that scared you. He moved with such intention and you found yourself occasionally hypnotized by his aura. He was unlike any man you ever met. It could be the fact that others around you made him out to be some enigma, but maybe he was one. 

You finally manage to speak up, the sudden tender touch starkly different from the aggression just minutes before. 

“What do you want with me?”

It comes out as a whisper, but with Joel being so close, his ears perk up. 

His face does not change from the steeled expression. “Time.”

-

He gives you breakfast one morning. You have been sleeping in, trying to use slumber as a substitute for food and it seemed to work for a couple of days. Joel brings in a plate with eggs and some stale bread. You had not seen him bring in eggs before and it shocked you. Your eyes almost well up in tears when he hands it to you in bed. 

“Thank you, Joel.”

He sits in his usual spot and watches you scarf down the meal. “I am going to be gone for a couple of days.”

Your eyes shoot back at him, confusion laced in your countenance. “What about me?”

“I’m letting you have access to the kitchen and living room. You’re not allowed to leave. The door will be locked from the outside.”

The thought of being alone for that long scares you. Your thoughts start spinning. Why is he leaving you? Why would he let you be alone? Would you be able to eat? 

Joel can see the cogs turning in your brain. 

“You are leaving me alone?”

He claps his hands on his thighs as he stands, “I have a run to make. I usually have other guys do it for me but I gotta do this one myself. You will be okay.”

For some reason, your instinct is to worry about him. Going out of the QZ walls is always a very dangerous feat and you knew he would be unprotected from the elements and infected. Joel seems more than capable, but anything can happen. What would happen if he died out there?

“How long will you be gone?”

The question comes out desperate and you do not mean it to. You crawl out from under your covers, planting your feet on the ground. You suddenly felt hot. When the cold air hits your bare legs, you realize that you forgot you discarded your pants in the middle of the night. You were just in your underwear in front of him. 

Joel’s eyes flicker down your unclad legs. You had a good radar when it came to men checking you out and as much as you did not want to admit it, you knew Joel was doing just that. 

His lips twitch, “Not long. Two days, max.”

You cross your legs, holding your hands in front of your crotch in an attempt to try to shield yourself a bit. You watch him meander over to you, his steps purposeful. Once he reaches about a foot away, your breathing slows as his hand trails up your arm. 

You felt this tension rise within the room and for a second you think he may act on his reaction to your legs. But instead, he just clears his throat. You are a bit disappointed and you do not know why. 

“I’ll be good, Joel.”

-

You survive the first night. You busy yourself with stuff around his apartment. You decide that you would not snoop through his belongings, only organizing the kitchen cabinets and alphabetizing his record collection. You had found a sense of purpose, filling your day with pointless tasks. 

When the second night comes, you decide that you finally need a shower. Joel did not tell you that you could use the bathroom in his room, but you became aware that the other tub did not work and was covered in mold. The smell in the bathroom was enough to make you gag. 

You were starting to reek of body odor and you did not want to sleep another night smelling the way you did. Plus, you knew the soap you used when Joel called you pretty was in that shower. He could not be that mad. 

So, you tiptoe into his room and wander into his bathroom. When you flick on the light, you notice some of his beard shavings in the sink bowl. To the left of the shower curtain, you spot a jumbled pair of boxer shorts. You feel a pang in your stomach. His face appears in your mind. You cannot stop yourself from imagining him in the room with you, just like he was when you stripped for your shower before. 

You step into the cool water, letting it soak you as your hands traveled around your body. Your nerve endings were buzzing as your thoughts pondered the idea of Joel being there with you. 

The glimmer of his eyes when you were pantsless days before still rattled around in your head. You had not been desired in so long and with that action alone, Joel made you feel wanted. The tension was so palpable. His close proximity to you, the occasional gentle touches, it was enough to fill your mind with all the dirty possibilities. 

Your hand travels down to between your legs. At first it’s only to clean, but as you explore, you cannot help but slip your fingers between your folds. The titillating motion is enough to have you throwing your head back in pleasure. You squeeze your eyes shut, thoughts drifting to how you need an explosive release and you sickeningly want Joel Miller to give it to you. 

Your pointer finger and middle spread your folds, rubbing carelessly and eagerly. You have not felt this driven to orgasm in years. You recall the sight of Joel’s stomach the first day you met him. Then you think about the boxers right outside of the shower next to you. Your thoughts spin and suddenly he’s naked in your mind. 

Your hand only moves quicker with the thoughts. Your clit is aching with such intensity, you are shuttering and using your free hand to balance yourself on the tub’s wall. The water is pounding down your chest, dripping through the valley of your breasts. 

Your eyes open a bit as you try to find your footing and you notice a bar of soap that’s covered in his short hairs. You snatch it up, bringing it up to your nose as your lips quirk up into a smile. 

Of course, it smells like him. 

You finger yourself faster, his name spilling from his lips as you press the bar into your face. It is almost like you are imagining it is his face stuck to your face. 

“Joel… Oh my god, Joel-”

The sound of the curtain being ripped away from its spot makes you completely jump out of your skin. His fierce brown eyes raking down your completely nude frame, hunched over and in a compromising position. He slams his fist against the faucet, shutting the water off in one swoop. You drop his soap to the floor, scrambling backward trying to dodge his rage. 

He is pissed. 

His hand wraps around your bicep, ripping you out of the tub and onto the tile. Your hip hits the ground first and it sends a shooting pain up your back. He is panting like he just ran a mile, standing over your sopping naked frame. 

“What are ya’? A bitch in heat?” He spits. You are so dazed and a bit afraid, you start to shake and raise your hands in defense. 

He squats down to you, his eyes scanning your dripping body. His hands work so quick to reach out and grab your face. With clenched teeth, he brings your face close. “Answer me.”

His grip is tight on your face and you do not know if you can even respond effectively. You feel your core pulsate with the way he has a hold of you. 

“I-I wanted to s-shower.”

He mocks you, “I-I… You are fuckin’ yourself in my shower like a dirty whore.”

He turns back to check to see if he actually saw you holding his bar of soap. It’s in pieces at the bottom of the tub surround. He pulls his hand away but the sting still remains. 

“I-I’m sorry, Joel.”

His gaze falls upon you again, a little less aggravated. “Dry off and get dressed. Sit on my bed when you’re done.”

-

Your mind is all over the place when you sit down on Joel’s bed. He is not in the room but you hear him in the kitchen moving around. You hear the clatter of some plates and then him grunting. 

When he barges in,you can tell he is annoyed still. 

“You reorganized?”

Your heart pounds with uncertainty. You did not believe that would ever set him off, but you are starting to realize you have gauged Joel incorrectly. “Yes.”

He stops his pacing, his hands still propped up on his hips. “Why?”

“Because I needed to keep busy while you were gone. I also went through and-”

“Alphabetized the records. I saw.”

Nothing was getting past him. Your breathing is labored, the idea of him killing you for helping him be more orderly is so pathetic. You had to go out in a better way. 

You clench your hands in your lap, “I did not mean to make you angry.”

He does not say anything, staring at you with an askane expression. He pivots to the dresser beside the bed, opening up the top drawer. He pulls out a pair of gray sweatpants and a beat up white t-shirt. He folds them meticulously, stacking them and then handing them to you. 

You reach out for them, putting them in your empty lap.

“Put them on and get under the covers.”

Of all the things he could have said, this surprises you the most. “In my own bed?”

“No, this one.”

You look back at his perfectly made bed. He wanted you to sleep with him?

“Joel-”

“We are tryin’ somethin’ new tonight. Change your clothes while I take a shower with my soap, and be under those covers when I get out,” His outline of directions is seriously rattling you to your core. You felt nervous but almost excited? 

You watch him turn on his heels and amble over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Your stomach sinks when you hear the lock click. You look down at the clothes he gave you, raising them up to check the tags. 

Just your size. 

-

His bed is way more comfortable than the mattress you were cursed with. The blue quilt feels soft and worn under your fingertips. You lay on your back, feeling out of your own body. You hear the water shut off in the bathroom and your heart starts racing. You hear the rip up the curtain and some small stomps as Joel must be exiting the shower. 

When the door creaks open and you see him standing in only some boxer shorts, your breathing hitches. His hair is brushed backward and his hairy upper body is a sight to behold. You silently wished you had this image earlier when you were rubbing your clit. 

He walks over to his dresser, the same dresser he pulled clothes for you out of, and grabs a plain white t-shirt. He tosses it over his head, pushing his arms out of the holes on the side. It was slightly stained at the collar and it was see-through enough that you saw his dark chest hair still. 

“You are sleeping with me tonight,” He announces, walking over to the opposite side of the bed. Your stomach flips when you watch him pull the blanket back and crawl under the blanket. You observe how drastic his mood shifted from ripping you out of the shower. Why did he want you in his bed? What was his end goal? Your core is still sticky with your desire. You secretly wish he would just take advantage of you already. 

But he does not even turn your direction. You watch him face his back to you, tuck one arm under his pillow and shut the lamp off. 

Your mind starts to race. The bedroom door is unlocked, you can see it in the moonlight. You could easily slip out of the bed in the middle of the night and head for the front door and run. 

But it’s the same thought that slipped your mind when Joel left you a couple days ago. You could have jumped out a window, rigged the doorknob to the apartment to get out, but you just never did. Instead, you sat idle inside Joel’s apartment and waited for him to return. 

And now you have access to him when he’s at his most vulnerable. What was preventing you from sneaking a pointy object into the bedroom and stabbing him directly in the throat?

Because you needed him. And while your demented and violent thoughts of all the ways you could kill him rattled around in your mind, you knew deep down you would never do it. You craved the need to impress him. To be good for him. 

He’s silent next to you, not a sound leaving his body. You are not even sure if he is asleep when you slowly turn on your side, facing away from him as well. 

Somehow, you sleep better in his bed than your own. 

-

The routine changes after that night. 

Joel wakes up as soon as the sun breaks the sky and he leaves you in his bed as he prepares you breakfast. When you hear the door reopen, you always wake up to his frame standing over you with a plate. You rub your eyes as you grab the handoff, propping yourself up on his headboard. He would sit on the end of the bed, nibbling on his own meal. 

And then he starts asking you questions.

It starts off with him asking you where you were from originally. You explain how you traveled with a group of people that were essentially raiding other established communities. You had escaped the Baltimore QZ when a bunch of people got infected practically overnight and there was no oversight. When you got out, the people who survived with you became vicious and desperate. 

Then he asks you about your relationship with Roger. 

You give him the overview. You tell him you relied on him to fund your mind-numbing habits and he left you to look over his stash. When you press him about what he did to him, Joel gives you those eyes. Almost to say “you don’t get to ask the questions here.”

Most days you sat on the couch and read his collection of books. You were not the fastest reader so it took days to get through some of the stories. He had a lot of books about space and a variety of science fiction. He would leave every day, running his usual business. When he got back home, you would still be planted on the sofa, reading. He would slam his keys down and get to work on your Spam sandwich. 

Every other night you would shower. After the soap incident, he kept his soap on the very top corner of the shower. When you first noticed it, you smiled sickly. 

The sleeping situation is the same every night. You lay on your back, Joel lays on his side, completely facing away from you. Sometimes in the middle of the night, your arms would brush his back and he would stir. You tried your very best not to test his limits even though you had no real clue what they were. 

One particular night, the window he kept cracked was letting in the most frigid air. You always ran cold while Joel was like a furnace when he slept. He radiated enough heat to keep a whole house warm. But this night you were shaking under the quilt, your toes feeling like they may fall off. 

You turn on your side, facing his expansive back. You are so deliberate with your movement that when your arm falls over his waist, his body jolts. Instead of slapping you away or turning to face you, his body just stills completely, not even a rise and fall of breath. 

“What are you doing?” He asks through the darkness, his sleepy voice. Almost wholesome. 

You stifle a response, trying your best to sound confident. “I’m cold.”

He finally breathes out, his arm moving down over yours and holding it against his waist. Your heart races so hard you can hardly fathom falling asleep, but at least you were warm. 

You start to do it every night, even when the air is balmy outside. You settle on your side, your arm swinging over his waist and pulling your lower half taut with his butt. You never expected you would ever be spooning Joel Miller every night, but here you were, wearing his clothes with your pelvis flush to him. 

Your hand finds his hips one night while you adjusted your position. Your hand graces right below his waist and you feel his member half-hard in his boxer shorts. It makes your eyes snap open, the shock of your body waking him up. Your hand does not move, though. You hover it over that spot, curiously wanting to touch him through his shorts. 

“Do you feel me?”

His voice makes your throat tighten, unsure of how to respond to such a question. So you just hum and shake your head. 

He takes your reluctant hand and pushes it down to his clothed cock, his body pushing back into a bit. Your mind is still a bit fuzzy from your slumber, but when you feel him harden under your touch, you do not want to stop until you finish him. 

He is deliberately moving your hand around, pulling it over and under his boxers until you are touching his bare cock. You shutter at how large it feels in your hand and you cannot even see it from how you are laying. Your hand cannot completely wrap around it due to its girth. 

“Joel…” You practically whimper, clawing his back to get him to lay back so you can see him. He does not budge, still laying on his side. 

Your hand massages the very base of his dick, his curly hair poking your fingertips as you do. You are so eager that as you jerk him off, he grabs your hand to start guiding you slower. When your hand graces his tip, he hisses. 

“Gotta take me slow, girl,” He groans, holding your wrist so tight you know it will be bruised in the morning. You do as he says, slowly and methodically following how he likes to be jerked off. After a minute, you can hear his shallow breaths increasing as you bring your speed up just a bit. 

“Are you gonna cum?”

You try to say it in a sultry voice, but it comes out rushed and desperate. You just want to see him seize by your own hand. Joel grunts, his grip on your arm practically stilling your movements before he can even finish. You resist his persistent handle on you. You craved to make him orgasm. Eventually, he pushes his hips forward into your hand, sighing as he releases.

You feel the ropes of cum spill all over the back of your hand. As soon as the warm seed empties onto you and his tummy, he rips back the covers and stumbles into the bathroom. He shuts the door so fast, you hardly see him through the dark. 

You look at his clear-white fluid on your knuckles and smile in satisfaction.You want him to see your next actions. 

The bathroom light spills into the room as he holds out a wash rag to you. It’s obvious it’s the one he just used on himself. You shake your head, bringing your hand up to your lips, extending your tongue, and licking the spend off your knuckles. You swallow, willingly. 

He gawks at you, his eyebrows still knitted together, watching you clean off your hand entirely. “Didn’t even need my help. What a good girl.”

-

You wake up with Joel standing over you. It rattles you a bit, his stare zeroed in on your face. 

“Mornin’,” He uttered, holding out a small pile of clothes for you. “We are goin’ on a field trip.”

The last thing you expected after jerking the man off last night was an outing. You sit straight up, holding out your hands for him to shove the clothes in your palms. 

“Where are we going,” You stammer, pushing the covers down your legs.

His eyes rake down your body as you stand up, almost standing at attention in front of him. 

“You’re comin’ to work with me.”

You look down at the clothes he has given you. Some cargo pants, a short sleeve gray top, and even a new pair of underwear. 

This is the first outing you have had since being with Joel, so you are a bit nervous thinking about how the outside world may be. It cannot be any worse than it already was, but you worried about how you would be perceived walking down the street with Joel Miller. 

The more you ponder the idea, you start to feel more reassured than anything. If you were placed beside anyone, you would want it to be with the guy everyone feared. No one would ever think to give you a hard time. 

Joel’s line of work was dangerous but it was also a powerful role to have in this fucked up world in the QZ. You were on the right side of the insanity, in your opinion. Joel was your protection in some demented fucked-up way. 

You get dressed as he makes breakfast. This morning, he decides to make you two some eggs that he said were getting old so he had to make them. He likes his eggs runny, so you had to like yours runny, too. 

You two sat at the dining table as you ate. He scarfs his down in a minute, while you take your time to savor the different flavor. You missed eating food that was not Spam or plain bread. Joel notes your painstakingly slow chews. 

“Hurry up, we got places to be.”

-

The people on the streets pay mind to you now. Before, when you did leave your former place with Roger, everyone kept their heads down. Occasionally people would slam into you with their shoulders, acting like they could phase right through you. 

When you walk with Joel, people move out of the way.

The alleyway is not too far from Joel’s apartment. He forces you to walk in front of him, copying every step you make with his loud footfalls. He grabs your shoulders to direct you down a concrete staircase that seems to lead to nowhere. At the bottom, a brute man stands with his arms crossed. You hesitantly stop right in front of him, your eyes taking in all the scars littering his face. 

Joel grunts. “She’s with me, Pete. Thomas and Garrett in there with him?”

The man, who’s now known as Pete, just nods minutely. Joel pushes the door beside him open and grabs your forearm to drag you through the threshold. It’s a dimly lit hallway that smelled like dampness and gunpowder. There’s two light bulbs dangling from the paint chipped ceiling that guide you to the end of the hallway. Joel pushes open the door, and you smell that familiar metallic smell. 

It was a smell that leaked into your dreams occasionally. It’s so overpowering you can almost taste it. 

When you walk in, the room is occupied by three men. Two are standing over the other, their bodies blocking the entirety of the scene. You do note the huge puddle of blood on the floor near a knocked over wooden chair. Joel clears his throat and the two men step away looking at Joel, then you. They have to be around your age, maybe a bit older. The blond man speaks up first as he scans your body. 

“Bringing your kid along for the show?”

You glance over at Joel who’s jaw tightens. You watch his whole demeanor shift, his body becoming rigid. 

“Get out of here, Garrett.”

The blond man furrows his brows, not understanding why he was really being directed to leave. You can sense a bit of hesitance. “Joel, I’m just kidd-”

“Get the fuck out, now. We don’t need you.”

The man scrambles past you and Joel, shutting the door behind him. The dynamic Joel and his men have is very easy to figure out. Whatever he says, goes. The look the other man is giving him is that of unease. 

“He confessed that he stole from our stash. More than once.” Joel walks forward, drawing his gun out. Finally, the man on the floor comes into full view. 

And you recognize him. 

He was a pill smuggler that had come over to Roger’s a couple times before. He always gave off the vibe that he would take advantage of anyone, especially a woman. He would whisper things about you to Roger and you remember a couple times when he had inappropriately touched you. You believe his name to be Don. Maybe Ron. 

His eyes are swollen and bruised. His lip is completely split open and he has a gnarly gash on his left cheekbone. He is tied up, his arms and legs bound by ropes and zip ties. 

You are not at all phased by blood, but his beaten body is a bit hard to look at. He was not a nice looking man already, and surely the swelling was not helping him. 

His lips part almost like he is about to speak up, but Joel swipes the butt of his gun across his face with insane accuracy. 

One thing about you was you did not turn away from violence. Now that you are sober, it's easier to recognize that something was off for you to be so unfazed by the savagery. You sickeningly enjoyed watching people get their karma. 

You had no context as to why this man was bound and brutalized in this random basement, but you knew Joel had good reason to set him straight. 

“Donny boy, I thought we were friends,” Joel’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. He seems in his element as he squats in front of the man, “And you fucked me over good. Sold out people only to get yourself in this position. Pretty fuckin’ dumb.”

Don can hardly sit up, his body completely tilted with his elbow propping up his entire body weight. You can tell he is struggling to respond, but you hear the faintest voice quip up. 

“I told the truth, please,” He begs as he attempts to sit up more. Joel grabs his shoulder roughly, balancing his back on his butt. “I won’t do it again.”

You cannot see Joel’s face, but you know he does not believe that. His shoulders slot back a bit as he stands up and turns to face you. His face is straight, not showing any emotion at all. You notice the gun still in his hand, his finger completely off the trigger. 

“You know him?”

You just nod, your eyes peering down at the gun he has directed at you. His eyes flicker back and forth, seemingly contemplating what to say next. He pushes the weapon into your hand, his fingers curling around the grip so that your hand would follow suit. You watch every meticulous move, pulling the safety clip, slipping his hand away and gesturing towards the man. 

“You’re gonna kill him.”

Your eyes fly open, unsure if this problem should be dealt with by you. The promise you made to yourself when you stepped foot in this QZ rattled around in your brain as you tried not to show Joel your irresolution. Your mouth is dry when you gulp, “Why?”

His hand presses on your back as he pushes you towards the guy. You are about 2 feet from him and Joel’s face is so close to your ear. It’s the closest he has ever been to you. You can feel his breath on your lobe and neck and it makes bumps scatter across your body. 

He raises your arms, pointing the barrel towards Don. As soon as he does that, Don starts begging. His voice shaking, sweat pooling on his forehead, tears pricking at the corners of his swollen eyes. 

Joel’s voice is so hushed over Don’s pleas. “He is the one who told me about Roger stealing from me. Little did I know, he was stealing from me, too.”

It is like a switch goes off in your brain. Your eyes are trained forward on the trembling man but it is as if the whole world went quiet when Joel stopped speaking. You hear white noise in your ears and your mind shuts off for a nanosecond. Your pointer finger slots between trigger guard and trigger and you squeeze, your aim right at his head. 

You feel the spray explode across your face and suddenly you snap back to your reality. 

Your body was overtaken by the need to please. The need to impress Joel. It was also like your own sick revenge. This man is the reason Roger was dead. The reason you got ripped from your normalcy. Your brain had no time to catch up to your body’s actions. Instead of flinching or falling backward away from the body of the traitor, you stand over him like he’s some commodity in a circus. With wonder and curiosity, you lower the gun and smile. 

Joel steps beside you, his face expressing fervor. 

Finally facing him and forgetting the other man in the room who was just a witness to the scene, you speak up. 

“Did I do good?”

A small semblance of a grin spreads across his lips. “Very good, sweetheart.”

-

You and Joel do not stay in the room long after. Very quickly, he ushers you into another room where he checks a cabinet full of guns, looking over each other and counting in a hushed tone. You hear bounding footsteps in the hallway and men talking amongst each other. 

The voices are rushed and surprised. One states, “She didn’t even flinch. Joel’s lucky to have her.”

You feel a tickle on your brow and itch it absentmindedly. As you pull your finger back and look at it, it is stained red. 

You find a shiny surface in the room of arms and paraphernalia, glancing at your own reflection. The smear of blood goes across your forehead, while the splatter itself is speckled across your cheeks like freckles. Joel stops what he is doing to check you out, his steps trailing up to your back. His breathing is quite labored and as you stare at your own mirror image, you note the look he’s giving you. 

His hand goes across your chest, his finger tips starting to dance across your décolletage.

“We gotta clean you up. Can’t have you walkin’ the streets lookin’ like you killed someone.”

He says it while he rubs the blood across your chest, smearing it and massaging it into your skin. 

You loved it when he touched you. Even if it was roughly, you counted yourself lucky that Joel felt the need to do so. 

“But I did kill someone.”

Your voice does not have any hesitance, you are simply stating facts. Joel’s chin tilts upward, his hand grabbing your shoulder and jerking you around to face him. His face is practically millimeters from the tip of your nose. 

He grunts, almost like he’s clearing his throat. “And you didn’t even second guess me. I didn’t even need to push you, you just did it.”

You smirk to yourself, enjoying the slight praise he is giving you. 

“And here I thought I was testin’ ya.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, trying to see right into his soul. Testing you?

“Did you not expect me to do it?” You bite. 

“I had an inklin’ you’d be loyal. Consistent. Even a bit violent. But I didn’t expect a killer.”

Your chest rises at his statement. You are trying to manage your breathing as his words have a visceral effect on you. It was like he was talking dirty to you. Why did his impression of you mean so much? Ever since you met the man, you were at his mercy and you got off at his reassurance. It was like he was your new vice. 

His right hand traces down your bare arm, while his left grabs your jaw. “Let’s get you cleaned up and home, how ‘bout it?”

You agree with a jerk of your head. 

-

Once you walk into the apartment again, you are reminded of the smell of mold again. When the scent hits your nostrils, you scrunch your face. Joel is quick to notice the expression because his eyes and hands have not left your body since you shot that guy. He has been watching your every move. 

You toe off your shoes by the front door as Joel tosses down the keys. He takes the handgun out of his waistband and places it carelessly next to them. 

When he turns to look at you, he crosses his arms. He is studying you as you unzip the jacket he offered you. It was only to cover the blood that stained your new outfit. 

“Take it off slow.”

You shoot him a confused look, still trying your best to follow his instructions. You shrug the jacket off your shoulders, letting it purposefully fall down your arms. The blood on your clothes has left semi-permanent spots on your skin. Once the clothing pools to the floor, you stand there at Joel’s mercy. 

He clenches his jaw, nodding slowly as he inspects you. “Now the shirt.”

You do not second guess his next directions. You grab the hem of your shirt and draw it upward over your head. The fabric goes across your lips and nose lifting them up awkwardly. You smile when you drop the next article next to the jacket. 

The anticipation makes your pussy pulsate. You have thought about this moment for longer than you care to admit. 

“Pants.”

The pants are buttoned so you fumble with getting it undone before you are shoving them down your goosebump-ridden legs. When they get to your ankles, you use the opposite feet to step on the fabric and pull them off your feet. You kick them further away than the shirt and jacket.

You are only in your underwear in Joel’s living room. He is looking at you with such confliction. You have never felt very self conscious until this very moment. 

“Should I keep going?” 

It is an innocent question, but there is lustful intention behind it. There would be a point of no return if he did answer it. 

“I was gettin’ there,” He steps towards you, his guise not giving away any of his next movements. His face was still unyielding. “Panties first.”

Your breathing hitches when his fingers wrap around the elasticity of the waistband.

“I’m still c-covered in blood-” “Shut up.”

You nod, sliding the underwear down and revealing your already dripping core. He sucks in a big breath of air as his hand reaches between your legs and swipes at your wetness with the pads of his fingers. Your entire body tenses, the feeling so foreign and exciting that you cannot contain your gasp for air. 

Finally his expressionless face changes to a small twinge of a smile, “Dirty fuckin’ girl. Have been wantin’ this for a long time, eh?”

You are afraid to admit it out loud so you just nod. His fingers still make work through your folds and your knees feel like they may buckle with every swipe. Joel notes your position and grabs your face with his left hand, squeezing your cheeks so hard it forces you to look at him and stand up straighter. 

His fingers dip into you briefly, making squelching noise so loud that you both groan.

“Joel,” you whimper, sounding desperate and hasty.

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. It is a passionate act you did not expect. You did not know that sex would Joel would mean open mouth kisses, but you are thankful for it. His hand releases its grip on your cheeks and wraps itself around the base of your throat. Your lips slip open for his tongue, letting it explore every inch of your mouth. His fingers are making their slow methodical movements around your clit, driving you absolutely insane with desire. 

Your body seems so in tune with every movement he makes, but as you makeout with him, you realize it is because he has molded you this way. To curve and bend to his every will and way.

And you loved every moment of it. You thirsted for this type of control. You knew you would not have to worry or have a second thought, ever. Joel was already ten steps ahead and thinking out everything for you. 

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. You note the red tinge of blood on his lips from kissing yours. 

“Get on your knees.”

You obey, whining when you realize that means he would no longer be keeping your pussy warm with his hand. Once your knees hit the hardwood, his hands are making work at his belt and jean buttons. 

“You know how to suck dick? Or do I gotta do all the work for ya?”

Your eyes fly open at the vulgarity. You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, “Yes, Joel. I’ve done it before.”

Having his dick in your hand last night was one thing, but seeing it for the first time is jarring. He is definitely the biggest you have ever had the pleasure of being in front of. He can tell by the look on your face that you are a bit stunned. 

“Let’s see how you do,” He inches his waist closer to your face and slightly ajar lips, “Open.”

Complying is what you do for Joel. 

You open your mouth nice and wide as he inches his cock into your warm mouth. You close your eyes, trying to focus on not disappointing him with your gag reflex. You try your best to relax, but his watchful eye is making you feel disoriented. 

He pulls out, letting you take a breath, only to push back in more forcefully. You try to stop his intrusion by putting your hand up on his hairy bare thigh, but it is no use. Your closed eyes prick with tears as Joel pulls out again, this time he is slapping his dick across your mouth. 

“Keep those fuckin’ eyes open and on me. Open nice n’ wide and relax that fuckin’ throat.”

His demands needed to be met, so you nod and adjust your position, laying your tongue out. He inches in again and instead of resisting, you relax and watch him through your eyelashes. His face twists as he draws back, his cock getting so impossibly close to the back of your throat. When he hits your gag reflex, you grip onto your own thighs tightly to contain the urge to empty your stomach. He smiles sickly at your reaction. “Poor girl,” He teases, snapping his hips forward again. Another gag. “Can’t fuckin’ take me? Guess we will have to train that mouth and throat, huh?”

He keeps fucking your mouth as your eyebrows draw together in concentration. Joel’s loving every moment, watching you writhe under him. Your wetness is pooling on the hardwood and you can already hint the embarrassment you will feel if Joel notices. 

You hollow out your cheeks, attempting to assert yourself in the situation. When you do that, Joel pulls out completely. He leans down to grab your arms and lifts you off the floor, dragging your shins against the uneven wood planks. And to your horror, he notices the wetness on the floor. “Drippin’ on the floor like a wet mop, ain’t ya?”

Joel’s eyes were always dark brown, but they look black with his eyes as dilated as they are. His grip on your arms is very assertive and when he pushes you back over the arm of the couch, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. 

“Please, Joel.”

He grabs you up by your armpits, dragging your body across the couch. When you're lying flat, he settles himself between your legs, holding your right leg taut with his hipbone. 

“Keep begging,” He demands, a smug expression taking over his face. His eyes scour your entire body, “My little killer.”

The word sends your body into overdrive and you start grabbing at his body, trying to take what you want. He fights your hands, grabbing both of them and pinning them against the throw pillow right above your head.

You want to confess everything to him in that moment. The very moment you laid eyes on him, you wanted to give yourself to him. In every single way possible. 

“I want you.”

“I know you do,” He grabs the shaft of his cock and begins his torture. Sliding it through your soaked folds and humming in satisfaction. You lift your hips, trying to get him to slip it in, but he is always quicker than you. “Desperate, ain’t ya?”

Before your face can react to his mocking, his hips snap forward, fully sheathing himself inside you. The meat of your thigh presses against his waist, trying to hold him in that spot, but he does not let up. The pressure is almost too much but the pain is appallingly satisfying.

You cannot even remember the last time you felt this. Your previous sexual encounters were usually hasty and boring. Most were not consensual and left you feeling gross and deprived of release. 

The build up between you and Joel was a months long endeavor that left you feeling borderline insane. You could not help but let your desire for him fester. 

His pace is not slow in the slightest, but it is calculated. You manage to widen your legs a bit allowing more space for his thighs to take up. As he kneels between you, you get a great view of his muscular flexed thighs.

Joel was a specimen. You could not stop yourself from admiring such a sight, especially when his hands are all over you and his dick is driving into you over and over. You had never been in love, never seen it first hand even, but you knew you love this moment. You love Joel for making you feel so good. That’s not a feeling you have ever had for anyone, let alone a man in this sick world. 

“Oh my god, yes,” You clamor, your hands still locked over your head. The tension you feel in the pit of your stomach feels like it may explode, “Please, please.”

He repositions himself, releasing your wrists and pushing your legs up. You are folded in half while his upper body falls over you. You can already see the glistening of sweat across his neck and shoulders. His body locks you on the couch as he continues rocking into you. 

“You don’t cum til I say, got me?”

He fucks into you harder now, and from this angle, you do not know how that will be possible. A couple more thrusts and you know you are a goner. 

“I feel it,” You choke, trying to clench to prevent yourself from letting go before Joel’s instruction. “Joel.”

“I said hold that shit back,” His pace only speeds up, like he is chasing his own high, “Not ‘til I say.”

The friction is too much. You tug your lip between your teeth and you bite so hard that you start to taste blood. He is not letting up and you know the rope is about to snap. No matter how hard you try, when your eyes roll back and your body goes rigid, you let the release take over everything. 

You are screaming, your voice cracking as you do. Joel’s hip stutter when your pussy tightens up around him, but you know he’s only slowing down because you did not listen. 

Your limbs feel like jello and being that you are unable to really shift or move below Joel anyway, you just lay there limp. Joel flexes his arms and you can tell as he pulls away from your body that he is pissed. 

“Roll over.”

You knit your brows together, still trying to manage your breathing. “I’m sorry-”

He slaps your thigh, the sting prickling down your entire leg. “Roll the fuck over.”

The motion takes almost all of your energy. When you are on your stomach, Joel hauls your ass towards his pelvis. With your ass up in the air, you can feel the cold air hit your spent cunt. Your head is tilted, only able to see Joel in your peripheral vision. He looks down at your pussy, dragging his cock head through your seams. You note how he smiles coyly. 

When his lips purse and spit starts to dribble out, you start babbling all sorts of nonsense. The spit lands perfectly between your pussy lips and the top of his red tip. 

“You know what happens to girls who don’t listen?”

You keen as he pushes his cockhead into your cunt, “What?”

“Punishment.”

The thrust is so powerful it has your body almost slamming back onto the sofa. As he ruts into you, the moans that come out of you do not sound human. You are already so sensitive from your orgasm, you know that it takes practically no touch at all to set off the chain reaction again. 

His grip on your ass will leave bruises, just like all the other bruises he has given you in the last couple months. You count all of them like trophies. All the time Joel has touched you. 

When the grip turns into open hand spanking, you know your ‘punishments’ would be something you would enjoy tempting time to time. 

They are brutal. With each thrust, his palm comes down on your left ass cheek. All the while, his right fingers are digging scratches all along your ass and thigh. Between the sounds of the smacks and his balls slapping against your skin, you are being sent back into an ever-growing burn in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuckin’ pussy is squeezin’ my cock,” He mewls, his voice gravelly, “You like gettin’ spanked? Hm?”

You restrain yourself from screaming out that you love it. You settle for just, “Please don’t stop.”

You can hear him chuckle behind you, his actions continuing as he bucks into you. 

“You’re lucky ‘m feelin’ nice.”

His hips start to stutter as you continue your mewling over his cock. He reaches out to your shoulders, pulling you upward and locking his arm around your neck. He has you in a loose headlock as he fucks you. Your hands rest on your forearm, your nails digging so hard that you leave small half moons on his freckled skin. 

His other arm finds its way between your legs, swiping your clit as his thrusts become more labored. Even with the pace slowed down, the small titillating circles he pushes into your sensitive bud sends you over the edge again. As you fall apart in his arms, he spirals into his own climax, fucking his seed so deep into you that you will probably have it dripping out of you for days. 

The husky moans he lets out as he empties himself inside you rattles in your eardrum. It was like music to your ears. You finally got what you want.

“You came again without permission.”

You do not respond, just grunt and fall onto the couch. 

-

Your body is humming still. Joel’s half-hard cock is still standing at attention as he stands up and walks over to the kitchen. You grab the back couch cushion and push yourself up to watch him wander over the sink. His hand reaches for a kitchen towel and he wets it under the sink faucet. 

His ass is so perfect and you silently curse yourself for not grabbing it when he was balls deep in you. 

“Come ‘ere.”

You scramble up, your legs wobbling with each step. Joel’s eyes scan your entire body again, enjoying the sight of you so bare in front of him. “Didn’t think you were the one for aftercare.”

He furrows his eyebrows, as he extends the towel to you. “I ain’t. Wipe yourself up.”

Your heart pangs against your ribcage. For some reason you thought being so intimate with him would bring something different out. You are sorely mistaken. 

The anger you felt earlier, the blind rage, takes over all your nerve endings again. You cannot stop yourself from lashing out after such a high. A high he gave you. 

You slap the towel away, tilting your chin up at him. He has never seen you defiant. His face twists in confusion. 

“You made me kill for you. Then you fuck me. And you can’t even give me any decency by wiping your fucking cum off of me?”

The words are like vomit coming out of your mouth. You ever thought you would talk back to him like this. It is the kind of thing you could have been killed for months ago. But now, you both are in vulnerable positions. You want to prove a point. Look at me, appreciate me, love me. 

“Excuse me?”

His tone is threatening. But so is yours. 

“You heard me.”

As silence cuts through the air, you notice the gun Joel put on the kitchen counter next to a broken coffee pot. He sees you eyeing it and goes to reach for it, but you are closer and a bit faster than him. When your hand wraps around the metal, you point it directly at his hairy chest. 

Proving a point with violence was always your specialty. Before the alcohol, and now, after the alcohol.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” He bites, his lips tightening inward, “You put that shit down now.”

You are steady with it, your finger not on the trigger, but only millimeters from gracing it. “No.”

“You’re not gonna kill me. Not after all you just did for me,” His voice is more clipped, his words staggered. His hands raise in the air, almost in surrender. “Put it down.”

You are not sure what your next move should be. The rage now turns into confliction. 

You have screwed yourself for snapping so quickly at him and now he was never going to trust you. Threatening him with words would be one thing, but pointing a gun at center mass was absurd. While you wanted to get your point across to him, you knew this was overkill. Your fuse was so short and your urges were unkempt. Acting on impulse was going to get you in major trouble.  

In the time you are second guessing your actions, Joel’s already springing forward and snatching the gun from you. You are easy to disarm when you are not prepared for a naked man springing at you in your time of contemplation. Joel grabs the gun, pushing you backward into the kitchen counter and points it at you. 

“Now…” His southern drawl carries out the word. Your heart is pounding, the same way it was racing last time Joel trained a gun on you. This time was different. Instead of a look of contempt and uncertainty, he appears to be offended by your actions. “You know damn well that shit ain’t gonna fly with me.”

“Joel-” “Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” He steps closer, the gun still trained on you, “You know better, don’t ya?”

The coldness of the barrel on your right collarbone is enough to send you over the edge. Your eyes flicker between his chest, his lips, to his eyes, “I do. I don’t know what came over me.”

His eyes reflect a silent consideration. He is trying to figure out if he believes you or not. You silently pray he does even if you do not fully believe yourself. 

“You are too quick to react to someone tellin’ you know. Knock that shit off now or else we will have bigger issues.”

You knew those bigger issues would lead to Joel putting you out of your misery. You would have to work on impulse control. “It won’t happen again. I will work on it.”

“You’re lucky I love that pussy of yours or else you would have a hole in your fuckin’ head.”

Love.

“You love it?”

He smirks at your candor. He did not even realize he said that. “Get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness. You don’t have time to get a big head.”

“On my knees?”

He clenches his jaw, withdrawing the end of the gun from your skin. It leaves a small circle indentation, solidifying that next time, there may be a much bigger one there. “On your knees, little one.”

divider from @/saradika-graphics

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Hits Different

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: Reader gets jealous when some women start hitting on Aaron at the bar on their team night out

CW: drunk!Hotch, jealous!Reader, mentions of an unsub and murder, drinking, confessions, makeout, Hotch being handsy, kinda needy!Hotch?

a/n: I’m literally obsessed with Aaron Hotchner rn

~~~

“No— I can’t,” you opposed as your coworkers decided to order another round of shots. Cheeks glowing as the alcohol seeped into you. Smiling as Derek put his arm around you and J.J. reached across the table to encourage you.

It was a Thursday night. You all had just gotten back from a week long endeavor in Utah. Local killer had his sight on some local young women. Killing them in some ritual style way that the drinks helped you fuzz the memory of. Luckily after you had addressed the public, he grew sloppy and was easily caught.

And now, back in your home state, you all crowded into a local bar to relax. And when the BAU “relaxed” it usually involved some heavy drinking.

“Shots! Shots! Sh-Shots!” Penelope and Emily chanted to the tune of the Lil Jon song. You laughed, a subtle snort escaping you. Rossi came back with the tray, beginning to pass them out to everyone.

Aaron Hotchner hovered behind him. Already having downed three glasses of scotch and beaming with alcohol on his face. It was a rare occasion that Hotch got drunk. Usually he just sipped at one drink while everyone else got themselves into trouble. But tonight he decided to let loose. Taking two glasses off the tray and squeezing in next to you in the already tight booth. Sitting them down in front of the two of you. Hooded eyes squinted upward in a closed-mouth smile as his eyebrows raised at you.

And you felt your face completely flush. Since your time at the BAU, you had developed a crush on your superior. Even if it was inappropriate and the age gap was a bit large, you still harbored feelings for him. And moments like this did not help.

Completely engulfed by the aroma of his cologne. Trying not to make it obvious you were smelling him. Hotch wrapped his arm around you absentmindedly. Leaning in and holding one of the glasses up to you. “Are you gonna do a shot with me?” His slightly slurred words melted against your skin. His voice somehow deeper and sultrier than ever. Everyone else was too distracted by the giggling of drunken excitement for more drinks to notice what was happening. It was like you two were alone for a moment.

You smiled, nodding slowly as he passed you the shot in his hand. Picking up the other and wrapping his arm around yours. Intertwined so that your hands were back against your own mouths. You were beyond flustered with the contact he was making with you. Hotch began counting down, both of you throwing the alcohol back on three.

Sucking your teeth as it burned down your throat. Hotch blew his breath out. You watched as his nose scrunched up at the taste. Shaking off the strong taste as Hotch leaned in against you. His head bumping against yours for a moment. Lips pressing against your ear in his drunk state.

“Want me to go get us som’more drinks? You like something more fruity, right?” Hotch suggested, deep voice ringing in your ear. The feeling of his lips grazing your skin had you sweating.

“Only if you’re buying,” you pulled at his tie softly. Causing his eyes to lock into yours, corner of his mouth curving up. His eyes scanned your figure momentarily before getting up and strutting over to the bar.

“Oh. My. God.” J.J.’s voice pulled you back from your staring problem you had with Hotch. You whipped your neck to face her, adjusting your posture in the seat. Shaking your head slightly, “What?”

“What was that about?” J.J. grinned brightly, eyes bouncing from Hotch to you.

“We were just doing some shots together,” you felt your face heating up again. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as your mouth ran dry.

“The only other instances of Hotch getting that close to any of us was when we were hurt,” Spencer chimed in with his analytical sounding tone. Still as smart as ever even while drunk.

“Oh God, you guys,” you shook your head and scooted out of the booth. Stretching your legs for the first time tonight. Hands resting on the table as you got closer to the opposing side. Being eye-to-eye with J.J. and Spencer, “You guys know he acts different when he’s relaxed. It’s nothing.”

Spencer and J.J. exchanged a look of uncertainty. Neither of them believing what you had just said. Rolling your eyes at their smirking expressions. Catching on easily to the feelings you had for your boss.

Downside of having friends who are profilers.

“Drop it,” you pointed at them with two fingers. Your friends began snickering and laughing. You could not help but smile back at them. Laughter was contagious when you were intoxicated. You turned to meet your crush at the bar.

You froze.

Some woman was cuddled up with Hotch at the bar. Breasts peaking out of the top of her thin shirt, curled hair falling below her shoulders, and a beautiful face of makeup. Your heart sank down to your ankles. Watching as her hand trailed his chest. Watching how her perfectly glossed lips popped as she spoke to him inaudibly.

Worst of all: his smile.

SSA Hotchner tended to be gruff and stern. Brooding and unreadable. Purely business around you and the other members of the BAU. Stoic and distant. Something you all agreed was so he did not get overly attached, just in case something happened to one of you. Rarely smiling other than seeing his sweet son, Jack.

Guess tonight was different.

Rosey cheeks and perfect teeth painted his expression. Eyes locked in on the woman before him. Your hands began shaking at your sides. If it was not a cartoon cliche, you would have had smoke coming out of your ears. Teeth grinding together behind tightly pierced lips.

Rethinking any hints he may have given you. Feeling like you had fooled yourself into a crush. Angry that some random bitch woman was getting too friendly with Hotch.

Unable to take it anymore. Jealousy brewing inside you, ready to overflow. You marched up to the bar, immediately pulling Hotch’s attention from the woman.

“Sorry to interrupt—“

“Hi, Y/N,” Hotch smiled at you. Causing butterflies to flutter in your intestines. Especially with the casualty of your first name.

God, he was drunk.

“SSA Y/L/N,” you extended your hand out to the woman, lip twitching when she shined her perfect smile. Flaring your nostrils and locking your jaw when your hand met hers.

“Hi! I’m Hope,” her peppy attitude made you sick to your stomach. Trying your best to fake your expression. Anger causing a slight shake to your demeanor.

“Right…” you trailed off, looking at Hotch whose eyes had not left you yet, “Hotch—“

“C’mon, Y/N. You can call me Aaron here,” he leaned in and whispered to you. Chills ran down your entire body when the heat from his lips radiated against your skin. Swallowing the lump in your throat.

Oh, he was REALLY drunk.

“Aaron,” you started, watching him smile at you saying his first name, “Did you get my drink?”

Hotch’s hand came up cupping his cheek as his eyes squinted, “Oh my God. That’s why I came up here. I totally forgot—“

“Don’t worry about it, Hotch,” your frustration took over your attitude. Fists clinching at your sides. Feeling tears beginning to burn behind your eyes. Deciding to storm off without the drink. Heading towards the long corridor to the bathrooms.

“Y/N—“ Hotch reached out to you with a confusion behind his tone. Not caring enough to listen to whatever excuse his drunken self was gonna give you. Trying your best not to make a scene so none of your coworkers would notice and come after you. Really just needing to be alone.

You leaned against the cold wall, hands holding onto each of your arms. Head resting against the brick of the dimly lit hallway. Fighting your eyes that begged to leak with your feelings. And you felt stupid. Did you really think your own boss would be interested in you? Enough to not get distracted by the beautiful woman at the bar? Please.

Feeling suddenly sober at the heartbreak in your chest. Hands coming up to cover your redening face. Embarrassed that you had even toyed with the notion. Knowing it was completely against protocol to fraternize with coworkers. Let alone with your superior—

“Y/N?” Hotch’s somber voice broke you away from the thoughts filling your mind.

You blinked your eyes open. Manually breathing as your shoulders rose and fell. Controlling the water that begged to pour from your eyes. Clicking your tongue as you spoke, “Hotch.”

“I told you, you could call me Aaron here,” he leaned against the wall beside you. Arms folded over his broad chest. Pondering the informality before looking back to him.

“I thought you saved that for pretty girls at the bar,” you half-heartedly smiled. Flaring your nostrils as you contorted your face to hide your frown.

Hotch laughed, bearing that smile that had you seeing stars. Eyes closing for a moment, giving you the opportunity to linger in it. Enjoying him being this casual with you.

“Is that not what you are?” Hotch asked.

You whipped your head to look at him again. Brows furrowed tightly together as your mouth hung open in confusion. “What?”

Hotch rose a brow, “Are you not a pretty girl? At the bar with me right now?”

You blinked as you stammered, “I— Not like… I mean— not like that girl at the bar…” You trailed off completely dumbfounded by his statement. Hotch watched you with a smile. His own cheeks still red.

“You think I’m pretty?” You finally formed a cohesive sentence unable to stop your mouth from curving into a smile.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Hotch’s hooded eyes stared into yours. Taken aback by that. Questioning for a moment if he was mocking you. Realizing by his expression he was not.

“You’re drunk, Hotch—“

“Aaron,” he corrected, “And, yeah I am drunk. But just drunk enough to finally be honest with you about that.” Hotch’s tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lip. Hand coming up and rubbing his neck at his confession.

“You didn’t have to come back here just to try and make me feel better. You were having a good chat with that woman at the bar. She was so beautiful, and made you smile, and not a part of the BAU, and—“ you covered your mouth getting embarrassed and shameful.

Hotch’s hand caressed your cheek. Pulling you back to him. His brows laid flat against his eyes. Lips pressed firmly together, watching his throat bob with the swallow he took. Thumb rubbing circles into your warm cheek, swiping away the singular line of tears that streamed down.

“I’m sorry— it’s the alcohol, that’s why I’m crying—“

Hotch cut you off by pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. Your eyes flew open. Hand gently resting against his chest as you savored the feeling of his lips on yours. Feeling your breath hitch in your throat and heart swell.

“You taste so sweet,” Hotch groaned, both hands gripping your face now. The primal noises he made causing arousal to swirl around your belly. Feeling its residue stick to your panties. His lips trailed down your jaw to your neck. Nipping against your soft skin as his hands roamed down the backside of your body. Gasping when his large hands groped your ass.

“I get chit-chatty when I’m drunk. That girl at the bar didn’t matter at all,” Hotch promised against your skin with kisses breaking up his sentences.

“You won’t even remember this in the morning,” you giggled when he took your earlobe between his teeth. Feeling a somberness sinking into your gut.

“How could I forgot this?” Hotch breathed into your ear. Sounding like he was desperate and almost completely out of breath, “Forget about you?”

Hotch pulled back to look into your eyes. Really taking in your face before him. Your eyes kept darting between his and his lips. Smiling when you could still taste him on your lips.

You pressed up on your toes, lips meeting his again. Tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Sloppily intertwining together. Huffs and grunts coming from Hotch as he pulled your front flush against his. You blushed at the feeling of his bulge.

“What about the team?” You questioned as the weight of the situation became suddenly apparent.

“I don’t care about them right now,” Hotch pressed his lips back to yours. Kissing away any fear or dread that was in your mind. Completely consuming you. Smiling as you both allowed hands to roam the other’s body.

You broke the kiss momentarily, “So— wait— you mean Rossi thinks I’m pretty too?” You teased him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Watch it,” Hotch smiled with a playful aggression on his tone, capturing you back in a kiss. Laughing together as you pressed lips together.

~~~

[END//?]

// Thank you so much for reading! I’m having such a blast writing for Hotch right now. Honestly, I’m think about making a smutty part 2 to this fic if anyone was interested. If you have requests or want to be tagged in any future Fics, let me know! //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @boybandbaby ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @justyourusualash ~ @mrs-ssa-hotch ~

[give-grian-rights]

i think everyone in the world needs to watch grays anatomy. im probably three or four seasons behind now because they pump them out so quickly but the point is i watched the majority of the series. i dont think ANYONE would believe me if i told them some of the shit that happened in this series

two characters committed man slaughter technically and went on the run from the FBI

they killed off a protagonist by mangling him beyond recognition

there was an episode where a bomb went off in the hospital

a character had a miscarriage while performing surgery at gunpoint

the whole hospital-shooter arc

the reveal that a former protagonist had another protagonist's kids and DIDN'T TELL HIM FOR SIX FUCKING YEARS

the fact that meredith grey was just. just breaking into her friend's house/room and getting in bed with him. WHILE HIS GIRLFRIEND WAS THERE? and the guy was just like yeah. i have to let it happen. she's lonely

the time a doctor got confronted with negligence and he literally dropped dead of a heart attack???

THE PLANE CRASH EPISODE

the time two protagonists got locked in a room with a skeleton because they snuck off to have sex

we talk about how insane House is but where is the support for grey's anatomy being apeshit insane and incapable of finishing it's damn series

i love this fucking show. there's so much im not even tackling

[celestialbruise]

PIDW time travel fic where after dying Shen Jiu wakes up in the past, after the ling xi caves and his subsequent qi deviation, with a chance to change his fate. Bingge also wakes up in his fourteen year old body, memories fully intact. Now, instead of actually changing their ways Bingjiu just try to kill each other in increasingly violent, hilarious ways

[fadelbison]

Of Boats and Drama; The Turning Tides on Kant and Bison's Compatibility

obsessed with how when its during their make believe phase, when fadel says "I think I love you" to Style, Style doesn't say it back and instead just kisses him at the end of ep. 6 and during the kantbison parallel at the start of ep7 when Bison says "I love you" to Kant, Kant says "I love you" back but clearly there's baggage even if he's not lying outright.

But after the brothers kidnap their respective lovers its Style that fronts with the I love you that perplexes Fadel

and its bison that wants to hear it

but Kant jumps into the ocean instead (like you can see the beach front okay Bison is clearly devoid of killing intent here) instead of lying to him or say the same things he's been saying to dupe him.

I really think this is where the Kant and Bison compatibility is finally starting to show. Bison clearly loves his little fantasies and make belief of romance (just like style dear fucking god). I've joked before about how bison has given to his brother the lover he had envisioned for himself - the one who will plead his love, cajole and give in.

But that guy is wrong for him.

We've seen that slightly off dynamic between Kant and Bison for 6 whole episodes. And it's killed me that people kept trying to interpret them with the same rose tinted glasses that we do for Fadel and Style. Because the FadelStyle and KantBison relationship parallels aren't meant to highlight the similarities between the couples but rather the differences, that's where the information about these characters come from.

The audience knows something that Kant doesn't in the boat scene; which is that he has this in the bag already. I think this is the infamous island Bison inherited from his dad and he's brought him here to literally just talk. I know I mentioned this already but bison literally looks like he just untied the boat from shore and let it drift on its own while waiting for Kant to wake up.

Like that has got to be the minimum legal distance that a boat needs to be from shore to be considered unmoored lol. This is 'I am using your vulnerabilities against you because love is pain' shore distance not 'dead body dumping' shore distance. The body will wash up on shore before the boat even makes it back.

But for Bison, Fadel's reasonable precautions while we talk approach was not enough. He needed the ropes, the guns, the added ocean trauma because the guns didn't feel enough to instill fear, the pretty necklace he put on just so he could rip it off his throat, everything is already high drama high fantasy for him. Bison set the stage for desperate begging and tearful confessions, things he already got at the hospital btw but that wasn't enough either.

Because.

Bison doesn't need to be sold on fantasies. He had that and it sucked for everyone involved, what he needs when he's totally out of control like this is this guy:

[screenshots of Kant telling bison he wants to talk on land and he's scared of the ocean]

For six whole episodes I saw Kant be wrong for Bison and not be able to pinpoint exactly why people cawing over how cute KantBison are bothered me so much. Until, of course, Kant finally does something right and all of a sudden it just all clicks together. Bison is boisterous, headstrong and because of his unique skillset also irresponsibly dangerous. The BDSM scene also shows that despite his best intentions, Bison can and will abuse power if given to him irresponsibly.

He doesn't need the Kant that plays along with everything he does. He needs the Kant that Kant is to everyone but him. The person that Kant is when they're together is barely even Kant. He needs the calm, level headed but fiercely devoted older brother, he needs the guy that helps a hookup out because that's his duty as a human being, he needs the guy that stole cars to keep his family fed. And I'll be really honest, that's the guy that Bison loves anyway, the one he hears about from Babe and Style and James.

What Bison needs is the quiet devotion of Kant choosing his own personal hell over playing this game and furthering any deception between them even though technically it wouldn't even be a lie (Bison is literally poised to believe him); the dogged resolve that once he's decided to do this on his own terms, it happens on his own terms.

[summertimesadnessirl]

They do this on purpose!

Actually like 10ish years ago Wired wrote a super great article on it explaining why coding bootcamps were basically a way to pull in scabs to lower the wages of the average tech worker.

It's actually the same reason rich people are losing their shit over the slightly lower birth rate even though we have so many children in poverty and so many poor kids and poor mothers getting told it's their fault for having kids they can't afford.

The pandemic killed a lot of people! It also disabled a lot of people. It also showed us how many jobs contain elements that could be streamlined and allowed people more flexibility and the ability to get side hustles and stuff so they could more easily leave a bad job.

They don't want that.

It's literally supply and demand. The lower the supply of something is, the more it's worth.

But since rich people can pay their rich friends to publish opinion pieces and astroturf social media apps or whatever else until an opinion becomes common, they will intentionally go find a poor community and tell them that they should go into a certain field just to try to lower the average wage of people in that field, knowing that the people in the poor community might not actually get out of poverty because they might not get hired or might only be able to work at a lower rate and the jobs will probably be temporary and less secure.

It's the same reason that it's considered acceptable for our nation to have a "good" economy with high unemployment or a high poverty rate.

Broke people function as a way to make sure that they can use them as scabs.

A lower population means less competition, less desperation, more automation, better education.

It means the wealthy can't make a bunch of movies telling broke kids that if they just get into college and become a lawyer or a doctor or an accountant or whatever they think is too hard to come by cheaply it's like a golden ticket out of poverty and it doesn't matter how many kids get out. What matters is increasing the supply until they can lower the pay.

The thing is, we have a lot less scarcity than we could have. We probably do have things that we can't give everyone an unlimited supply of. But we could probably give everyone 2 packs of oatmeal and some dried fruit and some rice and housing and a bicycle and Healthcare and a spicy potato soft taco and unlimited ebooks and music streaming and free internet for life. We probably have enough that everyone could work like 4 days a week and have paid vacation and paid retirement and schooling could be paid off in the same number of years as you were enrolled for if not fully free. It's just that we think competition is a virtue on it's own because competition is how they break you.

That's what always happens in capitalist societies. They say that if you don't want to be poor, there's a certain thing you have to do. But then everyone does it, so it's no longer effective. The system depends on making sure that there's always a supply of poor people to exploit.

[tobiasdrake]

You pointing out that Vegeta in the Saiyan and Namek sagas was very consistently characterized as someone who never loses track of anything that happens on the battlefield made me realize how much of an “oh fuck” moment it was for him to lose track of final form Frieza in the opening of their battle.

It was literally the first time in the series he lost track of anything he knew was there, and it was his singular target no less. No wonder that fight broke him, he failed at arguably his most notable non-strength advantage at a time when he thought his battle instincts were at their peak.

Also, love your analyses btw, your takes on the series you talk about are really thoughtful, and make me think about the characters in really deep new ways!

Aww, thank you!

An interesting note is that Vegeta still has a fantastic perception moment even in that fight.

Frieza's first Death Beam takes Vegeta by surprise as much as it does everyone else.

As I've said before, Frieza's Death Beam is basically a sniper rifle in ki form. It's an intensely accurate ki bullet designed to nail a target through obstacles in the way, fired at such a speed that the intended recipient is dead before anyone even realizes he fired.

He killed Cargo with it previously, and the same fate ultimately catches up to Dende five days later. When it does, it goes off without a hitch. Frieza kills Dende before Krillin, Gohan, Vegeta, and Piccolo can even react to the shot being fired.

It's such a cool attack.

But now that Vegeta realizes that this is a thing Frieza can do, he's ready for it the next time Frieza tries to snipe someone. This is honestly a brilliant bit of choreography that really shows off how perceptive Vegeta is. Gohan, Krillin, and Piccolo all rush Frieza at once.

They keep up the pressure until Frieza suddenly vanishes, at which point only Vegeta - watching from a high vantage - is able to track where he went.

At this point, Vegeta's able to intercept Frieza's Death Beam.

This is a great moment of 4-D martial chess.

Frieza has this highly accurate long-range sniping move, right? So he vanishes, using his speed to obscure where the next attack is going to come from. His target is Gohan but he doesn't attack Gohan.

Instead, he appears behind Piccolo. It's a feint. Even if they're able to follow his sudden vanish, his positioning obscures his true target. When he points at Piccolo and fires, the natural assumption would be that he's trying to shoot Piccolo.

But actually, he's using his sniping attack to skirt past Piccolo and hit Gohan behind him.

But Vegeta actually manages to keep up this time. Vegeta identifies Gohan as Frieza's real target and is able to kick him out of the way at the last second.

In the process, repaying the favor from Recoome.

Why didn't you attack Frieza, Vegeta? Doesn't sentimentality make you retch, Vegeta?

He'd never admit it but his behavior patterns are already starting to change from exposure to teamwork. But I digress.

In any case, this is a fantastic moment of choreographic mind-games, and Vegeta's success here is what fills him with all the piss and vinegar he brings to his fight.

Because he actually did it. He beat the Death Beam. He is sharp enough, fast enough, cunning enough to keep up and outplay Frieza. Vegeta is in this fight for real.

...which only sets him up for immediate disappointment.

Nope. Never mind. Still just a scrub. And as proud as Vegeta was of beating the Death Beam, he won't be proud for long.

Vegeta was never a match for Frieza.

He just had a real good moment. Sometimes that happens in a fight. Sometimes you get an incredible shot in on the opponent's kidney while he's beating the shit out of you. Doesn't mean you're gonna win the fight.

[mysoftboybensolo]

Things I Don't Understand of Audiences Reaction of Nosferatu 2024

Complaints of how this is a ripoff of Dracula, and I am like, of course it is! The original 1922 film is the most famous ripoff in the history of cinema, but it is also one of the best ripoffs ever. Maybe know your history just a bit.

Why are people saying that Ellen dying was stupid or unnecessary? Firstly, that has been the ending in the 1922 and the 1979 film, this wasn't just anything Eggers pulled from nowhere. Secondly, people don't seem to understand that the Gothic genre never not one that allows it's characters to walk away unscathed, whether it is physical damage or mental damage. Blood is demanded, and hardly a truly happy ending is found, at best a bittersweet ending or at worst an ending where everyone is unhappy. I think not only is it true to the films this one is based on, but also the only satisfying ending. Ellen wouldn't have been truly happy if she had survived, because she still will be a seer, she will still have darkness looming inside, and Thomas is either incapable or unwilling to accept it. He's belief that killing Orlok will bring a reset to everything, even bringing Ellen back to how she was before, but the Ellen she was before was still suffered. He brushes aside her nightmares without comfort, he doesn't take into account how she views their marriage (when she insists that she doesn't need material things but he acts as if he knows better), and when she tries to express her suffering, he would prefer her to suppress it. She would never be truly free, but to die doing a good thing, to have control over her death the way she didn't in life, it's an empowering end, if bittersweet.

People complaining about the pace of the film, saying it starts off fine but then drags in the middle? I think the film flowed wonderfully, there was never a moment when I was thinking how much longer to the end or felt it rushed in the story. I personally cannot wait until we get the extended version, but I am happy with how it came out.

Where are people getting "Orlok groomed Ellen" from? Grooming is when someone goes after a minor and gets them to be emotionally attached to them for a long period of time in order to achieve some sort of goal (often times sex). People have been saying Ellen was a "literal child", but we don't know that for certain. Yes, Ellen described herself as a child, but it seems that the term child is used more as a synonym of "inexperienced" or "young". Also, we are not sure how old any of these characters are. If we were to go by actors ages as guidelines, Lily-Rose Depp was 24 when filming this, and all we get in between the first scene to the present day is merely "years later". That can mean two years or ten, we cannot be sure. And while Lil-Rose Depp can look younger than her age, no one better try and say she was playing a 12 year old or whatever in that first scene, because there is no way you can convince me she is as young as that. Also, Ellen hadn't been emotionally attached to Orlok between the years to make it grooming. I can make a better argument of grooming in another famous Gothic movie the 2004 "Phantom of the Opera" then I could with "Nosferatu".

Listen, this movie won't be for everyone, that is fine, but what I have an issue with is saying people are dumb or evil for thinking Ellen x Orlok is interesting/has romantic elements to it. One person commented on another's post about saying that the cast are dumb for seeing this as a love triangle, especially Lily-Rose Depp for not seeing Ellen as a victim. The director, who also wrote it, wanted this version to play up the Death and the Maiden themes, that was their vision, and I don't think it's right or fair to say they are dumb because the original movie wasn't a love triangle. If we were to be really anal about it, so many pieces of media we have we wouldn't be able to enjoy because it's origins are not the same. Sorry Disney's Hunchback fans, you can't enjoy the happy ending because the original was a downer. Sorry Wicked fans, it's nothing like "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz", so it shouldn't be enjoyed. See how ridiculous it sounds? You can debate if whether or not they managed to achieve their goal, but you can't deny that was the intention and say people are dumb for picking up what they had intended.

I also feel that it's quite hypocritical of people to say that the relationship between Orlok and Ellen is evil and creepy, but then go off and say that the scenes where Friedrich has sex with Anna's corpse as "romantic" and Thomas' couch scene as "hot", when both deal with dubious/no consent at all. Just admit it, you are fine with dubious stuff so long as it's a hot guy doing it. The couch scene was quite uncomfortable for me, Ellen is clearly not in her right mind, even if not by some kind of possession, but emotionally, and it didn't sit right what Thomas did. I am not saying he raped her, but she wasn't in the right mind space to have this be a passionate moment. And he wasn't doing because of love or passion, he was doing it because he didn't like hearing Ellen say how he couldn't please her like the Count could. We had seen what they are like when they are in a good head space and the feeling mutual, as we saw in the den of the Harding's home. I feel like this scene wasn't meant to be a hot and sexy moment, but a incredibly distressing moment when two individuals are acting at their worst.

I don't understand how people feel that this film isn't a feminist film. I've seen people claim that the movie shames Ellen and that her not finding out how to stop Orlok is robbing her of her agency. Here's the thing, yes, many characters shame her for what she feels, but the narrative doesn't. As the audience, we feel sorry for her, feel bad for everything she is going through, and given the time period, of course there would be many people (mainly men) who will shame her passions or deny her darkness in favor for a more "womanly behavior". We are meant to see how the human world would never understand Ellen the way Orlok would understand her, why she would have called out a force that is inhuman, because humanity has turned her away. What's fascinating is that Ellen has control of Orlok, being able to call him, speak to him as an equal, and get him, a powerful centuries old being, to admit that she is his affliction, his weakness, and in the end, it's proven right. This mortal woman is able to defeat a supernatural being, all the while him loving her, how is that not awesome and feminist?

In regards to her finding the cure; true, in both the '22 and '79 film, Ellen figure out on her own what needs to be done to stop Orlok, but that doesn't mean '24 Ellen isn't smart or in charge of her own actions. We've seen Ellen say what the future holds multiple times, so it isn't crazy to believe that she would have seen what her fate would have been as it drew closer, and her need to talk to Von Franz read to me as her knowing the cure. When Ellen walks Von Franz to his home, she says that she knows what must be done, and they work together to make this happen, with him promising to keep Thomas away. Out of all the men, Von Franz had been the only one to take her feelings and thoughts seriously, and he does so here, including her in the plan (where Thomas had refused her to help), even giving her the chance to be stop Orlok without interruption. He isn't denying her agency, he's keeping others at bay so she can be the hero.

I like the moustache, just like a Romanian nobleman would have had, exactly what the director wanted. After leaving the theatre, my friend and I were discussing the film, and of course the design of Orlok was brought up, and she said "I liked it, especially the moustache, very Vlad the Impaler". She isn't a massive Dracula fan but she understood what was the inspiration behind it. Y'all are just uncultured swine.

In the end, I love this film, and wanted to just share my two cents.

[princesscolumbia]

Life keeps going, you know?

Sure, you may have experienced something so traumatizing it literally shattered who you are down to your very core until you look at who you were before and wonder how they could have been so blind and foolish...but there's still the damned leaky pipe and you have the in-laws coming into town that weekend.

Sometimes you come so close to death that you were already pulling out your ID because you knew God would be asking for it and somehow you dodge it and the people going by you aren't even aware that you experienced your own personal apocalypse, they're just on their way to get their coffee and chips before the meeting they have in twenty minutes.

Sometimes the ninty-jillion plates have been spinning all come crashing down at once because you tripped and you look around at the wreckage and realize that you had been killing yourself spinning a bunch of plates that weren't yours and now everyone whose plate is now smashed on the floor is screaming and yelling and blaming you even though you only started spinning their plate out of the generosity of your heart and you realize they don't give a damn and so suddenly neither do you and you start laughing your ass off...and then everyone storms out and leaves you to clean the mess they left on your floor. Nothing for it but to grab a broom and start sweeping the dishes.

star trek characters will literally go through the most life changing traumatic multidimensional extrasensory eldritch hell torture imaginable and then they're fine and the next episode they gotta deal with a guy who is bald

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

I was re-reading some of my old posts from when we got to the end of Meursault arc and looking at all the people who were asking “hey why didn’t Chuuya just kill Fyodor earlier”. And knowing what we know now… oh no.

So, I am very convinced that Chuuya was warned not to come into contact with Fyodor at all, as Dazai believed at that point that the ability was touch based. (I believe someone on here made a post where Dazai likely dug the body out of the wreckage instead of Chuuya because of this exactly.)

But anyways, as someone who still wishes there’d been more drama in this arc, I’d like to present to you a story divergence where Fyodor actually anticipates more of skk’s planning than they thought and had a trap in place based off of having observed their actions in Dead Apple. It leads to a much more dire situation where Dazai has to improvise on the fly, and he is actually willing to pull a sacrifice here to achieve the original plan of trapping Fyodor with the pilot. Something happens, and Dazai is too worried about Fyodor’s mysterious ability, and due to this uncertainty, he does not involve Chuuya in this updated last-ditch play. Fortunately or unfortunately, Chuuya recognizes that this plan (because they can basically read each other’s minds at this point) has a good chance of not actually working, and consequently, also a very good chance of killing Dazai for nothing, which infuriates Chuuya since he knows full well Dazai is doing this for the Agency and he’s “just gonna give up” when he’s clearly found a place for himself.

So, yeah, Chuuya makes his own autonomous choice and… kills Fyodor.

And everyone loses. Chuuya gets violently taken over by Fyodor, literally his worst nightmare. Dazai has to watch, knowing he fucked up. And Fyodor doesn’t manage to get killed by the vampire, so he doesn’t take over Bram, and he isn’t in the right place at the right time to cause the Tripolar Singularity. A single act of free will by a person Fyodor had written off as controllable may not have actually fixed things… but it certainly changed the story.

idk I just think this could be a fun premise :)

[mirroredmemoriez]

I always have thoughts (I can't be asked to rename this- Rigged traps and etc thinking)

We discuss Amanda rigging her traps so much and it has to be one of the most depressing aspects of her character. It’s somewhat obvious that she doesn’t actually think she should’ve survived her own test, which is why she doesn’t believe that anyone else should either- Amongst other factors.

I sometimes wonder whether she’d come to this conclusion without having to go through as much as she did. For example, if Gabriela hadn’t died and let’s say Cecilia did? If Adam somehow escaped… Or was Amanda always destined to doubt John’s ideology and be doomed. The reason she stuck around was because of him really, not anything to do with the ‘’rehabilitation’’ of others. She always tends to react negatively in the face of any game too. With Saw X I think we literally get to watch any hope Amanda has for John’s methods be crushed. I always get confused with the timeline but with a quick search this movie falls between the first Saw movie and Saw 2… Anyway the bathroom trap, Amanda is quite removed from the game itself, even though she is slightly one of the reasons Adam fails with how carelessly she throws the key. The most hands on Amanda gets in regards to this test is when she brings Adam to the bathroom and then also when she returns to suffocate him. 

But if we look at the traps for the scammers? Amanda plays a very active role in their test throughout the entire process. She not only brings them to the location, but she interacts with them whilst they’re playing their game. Amanda seems to be rooting for Gabriela, being quite empathetic to the younger woman’s struggle with addiction…. And in a sense, Cecilia is Gabriela’s John? Because to me both Cecilia and John are kinda predatory, just in different ways.

John knew of Amanda from the fact she was a patient in the Homeward Bound Clinic, testing her in her own words because she was a ‘’fucking junkie.’’ So he puts this clearly mentally unstable woman in a reverse bear trap and when she survives the ordeal, John proceeds to use her misplaced gratitude to recruit her. However, I do think there is genuine care between them, it’s just a shame the one person Amanda latches on to is JIGSAW. Whereas with Cecilia, she targets Gabriela because it’s easy to hire an employee whose main focus and drive is money. You can say that’s most workers and sure it is! But addiction can blur and shift your morals by a lot. The same way that Amanda got Cecil to attempt to rob the clinic, I don’t believe Gabriela is focused on the good and bad of what she’s doing. She is purely focused on funding her drugs, making her very easy to be taken advantage of. This could have been Amanda in another life. 

Back on track though- Another little detail that always makes me sigh is the fact that Amanda likely was the one to put Valentina’s hair up for her. It’s such a simple consideration and that is what makes it all the more saddening to me. She then watches with her own two eyes, almost every single one of their deaths… EXCEPT CECILIA WHO SURVIVES AND IS THE REASON GABRIELA DIED. Shit man. I’d crash out too. Like, what do you mean the person behind the scam in the first place and who has just stomped on another human being's neck like she’s killing a bug is the person who wins this? What because she did it in the time frame? Because she physically overpowered the other person within her test and KILLED him. That’s who we’re letting out??? Gabriela won but died and even someone like Valentina actually was successful in cutting off her own leg, she just didn’t have enough time. Oh! Did I mention this happens in Saw 2… Like so much of this is a repeat. Xavier physically overpowers almost everyone else in that group, throwing Amanda into a needle pit and killing Jonas. Laura did about nothing wrong except shoplifting and having Eric frame her, yet she succumbs to the poison and dies in Amanda’s arms. Oh! AND SOMEHOW THERE IS A MINOR IN BOTH OF THESE GAMES, DANIEL IS JUST A FUCKING TEENAGER AND CARLOS IS A CHILD!!! DID I MENTION WE HAVE SEX WORKERS HERE TOO? BYE VALENTINA. BYE ADDISON. Oh and people being forced into traps not intended for them. Amanda was never meant to go in the needle pit and a whole CHILD shouldn't be BLOODBOARDED.

All of this is so close together timeline wise too. Amanda is catching no breaks and that’s why it’s not surprising given these circumstances that she’d become unhinged and start actually just murdering people. Might as well everyone else seems to be doing it and getting far. But, let's say things were different as mentioned. Gabriela survived… Laura survived… Adam survived…. So on so forth. Would she have her existential crisis crash out? Because her belief nobody changes is partially engraved in her experiences with others but also based upon herself. If she was helped the first time, why did she keep getting tested? If not the fact of her drug addiction, what was wrong with her? The fact she still self harmed even after surviving the whole ordeal with the bear trap? AMANDA WHAT YOU COULD’VE BEEN IF YOU LATCHED ON TO JILL INSTEAD.

Like I know it's because John's method worked in comparison to the standard rehabilitation but God.

[protectorcraft]

mutual liked the gripe post which reminded me to write it. okay hi im pyxis and im gonna talk about a trope the isat community falls back on a lot in writing that bugs me okay thanks

this is gonna be long and probably annoying so im putting it under a cut. open at ur own risk. heavy spoiler warning thanks.

okay. how do i start this. a thing ive seen in quite a few fics and theories, and its that the islanders are directly- and purposefully- responsible for their own disappearance. usually i see it framed as "the islanders made themselves disappear/attempted to wish away knowledge of wishcraft because it was dangerous" and like. hm! i dont think so.

take this with a grain of salt as ur local cracker but considering the framing of the island's disappearance- abrupt, sudden, disastrous- something everyone was talking about- the disappearance definitely falls more in line with the metaphor of some sort of disaster or, as is a significant theme in the game, colonialism/imperialism and the subjugation of cultures.

this was- 100%- not the islander's faults, and blaming them completely misses the point of the matter.

while people can say wishcraft is dangerous- and really, it is, there's no getting around it- it also seems like it was an important piece of the Island's culture and based off the few islanders we meet, probably used fairly regularly in day to day life. siffrin, for example, literally uses it on the regular without even realizing it. the knowledge of how to do it properly is probably pretty ingrained into the average Islander's brain. to them, it's just a fact of life! i mean, literally all the scriptures we see on wishcraft (and astronomy) ingame are written in the Islander language. they were The Experts on this stuff. (not to mention that this proves the knowledge was in the general public's grasp, even if it required knowledge of their language to learn about)

so it just doesnt make sense that they'd wish something so important to them away like that- sure there was probably discourse amongst them about the dangers of these practices, but they would know enough to know attempt something as risky as, say, wishing away all knowledge of their country or any one big thing. not to mention wishcraft is weird- technically speaking, siffrin's wish probably wouldve had a lot less effect if all the energy of the failed wishes hadnt culminated into their successful one.

and before you bring up how op the kings wish is- remember that a good 75% of the game is exposing all the ways the other characters foil siffrin, including the king. the king, who supposedly made a wish to freeze vaugarde- but did he?

a lot of the king's dialogue, when he isnt gushing about vaugarde and how much he loves it, is about his grief surrounding the loss of his own country. when given the chance, he'll grasp at any opportunity to remember anything about it, even if its putting trust in the hands of a stranger who is literally here to kill him for help. its pretty clear to anyone with a brain that he's not being ingenuine about this.

and, see, siffrin's true wish was masked over by their other wish. its one of the game's big red herrings. yadda yadda yadda how do we know that the king's true wish was really the "preserve" vaugarde, huh?

"where are you going with this we've gotten wildly off track" no we havent! get fucked! i think the kings true wish was the remember his country- and, yknow, there's probably a fair few islanders remaining. probably yearning to grasp even a fragment of their lost culture, hoping and dreaming and wishing for answers. not unlike the king, perhaps? perhaps a culmination of half baked wishes being fueled by one, fully formed wish?

yeah, you get where im going with this.

so perhaps wishcraft isnt quite as strong as we assume it is? that the soul intent of one person isn't necessarily going to give you godlike power in most cases- mind we're not quite grasping the full scope due to loops. Whole Situation. but that's not why we're here.

if the Islanders had enough faith in the rest of the world to provide them with their wishcraft knowledge- then i doubt they wouldve wished themselves or their knowledge away. nobody would do that.

and if the rest of the world did, indeed, have access to that knowledge, then there's a fair chance some other group could be responsible. a group who doesnt even recall their own responsibility because it's been wiped from their memories.

like, idk.... a more on the nose version how colonizer countries bury their own history of misdeeds from the general populace?

idk man. idk. just feels weird to me that so many people seem to have immediately gone towards the Cultural Suicide route for some reason. you have to be willing to acknowledge that the isat universe is definitely not the perfect, pristine world you think it is. and maybe folks just need to be willing to acknowledge the actual brutality the metaphor is alluding to.

after all, an entire island- all of its peoples and cultures- disappeared.

[lastoneout]

Also another more recent one here!

While wider studies are needed, it does feel really insidious that stimulant medication is misunderstood, demonized, and so strictly regulated that most of us have had to go without for days or weeks at a time sometimes multiple times a year or even EVERY MONTH, and in some places it's almost impossible to actually access at all while the truth is that it is quite literally life-saving medical care for those of us who need it.

I've left the stove on three separate times when unmedicated and I was VERY lucky that none of them resulted in carbon monoxide poisoning or me burning my house down. I've also nearly electrocuted myself or walked into traffic, being off my meds legit feels like all my senses are dulled, I'm far clumsier which leads to injury, forget important things like if I've taken my other meds, meds that if I go off of suddenly or take too much of can cause severe health problems. I've heard horror stories of how hard it is to even just drive safely with unmedicated ADHD and most people don't even realize how unsafe it is until they've gone on meds and learned what normal driving is for a neurotypical person. And the list goes on. Hell, being unmedicated can even lead to losing our jobs, housing, or access to food and support systems, and makes it way harder to keep your house clean, all of which also lead to an increased risk of injury, illness, and death. I've missed rent more times than I can count, racked up credit card debt, had my utilities shut off, all because I just can't fucking remember to pay bills on time without my meds, I've missed fucking black mold in my shower, accidentally eaten food out of date, gotten way too drunk without realizing it, it's a nightmare, it really is.

I really just hate thinking about how many people with ADHD have likely died or been seriously injured or suffered due to simple mistakes that they never would have made if they were properly medicated, and it makes me so angry that ADHD treatment is so hard to get almost entirely based on bullshit scaremongering about addiction. In fact being medicated puts ADHDers at LESS of a risk of turning to alcohol and drugs to make our lives manageable, and it's nearly impossible for someone with ADHD to get addicted to a stimulant medication anyway.

(Not that addicts deserve what happens to them, they need help and support as well, everyone deserves human rights and to have their needs met, this just is a completely fabricated problem when it comes to ADHD and it's normalization is legit killing us. My mom has also nearly died due to not being medicated and she to go through like four different licensed psychatrists until she found one who would actually prescribe ritalin for her, the rest all cited risk of addiction as a reason to deny her even though they should fucking know that isn't a legit concern. One even said she just "didn't want to be held responsible" for her patients forming addictions to ADHD meds. I wonder how she'd feel if she was held responsible for all the suffering her desperation to keep her hands clean has almost certainly caused.)

And tbh I'd also rather a million people get high off adderall than have even one person with ADHD miss out on medical care that can save their life because disabled people shouldn't have to suffer to make up for shit we basically can't do. Why should someone else abusing adderall mean I have to risk my life and go without. Make it make sense.

It is actually way better for 100 addicts to get their fix on pain pills than a single person in pain go without. I call this the "Torture is bad" principle. You should be able to get the good stuff forever after a single doctor's visit. If you're worried about addicts fund rehab centers and needle exchanges instead of torturing people.

[thepunkmuppet]

approaching The Confession Scene and what the fuck. this is genuinely tragic like I’ve always seen it as a meme, a joke, an iconic moment in fandom history, whatever, I’m a tumblr user, but now that I’m actually here it’s just fucking SAD

season 15 as a whole is NOT bad. it’s really not. but there’s zero destiel. they rarely speak at all unless it’s plot-related, one (1) episode pairs them together, frankly season seven was ten times more focused on their friendship and that’s INSANE because cas is only in like five fucking episodes of that one. they have a mini arc midway through the season which is very gorgeous and well-done, but it then goes absolutely nowhere and nothing at all is done to make it textually romantic.

by which I mean: no episodes have dean or cas reacting personally to sam and eileen’s relationship, or any other romantic relationship they come across. we’re never shown anything even remotely romantic even in an unrequited sense (no post-realisation awkwardness, no lingering shots of cas pining from afar, etc etc). it reads like a normal season of the show, which, yeah, I think those two are pretty fucking gay regardless, but they’re always textually written as a friendship, with no explicit cues to clue the audience in that there are canon romantic feelings. and that doesn’t change here, at all.

so I guess what I’m saying is the confession scene is purely just a moment of fan service. as stunning as the speech itself is, and as well as it fits cas’s character, the writers throughout the season didn’t actually give a fuck to make destiel ROMANTIC even in a one-sided way. film is a language and as much as misha does in his acting, even from castiel’s perspective they’re still framed as a friendship within the show itself RIGHT up until he says the words I love you. they weren’t interested in actually depicting a (even one-sided) queer love story, just wanted to give fans their “okay here it is we did it guys!” moment at the end, so that way they didn’t have to actually show an explicitly romantic gay love story, they could just say some words, kill cas off and boom it’s canon! here you go people we’ve been leading on, mocking and low-key gaslighting for eleven years!

idk man it’s just so disappointing. I knew it was and I know everyone has been talking about it for years now but my GOD it’s so bad 😭 I can’t even tell you how bizzare it is to have seen destiel confession meme on here and in various fandom video essays EVERY DAY FOR FOUR PLUS YEARS and now here I am, watching it go down in real time with full context, having watched over 300 episodes of this show, invested, obsessed, and REALLY FUCKING UPSET AAAAHHH

EDIT: forgot to mention this originally. the actual concept of cas’s moment of perfect happiness killing him, while kind of stolen from buffy, is AMAZING. and the literal perfect opportunity to have a building textual confirmation of his feelings throughout the season, where he realises what that moment will be, and it ends in the tragic confession of his love. like that’s insane that’s perfect. but no it just comes out of nowhere so oh fucking well whatever I guess! they’re canon so we should all be happy! I hate this stupid bumhole show AUGH no one talk to me ever :(

[themindcastlesystem]

Another crackpot "Project: Eden's Garden" theory

(Sunny, they/she) hi again it's your girl I'm going insane again so I'm back with another theory

NOTE: Unlike my chapter 2 theory, which is more cohesive and at least has some Biblical parallels and narrative themes to back it up, this theory is COMPLETE speculation based off of only a few observations - so keep that in mind while reading.

THE THEORY

So uh. Cassidy sus. *points at her* amogus! amogus!

For real, though. Does anyone else get the feeling that she's a bit... out of touch, emotionally? Or that she's the most fourth-wall-breaky of the group, like she keeps feeding her jokes and references to some sort of viewer (whether the player or the literal broadcast viewers in-universe)?

This could most definitely be just a comic relief thing. Or maybe a "streamer" thing, since that's what she's known for - and streamers are notorious for not being totally authentic, especially when they're in front of an audience. It's not like half of their audience really cares about how they feel, or if they're having a bad day - they want entertainment. I could see a character arc where Cassidy becomes a bit more expressive and authentic with her emotions across the rest of the game, learning to let her actual feelings show instead of masking her fear/sadness with smiles and jokes. I would love an arc like this in a DR fangame.

But, personally, I have other suspicions. There's a few pieces of "evidence" that make me suspect her of being the mastermind (quote marks because it's not conclusive and could be interpreted in other ways). I know there might not be a traditional "mastermind" in P:EG, especially since the creators said not to expect canon DR tropes, but just take "mastermind" to mean someone in the main cast that's working with Tozu/Mara/any other killing game organizers, whether willingly or under duress.

THE "EVIDENCE"

She's a streamer. As I said, this could explain why she seems so inauthentic and that's that - but that is ignoring the tangible benefit that her platform would have for the masterminds if they decided to use it. She easily has the biggest live following of the group - while there are other individuals with mass followings, like Wenona (who runs a huge business) and Kai (who has a ton of social media followers), Cassidy's thing is livestreaming. This killing game is being livestreamed. And if the killing game organizers are broadcasting it, it would make total sense for them to take advantage of the Ultimate Pro Gamer's live audience - and this would be easier to do if she was in on it, rather than if they had to hack her account to get a stream going or something.

Her actions during chapter 1. The two most important things she does are: a) kick down everyone's doors so they're forced to leave their dorms, and b) organize the game tournament during which a murder happens. The reason she says she did this was to get people to be more active and do something fun with each other, to boost their spirits. But it is possible that she wanted to force people to be out and about so that there would be more chances for people to kill each other - and/or to keep things more entertaining for the viewers (similar to how she feeds jokes/references to the camera). There is also potentially an argument that she might want to get people to trust each other in a less overt way than someone like Wolfgang or Diana - by getting them to let their guards down. With people's guards down, it becomes easier for a wolf in sheep's clothing to strike. (Hahaha get it because-- *gets shot*) You could even say that everyone's caught in her spider's web and they don't even realize it. (Hahaha get it because-- *double gunshot*)

This fucking picture. (Everything before this was already speculation, but this is EVEN MORE SPECULATIVE!) I have no idea what it means, and I know it was Diana that Wolfgang hallucinated as being his mother when he was in the boiler room, but Cassidy looks even more like her. Like, other than her eye color, she has the facial proportions of Wolfgang's dad and the eyes/hair of his mom. (Haha your mom.) Maybe they're siblings/half-siblings, I don't know. But it does strike me that Wolfgang's last words were "I won't stop until the world knows me as--!" before he died. Which... could mean he knows who the mastermind is, or has some involvement with the killing game, or maybe his parents did and he knows about it ("like father, like son..."). I have no clue, this is just me guessing based off of a facial similarity and two lines of dialogue lmfao.

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

I don't know. Try again later.

Uh, but if I had to come up with some sort of potential motive for her to be involved - assuming she's a willing participant and has some sort of ideological or personal motive - then... here goes.

The first thing that comes to mind is something Damon says multiple times in the prologue: "Ultimates are charged with the betterment of society." And, well, he thinks everyone's doing a shit job - except for maybe Wenona, because she's a billionaire and runs a big business that feeds people. Basically everyone else, he thinks is totally useless.

Well... I can see a way that Cassidy might feel similarly, but in sort of a reverse way. She's a streamer and a pro gamer with a huge audience - and so far, she actually seems like the least harmful popular figure in the group. Compare her to Kai Monteago - who's a total dunce and who seems to really only care about his own fame when it comes to his talent. Or Wenona - who's a billionaire, a wealth hoarder whose profile literally says she owns over 90% of the agriculture industry and she dislikes unions.

We don't really know anything about Cassidy's platform (that I can immediately remember) other than "she's a gamer" and "they're called Cassidy's Comrades" - but even in just that, there's already communist theming with the "comrade" joke. Though that could just be a "haha Soviet Russia" joke and nothing deeper, I will also point out that one thing streamers are known for doing is charity streams - oftentimes long ones that become widely talked about because someone decided to stay on stream for 24 hours straight to raise money for a charitable cause. Also, because of the live nature of streamers' relationships with their fandoms, it's much more common than other industries for streamers to be publicly put on blast for things like microaggressions or giving money to bad people - something that could easily influence someone like Cassidy. What is a killing game broadcast, but a livestream where all these Ultimates are put on blast - with their first murder motive being cryptic blackmail about some of the worst things they've done?

In my "Cassidy = mastermind" hypothetical, where Damon's hatred of the Ultimate title and the people who have it comes largely from his ego and distrust of others in general, Cassidy could hate the Ultimate title and the people who have it because she thinks they're not doing enough to help others. Ultimates have been charged with the betterment of society, and they're failing. In this hypothetical, Cassidy also puts herself above others and distrusts others - but expresses it very differently from Damon. Surprisingly, much more pessimistically, given the whole murder game and all.

Well - that's if I'm right. I'm probably not. But it's a fun thought, right?

[calware]

Do you have any advice on how to write Dirk and Hal or know of anyone I could get tips from :0?

okay so first of all i want to say that i don't think that i'm really an 'authority' on the subject, or that anyone else really can be aside from andrew herself. but i do have some thoughts and opinions that i'm willing to share

#1 piece of advice is to reread the comic once in a while. or at least reread bits and pieces if that's too daunting or not feasible. the POV cam extension is really helpful for that because you can specifically reread just the parts where dirk is there (does not work for hal though iirc which is where the dialogue directory is the next best thing) anyway i suggest doing this because it's always better to have their canon depictions fresh in your mind so you aren't accidentally working off of purely fanon ones

i think this is more of just a writing tip in general but try to think about how much you intend to transform the character. and by that i mean how much you want to stick to canon characterization. no matter how far you go with it, your depiction should always be informed by canon, but you can go as far with it as you want as long as it's intentional. so for example, if you want to stay really close to canon characterization, go for it. but if you want to stick them in an AU, ask yourself how that will change their behavior, personalities, etc. and it you specifically want them to act differently than they do in canon, that's okay too as long as you justify it and make it believable to your reader. you don't have to be afraid of changing them as long as something happened to cause that change

i feel like these are the two biggest pitfalls people fall into, usually a combination of the two. either they just don't understand the character well enough to give a believable portrayal of them, they don't give the audience enough reason to believe their portrayal of them, or both. for example there are a lot of hal fics out there where he is evil and kills people for fun, which to me just tells me that the author didn't really get him. but the takeaway isn't that you should never make hal evil and kill people, just that you need to provide basis for the audience to believe that he would be evil and kill people while still feeling in-character for doing so. that's what i mean by intentionality, you need to understand why you make the artistic choices that you are making

i wrote down some common tropes (?) of hal writing i tend to see that are along the lines of "i see these a lot and they wouldn't be bad if the author just made them feel believable" if that's at all helpful. i can do some for dirk as well if anyone wants me to

3. avoid being reactionary. the homestuck is so reactionary with its portrayal of characters, meaning that one mischaracterization will get popular, and people will complain about it and swing the complete opposite direction, leading to a different mischaracterization becoming popular. an example of this is everyone thinking dirk is the coolest ever, and then switching to think he's the lamest ever. just try to focus on your own perceptions of the characters based on what you read from the comic and what you agree with others on, don't form perceptions based on trying to break away from something else

4. this goes more for dirk than hal because hal isn't as popular, but just keep in mind that dirk isn't the main character. i think a lot of people attribute main character energy to him when they don't really have to. obviously if you write a fic about dirk, he's literally going to be the main character, or if he's your favorite character you're going to care about him more than the others. but that doesn't mean he's any more important, more special, more traumatized, more mentally ill, or what have you, than any other character. going back to the example from above, the people who treat him as both the coolest OR the saddest character are both portraying him as the Special Boy. when the reality is that they are all pretty special and he's not an exception

i hope that all made sense... if not feel free to ask and i can explain further if needed